Chapter 8: Caged: Chapter 8

I’ve never been this guy before.

The one who gets clingy.

Not ever. Not even in high school.

I’ve never had a girlfriend. Never wanted one. Not that, that’s what Maddie is, but it’s what she’s beginning to feel like. And what shocks the shit out of me at that recognition is that I don’t hate that idea. It doesn’t scare me. It feels . . .

.

I didn’t dwell on that realization while I drove over here last night. I just did what I’m good at and followed my gut instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet.

She didn’t throw me out, like I thought she might.

She didn’t give me too hard of a time, like I was sure she would.

She didn’t even really hesitate to lay her head against me, which made me feel a little like the grinch whose heart expanded three sizes. It may sound like a ridiculously low bar to set, but for Maddie, I’m willing to take baby steps. Fuck . . .

need to take baby steps for myself.

. Cade is gonna kick my ass all over the ring if he finds out I was even thinking this way, with a fight less than a week away. But compared to the other thoughts I was having while Maddie’s warm body spent the night wrapped in my arms—with her sweet scent invading my senses and her face tucked against my chest—it was a marathon of self-restraint, having her that close and wanting her that badly but not acting on it.

Not burying myself inside her and showing her how good it’ll be between us.

Because what’s hitting me like a roundhouse kick is the fact that there will be an .

I have a few more days left of . . . Pretty sure in some ways, I’ve already stepped over the line Cade draws in the sand before every fight.

It’s never been this hard before now. Before .

When the alarm chimes at five a.m., I reach over, grab my phone from the nightstand, and turn it off, then roll back to my sunshine. She hasn’t cracked open an eye, but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve gotta go, sunshine.”

“Mmm . . . do you have to?” She nuzzles her face against me.

Okay, now I know she’s still asleep.

I lean down and kiss her forehead, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and feel her smile grow instead of her body recoiling. I could get used to this version of Maddie. The affectionate one. The one who doesn’t pull back and shy away from me. “I’ll see you at the gym tonight.”

She hums again, and the sound goes straight to my dick. “Train hard, King.” Then with her eyes closed and a beautiful, sleepy look on her face, she pulls the blanket up to her chin, and I force myself to pick up my sweatshirt and sneakers, then head downstairs with a ridiculous smile on my face.

Cinder follows me into the living room and scratches at the front door before it opens and Brandon Dixon walks into his house.

Dixon is the center for the Philadelphia Kings, and he’s one of the best in the league. He’s as protective as they come, on and off the field. At an easy six feet, three inches, and probably close to three hundred pounds, he’s not a small guy. Not a dumb guy either. Most men would probably find him intimidating.

I’m not most men I’m also not stupid enough to ignore the fact he just found me coming out of his sister’s bedroom.

He drops his duffle bag and closes the door, never taking his eyes off me. “What the fuck are you doing here, Kingston?” After a quick glance at his watch, he groans, “It’s five in the fucking morning. Care to explain?”

“Great game yesterday.” My smile vanishes, and I cringe.

Bullshitting isn’t usually so hard.

He ignores my non-answer and walks into the kitchen without saying a word.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Follow him?

“You want a cup of coffee?” he asks from the other room.

I guess that answers my question.

I step into the kitchen and shove my hands into my pockets, itchy to get the hell out of here. “No thanks, man. I’ve got to get to training.”

“Care to tell me why you’re leaving my house at the ass crack of dawn?” He looks around me for something, then adds, “I don’t see my sister.”

Yeah . . . this looks bad, and I’m not exactly sure how to handle this situation. “She’s still sleeping.”

“And you were . . . ?” He leaves off the end of the sentence, his question fully implied.

“Listen, I know what this looks like, but—”

Dixon cuts me off, with a hand in the air. “Maddie’s a grown woman. I don’t need to know what you guys were doing.”

Shocked, I can’t help myself. “Really?” Seriously, this goes against everything I’ve ever heard about this guy.

“Do you care about my sister?” He grabs his coffee cup from the machine and downs the piping hot liquid.

“Yeah. I do. But nothing’s happening.” I leave off the because that’s between me and her.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

I’m pretty sure I look at him like he’s lost his goddamned mind. “What’s the catch? Everyone who knows Maddie knows how protective you are. You find me in your house, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first time you’ve ever found a guy here, and all you’re gonna say is ?” It doesn’t make sense.

“Maddie’s not stupid. Hell, she’s smarter than me and I’m guessing you too. And she never lets anyone in. If you’re in, there’s a reason. And if she’s going to finally give somebody a chance, at least it’s not some weaselly little pencil dick who won’t or can’t protect her when I’m not around. You can at least keep her safe.” Dixon takes a long, slow breath, then grunts. “Looks like you’re the lesser of two evils, King.” He finishes his coffee, then puts the empty mug in the sink.

“But like I said, don’t fuck it up. My sister’s been hurt more already than most people will hurt in a lifetime. She deserves better. Question is, are you it?”

I stare at him, wondering where the hell this conversation came from and why Dixon would ever trust me as he leaves me in the kitchen, heading for the stairs. “Lock the door before you leave, Kingston.” Then he’s gone, and I’m left standing there, trying to figure out what just happened.

My first day back in the gym sucks fucking ass.

Even just a few days off is enough to set you back. It doesn’t matter what kind of condition I keep myself in year-round, I still feel the difference. And that’s the bitch of choosing this profession. This life. But I’ve been training for it for years. I’m not about to go soft and hand my title over to Maniac McGuire.

“You’ve got less than four days to drop fourteen pounds, King. Get in the steam room.” Cade turns to Cooper, who’s been on my training team for the past two years, “Keep him moving.”

Coop just got here a few minutes ago and looks at me like maybe he’s rethinking helping today. But he cuts me off before I can say anything. “Shut up and sit in the damn steam room, King.”

Once my sauna suit is on with duct tape closing every opening it has, Coop sits across from me, with a pissed-off look on his face.

“Are you constipated or something?” I try to joke, but he just glares.

“You need to focus, King. Are you ready for this fight?”

“A representative from the league stopped by earlier for my drug test. I’ve gotta drop this weight, but I’ve had to drop more in less time than this. The Maniac doesn’t stand a fucking chance.” I fist-bump Coop and get back into position for another round of push-ups, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even say anything. “What else is on your mind, Sinclair?”

“Just keep your head in the game, King.”

That pinched fucking look is still on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Maddie, dickhead. Don’t act stupid. I saw you Saturday night. I saw the look on your face. And I’m not talking about the way you were looking at Spider either. You’ve got a week left. Don’t split your focus now.” Not many people would have noticed that, but Coop isn’t everyone else. He’s a former Navy SEAL. This fucker was trained to notice everything.

“What would you have done if somebody said that about Carys?” I lob back at him.

And judging by the way his eye twitches at the mention of his wife, it hit the target. “You can’t fucking compare the two,” he snaps back at me. “I love my wife. Are you in love with Maddie?”

Well, damn.

That’s one way to slam me up against the cage.

Especially since I’m not sure about the answer.

“Thanks, D. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten to discuss the foundation’s push for the food drive and the new year.” I end my call with my best friend, with the meeting scheduled for her non-profit’s social-media presence and a list of research points I need to dig into later today.

Monday mornings are always housekeeping days for my business, followed by meetings in the afternoon, then a yoga class at Crucible at night. I guess I’m a creature of habit because the routine always calms my restless mind. And I’ve spent today more on edge than usual.

Last night was so far out of my comfort zone, I should have been crawling out of my skin. I think what’s freaking me out the most about it is .

It doesn’t even make sense.

But it’s occupied all my spare thoughts, so I’ve been trying to keep myself extra busy today.

It’s the only excuse I have for completely zoning out when my brother apparently came downstairs because when he clears his throat to let me know he’s two feet away, I’m pretty sure I jump high enough to hit the ceiling. “What the heck?” I stand and throw my arms around him. “Warn a girl next time. I didn’t know you were home.”

He holds me tightly to him, and the stress of the morning melts away. “Missed you, Mads.”

“I missed you too. But that was an incredible game yesterday. That block you made in the fourth quarter is why you guys won that game. I hope they realize that.” Brandon shakes his head at my excitement.

He sits down on the couch and kicks his bare feet up on the ottoman, then smirks. “So . . . I’m gone less than a week, and you’re having sleepovers?”

“Excuse me?” I squeak.

Brandon leans forward and waits for me to sit down. But I hold my ground, already uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. “There was a Kingston in my kitchen when I got home this morning. Care to tell me why, ?”

“I was unaware I needed to clear my friends with you, .” I plant both hands on my hips and meet his glare, unsure if he’s angry or joking.

When his single dimple pops deep in his cheek, I know he’s not actually mad.

At least, I think he’s not.

“I’m all for you and the girls having sleepovers and pillow fights. All the pillow fights. Maybe add Chloe and Carys’s lingerie to the mix too. The more, the merrier. But I wasn’t expecting to come home and see one of my team owners strolling out of your bedroom, Madison.”

“First, eww. You’re disgusting. I’ve never had a pillow fight in my life”—I grab one of the throw pillows I insisted on after he bought the world’s most boring, masculine couch and smack him in the face with it—“until now.”

Brandon picks the pillow up and smacks my hip with it. “Damn fucking shame too. You’ve got some hot friends, and if I block you out of the equation, that’s basically most men’s fantasies.”

“Hey,” I bristle, completely unsure of how exactly we got to this point in the conversation. “Are you saying I’m not fantasy material? I mean I might not be a model or anything, but I don’t think I’m hard on the eyes either, you jerk.”

He yanks me down by the arm until I’m sitting next to him on the couch. “I’m not a Lannister, Mads. Incest doesn’t do it for me. And if some guy said he was saving you for spank-bank material, I’d have to kill him.”

“Wait . . .

” I scrunch up my face, utterly grossed out. “Please freaking stop. I’m begging you. I can handle you talking about fantasies—to an extent. I don’t want to know my friends are in your .”

But when he laughs at me, I remember how the conversation started. “Stop distracting me, Brandon. I’m a grown woman. I run a successful business, and I’ve managed to navigate life just fine, thank you very much. I don’t need your permission to spend time with whomever I want. Man or woman.” That might have been more convincing if I didn’t have to remind him I’m a grown woman.

“I wasn’t saying you needed to ask for permission. I was saying I was surprised to see Hudson Kingston this morning. That’s all. I’m not used to guys sleeping here.” He throws his arm across the back of the couch and tugs on my hair.

“Watty crashes here all the time,” I pout.

“Watty’s crashing on the couch after too many beers. He’s not telling me he left my baby sister sleeping in her room. Just promise me you’re being safe.”

“Oh. My. God.” I hide my face in my hands, remembering ten years ago when he asked me that the first time. “Are you really giving me the birds and the bees talk . . .

?”

“Maddie . . .” He waits for me to look at him.

“Not that you deserve to hear this, but we just slept. We turned on a movie and fell asleep, fully freaking clothed, Brandon.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

My eyes go huge and bug the heck out of my head. “What?”

My brother practically stumbles over himself to fix his words. “I mean, you let him get that close? Close enough to fall asleep in your room? That doesn’t sound like something you’d usually do.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” And with a deep breath, I fill him in on everything that’s happened since last Thursday night.

The break-in.

Hudson’s knee.

The crazy confrontation at Kingdom.

All of it.

When I’m finished spinning the crazy week, Brandon sits back on the couch and just stares at me until I finally break under his intense scrutiny. “I knew you’d be mad I didn’t tell you right away, but I wanted you focused on your game, not me. I was fine.”

And then he breaks, jumping to his feet, enraged. “You’re not going to Crucible. You don’t need that fucking job, and Cade St. James obviously can’t keep you safe.”

Slowly, I stand and take his hand in mine. “It was a break-in, Brandon. It could have happened anywhere.”

“Fine. Then I’m taking you to your class tonight, and I’m staying until you’re done. I don’t want you there alone. Get your stuff.” Brandon’s dark eyes harden.

“Aren’t you overreacting a bit here?”

“Chop, chop, Mads. We’re leaving in ten minutes.” He starts to walk away, and I want to scream.

“Brandon,” I call after him. “Don’t you have to go to the stadium today?”

He doesn’t even turn around. “Nope. Bye week. We’ve got the day off. Lucky you.”

Yeah . . . lucky me.