Chasing a Legend

  Kiera did the same, but her strokes seemed more labored than his. His hands naturally glided across the piece like he already knew where he was going, whereas she was judging every move. They continued painting along with the rest of the class, but Kiera found herself spending more time watching Quinn than working on her own. He was beautiful when he painted, not just handsome and chiseled physically, but calm and peaceful. There was an ease to him she rarely saw in his usual tightly wound attitude.

  With every stroke, she was more and more determined to get him into that art gallery exhibit. He not only deserved it based on talent alone, but he needed it. She could see he needed it, even if he didn’t, and she wanted to give it to him.

  “What are you doing?” Quinn glanced sideways at her.

  “Watching you.”

  His cheeks reddened, his paintbrush smoothing a white moon on the horizon in his landscape. “You’ve barely even finished your water yet, Keeks.”

  She glanced back at her own, a few haphazard waves under a dark night sky. Rubbing her finger through the black paint, she made a white circle. Kiera turned to Quinn, holding up her blackened finger and waggling it back and forth.

  “Don’t you dare,” he warned, holding a paintbrush up between them like a shield. “Kiera…”

  She wasn’t listening, her plan already in motion. With two quick swipes, she ran her finger across his upper lip. He jolted his head back, but it was too late.

  “Did you just give me a mustache?” he bellowed, laughing and flicking his brush at her, spraying white paint across her chest.

  She grabbed for her brush, spraying him with blue paint across his arm. “Maybe!”

  “Well, I never thought I’d see the day.” Mandy sidled up to them, leaning on one hand on the table and surveying the damage. Her bright blue hair matched the paint Kiera had sprayed on Quinn’s arm. “Quinn Kavanagh. On a date. With wine. And a paint mustache.”

  Quinn rubbed at his mouth, but it only made it worse. “One of my finer moments,” he teased. “This is Kiera. Kiera, this is Trudy’s wife, Mandy.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Kiera stuck out a paint-covered hand and Mandy shook it without hesitation. “I’ve heard lovely things, and Trudy is a doll.”

  “She is the light of my life,” Mandy said, almost in a singsong voice. “Good to meet you, too. Actually, great to meet anyone who can make him smile like that.” She nodded at Quinn. “Bathroom’s in the back if you want to clean up in front of a mirror.”

  “Probably a good idea.” He stood and excused himself, but left a paint-covered kiss on Kiera’s hand first.

  Kiera turned back to her painting, angling her brush the way Mandy had instructed and swiping it over the canvas.

  Mandy stayed a step behind her, watching her, nodding her approval. “Is this your first time? You’re doing pretty good.”

  Kiera nodded. “Thanks. It is.” She dipped her brush in the water next to her, trying to think of something to say. Small talk had never really been her strong suit—she went from medical jargon to nervous ramblings, leaving little middle ground in between. “So, how long have you and Quinn known each other?”

  “A couple of years. He’s known Trudy longer—she’s done all his ink—and when I met her, I eventually met him, too.” Mandy leaned her elbows on the table, softening slightly. “He’s a good friend to her, to me, and to our daughter. A wonderful guy.”

  Kiera’s heart warmed at the idea of Quinn with a child. She’d seen him with his nephew and it almost made her heart burst. “He’s one of the best.”

  “So, don’t break his heart, okay?” Mandy’s casual tone suddenly intensified. “Quinn’s been through a lot in his life. He’s always felt a little lost, a little left out. Be good to his soul.”

  Kiera surveyed the blue-haired beauty, looking for any signs of hostility, but there were none. She just truly cared about Quinn, and as his friend, she wanted the best for him. Being that Kiera had started off as Quinn’s friend, she understood the impulse and she was so happy to see he’d still had people like that in his life even after she’d left.

  “I wasn’t before, but I will be now,” Kiera promised. “He’s everything to me. He always has been. It just took me a while to see it.”

  “I love that.” Mandy smiled, then invited her and Quinn to dinner anytime they wanted to double-date.

  Kiera spilled the beans about Quinn’s upcoming audition since Mandy knew about his artistic side, and Mandy made her promise to tell if he got the spot. By the time Quinn returned from the bathroom—sans mustache—the two women were giggling and fast friends.

  “I feel like I missed something.” Quinn dropped down onto his stool, perching his cane against the table.

  Kiera leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “You didn’t miss anything.”

  “That’s our story and we’re sticking to it,” Mandy added, laughing as she headed back to the front of the room to continue her instructions.

  “Thanks for bringing me here, Kiera,” Quinn said, intertwining his fingers with hers and kissing her knuckles. “I like everything about it.”

  “That’s the wine talking,” she teased.

  He shook his head. “It’s not. I like who I am when I’m with you, Keeks. I like who you push me to be. Don’t stop, promise?”

  Kiera’s heart felt as if it was bursting in her chest, and she swallowed hard to keep from throwing her arms around him and kissing him senseless in front of the entire class. “Promise.”

  Chapter 19

  “Keeks, I’m going to need you to chill.” Quinn raised one brow, watching his girlfriend pace back and forth across his studio. The owner of the gallery was coming to see the piece he was hoping would be included in the upcoming show.

  A few days before, Quinn would never have even considered letting anyone besides Kiera see his studio. Maybe it was her motivation and unstoppable faith in him, but suddenly, he was excited. This might be a whole new career path for him, a chance to take his favorite hobby and make it more.

  He’d never thought his work was good enough for that, and he still didn’t know, but he’d certainly find out today.

  “Chill? I have no chill. How are you chill right now?” Her voice was high-pitched and squeaky as she put air quotes around the word “chill” every time she said it. “He’s going to be here any minute!”

  “And he’s probably going to think it’s really fucking weird that there’s a crazy lady running circles around the room when he walks in.” He smirked, wondering why she seemed more nervous than he felt.

  She came to an abrupt stop, narrowing her eyes at him. “Fine, you win.” With a loud huff, she sat down on the stool next to him and crossed her legs. “Do you think he’ll like your piece? What if he doesn’t want to include it in the gallery show? What if he likes it, but picks someone else?”

  “Jesus Christ, Kiera.” Quinn wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “You’re freaking me out. Shouldn’t I be the nervous one here?”

  “Why aren’t you nervous?” she asked. “This is a big deal!”

  “Well, I wasn’t until you showed up.” He laughed and tried to shake the unease and anxieties from his body. “Whatever happens, happens. I’m just trying to go with it.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, nibbling the edge of her thumb. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll ‘chill.’ ”

  “Hello?” A tall man with sleek silver hair and an impeccable suit stepped through the side door of the studio that Quinn had left open.

  “Hi, there!” Kiera jumped up from her seat and rushed over to him.

  Quinn moved a bit slower, his cane in one hand. “Good afternoon.”

  “You must be Mr. Druthers,” Kiera said, extending her hand. “I’m Kiera Finley—we spoke on the phone.”

  “Great to put a face to the voice, Ms. Finley,” he replied, shaking her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, but please, call me Mark.”

  “Of course! And you
can definitely call me Kiera,” she said, grabbing Quinn’s arm and pulling him forward. “This is the artist—Quinn Kavanagh.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mark,” Quinn said, shaking his hand next.

  “You as well, Quinn. I’ve heard amazing things about your art from this young lady.” The gallery owner stepped farther into the studio, looking around the room. “And I must say, she wasn’t lying.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn replied.

  Mark came to a stop in front of Quinn’s new piece.

  It was tall, at almost six feet, and made entirely from pieces of old motorcycles and bikes, along with hundreds of feet of wire. Matte black paint had been added to the underside, but the outside was a dull silver color. The basic form was that of a dancer being swept away by the wind. Intricately laid wires and metal had been welded, formed, shaped, and cut to create a figure that was soft and wispy, yet strong and unmoving at the same time.

  At least, that’s what Quinn was hoping the man would see.

  Mark glanced up at him then pointed to the dancer. “Is this the piece you were thinking about for the gallery?”

  Quinn nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s my absolute favorite,” Kiera added, both of her hands on Quinn’s forearm as she stood by his side. She squeezed tightly as they watched the man circle the piece slowly, surveying it from every angle.

  “Wow,” he remarked, glancing around at the other works Quinn had in his studio—some still unfinished. “You mainly sculpt the female form, I see. With…are these parts of motorcycles?”

  “That’s correct.” Quinn swallowed his nerves, lifting his chin taller. “I add in other elements as well, like wire and paint, but for the most part, I use scrapped motorcycles and bikes.”

  Mark nodded, circling the dancer one more time before walking back to Quinn. He stretched out his hand again, and Quinn took it. “I’d be delighted to add your dancer to the exhibit. Your work is unbelievable and you should be very proud. You’ve got a great career in front of you.”

  Quinn’s face lit up, smiling as he shook the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “The exhibit is the last weekend in November, and my assistant will send you everything you need. We’ll get you a truck to transport it to Manhattan, as well,” Mark explained. He flashed them both a winning smile. “I’ll see you in one month.”

  “That would be amazing,” Quinn replied, trying to keep the shock from his expression. “Thank you so much. I’m honored.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dru— Mark,” Kiera added as the man shook her hand. She was literally bouncing with excitement at the news.

  “Thanks for letting me see your studio. Depending on how the exhibit goes, I have a feeling we’ll be doing a lot of work together.” With that, the gallery owner left.

  Quinn’s mind was reeling, and he knew it was all because of Kiera. “Babe, I’m going to be in an art gallery exhibit.”

  “Hell yeah, you are,” Kiera replied, clapping her hands excitedly. “Congratulations, Q!”

  Of the three times he’d heard her curse, right now was by far his favorite. He couldn’t believe a true professional not only wanted to include his work, but predicted he could make this a career.

  Being a manager and agent at Legends had always been his professional aspiration, and he’d never really thought about trying for anything else. Yet he didn’t feel any sort of excitement or passion about returning to it soon.

  But in the studio?

  He belonged there. He felt it in his very soul. If he could make a career out of his hobby…why the hell not? He’d been afraid to even consider it, seeing every little imperfection in his work as huge flaws. Through Kiera’s eyes, and today, Mark Druthers’s, he realized how hard he’d been on himself.

  He did have talent. He was an artist, and he wondered if it was time to explore where that could take him, even if it meant going outside of Woodlawn, Legends, or his current career.

  Maybe it was time to branch out from the Kavanagh brand.

  Kiera ran over to the studio door, closing and locking it. She turned back to look at him, a huge smile on her face and excitement in her eyes.

  Quinn furrowed his brow. “What are you doing?”

  “Celebrating with my boyfriend.” Kiera winked, sauntering back to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, her mouth on his faster than he could react.

  He laughed against her lips, catching his balance as he steadied himself and slid an arm around her waist. “This is all thanks to you, you know.”

  “Well, then thank me,” she said, grabbing at the hem of his shirt. “Thank me…a lot.”

  Chapter 20

  “Well, this is a sight for sore eyes,” Seamus said, sliding his glasses down his nose and peering over them. “Haven’t seen you in this office since…before the accident.”

  Quinn nodded, leaning against the doorframe of the Legends mixed martial arts gym back office. “Been a while. It’s good to be back.”

  And he meant that—or he was trying to. Walking into Legends was comfortable and familiar—like visiting a piece of himself he’d once thought defined him. Even if he wasn’t sure this was what he wanted for his professional life anymore, he still loved this place. It was where he’d first felt successful and competent, and taken charge of his life. It was where he’d first stood out from his family, becoming someone they could depend on. He’d made the contacts and convinced top fighters to sign under their management. He took the careers of athletes and boosted them to fame and fortune, taking the Legends brand with them. He’d done it for his brothers and for dozens of other mixed martial arts fighters and boxers, as well.

  “Does this mean you’re ready to start work officially?” Seamus asked, motioning for Quinn to sit in the chair across the desk from him. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m doing great,” Quinn said, tilting his cane to the side as he looked down at it before seating himself across from his father. “Barely need this thing anymore.”

  Seamus’s shoulders dropped slightly, seemingly relieved. “That’s great, kid.”

  “Yeah. I won’t be running marathons anytime soon or getting in the cage with Kane just yet, but normal life…yeah, it’s good.”

  Seamus inhaled deeply. “Well, you haven’t really been in the cage seriously for years anyway.”

  “Never really my thing,” Quinn agreed. He loved to spar with his brothers for fun, but that was about the extent of it. It was their passion, not his.

  His father shuffled a few papers around on his desk, clearing room to drop his elbows on its surface. “You’re dodging my question, son. Are you ready to come back?”

  Quinn wavered, considering the day before with the gallery owner. “I…”

  “We could really use you, Q. You were the best.” His father seemed to sense his waffling and doubled down. “I know you’re still healing, and we’re fine to work around that, but you’re a staple in this place. Hell, the business is only still running thanks to you.”

  “Not me.” Quinn evaded the compliment. “You’re the backbone of this place, Pops. Plus Rory and Kieran.”

  Seamus tapped his hand against the desk. “There wouldn’t be a gym for any of us to work in without you, and you know that. Don’t doubt yourself, kid. We can’t wait to have you back—but only when you’re ready.”

  Quinn inhaled slowly. Technically, he could do both—work at the gym during the day and have his art be a side hustle. Sure, that wasn’t ideal and it would give him less time to work on his sculptures, but he would manage. Plus, the exhibit might not go any further than that, and Quinn had never been one to make a rash decision based on a dream that might never happen.

  This was his family. He was needed here.

  “Yeah, of course, Pops,” Quinn agreed, pushing away the weight in his stomach at his decision. “I’m ready to come back.”

  Seamus’s face lit up, and he reached a hand forward. “That’s my boy.”

  They shook hands as a tall
, muscular man with shaggy blond hair walked into the office.

  “Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?” the man asked, pointing back toward the exit as if he should leave.

  “No, Flynn, come on in.” Seamus waved him over. “Meet my son Quinn. Quinn, this is Flynn Gallagher.”

  Quinn stood, pushing up with his cane. He reached a hand out to the man who looked like he’d been a bouncer at a club in his youth, but was in his thirties by now. Chiseled, muscular—he commanded the room the moment he walked into it, and Quinn was not a fan.

  Flynn shook his hand—almost crushed it, actually. “Good to meet you, Quinn. Heard a lot about you.”

  Seamus walked over to them to explain. “While you were out, we hired Flynn to keep us from falling behind.”

  “I’m Quinn 2.0,” Flynn said with a laugh, stretching his arms out.

  Quinn immediately hated him. “Nothing wrong with the original, guy.”

  “Oh.” Flynn’s face fell, his green eyes widening. “I didn’t mean that as a bad thing. You’re a legend around here, so it’s been an honor to temporarily fill your shoes.”

  Quinn said nothing, lifting his chin slightly and staring his competition down. But is he competition? Honestly, Quinn wasn’t sure why he felt such a fire in his gut over this. All he knew was he didn’t like this man.

  “He’s been a big help, Quinn,” Seamus said, defending his new right-hand man. “And the two of you will probably need to work together for a while so he can bring you up to speed. Once you’re on board, Flynn will work with me on the business end, while you take back the talent end.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Quinn agreed, despite the churning in his gut.

  This blond giant looked like he’d spent more time in the cage than on the sidelines, and there was a harshness to his features that looked like he had some stories to tell. None of that really bothered Quinn, but, rather, it was the way Flynn was so friendly with his father that irked him. He didn’t like the feeling of being so easily replaced, and that seemed to be exactly what had happened.

  “I’m going to go find Ma. She’s here, right?” Quinn headed for the office door, sidestepping the new Neanderthal.