Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (15 page)

“The fuck you were.” His growled words make me jump. “That pussy-ass bitch knew
exactly
what he was doing. You call the cops?”

Cops? Why? To announce to the Seattle PD that I’m a teenage slut?
“No.”

He drops his head into his hands with a muttered “Fuck me.” He passes his big palms over his cropped hair a few times, looking away. Then, with a groan, he’s back to my eyes. “Where the hell was your dad? He had to know that fart-suckin’ douche-bag took more than you wanted to give him.”

“After I found out I was pregnant, my dad’s the one who encouraged us to get married. He’s from a different generation.” I can’t take the disappointment in Blake’s eyes. Suddenly the frayed strings of my jeans become interesting. “Told me I had to make it right.”

“Make it right? You’ve got to be shittin’ me.” He’s up and pacing the length of his deck. “What is it with dads and their daughters? First Raven, now you,” he mumbles to himself. “Not a fucking decent one out there. Should be protecting their girls, not sending them into the arms of a predator. Shit.”

“I don’t regret it.”

His glare swings to mine, eyebrows pinched.

“That night brought me Elle.”

A tenderness that starts at his mouth bleeds across to his jaw and up, relaxing his expression. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He steps back to his lounger and sits on the end. His shoulders are still tense, and he doesn’t recline. “Why do you call her Elle?”

“After I found out I was pregnant, my parents flipped out. They dragged me to Stewart’s house.” I twirl a piece of hair around my finger. “It was so embarrassing. Listening to our parents talk about…” My cheeks heat. Even sixteen years later, the memory is still so vivid. “They decided we needed to get married. Holding up appearances and all. Stewart was on his way to taking over his dad’s pharmaceutical company. Didn’t want the messy scandal of an illegitimate child running through the papers.”

Blake’s face is hard, his expression blank.

“I had no choice. They took my choices away from me.”

The big fighter across from me flinches. Actually
flinches
. He recovers fast, the impassive expression back in place.

“The day I gave birth to Elle, I knew it was the end of my choices. But…” I drop my face, peek up at him from beneath my lashes, and smile. “I had one more to make. Her name.”

He nods.

“Naming her Axelle Rose was my big ‘fuck you’.” I giggle and cover my mouth, a little ashamed at how I used my daughter to get to my parents.

“You rebel.” His lips twitch, and something that looks like pride shines behind his eyes. “That’s fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Yeah, it was. It felt really good. If you could have seen their faces when I told them I named my daughter Axelle Rose.” I double over, holding my stomach as a wave of hysteria hits me hard. “Stewart’s… mom…” Unable to finish my sentence through the laughter, I suck in a deep breath and regain my calm. “No one would call her Axelle. They called her Elle. Guess it stuck.”

He runs his thumb over his eyebrow. “Took a lot of strength. Becoming a mom in high school.”

I shrug. “You’d be amazed the things you’re capable of when you have no other choice.” Both good and bad.

A low grumble of approval, and then silence. We sit like that for a while, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. Not an awkward
What the hell do I say now
silence, but a
Felt good to unload that pile of bricks
silence.

I haven’t told that story in… well, ever.

After a few more minutes, I check my watch. Almost midnight. “I better get back.”

He reaches over and grabs my boots, handing them to me. I slide them on and settle my feet on the ground. He offers his hand and pulls me up. Standing only inches away, he doesn’t drop my hand. I tilt my head back to look at his face.

He’s not smiling.

Blake

Punch something.
As soon as her perfect ass walks out of my door, I’m going to punch something.

It’s taken every damn thing I have not to pound my patio furniture into kindling.

Sixteen. Drunk. And totally fuckin’ vulnerable.

Staring down at her now, a grown woman, she’s the picture of innocence. All big brown eyes and pouty lips. And this woman has been through some shit. The kind of shit that changes a person forever, and rewrites the grand plan of who she’s supposed to become. All so some horny teenage kid could get his dick wet at a party. Probably showin’ off for his crew of walking hard-ons. If Layla was even a tenth of the beauty she is now, she must’ve had those boys following her around for years before they finally got her drunk enough for a chance. The second he got the stumbling-drunk green light, that motherfu—

“Thanks for understanding… ya know…. everything.” She fidgets, and her eyes look everywhere but at me. “Sorry about busting up your plans.”

“Plans?” I blink and try to clear the image of a teenage Layla, broken and alone.

Her cheeks flush pink. “The parking lot? Thanks for being so cool about it.”

“It’s not the first time a good-looking woman has pulled me away from a chick.” I internally groan, my attempt at humor only making me look like a bigger jackass.

But I can’t tell her the truth. That the only reason I hooked up with that chick was because she looked a little like Layla. She’d never understand that being around her makes me feel like I’m caged, ripping at my skin to get to her.

Layla pulling me away from that girl did me a favor. Although she looked a lot like Layla, she didn’t smell like the sweet vanilla that makes my mouth water. She didn’t throw sass or give me the attitude that makes my dick hard. Once I got the girl alone, all I wanted to do was get rid of her.

“Whatever.” She holds up her hand. “Again, not my business.”

No, but why do I wish like hell it was?

We stroll in silence down to the car, and then drive to her house. It’s quiet in the Rubicon except for the sound of Lagwagon as it fills the vacant space. Her apartment complex is dark, most of the security lights in need of new bulbs. I grind my teeth as I imagine her and Axelle making the trek from the lot to the stairs at night. Alone.

I park the Rubicon and hop out to walk around to her door.

She’s already out. “I’ve got it from here.”

“I’m walking you up.” I make it a point to lock eyes with her, daring her to argue.

Shrugging her purse onto her shoulder, her lips curl into a smile. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

“I
am
chivalrous.”
Fuck.
Why did that sound so defensive?

I never gave a second thought to the way women see me. They like what they see, they let me know. They don’t? No sweat off my sac. Don’t remember ever having a lack of women ready and available.

But for some reason, Layla’s opinion matters. She’s implied I have no honor and that I’m not a gentleman. Her assumptions aren’t far from the truth. This is just the first time that I wished she wasn’t right. And why is that?

She lifts one eyebrow and tilts her head. “
You’re
chivalrous?” The sound of her tapping boot against the pavement pounds along with the throb in my chest. I’m overcome with the urge to prove her right. Show her that I’m an asshole by taking that sweet mouth like I’ve wanted to since we met. Not giving her the option to say no. Turning her objections into needy moans.

Maybe if I kiss her thoroughly enough, she’ll forget her opinion of me. Or maybe I’ll prove her point. Either way, I win.

I jerk my head toward the stairs. “Let’s get you inside. It’s late.”

Walking to her door, I guide her up with my hand on her lower back. She flashes a shy smile that has my heart hammering. After she unlocks the door, I follow in behind her.

I turn on the light in her kitchen and living room. “Axelle home?”

Her gaze swings to the digital clock on the stove. “She’d better be.”

“Go check. I’ll wait.”

She moves down the hallway, and I check the rooms and windows. Everything looks good and locked up tight.

“Yeah, she’s asleep.” Her whispered words come out with a yawn.

Her wide-open mouth, pink tongue, and full lips pull me in. I move toward her, eyes locked on hers. “Good.”

She watches me, curiosity etched in her expression. “Um… so…”

I lick my lips, hoping she gets my intention loud and clear. “So…”

Panic sparks in her eyes. Her body tenses, and she rolls her lips between her teeth. She doesn’t want this.

I freeze and drop my gaze to the floor, feeling like a complete ass. “Right. Lock up after I leave.”

She exhales hard, a small smile back on her face. Is that… relief?
Fuck me.

“Will do. Thanks for the ride.”

A grunt is all I can manage. If I had the balls, I’d roar in her face that it’s not fair. Not cool that she’s as fucking mouth-watering as she is, but also every single thing I told myself to stay away from. And it should be a crime that a girl who is unbelievably perfect, like she was designed on the storyboard of male imagination, should be fun to talk to. Interesting. Smart. And so damn entertaining that I’d pick her company over any one of my bros.

I head down to my car, mentally dropkicking myself for being such a tool. This whole time I thought we’d been feeling the same thing. I’ve seen it. I know I have. The desire in her eyes. The slight parting of her lips when I get close. Her nervous smile when I flirt.

Shit.
This ends here. No more thoughts of the unpredictable beauty. From here on, I’m all about my fight.

The only constant that I can rely on.

Eleven

Layla

Weekends are the worst. Not many people count down the minutes until the workweek
begins
. I do.

Before, weekends were hard because of Stewart. He’d be home, ragging about the house not being clean enough or complaining that I didn’t get his favored brand of whatever. When we moved, I thought weekends would be an adventure. A chance for Elle and I to explore our new city. But it seems my teenage daughter has had better luck making friends. She’s gone more than she’s here.

With the grocery shopping done and the laundry folded, I sit on the couch and stare at the TV. It’s not even on. I drop my head to the back of the couch and curse my free time. It’s in these moments, when I’m not actively engaged in some routine activity, that I think about Blake.

Last weekend, after our talk on his patio, I thought we’d become friends. He showed genuine interest when I talked about my life. He even seemed protective when he dropped me off, storming through the apartment flipping on lights and scaring away the shadows.

Then he tried to kiss me. Or, I think that’s what he was going to do. He moved to me with a look in his eyes that said if I didn’t want it, I’d better run. And I wanted it, just not like that. Just hours before, he’d had those delicious-looking lips all over another girl, not to mention his other parts. I panicked, and since then, everything’s been different.

At work, he’s less than an acquaintance, and barely acknowledges my existence. He goes out of his way to avoid me by ducking into the locker room when I’m around or sliding around a corner when I approach.

I hate to admit it, but I miss him. It’s not that I miss the way he looks at me, with his head tilted and a smile tugging at his perfect mouth, a look that makes me feel like I’m being eaten alive… in a good way. And it’s not that I miss the way he swoops in when I need help. I just miss
him
.

“Stupid and pathetic,” I whisper to no one.

With a body like yours, no one cares that you’re stupid.

I slam my eyes shut. “Leave me alone.”

The room is quiet except for the sound of my deep breathing. The memory of Blake’s face in the back of the SUV, eyes blazing mad and his full lips locked in a hard line. I throw my forearm over my eyes.

Gee, can’t imagine why he’d be avoiding me after—
oh!
I jump at the sound of my phone vibrating on the faux-wood coffee table.
Probably Elle texting to tell me not to wait up.
Phone call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Layla?” asks the perky, female caller.

“This is she.”

“It’s Raven, from Guy’s Garage… um, Raven Slade?”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, Raven.”

“Just calling to let you know your Bronco’s ready to be picked up.”

“Great. I thought it’d take forever to get the part you ordered.”

“Yeah, well, we would’ve had it to you sooner, but Blake insisted we check everything.”

I sit up straight at the mention of Blake’s name.

“He also made sure the crew down here knew it was a priority. Listen, it didn’t start because the fuel injector was thrashed. We replaced that, along with your timing belts. We checked the tires. They look pretty good, but I went ahead and rotated them. You’ve probably got a few thousand more miles before you need a new set. We changed your oil, air filter, and oil filter. I checked the battery. It could stand to be replaced, so I went ahead and did that. Oh, and your back left brake light was out. Threw in a new one.”

My mouth is hanging wide open, and I’m staring at nothing across the room.

“Layla? You there?”

“Uh…”
Well, shit.
I’m sure Blake thought he was doing me a favor, but there’s no way I can pay for all that, and it’s not like she can reverse the work she’s done. “I uh… don’t know what to say.”

“How about say that you’ll be here in ten to pick it up?”

“Sure. Yeah. Ten.”

“Great. See ya soon.”

The call ends, but I remain stuck in place on my couch, the phone to my ear. I contemplate calling Blake and asking him what I should do. He did say I wouldn’t have to pay for the use of a rental, which makes walking in there with not enough money even more of an insult. Besides, if his behavior over the last week is any indication, he probably won’t answer my call.

Out of options, I push off the couch and grab the Camaro keys. With less than a hundred bucks to last me until payday and zero available on my credit card, I’m going to have to beg for them to let me make payments. So humiliating.