“Bye, mhuirnín,” he said as he returned to her bedside, fully clothed, and kissed her again. He lingered as their lips tangled together, his hand on her cheek.

She finally broke their kiss. “See you later.”

“You better,” he teased, before he left the bedroom and located his jacket by the front door.

Slipping a hand into his pocket, he found his latest bottle of medication and pulled it out, staring at it. He peeked back at the bedroom, tucking the bottle back in his pocket before leaving the apartment. He was surprised that he hadn’t needed to take some pills before falling asleep last night, and nor had he woken up craving any.

As he walked down the stairs of Clare’s apartment building, he stretched his legs and felt the stiffness in his knee. Shockingly, it wasn’t too bad; only a slight ache reminded him of his injury. He pushed the pills deeper into his pocket, rolling the bottle around in his hand as he thought about it.

He had enjoyed the fact that there were many doctors among the members of Legends who were convinced, with some strong-arming, to write him numerous prescriptions. After all, he was the son of Seamus Kavanagh and one would be hard-pressed to find a man in Woodlawn arrogant enough to oppose the leader of the Kavanagh empire.

Rory didn’t often like to use his father’s name to call in favors, but he needed these pills. If he had to scare a few doctors, and toss around his father’s reputation of running with the Westies back in the seventies, then so be it. While the Irish Mafia had died down almost two decades ago, the few members left scattered throughout New York City carried both respect and fear for Seamus, making sure everyone else did, too.

The Seamus that Rory knew wasn’t an ex-mobster, though, or even frightening. The father he had always known was loving, but tough. He was a ruthless businessman, but generous to a fault. Rory had always admired him, hoping to emulate him one day, but mostly hoping to earn his respect. Yet here he was, fingers clutched around a small bottle of pills.

He wasn’t living up to his father’s strength and fortitude.

The legend that he had always wanted to become.

—

Rory sighed as he finally arrived back at his apartment, fiddling with his keys in the door and pushing the bottle even deeper into his jacket pocket. He knew he had to hurry to shower and change, then go train Kane, so he didn’t have any time to dwell on the mess he had made of his life. Maybe making his brother a champion fighter would finally make their father proud. Maybe that was how he would live up to the legend his father had created.

Ace ran to him, wagging his tail eagerly. Rory scratched him behind his ears, suddenly realizing that staying with Clare all night had left Ace without a trip outside for way too long.

“Shit, sorry, bud.” Ace didn’t seem to mind too much, but he was casting longing looks toward the door.

Leashing the dog, Rory turned and headed back outside for a few minutes, then, once back inside, trudged over to where he stored Ace’s food and scooped some into his dish. Satisfied to see Ace enjoying his breakfast, Rory turned and tossed his keys onto the kitchen table of his home, eyeing a bottle of whiskey sitting forgotten.

Clare’s words suddenly began playing in his mind. “I’m so tired of the constant pity party you’re always throwing yourself. As if I can’t smell the alcohol on you. As if we all can’t, every single day. You have an amazing life—why would you not want to experience it?”

Rory’s cheeks burned hot at the reminder, gluing his feet to the floor as he stood and stared down the bottle of whiskey. Feeling the pills in his pocket, he pulled out the bottle again and placed it on the table next to the whiskey. Pulling off his coat, he slung it over a chair and took a deep breath.

Finding some momentum, he turned and briskly relocated to the bedroom, pulling open his nightstand drawer and scooping up all the prescription bottles inside. There were way too many. Bringing them back out to the kitchen, he set them all on the table with the other.

He made the trip a few times around his apartment, finding more bottles of pills and alcohol in obscure locations, where he had hidden them. His kitchen table became filled to capacity as every inch of the small surface was lined with different types of bottles. When he was finished collecting, he pulled out a chair and sat in front of all the bottles and stared back at them.

Ace plodded over to him, dropping down in a pile of fur at his feet and beginning to snore in record time. Rory’s knee was now throbbing; the surprisingly dull ache from earlier had intensified, and now it was all he could concentrate on. The last time he had taken pills was before the meet last night, and they had long since worn off.

Maybe he didn’t need the drugs as much as he thought he did. Maybe the pain was mostly in his head. After all, when he had woken up, it hadn’t been as bad as it usually was. Standing up slowly, he flexed his leg, testing the level of pain. He winced instantly as pain shot up through his thigh and into his torso.

It wasn’t just in his head.

Forcing the pain out of his mind as much as possible, he paced over to the kitchen sink, reached under, and pulled out a fresh trash bag. Shaking it open, he returned to the table and scooped armfuls of alcoholic and prescription pill bottles into the bag until the surface was clear. Twisting and tying the top, he told Ace to stay there as he headed to the front door.

He was in pain. Hell, this is excruciating pain, he thought.

But he wanted to change. He wanted to be the person Clare knew he could be. He wanted to be the legend his father was. He wanted to be so many things that he couldn’t ever reach while he was still under the thumb of booze and pills.

This was it.

He was done.

Chapter 9

“Well, if it isn’t Cinderella!” Kane shouted as Rory limped into the building more than an hour late, with Ace by his side.

“Wrong fucking fairy tale, idiot,” Rory snapped back, marching right past him to the locker room. He did his best to walk straight, but his leg was vibrating with pain, which put a slight limp in his step.

Kane wasn’t finished and followed him into the room, angrily.

“Fine. Sleeping Beauty, Snow White—pick whatever pansy-ass princess you want. Point is that you are late. Again. Over an hour this time. Again!” His brother was angrier than Rory had seen him in a while.

“All right, I’m sorry. Shit, why are you so worked up?”

“You’re kidding, right? My first fight is less than two weeks away, Rory.”

“I know. You’ll be ready.” Rory finished changing and pulled a clean towel off the rack and headed back out of the locker room toward the rings.

“How will I be ready when my trainer isn’t training me? When he comes in an hour late reeking of—what is that, whiskey?”

“Good nose.” Rory tried to lighten the tension as he climbed into the ring and motioned for Kane to join him.

He knew that even though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since yesterday afternoon, detoxing could still make him smell like booze. Ace had followed them back out to the ring and sat by the sidelines, watching the brothers argue.

“I’m serious, Rory. This isn’t a damn joke to me.”

“Man, I know. I get it, okay? I remember before my first fight, too. Tell you what—we’ll work extra this week to prepare. Make you feel like the world spins on your damn fingertip, all right?”

“Well, okay. But that means twice a day, and no being late.” Kane was appeased for a moment. Rory just tossed him some gloves, then pulled on some of his own. He kept a blank face, trying to hide what he was really thinking.