Triplets Under the Tree

Not a mistake. Billions of dollars flowed through his company. It was dizzying. He should have paid more attention to the balances of his accounts when Caitlyn had transferred control of his estate back to him at his lawyer’s office the other day.

No wonder Caitlyn hadn’t taken the first opportunity to get out of Dodge when he’d offered to relieve her of baby duty. He could easily give her eight or nine figures for her trouble and never think twice about it, which was probably what she was hoping for. She seemed to genuinely care about the children, but everyone wanted something, and that something tended to be money.

“I want to see the training facility,” Antonio announced abruptly.

“Absolutely.” Thomas led the way to the adjacent building.

Energy bolted through his body as he anticipated climbing between the ropes. That had been his sole purpose in coming here and it had thus far been eclipsed by a slow slide back into Businessman Antonio.

Which didn’t seem as bad as it once might have.

Maybe part of his journey lay in coupling both halves of his soul—the fighter and the suit—under one banner. But it wouldn’t be today. He needed to get his wits about him, what few remained, and the ring was the only place where he’d experienced any peace in the past year.

As he entered the training facility, Antonio’s lungs hitched as his eye was drawn to the equipment closet, to the three rings, one with a regulation metal cage surrounding it, to the workout area. Exactly where he’d known they would all be placed. Because he truly remembered, or because he’d modeled the layout on another facility from before the career-ending knockout?

Eager to find out, he strode through the cavernous room, drawing the attention of the muscled men—and surprisingly, a few women—engaged in various activities. One by one, weights drifted to the ground and sparring partners halted, gloves down, as they stared at him.

“That’s right,” he called to the room at large. “I’ve arisen from my watery grave. Who’s brave enough to go a round with a ghost?”

“Cavallari, you sly dog.” A grinning Hispanic male, early twenties, jogged over from his spot at a weight bench and punched Antonio on the arm as if he’d done it often. “They told us you were dead. What have you been doing, hiding out to get back in professional shape without any pressure? Smart.”

What a ridiculous notion. Ridiculously brilliant. Maybe he’d adopt it as his easy out if the media did start harassing him about his whereabouts over the past year.

“Hey, Rodrigo,” Caitlyn called, and when Antonio glanced at her, she winked, and then murmured under her breath, “Rodrigo was a good friend. Before.”

When they got home, he’d treat her to the most expensive bottle of wine in his cellar. And then when she was good and looped, he’d carefully extract her real agenda.

No matter how much she seemed to love his kids, no one did nice things without a motive. He wanted to know what hers was.

“Are you my volunteer?” Antonio jerked his head at the nearest ring, eyes on his potential sparring partner.

“Sure, boss.” Rodrigo shadowboxed a couple of jabs at Antonio’s gut. “Like old times. Just go easy on me if your secret training put you out of my league.”

Rodrigo’s grin belied the seriousness of the statement—did he not believe Antonio had actually trained over the past year or did he assume that regardless, they’d still be matched in skill? Apparently, they’d sparred before and had been on pretty equal ground.

“Likewise,” Antonio commented, mirroring Rodrigo’s grin because it felt expected. Honestly, he had no idea how they’d match up. He couldn’t wait to find out.

Something inside rotated into place, as if two gears had been grinding together haphazardly, and all at once, the teeth aligned, humming like a well-oiled machine.

His headache had almost receded and if God had been listening to his pleas at all, the next few minutes would knock loose a precious memory or two.

* * *

Before long, Antonio had slipped into the shorts Caitlyn had insisted he bring from home. She watched him face off against Rodrigo in the large ring, both men bare-chested and barefoot. It hadn’t taken the office grapevine but about five minutes to circulate the news that Antonio Cavallari was both back and in the ring. Nearly everyone from FFC’s administrative building had crowded into the training facility and around the cage with expectant faces, murmuring about Antonio’s return.

You couldn’t have pried most of the women’s gazes from Antonio with a crowbar, Caitlyn’s included, though she at least tried to hide it. But he was magnificent, sinewy and hard, with that fierce tattoo so prominent against his golden body. His still-longish hair was slicked back from his forehead, highlighting his striking eyes as they glittered like black diamonds.