Page 69 of Hot Irish Halloween

He did look at her, finally. Her normal vanilla-and-roses complexion was now mottled dark pink. It was like that Old Testament story where Lot’s wife had been warned not to turn and look upon the destruction of a city. The disappointment and anguish in his mother’s face when she realized what he had planned was almost enough to turn him to salt, to stone. Almost enough to sway him from his sole purpose left in life.

“Gotta go, Mam,” he said shortly.

She was still calling his name as he jogged down the street and escaped.

If he’d believed for one second that was the end of it, which he did not, he would have been mistaken. When he got to the gym to check up on the students and some paperwork, Charlie was waiting for him.

“Yer mam called me crying this morning,” the old man said, hustling to follow Jack to his office.

“Did you tell on me?” Jack asked absently, turning on his laptop.

Charlie made a scoffing noise. “Did I have to? You’re almost as big as that green fella from those movies you watch except really feckin’ hairy.” Jack shot him a look and pursed his lips. “She’s not daft. She already figured out what you’re up to.”

“Don’t tell me she wore you down with her tears, and you came in here to tell me you’re backing out of helping me win.”

Sinking into the chair facing Jack’s desk, Charlie put his gnarled hands on his knees and sighed hard. “I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’ll be there now.”

Jack nodded. “See. That’s the correct answer.” He scanned an encrypted email from FitzGerald. More questions about specifications for the cage.

“Assisted suicide. Sure, why not? Honestly, I’m only surprised it took a piece of shite like La Roque to get you back in there. You’ve been depressed since you gave up your title. Always knew you were waiting for an excuse to jump back in, no matter what the docs said. Anyway, she did tell me something I didn’t know. About yer wan, and why she hadn’t come around since that afternoon when youse were in here screamin’ like a pair of feckin’ banshees. She’s up and left, hasn’t she? Because of this fight and what could happen to you.”

Jack had to take a minute to hold down the surge of anguish that rushed up his throat, nearly closing it. When he could speak again, he said, “Sure look. I know you liked her. She liked you, too. But she’s not here because she didn’t want to be. She couldn’t support me. Nothing more to say.”

“It’s asking a lot to have the person who loves you see you hurt yourself for no good reason. I’ve been around blood and senselessness me whole life. I can take it, but not everyone can,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “She was the only thing that got you smiling again. I hoped it would be enough to keep you out of that cage. And it’s not too late. You can call this thing off. She loves you, lad. It was clear to me as the sun is shining. How many people can you say that about? Count them on yer fingers and see if you can use more than one hand.”

Jack froze, out of arguments. Charlie got up from the chair, wincing when his knees audibly cracked, then shuffled out of the office.

On the way out, Charlie said, “Well. Let’s get you sparrin’, kamikaze.”

Over the next two weeks, Jack trained hard, harder than he ever had in his life. Hands, elbows, knees, kicks, throws, takedowns, holds. They’d brought in his old sparring partners, who’d agreed to pretend they were only there for fun. Everybody was sworn to silence about why he was training like this.

Jack ignored his mother’s increasingly desperate phone calls and dodged her drop-ins by spending most of his time at the gym rather than at home. Not that he enjoyed being there anyway. Penny was in everything he saw there, everything he touched. Sometimes he even imagined he smelled her juicy fruit and roses scent still on her pillow, despite him stripping the bed and washing all of it repeatedly himself. It made him weaker, and he couldn’t weaken, not now.

All at once, there was one week left until the fight. Charlie and his corner team were resigned yet ready. FitzGerald texted daily about the arrangements; Jack could sense his giddy bloodlust in every message. Seems this was going to be the battle of the century for his posh cunt friends, and he was sparing no expense to prepare the castle.

Jack wondered how many hypocrites would pay to be in attendance. Which “decent citizens” would come to place highly illegal bets, wagering on how many pints of blood would be spilled on the mat. All while publicly denouncing inner-city knifings and crime.

“Hey, Coach. Got a visitor.” It was Rain, the American girl who’d traveled all that way just to learn from him. She was the one who Penny had really liked working out with whenever she’dcome by. Now she was rapping gently on Jack’s office door with her meek grin.

He’d just ended a call with his solicitor, making sure all his affairs were in order. Not that anything was going to happen to him, but just in case…Ifanything happened, he was leaving a chunk of his estate to his parents and some to Charlie to live comfortably. Meghan and the twins would be set too. But Penny and the baby would get the lion’s share. Whether she’d moved on or not, whether she gave a shite what happened to him, he’d made a promise to take care of them, and he’d fulfill it regardless.

“Send them in.”

In walked Bran, looking tan and healthy as though the months in Southern Europe had permanently embedded sunshine in his skin. Retirement looked good on him. As far as Jack could remember, Bran had always had his paunch and thin sandy-brown hair. His round face always bore a good-natured smile. But not today.

Jack sighed. “If Mam sent you to try to talk me out of this again, please tell her to stop. My mind’s not changing.”

“Mam didn’t send me. Thought I’d take you out to lunch. I hear you’ve been holed up in here,” Bran said, looking at the folding cot that was near the wall. There were blankets and a pillow stacked on top. “Come on. Get some fresh air with me, mate.”

Best mates. That’s what Bran had said they were going to be when he’d shown up trying to woo Dierdre so many years ago. His twinkling blue eyes had been so kind. Despite Jack’s attempts to challenge him and keep his position as the man of the house, it had been hard to fight off Bran’s genuine goodness.

Best mates they’d become and still were. It was the only reason Jack wouldn’t tell him to piss off and mind his business.

“Fine.” Jack pushed away from his desk and got his coat. “But we’ve got to keep it quick. I’ve got —”

“I know. Training. Come.” Bran looked at him expectantly and cocked his head in the direction of the main entrance before heading out.

They took Bran’s car to a seafood restaurant that served some good fish and chips up in Malahide. The restaurant had a view of the sea. It was peaceful in the afternoon. Jack ate quickly, his eyes on the choppy gray water and the docked boats, avoiding Bran’s gaze.

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