Against the Ropes (5 page)

Then his gaze locked on to Regan, and it was like everything around him ceased to exist. He couldn’t hear the crowd or the referee counting down his demise any longer—all he saw was Regan standing there with concern shining in her eyes.

“Get up,” she said. Dylan knew she had just whispered it, but to him it sounded like a bullhorn in his ear, and his energy surged.

The rest of the fight was a blur, his body moving on its own accord, his thoughts on Regan.

“I can’t believe she agreed to this, Max. What did you say to her?”

Max shrugged. “We need her, and she’s ready for a change. But you listen to me, Dylan. Just because she’s coming with us don’t mean she wants things to go back to the way they were between the two of you. Just so you’re clear on that.”

Dylan knew he’d done irreparable damage to the relationship he had with Regan. She wouldn’t want anything to do with him in a romantic way, and he understood and respected that. However, he had changed a lot. Gone was the young, cocky asshole at the top of his game. Now, he was the older guy who had learned his lessons the hard way and was crawling to get back on top, to earn his place in the fight world, and in life.

Maybe, just maybe, he could get Regan to see that.

“Did you hear me, Dylan? No funny business with Regan. Don’t run her off.”

Dylan looked in the side mirror again, and couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in five years he didn’t feel like he had a stone in his chest, and hope flickered within him.

He shut his eyes, leaned back against the seat and winced, his shoulder throbbing.

“Dylan?”

“I heard you, Max. No funny business. Got it.”

CHAPTER NINE

Regan got out of her car, stretched, and felt the sun warm her skin.  She studied the little house she’d be sharing with Max and Dylan for the next month.

The front yard was all rock and cacti with one tree, and the house, with its two-car garage, was painted a light, sandy brown. It was small, but it looked well kept. She looked up and down the street and noted that all the houses were designed in one of four designs. The neighborhood was quiet and the houses were in good shape. Typical middle-class Americana.

Regan went around to the trunk of the car and opened it. Pulling out her suitcase, she had a bit of trouble with its weight. She was startled when Dylan appeared next to her.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

She studied his face for a moment, but couldn’t tell his emotions behind the sunglasses. “Hi, Dylan. You scared me.”

He gave her a small smile. “Sorry about that. Let me help you with your bag.”

She nodded and stepped aside, feeling a little awkward and wondering if she had made a mistake in agreeing to the arrangement.

Dylan shut the trunk and flipped his sunglasses to the top of his head. “We can get the rest of the stuff later.”

Not that there was a lot. She had left all the furniture and just packed up a few boxes of personal things and dishes.

He turned and walked toward the house, and she followed him into the garage. She noted two heavy bags bolted into the ceiling where the second car would have gone.

They entered in through the laundry room, which led to a small hallway.

“This’ll be your room, Regan,” Dylan said, as he opened the first door on the right and stepped in.

The room held a double bed covered in a dark blue comforter and a small dresser.

“Obviously we didn’t do much decorating,” Dylan said. “No one ever stays here except Max and me.”

“What about your mom? Doesn’t she come to visit?”

Dylan shook his head. “She died . . . shortly after you left.”

Regan felt like he had just slammed her in the gut. She remembered the small, Mexican woman with the curly, black hair, who stood at half the height of her son, but managed to keep him in line nonetheless. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He set her suitcase on the bed and turned to her.

“Regan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to you, what I—”

“Dylan—”

“Just let me finish. Please.”

Regan took a deep breath and nodded.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m sorry that dumb kid I was hurt you so badly.” He looked down at the floor. “And I want to thank you. I don’t know what you do, but you seem to be the only one that can keep this shoulder moving without pain. So, thank you for being here.”

His gaze found hers, and the honesty and desperation on his face was real. She felt her throat tighten. Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

“Max said he was going to the store to get some steaks,” Dylan said. “You still like steak, right? You haven’t gone vegan on me or anything, have you?”

Regan smiled. “No. Steak is fine.”

Dylan gave her a half smile, which showcased a bump on his bruised chin where he’d taken the uppercut. “Good. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you go to jail?”

Dylan put his hands on his hips and let out a long breath while looking at his feet again. After a long moment he said, “I almost killed someone.”

Regan gasped. Yes, Dylan was big and he pounded on people for a living, but the man she remembered had been sweet and kind out of the ring. She would never have expected to hear that it was a violent crime.

“What happened?”

Dylan met her eyes. “Look, Regan, after you left, shit got pretty ugly. I take full responsibility for my actions, and I’m not saying anything was your fault. But my life went into a downward spiral that I’m trying like hell to crawl out of. It was a dark and nasty time in my life, one that I don’t like to talk about, if it’s okay with you.”

His voice was soft, but his words were hard, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he really did blame her for his problems.

“Okay,” she said.

“Would it be all right to start on the shoulder in the morning? I’m exhausted.”

“Sure.”

He silently shut the door. It appeared that things were going to be all business between them, and she was grateful for that.

Regan sat down on the bed, feeling pretty tired herself, her mind filled with questions about Dylan.

What happened? Why did he snap and almost kill someone? Should she be afraid of him?

She almost laughed out loud at that one. No, she was pretty certain she didn’t need to fear Dylan.

What she did need were some details on what happened from the time she left until now. She just needed to have the whole story.

CHAPTER TEN

Dylan was laid out flat on the picnic table on the outside patio. He tried not to stare up at Regan as she worked on his shoulder, but was failing miserably. She had his arm held parallel to his body, and he would simply need to lift his fingers to caress her breast. He loved the way her hair hung to her shoulders like fine strands of blonde silk. Not to mention the cute little furrow in her brow that showed how deep her concentration was, as her firm hands felt around his shoulder. He couldn’t help himself. Finally, he just closed his eyes.

Dinner last night had been uncomfortable at best. Max tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Dylan was relieved when it was finally over and could tell Regan was glad as well. She quickly helped Max with the dishes and then returned to her room.

He and Max had stayed up reviewing the video of his last fight and going over mistakes that were made. Except for that uppercut that had caught him off guard, very few errors had been made.

A couple of hours later, Max announced he was going to bed, and Dylan was left to pace the house, alone with his thoughts.

Having Regan in such close quarters had his blood pumping and his body humming. His physical desire for her was as strong as it had ever been, and he longed to see the old Regan that he had loved so much. The Regan whose eyes sparkled when she laughed as they joked around together; the Regan who gave him The Look when she felt like making love; the Regan who had been his very foundation in life.

Now, there was no joy in her eyes. She seemed uptight and antsy, and he knew it was because of him.

Hours later, when he finally did slip between the black sheets, he touched the wall just above his head. For some reason he found it very comforting knowing that she was on the other side, sleeping soundly. Dylan wondered if she still slept on her right side with her arm tucked under her ear, her knees pulled up in a fetal position. He had spent many nights watching her sleep, her full lips slightly parted, her soft breath against his skin.

Finally, sleep had overtaken him.

In the morning, he’d been up with the sun and had gone for a run. When he got back, Regan was standing in the middle of the living room wearing a pair of faded jeans and a green sweatshirt with her blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail, looking perplexed while sipping her coffee. He longed to put his lips on the lily-white column of her neck. She didn’t notice him as she looked around and blew into her cup.

He gazed around the room, trying to see what she was thinking about.

The place wasn’t a palace, but it was comfortable and clean. The light brown leather couches had a few years on them, as did the dining room table that sat four. The walls were painted a creamy, off-white color and were decorated with pictures of Dylan boxing. In the corner was a bookcase that held books of all types—fiction, biographies, cooking, and of course, boxing. It also held some of the trophies and medals from Dylan’s career. Often, he questioned why Max had taken such an interest in him and his career, but Max always told him that he was in need of a son and Dylan was in need of a father. They were perfectly matched. Dylan had accepted that and appreciated it. Max had been the one constant throughout his life.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked.

She jumped a little and then turned to him. “You scared me,” she said.

He smiled as the morning light filtered through the window and caught the shiny highlights of her blonde hair, giving her a halo effect. His perfect angel. “Sorry. I seem to be making a habit of that. I didn’t mean to.”

She took another sip of coffee. “I was trying to find out where I’m going to work on your shoulder, and the only place I can see that’s going to be feasible is the picnic table outside.”

“The picnic table?”

“Well, I can’t lay you out on the couch, for a number of reasons. You’re too long and it’s too low for me to get any leverage. I can’t put you up on the counter because I’m sure the thing would snap under your weight. A bed is too low . . . so it’s the picnic table.”

And . . . here they were. As the wood pricked his back, he made a mental note to ask Max to pick up a physical therapy table or something to use as an alternative to the picnic table.

He glanced up at her again as she dug her strong fingers into the joint, finding something that made him cringe and his whole body tensed.

“Jesus, Regan!” he yelled and tried to pull his arm out of her grasp, but she held on tight.

“There it is,” she murmured, not phased in the least bit with his pain or outburst. She pressed again.

He hissed and shut his eyes.

“Don’t be a baby, Dylan,” she said quietly. “You get knocked in the face for a living. Little old me messing around with this tendon should be a walk in the park.”

He’d rather get knocked in the face.

After his run, he’d done some mitt work with Max, but that didn’t last long. He’d taken a beating the other night, and he didn’t have the energy. Not to mention the pain in his shoulder, which Regan was making worse at the present moment.

Max seemed tired today as well and had even taken a nap. Dylan made a mental note to make sure he wasn’t catching a cold or something.

“Damn it, Regan!”

She sighed and let go of his arm, and he gingerly held it to his stomach. Putting her hands on her hips she stared down at him, exasperated. “Dylan, I have one month to get this shoulder rehabbed. You aren’t making this easy on me.”

He didn’t say anything, and she rolled her eyes at him. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Sit up,” she said, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly, as if she were fighting a grin. He did what he was told and swung his legs over the side of the table.

“Okay, let’s go through some rotation exercises. Do you remember them?”

“Sort of.”

She guided his arm and moved it directly in front of him, above his head and then out to the side. They did this for a few moments, and Dylan’s arm was screaming. He actually felt a little sweat on his forehead the pain was so great.

“Okay, stay here,” she said and went into the house. He took a peek over his shoulder so he could watch her hips sway as she walked.

A moment later she came back out, carrying a frozen sack of peas, a notebook, and a large, yellow cup.

“I’d like to do some stim on you, but we obviously don’t have the machine,” she said. “And you don’t have any ice packs either, so you’re stuck with a bag of peas.”

He chuckled as she handed it to him, and he brought it up to his shoulder.

“Why don’t you have any icepacks?” she asked.

“I’ve been doing my therapy at a clinic, like where I met you. I haven’t really had a need to keep any at home.”

“What about pulled muscles?”

“The peas work just fine.”

“Drink some water too, Dylan,” she said with a smile, handing him the large, yellow cup.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured as he took it from her and then downed most of the contents in one long pull.

Regan sat down on the table next to him and began writing in the notebook.

“Keeping notes on my progress?”

“Or lack thereof,” she murmured, not looking at him. She focused on the page.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Dylan finished his water as his thoughts took him back to why he had ended up in prison. At that moment, he decided he wanted Regan to know the reason.

Setting the cup down between them, he said, “It was at a bar.”

Regan stopped writing, her head turning toward him slowly.

“What was at a bar?”