Page 74 of After Indigo Irish Nights
Seamus was wrong. He’d need more than his head emptied. She’d filled his chest up too. Only…
He didn’t want to empty out her love. He would let it fill his entire being so he could win tonight’s fight.
But first he would handle other matters. As he drove back to the boxing club, he called Liam. “Kathleen wouldn’t let me go inside.”
“And I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Liam answered. “She had things needing saying. Declan, I can’t control Owen’s actions, but I am sorry it happened. We’ve discussed adding a better lock to the shed and some cameras. We’ll look out for her, especially now that we know to be vigilant.”
The tension in his chest receded some. “I’m going to ask Kathleen to stay at Summercrest after the fight tonight.” He’d been too caught up in the moment to think of it.
“That’s good. A word to the wise… Tell her you want her with you. Don’t make this about her safety. Her sense of toughness will rebel.”
Yoda always knew. “You’re right. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
When he entered the club, Paul and his manager were already there. He strode over and shook hands with the other boxer as someone from one of the county newspapers took their photo. Paul’s grip was firm, his eyes assessing. Declan held his gaze as they sized each other up.
“Been a while, McGrath,” Paul said as they released the lengthy clasp. “I thought you were only punching beef in the meat locker these days.”
“Cows aren’t proper opponents.” He set his weight. “Men are better.”
Paul’s mouth lifted up on the side. “Word has it your trainers have you catching stones. That’s more for building a rock wall, I’d be thinking.”
The posturing was like cold water on a hot day. “The stones are for a fair more than for walls. It helps a man take a wallop in the hands, you see.” He held up his battered fists. “I’ll see you in the ring.”
He headed off to his locker room, hearing steps behind him. Inside, he turned and smiled at his father. “I’ve missed that.”
“You’re still good at it.” His dad blew out a breath. “Just a whisper of violence in your words, son. You must get that from your mother. Sometimes her very way of saying things makes my balls shrivel.”
Frowning, Declan stalked the length of the small concrete room painted a deep green. “I hate the waiting before the fight. We used to play cards.”
His father dug into his pocket and pulled out a deck. Giving him a crooked smile, he said, “I brought them in case.”
He knew his father wouldn’t ask him about Kathleen. He would hear what had happened from the others. They all wanted him to focus.Hewanted to focus.
They grabbed two chairs and used the athletic table for a few hands of Twenty-five. When Eoghan entered, he exclaimed, “Deal me in the next game.”
“Kathleen still all right?” Declan asked as the man joined in.
“She’s in a fine temper, but yes, she’s well.” Eoghan nudged him in the side. “Concentrate on the fight. That’s what she wants.”
He nodded. Word must have been spread not to visit him in the locker room because no one else joined them. His father and Eoghan left a few times to check on things or bring him more water to drink, but he was never left alone, and cards were always being played. He’d long since lost track of who was winning overall.
When someone knocked on the door—hard—he knew it was time. The locker room wasn’t equipped with a clock on purpose. His belly tightened and he took a deep breath as he laid his cards aside and stood up. The green boxing club robe he wore was about as thin as his skin. His flesh would be tested today. No amount of sparring could ever compete with a real fight.
“You’re going to do grand,” Eoghan said, lifting his hands and punching them gently. “Let’s put on your gloves.”
When the door cracked open, Declan saw someone crooking a finger toward Eoghan. He frowned as the older man hustled out. He didn’t know why he knew, but he felt certain that finger meant trouble.
Eoghan reentered the room no more than a minute later, his mouth awash in wrinkles from his severe frown.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You’d best be knowing it before you walk out there,” he said, shaking his head woefully. “Jimmy Slavin has come to watch you fight.”
He stopped breathing.
“He’s sitting next to Owen Kincaid, I’m told, who strode in bold as brass and introduced himself to Jimmy. They’re looking downright chummy.”
His father swore as Declan’s breath left him. “Did Owen do anything to Kathleen?”
