His Brother's Keeper
“The what?” His head shifted back in surprise. “You’re replacing Charlie?”
She bristled. Yet another person who doubted her. “Yes. Is that a problem for you?”
“No.” He seemed to realize how rude he’d been and softened his tone. “Charlie’s a friend and he didn’t deserve to get fired.” He stared at her, clearly sorting a dozen thoughts at once. “Congratulations on the job, I guess.”
That was supposed to make her feel better?
“Thank you, I guess.” Despite her irritation and shock, she couldn’t help comparing the man before her with the one she’d last seen fifteen years ago. His square jaw, straight nose, strong mouth and storm-dark eyes seemed more striking, as if he’d grown into his features. He’d been big before, and confident, but now he was all muscle and totally in charge.
And very, very hot. She couldn’t help but notice that.
He took his own quick survey of her. Interest flared, then got put out, as if by a bucket of water. “What can I do for you?” He didn’t even try to smile.
“For starters, I couldn’t find a copy of our lease with you.”
“That’s because there isn’t one. Charlie wasn’t using the space so he offered it to me.”
“Okay.... Then how much rent do you pay?”
He shifted his weight, foot to foot, now looking uneasy. “Since I train some Discovery students, there’s no charge.”
“How many from Discovery?” She looked around the gym. Plenty of the twenty-some boys pounding the crap out of each other looked high-school age.
“Maybe ten. The rest come from North Central High.”
A short boy with fierce eyes approached them. “Can I fight Brian? I know I can beat him.”
“Then you know what you need to know. Fight above yourself, not below. And you’re supposed to be coaching.” G glanced around, his gaze landing on a boy huddled over a textbook. “Devin! Get your ass over here.”
The boy looked up. “But I’ve got math.”
“That’s why they call it homework. Alex will train takedowns with you.”
“Not him again,” Alex mumbled.
“What did I tell you? The master—”
“Learns from the pupil. Yeah.” He sighed.
Devin approached and G gripped his shoulder. “You lookin’ to get tossed in another Dumpster, homes?” The boy shook his head. “Then work on your hapkido escapes with Alex.” The two boys walked away.
G had made the boy quit his schoolwork to practice fighting? Unreal.
“So is that it?” G asked her. “Are we done?”
Almost. He had no lease and he paid no rent. All she had to do was tell him to leave. But that seemed too abrupt. “I can see you’re busy. When you finish for the day, stop by my office.”
“Can’t. Sorry. Got another job to get to.” His tone was dismissive, as though she was an annoyance, a fly buzzing over his sandwich.
“I won’t keep you long,” she said. “Stop by.” She didn’t wait for his response, simply left the gym for her office, but she felt his eyes on her all the way to the door.
It was so strange to see him now. Being back in Phoenix— especially in March—had brought Robert constantly to mind. The robbery had happened on March 4, three days away. And Robert’s funeral had fallen on the same date two years later.
She remembered walking toward the church, aware of all the new life—swollen buds on the cacti, tender leaves on the mesquite trees, baby quail like puff balls, scurrying after their parents beneath the sage hedges, and everywhere the perfume of orange blossoms.
Meanwhile, inside the dim, incense-heavy chapel, all was lifeless and still. Even the flowers that surrounded Robert’s casket, deceptively bright and vibrant, were dying. To this day, she regretted she’d let G intimidate her so much that she hadn’t dared go to the cemetery for a final goodbye.
And now, fifteen years later, here he was again. It all came back. Her hurt and anger at his hatred. Her guilt and remorse over what had happened with Robert.
And something else she hadn’t quite grasped until now.
She was still attracted to him.
The stupid truth was that she’d had a crush on G back then. He’d been seventeen to her fourteen, and tough and sexy and serious. Even though all he did was boss Robert around and give Felicity looks of disdain, she liked when he was there. He made her feel safe.
G was strong and smart and responsible. G did the right thing.
He’d helped her once. After a terrible fight with her mother, she’d swiped her mother’s keys and driven to Robert’s house, even though she’d been behind the wheel only twice and that had been sitting on Robert’s lap.
Misjudging a turn, she’d hit a streetlight, denting her mother’s Ford car. They were barely getting by. A car repair would have made her mother go ballistic. Already, they fought constantly.
“Are you hurt?”
She’d looked up from the steering wheel to find G leaning in her window. She shook her head, fought to hide her tears. He’d motioned her to the passenger side, then, without a word, drove her to a body shop and had a friend hammer out the dent. He’d even bought her a Slurpee while she waited and pretended he didn’t see her crying.
When they got to the house, he’d turned to her. “Don’t be stupid, chica.” His gaze had been as physical as a punch and it took her breath away. She saw that he wanted her.
They never said a word about it, but whenever their eyes met, he looked at her that way. With a jolt, she realized in that smelly gym, he’d done it again. And she was certain she’d looked at him exactly the same way.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU©LOOK LIKE YOU©SAW a ghost,” Conrad said to Gabe after Cici walked away.
“I guess I did. That was Robert’s girlfriend—the one who got him arrested and sent to Adobe Mountain, while she skated free and clear.” That had been the first domino in the terrible tumble that ended in Robert’s death two years later. “She’s the new principal, believe it or not.”
“Damn. I hope you were pleasant.”
“She caught me up short.” He’d been terse, which wouldn’t make her more inclined to cut him slack. “Now she wants to talk. About rent, I guess.” Which he couldn’t afford. With the twins’ beauty-school fees to pay, he barely made ends meet driving cab and working landscaping jobs.
“What the hell. You got time for a coffee first?”
“Nah. I’ve got to drive a shift. Why? You struggling?” Conrad was two years clean and sober, but he sometimes needed company when the urge to drink got bad.
“I meant so you could blow off steam.”
“And not step on my dick?”
“Pretty much. You’ve done the same for me.” Conrad had been a professional wrestler until booze broke him. Gabe had hired him, no questions asked, reading his recovery in his determined eyes and proud stance.
“I’ll behave. I have to. Close up for me, would you? I’d better allow some time to throw myself on her mercy.”
“Only if you swear you’ll count to ten before saying anything hard.”
He raised his right hand. “I’ll do my best.”
Later, heading down the hall to see her, he noticed his pulse kick up. She’d been cute as a kid. Now she was beautiful—short and shapely, and sexy as hell. Her voice was still girlish, but it had heft to it—like a creek with a powerful current beneath its deceptively bubbling surface.
She dressed well. No surprise. Expensive and formfitting, but classy. And it was still there—that vibration in his blood when he looked at her. Less than useless at the moment.
As he neared her office door, he saw she was bent over, dragging a cardboard box into the hall, the tight blue skirt riding high on a fine pair of legs—great muscle definition and a nicely balled calf. Runners’ calves were leaner, so maybe dancing. Tennis? Some regular activity that also did great things for her glutes, now that he looked more closely.
Mm-mm-mm.
He realized he was staring like a teenager and jolted forward. “I’ll get that.” He bent for the box, but she held on, lifting with him, despite the fact the carton had about a hundred pounds of books and she was in heels.
She had color in her face from bending and her hair floated around her head like duck down. Her eyes were that same unusual color—big, bright and blue.
She gave off a familiar sweet smell.
Same as in her car the day she’d dented it. He’d figured the scent came from all the candy jewelry she wore back then. Except today she wore a gold locket and an expensive-looking watch, no candy beads to be seen.
She seemed to realize it was dumb to wrestle with him and let go of the carton. “If you’d put it on the table in the hall, I’d appreciate it.”
“Those, too?” He nodded at the boxes stacked in her doorway.
“Please. I’m going to set up a faculty library.” She tucked her shirt into her waistband. It wasn’t low-cut or lacy, but it hugged her shape like something a stripper might shimmy out of.
When he finished, she was sitting behind Charlie’s battered steel desk, which had been spiffed up. She’d dusted the computer Charlie never touched and replaced his stacks with a neat rack of color-coded folders, a legal pad and pen at the ready, and some goofy desk toys—small magnetized pieces of metal that could be shaped into a sculpture, an acrylic box of blue water over white sand balanced on a pointed pedestal, tiny Tinkertoys, small cans of Play-Doh and a gel-and-glitter-filled wand. A magic wand? Really?
He stood across from her, hands on his hip. “You kept Charlie’s poster.” He nodded behind her at the shot of Marcus Moreno, MMA star, with the fighter’s description of what made a champion.
“I haven’t finished redecorating. Have a seat please.”
He wanted to say, Just say your piece, but knew he had to seem friendly, so he sat, scooted closer to the desk and softened his expression. His sisters said he always looked too fierce.
He touched the water box, setting it rocking. “This is cool.”
“Desk toys reduce anxiety, ease tension and boost creative problem-solving abilities.”
“And cast spells?” He picked up the pink wand and waved it in the air.
“You’re missing the point.” She took it from him, her fingers soft against his for an instant. He felt a small jolt. Her eyes shot to his, wide with surprise. Damn. It was mutual.
“Watch.” She tilted the wand between her fingers so the pink beads and bits of glitter and stars slid slowly downward, then up again. It was kind of hypnotic, but he kept getting distracted by the sight of her breasts just past the wand. “See? Soothing, right?”
Depends where you look. He cleared his throat. “Like magic.”
She set the wand on her desk and smiled uncertainly, her face now pink. He’d made her nervous, he could tell. “It was a shock to see you.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Let’s get to the point so I can get out.
“How have you been?”
She wanted to chitchat? “Good. You?”
“I’ve been good. And your mother? How is she?”
Now she cared? She hadn’t given a crap while she was getting Robert to steal jewelry for her, keeping him out all night, scaring their mom to death. After Robert’s murder, his mother had dissolved into painkillers, becoming a shadow for five long years, her eyes empty even when they were open. She’d gotten clean, but relapsed again. For the past five years, she’d been solid, thank God.
“She’s fine,” he said flatly.
Cici’s smile faltered, but she rattled on. “Gosh, your sisters must be in college by now.”
That’s it. The twins were none of her business. “Look, let’s skip the small talk and get to the point.”
She recoiled as though he’d slapped her, her cheeks flaring red. Before he could apologize, she recovered. “The point,” she snapped, “is that I need your gym for my after-school program. Without a lease, I could make it effective today, but I’ll give you two weeks to find another location and move.”
This was worse than he’d expected. Much worse.
“In the meantime, I need to see the liability waivers for each student. Mr. Hopkins doesn’t appear to have held on to our copies.”
“You’re kicking us out?”
“Yes. That is my point.” Her blue eyes lit with fire, her chin was up, her jaw firm, no give at all. “I’m sure you can find a more appropriate venue for a fight club than a middle school.”
Anger flashed like a series of struck matches along his nerves. There were no venues he could afford, appropriate or otherwise. Not nearby, anyway. “What about the Discovery kids I train?”
“They’ll join my program. We offer tutors, workshops, guest speakers and other enrichment activities.”
“My guys aren’t into any of that.”
“That’s no wonder, considering your attitude.”
“What does that mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You made Devin fight when he had homework to do. This is a school. Studying comes first.”
“Are you kidding? Devin lives for homework. What he needs is the balls to defend himself from bullies.”
“So you teach him to be a bigger one?”
“Bullying is a head game. To beat it, you need better game. Trust me, without STRIKE, Devin Muller’s back to getting swirlies in the girls’ john.”
“These kids experience enough violence in their lives without you teaching them how to do it better.”
He gave a half laugh. “What I teach them is self- discipline, self-control and physical confidence. They fight in my gym, not the streets.”
She held his gaze. “A good principal’s focus has to be on helping students perform better in school.”
“A good principal knows kids need different approaches and trusts her staff to do what works for each kid.”
“You’re not on my staff, G.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “It’s Gabe or Coach Cassidy. No one calls me G.” Robert had given Gabe the nickname to make him sound more gangster. Hearing it was like sandpaper on a sunburn. “Look, Charlie was a great principal. He got fired for defending the kids no matter what scores showed up in the newspaper.”
“You assume I won’t stand up for my students?” Clearly riled, she tapped her desk with a short wooden dowel from the Tinkertoys.
“All I know is that Charlie got done in by politics. You’re clearly better connected than he was.”
She sucked in a breath. “My uncle had nothing to do with me getting this job.”
“Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?” Where the hell had that come from?
She blinked, startled. “Phil Evers is my— But that’s not the point—”
“Wait. The superintendent is your uncle? Oh, I get it. Phil Evers’s niece needs a job, so Charlie gets the boot.”
“That is not true.” Her face went from milk-white to bright red. “Phil wouldn’t know me on sight—not that it’s any of your business. My program works. That’s why I was hired. And I will implement it no matter what obstacles I have to jump, sidestep or knock to the ground.” She was completely fired up, ready to fight—body tensed, jaw locked, eyes hot, lips a stubborn line.
Part of him—his caveman soul—enjoyed seeing her this way, wanted to go chest to chest with her, hip to hip, thigh to thi— Uh, forget that.
He was chagrined to realize that this entire time the undercurrent of sexual attraction had been humming through him like a supercharged V-8 on idle, ready to blast to life, zero to sixty in four seconds flat.
Enough. He lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. You’ve got something to prove. All I’m saying is that kicking out STRIKE won’t help.”
“It might. Parents have complained that you condone gang activity.”
“That is total bullshit. STRIKE is what keeps half my kids out of gangs. I don’t allow gang colors, signs or talk in my gym. And who complained? Beatrice Milton? The parent-group lady? She’s pissed because she wanted the space for her craft business.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe boxing is appropriate in a school.”
“I coach Muay Thai, which is a revered martial art, for your information. And you’re flat-out wrong. You don’t know this neighborhood or these kids, what their lives are like, what they need.”
“I’ve studied and worked with at-risk kids for several years. And I used to live near here, too, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, I remember, all right. You were slumming and when things went bad you beat it out of town in a hurry.”
“My mother got a job in Flagstaff, so we moved.” She was breathing hard, turning a glass paperweight over and over in her hand.
He considered telling her exactly what her spoiled selfishness had done to Robert and his family, but that wouldn’t help his cause. “Look, I’m sure you mean well, but a lot of these kids have messed-up lives. School is not a priority.” Gabe softened his tone, fighting to stay calm. “STRIKE changes that. They have to go to school, get good grades and stay out of trouble. They gain physical and mental skills every day. At the very least, they forget for a few hours all the crap they endure trying to survive around here.”
He stopped, breathing hard, blood pounding in his skull. He’d raised his voice at the end and was leaning across the desk glaring at her.
She didn’t back down, he’d give her that. She had a muscle-bound, tatted-up cholo yelling in her face, and she hadn’t called the police or even flinched.
“You’re obviously very passionate about your gym,” she said. “I respect that, but that doesn’t change my decision.”
He stared at her.
“Find a place that wants you, Gabe. You’ll be better off and so will we.”
Frustration boiled inside him. His stomach churned, his muscles tightened, ready to fight. Count to ten before you say something hard. He was too pissed to count. “Look, I need to get to work now,” he said, pushing to his feet. “We’ll have to talk later.”
“I believe I made my point. Two weeks. Be sure I get those waivers.”
Waivers? Charlie never gave him any waivers.
Gabe stalked off, fuming. Damn it all to hell. This was worse than getting let go from the South Mountain recreation-director job. They’d claimed the position suddenly required a college degree, but the real deal was that a scary-looking half-Mexican dude didn’t present the right image for the yuppies the city wanted to attract from the pricey houses that had recently been built. He’d seen their point, but that didn’t mean he’d liked it.
He’d been low until he got word about Kurt’s bequest and Charlie had offered him the space for the gym. That had been the silver lining to losing the job. It was a way to honor Robert. Every kid he trained was Robert to him and that felt worthwhile. Corny as it sounded, that meant more than the ego stroke or cash from the city job.
And now he might lose it all. Talk about a kick in the teeth. And from Cici, of all people. She’d wrecked his brother and now she was going after him. If he weren’t so pissed, he might laugh.
What would he do? Try to find another space? Scrape up rent somehow? That would take a while, and what would happen to Alex in the meantime? Or the boys from North Central? Or, hell, Devin?
Nothing good, that was certain. Gang life loomed always, ever ready to sink its claws into his boys, like a lion peeling off the weak from a herd.
He stopped walking and gathered himself together. He never backed down from a fight. He tended to butt his head against the wall until the wall gave or he passed out from blood loss. To win with Cici, he’d have to be smart, think outside the box.
Not easy for him. It was funny. He’d wanted to be a lawyer, work in civil rights, help the underdog, until he’d had to quit school to support his family. He knew now he would have made a lousy lawyer. Lawyers compromised, made deals, sold out, gave in. That was not Gabe’s way. Not at all.
What would get through to Felicity Spencer? He had no idea, but he’d better figure it out before he and his boys ended up on the street.
FELICITY STABBED©AT©A Tinkertoy wheel with a red dowel, her hands still shaking, her breathing coming fast and hard. She was still angry. And hurt, if she were honest with herself.
She dropped her head to her desk. You let him get to you. He’d accused her of running away, of slumming.
As if she and her mother were living in that run-down, bug-infested apartment for fun. As if Felicity couldn’t wait to attend that seriously scary middle school. They’d been utterly broke after her father’s business failed and her parents’ marriage fell apart. That apartment had been all they could afford.
After the case settled, she’d been relieved when a friend offered her mother a bookkeeping job in Flagstaff. Who wouldn’t be happier living in a better neighborhood, going to a nicer school? And Felicity had been glad to leave the kids who knew what had happened to her and Robert.
That didn’t mean she didn’t understand what these kids faced. She knew to her bones what it was like to feel ashamed and afraid and trapped because you were poor. And she knew how to help them. She had piles of research and fieldwork to support her system. Gabe was wrong about her.
She tried to jam the dowel into the spoke opening, but it wouldn’t go. What the hell? She threw the pieces across her office.
Settle down. Get control.
Anger was her enemy. Her father was an angry man, and Felicity refused to be like him in any way. She wouldn’t define herself by her net worth or wallow in self-pity or lose her temper when things went wrong the way he did.
She made herself take a slow, deep breath and forced a smile, since the gesture automatically reduced tension.
She regretted what she’d blurted about her uncle. Now Gabe had joined the crowd who thought she’d got the job because of who she knew, not what she’d achieved. So infuriating. So unfair.
Let it go. So what? Her work would prove her worth to the district doubters, to her staff, to the Discovery parents, even to Gabe Cassidy. She always worked hard, strove to be the best. That was the point, wasn’t it? To be better every day.
Gabe’s accusations stung all the same.
Of course, she realized teens would be more challenging than elementary kids. Peer pressure meant far more to them. On top of that, Discovery Charter was a last-chance school for last-chance kids. So it wouldn’t be easy. She knew that. What if she failed? What if Gabe was right?
She swiveled back and forth in her chair and noticed the poster Gabe had commented on. It was of a fighter, for God’s sake. That was the last thing she needed in here. She yanked it down and marched it to the tall trash can she’d been filling with Charlie’s useless junk.
The quote at the bottom snagged her attention:
Champions are built, not born.
The drive comes from inside, fed by dreams, fueled by desire.
Champions fight harder, longer, faster than all the rest.
They have the moves, yeah, but what counts is the heart.
A champion’s heart beats a rhythm only he hears.
El corazón es todo—the heart is all.
That was kind of touching, actually. Without thinking it through, she rolled the poster into a tube and set it in the corner to deal with later.
THE NEXT©AFTERNOON, Gabe arrived at the gym an hour later than usual. He’d asked Conrad to start training because he’d had to pick up the engraved marble vase his family would add to Robert’s grave when they visited on the anniversary of Robert’s funeral in two days.
As he pulled up to the school, he noticed that his fighters were crowded onto the sidewalk, marching and carrying signs. Picket signs. What the hell?
He got out of the car, his eyes scanning the slogans, all drawn in Alex’s fat-cap graffiti style. Jorge Largo’s said Kids Need Gyms. Digger Jones carried Strike Back for STRIKE. Tony Lizardi jiggled On Strike for STRIKE.
The boys were chanting, responding to Victor’s shouts from a mic hooked to a boom box. “What do we want?” he yelled.
“STRIKE back!”
“When do we want it?”
“Now!”