“I’m leaving Legends now. My bags are packed, so be ready to go as soon as I get home,” Quinn said into the phone receiver, flexing his muscled, toned arm as he glanced down at his watch to check the time.
“UK, here we come!” his older brother Kane shouted through the line. Quinn could practically hear him fist-pumping the air, and he felt the excitement in his voice. “You’re the best manager ever, Q!”
“Better believe it, Killer,” Quinn said with a laugh before hanging up and pushing his phone into a small interior pocket of his leather jacket. One of his favorite pieces of clothing, it pulled tight over his sculpted back and broad shoulders and made every woman he passed take a second glance.
He fucking loved it.
Straddling his prized possession, a 1996 Ducati 916 bike that he’d kept in pristine condition for years with constant maintenance and care, Quinn pulled his helmet on over his shaggy, black hair and slid his gloves on over his large hands. Even fully covered in leather and a helmet, peeks of skin here and there showed his love of ink. Several carefully picked designs scattered up both arms and shoulders, and while you couldn’t see them with all the leather he was currently wearing, the tattoos continued on to his chest and back as well. It was easy enough to cover when he wanted, but he rarely did. He loved the images, and each one had a special meaning to him.
But the small metal bar through his eyebrow, or the piercings in one ear? Those were just for fun.
The motorcycle roared to life beneath him, easily heard from blocks away, as he pulled out onto the main street and headed for his parents’ house to meet his brother. He may not live there any longer, but he’d grown up in that house and it would always feel like home. This whole neighborhood was his home; he knew everyone here, and everyone knew the Kavanaghs—for better or worse.
He whizzed past the quaint houses in the Woodlawn neighborhood of the Bronx, going through a mental checklist of everything he needed to do before Kane competed next week in one of the biggest mixed-martial-arts competitions in the world. Kane had won the last two years, making history and giving him the unofficial title of World’s Greatest MMA Fighter, which he planned to win a third time next week in London.
It’d been three short years since his brother was thrust into the public spotlight after winning his first national championship in Vegas. Quinn beamed proudly at the reminder, even though he wasn’t the one in the cage. He still felt a part of his brother’s success, having been with him from the beginning and managed his entire career. Kane’s win was Quinn’s win. It was a win for all the Kavanaghs—something they all really needed after everything the family had been through the last few years.
Quinn saw his parents’ street coming up a few minutes later and began pulling over into the right lane, signaling with his arm that he was moving over. A large truck whistled past him, completely ignoring his signal and barreling forward anyway. Quinn yanked the handlebars to the left, narrowly escaping a collision as his heart skidded into his throat.
Asshole.
Taking a deep breath to calm the adrenaline shooting through his body at the near miss, Quinn carefully looked around; once he’d confirmed that the right lane was clear, he signaled his intentions. Sliding the bike into the right lane, he accelerated, eager to get to his parents’ house as quickly as possible.
That was his last thought before it happened.
His family.
How happy he was.
How much he loved his life.
A silver sedan that was parallel-parked against the curb suddenly nosed out into the right lane, leaving its spot and pulling out right in front of Quinn’s bike. His eyes widened as the air left his lungs and he attempted to swerve around the obstacle.
But there was no time. There was no space.
The front wheel of his bike slammed into the front wheel well of the sedan, and then Quinn was weightless. He barely had time to blink before he was twisting through the air—over the handlebars, over his bike, over the sedan, still flying.
He heard the impact before he felt it.
His body skidding over the unforgiving pavement as wind gushed past him—a crunching, tumbling screech. Car horns firing, people screaming—or was he screaming? The echoes inside his helmet both muted and deafened.
But then he felt it, and it was fucking hell.
The crack of bones, a searing pain shooting through his insides. The burn of the impact set fire to every nerve ending in his body, consuming him until he was certain he couldn’t stand another second of it. The skin tearing from his body as he grated across the pavement, several dozen feet past where his bike lay in a heap.
And then it was quiet.
So fucking quiet as he stared up at the sun, and waited…for what, he didn’t know. He wasn’t connected to his body but was somehow trapped inside it. Quinn tried to call for help, tried to get up, but his lungs and limbs ignored his commands.
Just as his eyes began to flutter close—the pain overtaking him, pushing him beyond what he could ever handle—he saw her. Her strawberry-blond hair fell down past her soft pink cheeks; the sun created a halo behind her. Her fingertips grazed his face, and she whispered to him without ever moving her lips. Light-blue eyes, nearly translucent in their brightness, told him to just hold on…don’t let go…don’t give up.
And then she was gone.
And so was he.
Chapter 1
PRESENT DAY
The walls of the coffin didn’t touch his shoulders, and the ceiling was only a few inches above his face, but he was blind to it. The darkness and soft lap of water against the sides echoed throughout the small chamber, and it felt infinite. It felt like there was nothing beside him, under him, above him—he was suspended in space, in silence, in darkness.
He was nothing. Nowhere. Nobody.
And it wasn’t a coffin at all.
Quinn closed his eyes and imagined the small floatation therapy tank he was currently laying in was actually the ocean. As if he could stretch out his arms and swim for miles. The relief was shockingly intense. The nothingness of it all calmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. His mind blank, his body floating, his senses overwhelmed and deprived at the same time.
The constant pain that had become a daily part of his life over the last five months was suspended, and his body lay easily on the salinized water—impossible not to float with this much salt in it. He’d been skeptical when Rory first told him about Floatation Therapy, because honestly, it sounded insane.
Float in a tank of super salty water for an hour to relieve pain, stress, and a long list of other ailments.
But damn it if Rory wasn’t right—a sentence Quinn hated saying.
Rory was the oldest Kavanagh brother, and four years older than Quinn. He used to be an up-and-coming mixed-martial-arts fighter himself, but a nasty injury in the ring had permanently sidelined him. Apparently, Floatation Therapy had been really helpful during his healing process as well, at least that’s how he’d convinced Quinn to dive in—sort of literally.
Thankfully, his brother was healed and healthy now, plus married to a pixie blonde named Clare whose fierce personality gave Rory a run for his money. They had an adorably pudgy one-year-old son named Murphy who had quickly become Quinn’s favorite Kavanagh.
In fact, seeing Rory with Clare and their son…It was the first time Quinn had ever even considered settling down. He’d never been one for relationships, happily enjoying casual friendships with plenty of benefits or the occasional one-night stand. Not that he was out there getting laid every night, because he wasn’t that type of guy. He needed an emotional connection with a woman before he’d want to give such an intimate part of himself away, but he’d found plenty of women over the years who he’d been able to connect with at least on some level.
Nothing that rivaled what he was really searching for, though. That first love that knocked him on his ass so hard, he’d never really stood back up. Quinn had only ever truly given his
heart to one woman many, many years ago, but she hadn’t felt the same way.
That wasn’t a situation he ever wanted to relive—another reason why he kept things casual.
Quinn opened his eyes, staring into the darkness as if it would go on forever. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time, but he’d seen her…somehow. When he’d been lying on that pavement, staring up at the sun—she was there, even if only in his head.
She’d told him everything was going to be okay.
His guardian angel. Ironic, since he had always tried to be hers.
When he’d first arrived for his appointment today—courtesy of his mother, Dee Kavanagh, his new chauffeur since he couldn’t drive, let alone walk easily—the nurse had given him a basic explanation of how the tank worked, and told him the physical therapist would be ready to meet with him afterward. He’d then been left in a small shower directly next to the tank, where he quickly scrubbed down, doing his best to hold onto the railings. He was exhausted almost immediately, which was frustrating considering he’d have to shower again the moment he was done to rinse off the salt.
Once clean, he’d hobbled his way to the tank, feeling his way around because it was pretty dark despite one dim, pinkish light in the corner of the room. Small earplugs they’d provided him filled his ears, and once he’d stepped into the salty water and lay down, the top of the tank slid closed over top of him and all remnants of light were gone. He found himself enveloped in a cave-like tank of water, soft music playing, but with the earplugs in, he barely heard it.
At first, it was a little terrifying, but once his body had adjusted to the blindness and close quarters, he’d calmed down and begun to enjoy the feeling of expansiveness and forever all around him. The feeling of nothing and everything and being completely enclosed but with millions of empty miles all around you. It was a complete mind trip.
It was heaven.
Quinn swallowed hard, trying to squelch the emotions he felt surging through him, but for the first time he began to feel it all. In this safe space taking away everything, he felt…everything.
For months, he hadn’t had a second’s peace—his mother hovering, his father worried, his four brothers dropping in every few minutes with big opinions and long-winded advice. Now in total darkness, his mind was clear and he felt…free. Something he’d really taken for granted most of his life, until five months ago when he’d lost everything.
As the pain in his body was slowly relieved by the tank, the pain in his soul roared to life—and it was relentless.
Quinn had had small scuffs and incidents on his motorcycle before—he’d been inseparable from it since he was seventeen years old. His prized Ducati was dead now, and he’d almost been the same.
One minute he’d been heading to his parents’ house to meet his brother and head to London to watch his brother win his third world championship title. The next moment, he was waking up in a hospital room a week later. And just like that, his life was changed forever.
His mother had been by his side when he woke, obvious by her unruly hair and disheveled clothes that she hadn’t left the hospital once all week. His dad had been staring out the window, looking just as lost as his mother did. When they realized he was conscious, they both cried and Quinn knew that it was serious. He’d seen his mother cry a million times, even over something ridiculous like a cute puppy. But his father?
Big, bad, ex-Mafia Seamus Kavanagh? He didn’t cry.
Seamus didn’t show emotion of any kind, and he’d tried to raise his sons the same. Dee’s influence had kept the Kavanagh brothers from turning out as hardened as their father, but even after thirty-five years of marriage, his father had never budged.
But he had cried for Quinn, and the moment Quinn realized what that meant, he’d panicked.
The burns and road rash had been the worst, as he’d spent the first two weeks with doctors grafting new skin onto his back and legs. Anytime the doctors and nurses changed his bandages, or touched his skin in any way, he was certain he would die right then and there. The pain was so intense, he’d actually passed out a few times during the first several bandage changes. The leather had protected a lot of his body, but even that was no match for the speed with which he had been thrown from his bike.
Add to that a concussion.
A fractured wrist.
A leg broken in three places.
Six metal pins now a permanent part of his leg.
And too many bruises and scrapes to even try to count.
Five months later, his bones were healed, but his muscles were weak. His cuts and scrapes were gone, but ugly scars had taken their place. Tattoos he’d once had were now missing, or distorted. Every piercing he’d once had was removed.
He was, very literally, an entirely different person.
He still wore a brace on his leg for support even though the bones were healed—except now, since he was completely nude in the tank. His doctor finally had given him the green light to start physical therapy and today was his first day. If all he had to do was float in this tank, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared.
But he wanted to grow stronger, was itching to regain what he’d lost.
He wanted to be the man he used to be. He wanted to be back on a bike and riding—although the idea absolutely terrified him, which just made him angry—at himself. He wanted to walk around unassisted, and dodge the worried looks from everyone in his family. He wanted to get in the cage and spar with his brothers even though he’d never been a mixed-martial-arts fighter professionally. It was still something he’d grown up doing, and enjoyed greatly.
But everything was off limits for him, and he hated it.
He hated feeling helpless. He hated having to depend on his mother like he was a child again. He hated how his brothers treated him with kid gloves. He hated that he’d ruined a huge moment in Kane’s career. Kane had dropped out of one of the biggest fights in the world because Quinn was his manager and brother, and Quinn had been unconscious and laid up in a hospital bed, which meant Kane insisted on being with him instead of in the cage.
The guilt still ate away at him all these months later.
They’d all told him not to feel guilty. They’d all told him to focus on his recovery. But the guilt remained.
He thought of all these things and more in the dark, cavernous tank as the salt water rocked him ever so gently. The relief he felt from the water was overwhelming. The emotions he’d been pushing down for five months—maybe longer—were all-consuming.
And it was too much.
A tear slid down his temple and into the water beneath him as he lay on his back and squeezed his eyes shut. It only took seconds before the floodgates opened and the rest followed—slow, steady, true. For the first time in years, and at twenty-seven years old, Quinn was crying.
He needed the release from his inner suffering just as much as he’d needed the salt water to relieve his physical aches and pains. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and he could hear its beat in his ears. Quinn swallowed and sniffed his nose, inhaling slowly and deeply, as he let himself relax.
He needed…something, but what that was, he didn’t know.
Maybe he needed a change—his life had to change.
He’d nearly died and there were so many things he’d kept hidden from himself, and his family, and the entire world. For twenty-seven years, he’d done what he should do.
He’d been who he should be.
But he’d never been who he wanted to be, or done what he’d wanted to do. Or even told anyone that.
As his pain flowed away with his tears, he made a new resolve to live life differently. To live the life he wanted to live—even if he didn’t know what that was yet.
“Hello?”
Suddenly a bright light fell on him and cold air hit his tear-streaked face. He blinked his eyes open to see the only woman he’d ever loved staring down at him.
“Hello…oh. Quinn?”
You have got to be
kidding me. He didn’t say anything, his voice refusing to find itself as he quickly pushed himself up into a seated position in the tank, yanking out his ear plugs, and wiping his face.
Well, this was awkward as shit. What was she even doing here?
“Um, we beeped that the session was ending, but no one was coming out.” Kiera Finley’s fair skin blushed bright red as she stared at him, wide-eyed. “I just wanted to come check on you, well I didn’t know it was you—you, but now that I know it’s you, should I leave? Is this weird? This is weird. Are you okay? Were you crying? What are you even doing here? Are you hurt? Should I go? I should go. Were you crying?” she asked again, her words tumbling out so fast he could barely decipher them.
His back was to her, but he turned his head to face her as he blinked slowly, trying to register the onslaught of questions flying past her pretty pink lips. She was messing with a wisp of strawberry-blond hair that had fallen out of her bun, the expression on her face looking as shocked as he felt.
He quickly remembered when they were kids, she’d always ramble when she was nervous—apparently the trait stuck over the years, since she was definitely all woman now. Her light-blue eyes peered at him, and even in the dim light, they were as translucent and luminous as he remembered.
“Keeks?”
She swallowed and he followed the wave in her neck before she nodded. “Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice barely above a whisper now.
He didn’t drop his gaze, their eyes connected in a way that made his heart feel broken and healed all at the same time. “Don’t go.”
She swallowed again, and Quinn wasn’t sure what was going through his mind.
But she was here, and he did not want her to go.
Not now. Not after what she’d seen, what they’d been, what he felt…if there was one thing he knew, it was that right now in this moment, he needed her there.
Only her.
“Um…yeah, okay.” She kneeled down next to the tank, draping one arm over the edge. “Are you oka—oh, fudge, you are very naked.”
Quinn laughed, and damn, it felt good. The happy sensation was so surprising that he laughed again, and harder this time. He’d forgotten how hilarious she could be without even trying, or her aversion to cussing that made her that much more irresistible all those years ago.