Saving a Legend: A Kavanagh Legends Novel by Sarah Robinson

side to side for his viewing pleasure. He glanced down at his hand, which unexpectedly held a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he saw Trixie’s name in pink, encircled by little hearts, plus her phone number.

    His upper lip curled in disgust as he realized he hadn’t seen her write it, and that, considering her attire, there was nowhere on her body she could have hidden a pen. The slight warmth of the paper told him it had probably been tucked into her clothes, along with who knows how many copies, as if this was something she did all the time.
    Yeah, definitely not the kind of girl he wanted.
    Two years ago, he would’ve been fine with it. He would have used her for a night and parted ways, never to think of her again. In all likelihood, she would have done the same. Now when he looked at her over-the-top girly handwriting, all he could think of was Fiona and how he would be willing to bet she’d never do something like this. He didn’t think she worked out at all—Fiona was slim but with very little muscle mass. If she did come to a gym, he knew she’d be all business, not carrying around little bits of paper with her phone number inside her bra.
    “Ready to spar?” Tate walked up to him, bringing him out of his head. He’d spent many a night back in the day getting blitzed with Tate and others, and they had managed to find their way into all sorts of trouble. Tate had even been there the night Kieran was arrested. He was a total asshole, and everyone knew it.
    “Let’s do it.” Kieran nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to hit something. Tate’s cocky face would be as good as any punching bag. Crumpling the note, he tossed it into the nearest trash can.
    “What was that?” Tate asked as they walked to the nearest cage.
    “Just some chick’s number.”

    Tate looked incredulous. “And you tossed it?”
    Kieran shrugged, saying nothing. It didn’t really seem like a big deal, and he wasn’t sure what Tate was getting at.
    “Kieran, it’s a chick. Guaranteed pussy! Why the hell would you turn that down? Especially after just being without it for a couple years.” Tate’s jaw was almost reaching his chest.
    “Not interested.”
    “Oh, shit!” Tate’s hand flew to his mouth, not hiding a wide grin very well. “I get it now. Damn, didn’t expect that from the Killer, but hey, whatever works for you, man.”
    Kieran frowned, turning to look at Tate. “What are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about you being a fag,” Tate sneered.
    Kieran’s head jolted back as if someone had just smacked him, and he stopped in his tracks. Tate had always been crude, but this was going too far.
    “I’m not gay, asshole.” Clenching his fists, Kieran tried to breathe evenly. He’d spent his entire prison sentence keeping away from those types of activities and refused to be accused of it now. He had no issue with people living their lives the way they wanted, but he was as straight as they come.
    “Did I hurt the queer’s feelings? Aw, I’m so sorry.” Tate laughed. “Must be so hard being around all those men in prison, so hard to decide who to let plow you in the ass first.”
    In less than a second, Kieran had turned to face the bullying brute and had slammed his forearm into Tate’s throat. Pushing him backward, he pinned him against the concrete gym wall with one thick arm. Tate squirmed and pulled at Kieran’s locked arm with both of his hands, unsuccessfully.

    “How I was ever friends with you is a mystery to me,” Kieran said, his eyes burning a hole through Tate.
    “Fuck, let go,” Tate gasped, struggling to breathe and still clawing at Kieran’s arm.
    “Don’t be such a shithead, Tate, or next time I won’t be so fucking forgiving,” Kieran said through gritted teeth less than an inch from Tate’s reddening face. “I don’t want to be the one to teach you some damn manners, but if you throw around words like that in my family’s gym again, I will.”
    “Kieran!” He