Chasing a Legend

  Chasing a Legend is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Robinson

  Excerpt from Mr. Big by Delancey Stewart copyright © 2017 by Delancey Stewart

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Mr. Big by Delancey Stewart. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9781101968833

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: Halay Alex/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Sarah Robinson

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Mr. Big

  Dear Readers,

  Welcome back to the Kavanagh Legends, a series that revolves around the Kavanagh family, a rough-and-tumble band of Irish brothers in the Woodlawn neighborhood of the Bronx who own and operate a mixed martial arts gym—and get themselves into all sorts of trouble.

  Chasing a Legend is the fourth book and it takes place approximately three years after the third book in the series, Becoming a Legend.

  During this gap in time a lot of wonderful things have happened in the Kavanagh family, most notably the addition of the first Kavanagh grandchild, Rory and Clare’s son, Murphy. (Rory and Clare star in Breaking a Legend.) Grandparents Seamus and Dee are overjoyed and can’t wait for the rest of their kids to give them more grandchildren. Kieran and Fiona are still happily married, raising Shea, Fiona’s little sister with special needs (from Saving a Legend). Kane and Nora are deeply in love, but not rushing down the aisle anytime soon (from Becoming a Legend). Jimmy and Casey, the youngest in the Kavanagh clan, are still finding their bearings in life and enjoying every minute of it.

  The fourth-born son, Quinn, is the hero of Chasing a Legend, and he’s nothing like his older brothers. Tatted and troubled, Quinn has just lost everything and must learn to start over, and sometimes starting over means reconnecting with someone from the past.

  All of the novels in this series can be read as standalones as they each have their own happily-ever-after ending.

  Thank you for reading!

  Sarah Robinson

  Prologue

  FIVE MONTHS EARLIER

  “I’m leaving Legends now. My bags are packed, so be ready to go as soon as I get there,” Quinn said into the phone, his thick arm flexing as he twisted it to look at his watch.

  “UK, here we come!” his older brother Kane shouted through the line. Quinn could practically see him fist-pumping the air. “You’re the best manager ever, Q!”

  “Better believe it, Killer.” Quinn laughed before disconnecting the call and pushing his phone into a small interior pocket of the leather jacket that fit snugly over his chiseled back and broad shoulders.

  Straddling his prized possession, a classic Ducati he’d kept in pristine condition for years, Quinn pulled on his helmet and gloves. His shaggy black hair peeked out from under the edges of the helmet, framing his face. Though covered in leather, glimpses of his love of ink showed on his neck and hands. What could not be seen was how the tattoos continued onto his chest and back as well. He loved the images, and each one had a special meaning to him—a falcon across his chest in midflight to symbolize his yearning for freedom, a dragon wrapping his arm to mark the fire in his blood, the Kavanagh family crest and motto in Gaelic on his back to represent family pride, along with phrases and names of people and moments that had made him who he was.

  But the small metal bar through his eyebrow, or the piercings in his ear? Those were just for fun.

  The motorcycle roared to life beneath him, easily heard from blocks away, as he pulled out onto the main street and headed for his parents’ house to meet his brother. He might not live there any longer, but he’d grown up in that house, and it would always feel like home. The whole neighborhood was his home; he knew everyone there, and everyone knew the Kavanaghs—for better or worse.

  Quinn rode past the quaint houses in the Woodlawn area of the Bronx, going through a mental checklist of everything he needed to do before Kane competed next week. The International MMA Championship, held in London this year, was the biggest mixed martial arts competition in the world. Kane had won that championship the last two years, giving him the title of World’s Greatest MMA Fighter. Kane planned to win a third time next week and Quinn was eager to stand by his side when he did.

  It’d been three short years since his brother had been thrust into the public spotlight after winning his first U.S. National Championship in Vegas. Quinn beamed proudly at the memory. Even though he wasn’t the one in the cage, he still felt a part of his brother’s success, having managed his entire career from the beginning. Kane’s win was Quinn’s win. It was a win for all the Kavanaghs—something they each really needed after everything the family had been through.

  As he approached his parents’ street, he signaled with both his right hand and turn signal that he was switching lanes. A large truck whistled past, completely ignoring his signal. Quinn yanked the bike to the left, narrowly escaping a collision as his heart leapt into his throat.

  Asshole.

  Taking a deep breath to calm the adrenaline shooting through his body at the close call, Quinn carefully looked around, and once he’d confirmed that the right lane was clear, he again signaled his intentions. Sliding the bike into the right lane, he accelerated, eager to get to his childhood home.

  That was his last thought before it happened.

  His family.

  How happy he was.

  How much he loved his life.

  A silver sedan parallel-parked against the curb nosed out into the right lane, directly in front of Quinn’s bike. His eyes widened as the air left his lungs, and he attempted to swerve around the sudden obstacle.

  But there was no time. There was no space.

  The front wheel of his bike slammed into the front wheel well of the sedan, and Quinn was weightless. He barely had a moment to blink before he was twisting through the air—over the handlebars, over his bike, over the sedan.

  He heard the impact before he felt it.

  His body skidding over the unforgiving pavement as wind rushed past him—a crunching, tumbling screech. Car horns firing, people screami
ng—or was he screaming? The echoes inside his helmet both muted and deafened.

  But then he felt it, and it was fucking hell.

  The crack of bones, a searing pain shooting through him. Every nerve ending in his body set on fire at the force of impact, consuming him till he was certain he couldn’t stand another second of it. Sliding across the pavement, his skin burned against the grating asphalt, his leather gear no match for the unforgiving surface.

  And then it was quiet.

  So fucking quiet as he stared up at the sun and waited…for what, he didn’t know.

  He wasn’t connected to his body, but somehow trapped inside it. Quinn tried to call for help, tried to get up, but his lungs and limbs ignored his commands.

  Just as his eyes began to flutter closed, the pain overtaking him, pushing him beyond what he could ever handle…he saw her. Her strawberry-blond hair falling down past her soft pink cheeks, the sun creating a halo behind her. Her fingertips grazed his face, and she whispered to him so softly he barely made out what she said. Light blue eyes, nearly translucent in their brightness, told him to just hold on…don’t let go…don’t give up.

  And then she was gone.

  And so was he.

  Chapter 1

  PRESENT DAY

  The walls of the coffin didn’t touch his shoulders, and the ceiling was only a few inches above his face, but he was blind to it. The darkness and soft lap of water echoed throughout the small chamber, and it felt infinite. It felt like there was nothing beside him, under him, above him—he was suspended in space, in silence, in darkness.

  He was nothing. Nowhere. Nobody.

  And it wasn’t a coffin at all.

  Quinn closed his eyes and imagined the small flotation therapy tank he was lying in was actually the ocean. As if he could stretch out his arms and swim for miles. The relief was shockingly intense. The nothingness of it all calmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. His mind blank, his body nude, his senses overwhelmed and deprived at the same time.

  The constant pain that had been a daily part of his life for the last five months was at bay. He’d been skeptical when Rory first told him about flotation therapy, because honestly, it sounded insane.

  Float in a tank of super salty water for an hour to relieve pain, stress, and a long list of other ailments. But damn if Rory wasn’t right—an admission Quinn hated to acknowledge.

  Rory was the oldest Kavanagh brother, Quinn’s senior by four years. He used to be an up-and-coming mixed martial arts fighter himself, but a nasty injury in the ring had permanently sidelined him. Apparently, flotation therapy had been really helpful during his healing process as well, at least that was how he’d convinced Quinn to dive in—sort of.

  Thankfully, his brother was healed and healthy now, plus married to a pixie blonde named Clare, whose fierce personality gave Rory a run for his money. In fact, Clare had become one of Quinn’s closest friends and a great ally against his brothers at family dinners. Rory and Clare also had an adorably pudgy one-year-old son named Murphy, who was definitely Quinn’s favorite Kavanagh.

  Seeing Rory’s family was the first time Quinn had ever considered settling down. He’d never been one for relationships, happily enjoying casual friendships with plenty of benefits or the occasional one-night stand. Not that he was out there getting laid every night, because he wasn’t that type of guy. He liked an emotional connection with a woman he was having sex with, even if they weren’t soulmates. Luckily, he’d found plenty of women whom he’d been able to connect with on some level over the years.

  Nothing that rivaled what he was really searching for, though. His first love had knocked him on his ass so hard, he’d never really stood back up. Quinn had only ever truly given his heart to one woman, many years ago, but she hadn’t felt the same way.

  That wasn’t a situation he ever wanted to relive—another reason why he kept things casual.

  Quinn opened his eyes, staring into the darkness as if it would go on forever. He hadn’t thought about her in a long time, but he’d seen her…somehow. When he’d been lying on that pavement, staring up at the sun—she was there, even if only in his head.

  She’d told him everything was going to be okay.

  His guardian angel. Ironic, since he had always tried to be hers.

  When he’d first arrived for his appointment today—courtesy of his mother, Deirdre “Dee” Kavanagh, his new chauffeur since he couldn’t walk very well, let alone drive—the nurse had given him a basic explanation of how the tank worked and told him the physical therapist would be ready to meet with him afterward. He’d then been left in a small shower right next to the tank, where he quickly scrubbed down, doing his best to hold on to the railings. He was exhausted almost immediately, which was frustrating considering he’d have to shower again the moment he was done to rinse off the salt.

  Once clean, he’d hobbled to the tank, feeling his way around because it was pretty dark despite one dim, pinkish light in the corner of the room. Small earplugs they’d provided him were the only things he wore, and once he’d stepped into the salty water and lain down, the top of the tank slid closed over him and all remnants of light were gone. He’d found himself enveloped in a cave-like tank of water, soft music playing until his plugged ears dipped beneath the water’s surface into total silence.

  At first, it had been a little terrifying, but once he’d adjusted to the darkness and close quarters, he’d calmed down and begun to enjoy the feeling of expansiveness all around him. The feeling of being completely enclosed yet somehow without boundaries at the same time was hypnotic.

  Quinn swallowed hard, trying to squelch the emotions surging through him. For the first time, he began to feel all the parts of himself he’d held back over the last months. In this safe space, he suddenly sensed…everything. He felt everything.

  For months, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace—his mother hovering, his father worrying, his four brothers dropping in every few minutes with big opinions and long-winded advice. Now in total darkness, a sense of freedom cradled him. Something he’d taken for granted most of his life, until five months ago when he’d nearly lost everything.

  As the pain in his body was slowly relieved by the tank, the pain in his soul roared to life—and it was relentless.

  Quinn had had small scuffs and incidents on his motorcycle before—he’d been inseparable from it since he was seventeen years old. His prized Ducati was dead now, and he’d almost been the same.

  One minute he’d been driving to his parents’ house to meet Kane and head to London. The next moment, he was waking up in a hospital room, almost a week later. His mother had been by his side, and it was obvious from her unkempt hair and disheveled clothes that she hadn’t left the hospital once the entire time he’d been unconscious. His dad had been staring out the window, his demeanor just as lost as his mother’s.

  When his parents realized he was conscious, they both cried as they tried to tell him what had happened. Quinn knew from that alone his condition was serious. He’d seen his mother cry a million times, even over something ridiculous like a cute puppy. But his father?

  Big, bad, ex-Mafia Seamus Kavanagh didn’t cry.

  Seamus didn’t show emotion of any kind, and he’d tried to raise his sons the same. Dee’s influence had kept the Kavanagh brothers from turning out as hardened as their father, but even after thirty-five years of marriage, his father had never budged.

  But he had cried for Quinn, and the moment Quinn realized what that meant, he’d panicked. Air had left his lungs so fast, he couldn’t pull it back in quickly enough. Doctors and nurses had rushed in to sedate him so his flailing wouldn’t worsen his injuries. It wasn’t until hours later that he’d finally been able to hear the full story.

  The burns and road rash had been the worst; he’d spent the first two weeks with doctors grafting new skin onto his back and legs. Whenever the doctors and nurses had changed his bandages or touched his skin in any way, he’d been certai
n he would die right then and there. The pain was so intense that he’d actually passed out a few times during the first several bandage changes. The leather had protected a lot of his body, but even that was no match for the speed with which he had been thrown from his bike.

  Add to that a concussion.

  A fractured wrist.

  Internal bleeding.

  A removed spleen.

  A leg broken in three places.

  Six metal pins now a permanent part of that leg.

  And too many bruises and scrapes to even try to count.

  Five months later his bones had healed, but his muscles were weak. His cuts and scrapes were gone, but ugly scars had taken their place. Tattoos he’d once had were now missing or distorted. Every piercing had been removed during initial exams, and he’d yet to put them back in.

  He was like an entirely different person.

  He used a cane for support even though the bones in his leg were healed, but that was far better than the brace he’d had to wear for so many months. His doctor had given him the green light to start physical therapy since his breaks had healed, and today was his first visit. If all he had to do was float in this tank, it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as he’d feared. But Quinn wanted to grow stronger. He was itching to regain what he’d lost.

  Quinn wanted to be back on a bike and riding—although the idea was frightening, something it had never been before. He wanted to walk around unassisted and dodge the worried looks from everyone in his family. He wanted to get in the cage and spar with his brothers just for fun. Even though he’d never been a professional mixed martial arts fighter like they were, sparring was still something he’d grown up doing, and he enjoyed it.