Page 48 of 1 Last Shot

"I was just asking what Kane does for work," she says, face still bright red.

“And that could’ve been answered with a simple ‘he throws people down stairs,’” Aiden says pointedly. “Yet, somehow, you got a whole story.”

Isabella glares at him. The sight of it–especially not aimed atme–makes a grin form on my lips.

Fuck, she’s sexy.

Isabella quirks an eyebrow in Aiden’s direction. “Should I ask him to throwyoudown the stairs?”

"Well, that's not very live laugh love of you," I murmur quietly, my smirk coming out in full force.

I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth, because my not-quite-so-quiet comment has every person's shock zeroing in on me.

"Did you… did you just make ajoke?" Aiden asks incredulously. His head whips back to Isabella. “What did youdoto him?”

I can only cough into my fist and glare at him, promising, without words, a very painful training session.

"Alright everybody, enough chit chat," Jax interrupts, clapping his hands together. I can't tell if he's purposefully trying to save me from an Aiden interrogation, or if he's just trying to start class, but either way, I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Izzy, you ready to go?" I hear Hailey ask.

I see Jax frown at the nickname. “Sorry, I should’ve asked. Do you prefer to go by Izzy?”

A light blush stains Isabella's cheeks, and she sends a glance my way. I know she’s remembering our conversation about her name, even as she tries to shrug it off. "It's the nickname everyone uses for me. Isabella is too much of a mouthful."

No, it's not. Fuck no, it's not.

But I don't say that out loud. I don't correct her that Isabella is theonlything she should be called, that the nickname "Izzy" isn't even in the realm of something fitting for her. I simply give her a hard stare to convey a message along the lines ofbullshit, and then I'm turning to walk down the mat into the bag room.

I don't catch Hailey's knowing look, or the way Isabella lets out the breath she was holding as she waited for me to say something.

* * *

It's late when I get home. Tristan put us all through the wringer tonight, making us do an entire bag workoutbeforethrowing us into a shark tank drill.

It's rare that I'm not exhausted after a workout, since I prefer to push my body to the brink, but it's not often that I'm so tired, I can barely gather enough energy to take Oscar for a walk. Thank God I'm not working tonight, because there's a good chance I would fall asleep if they put me on camera watch duty.

I force myself to feed Oscar, take a shower as he's eating, and then take him for a short walk after he's done. By the time I get back to my apartment, it's almost 7 p.m. I have to drag myself into the kitchen to make some semblance of dinner.

But just as I'm pulling a strip steak out of the fridge and readying to throw it in a pan, I hear my phone ring.

Frowning, I reach for the iPhone on my counter. Unknown number.

It's weird enough that someone's calling me this late, but for it to be a random, non-800 number is even weirder.

I swipe the green button on the screen. "Hello?"

"Kane."

An icy chill runs through me from just that—from nothing but my name.

I swallow the rock lodged in my throat. “Mom. What do you want?"

A laugh sounds from the other end of the line. It's gritty, and rough-sounding. Like she hasn't laughed a real laugh in years. She probably hasn't.

“What, not even a hello?” she asks.

I don’t bother responding.

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