Page 5 of Beautiful Trauma

“Thanks, Andrew.” With a shake of my head, I added, “I know you’re new, but you don’t need to call me sir.”

“But, sir–”

“Despite what my brothers might have you do,myorders are not to call me sir.” Flashing him a smile, I added, “It’s just Kellan. You don’t even have to do Mr. Kavanaugh.”

He grimaced. “As you wish.”

Although he’d just come over from Belfast, Andrew had been working with our family there for years. Since he was in his mid-forties, it was even more odd hearing him call me sir.

At the sound of the elevator doors sliding open, I rose up on the bench. My younger brother, Eamon, came striding through our family’s private gym with his usual swagger.

“Hey cocksucker, your giant math brain is needed upstairs,” he greeted me.

With a snort, I replied, “Good morning to you too, Eamon.”

He tossed a towel at me. “It’s never a good morning when Callum is losing his shit before nine in the morning.”

Wincing, I said, “Someone skimming with their shipments?”

“Looks like it.”

Nodding, I stood up. As he did a slow appraisal of me, Eamon let out a low whistle. “Fuck, boyo, you’ve gone and gotten absolutely shredded,” he remarked with a look of pride.

With a chuckle, I swept the towel across my sweaty brow. “Thanks for noticing.”

His wide eyes continued taking me in. “No lie. I think you might give Quinn a run for his money.”

“I doubt that.”

I started to pull a fresh shirt over my head when Eamon’s words froze me. “I would love to see the look on Reagan’s face when she sees your revenge bod.”

My chest clenched at the mention of my ex-fiancee. While it might’ve been six months, the wounds her infidelity had caused me had yet to heal. Ours was more than a typical arranged marriage. Although my uncle Seamus had brokered an alliance between me and Reagan’s family–the powerful New York Brady’s, we began dating like any normal couple would.

In the year leading up to our marriage, we fell for each other.

Or at least I did.

And then the happy facade all came tumbling down when an unknown source sent me photographs of Reagan and her bodyguard in many compromising positions.

I don’t know why I was surprised. I seemed to have a fucking gift for picking the wrong women or falling in love at the wrong time. Like my ex Mabry. After dating a year, I was ready to get married, but she wasn’t. She wanted to finish school and start a career. Even though we both cared about each other very much, we just wanted different things out of life at that moment.

Then there were the ones who wanted me only for the Kavanaugh name and our wealth. Ones who only wanted to fuck me.

Since then, I’d been losing myself not only in the gym, but in random hookups that left me feeling emotionally defeated. Although I’d tried to keep my brothers in the dark about my suffering, I apparently hadn’t hidden my pain as well as I thought.

Sliding my mask back into place, I rolled my eyes at Eamon. “Like I give a shite about what she thinks.”

Eamon snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

He clapped me on the back. “Boyo, you’re good at a lot of things, but lying isn’t one of them.”

Feeling even more raw and exposed, I shoved him away. “Fuck you.”

Eamon pinned me with a glare. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Don’t what?” I challenged.