Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (18 page)

Blake’s standing with his back to me. His hands are on his hips, his face pointed to the floor. Shame and anger funnel within me. If I didn’t hate Stewart enough already, I despise him now.

I was convinced that leaving would solve my problems. But geographical distance doesn’t mean shit when the poison is imbedded so deep within that it’s become part of us. The destruction he left behind sabotages not only our relationship with each other, but ultimately our future.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” There has to be something more I can say, something more poignant, but that’s all I can manage.

Words of eloquence were never your strong suit.

Fuck you, Stewart.

Blake faces me, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that’s hard to look at. “She’s drunk. I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“I deserved it.”

“No, Mouse. You didn’t.”

The loathing creeps in. My own destructive thoughts attack what little self-esteem I’ve managed to build. “You don’t know me.”

He dissolves the space between us. “I want to know you. Tell me.”

He has no idea what he’s asking. Busting the locks and tearing the chains off the vault that stores all my humiliation would be like reliving it. I’m not strong enough.

“I’m not doing this. Not with you. Not now.” I storm past him into the hallway and to my room. My eyes burn, but not with sadness as much as frustration. Because I’d give anything to purge my soul of the ugly secrets I’m hiding. I kick the door shut with my foot but swing around when I don’t hear it slam. I should have known.

Blake’s big body stands in the doorway. “Yes, you are.”

I lean toward him and point in his face. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“No, you’re right. Don’t do it ’cause I’m telling you to. Do it because it’ll help.”

“Leave.” I force an edge in my voice.

His lips twitch, and his eyes lock on mine as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “Sweetheart, you don’t scare me. Don’t forget, I saw your moves earlier tonight. That shit will not get past me again. So you yell, take it out on me, I can take it. But when you’re done, you’re going to talk. You feel me?”

Blake

She stares at me, unblinking. The long, thick waves of her hair drape her face. No make-up, tired eyes, and yet she’s strikingly beautiful.

I’m in so much trouble. I know I should back out of here, climb in my car, point it towards home, and never look back. But if there is one thing I’m sure of, more sure of than my own name, it’s that in this moment nothing could drag me away.

“If you knew the things that I put her through…” Her whispered words taper off, and she drops her chin.

“I don’t know much, sweetheart, but from what you’ve told me about…”—fuck, I can’t say the asshole’s name—“
him
, whatever you did, it was so you could survive.”

She lifts her face to lock eyes with me.

“If a man murders for the sake of enjoying the kill, that’s homicide. Punishable by death. But if a man murders to protect his family, that’s justice. Commendable. Same crime, but circumstances decide whether it’s right or wrong.” I give it a second to sink in.

With her shoulders slumped, she sits on the edge of her bed. I study her small room. Tan carpet, beige walls, the only color in the place is Layla’s bright red bed comforter and orange and yellow pillows.

I lean against her dresser, making sure to keep my distance, because I know if I get too close, I won’t be able to keep from pulling her into my arms. Silence is thick in the air, but so is her contemplation. Her fingers knot in her hair, and her eyes dart around the room.

I wait her out.

“I put myself through hell because I thought I was doing the right thing for Elle. For years, I bit my tongue and grinned, hoping to give her the illusion of a good life.” She pulls at her hair. “God, I was so wrong.”

As much as I want to comfort her and tell her that we all make mistakes, the guilt and pain she feels seems deeper than any words can fix.

“I never wanted it,” she says to her lap, so quietly I barely hear her. “Not one time. Not the first, not the last, and not the times in between.”

I grind my molars together and clench my hands into fists. I’ve got to calm down. This is what I asked for.
Don’t fuck it up now by blowing shit up in here.

“He’d hold me down, cover my face with his hand or a pillow.” Her hand slides up to cup her neck. “I couldn’t breathe. As bad as it felt and as scared as I was, that’s the thing I remember most. His chest pressing down against my ribs or my back while he took me over and over—”

A fierce growl fills the room. Her wide eyes dart to mine.
Shit.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Go on.”
Damn
. That sounded more like a threat than a gentle nudge.

She nods, but keeps her eyes on me. “He told me if I made a noise, any noise at all, Elle would hear. As hard as it was to be smothered, I welcomed it. To the verge of almost passing out, but I’d do it to protect her.” She looks away. “I’ve made so many mistakes. Every choice I made was because I thought it was best for her. Turns out I—
ugh
.” Rubbing her face, she shakes her head.

That’s enough fucking soul baring for the night. I can’t take another word. Years of sexual abuse by the man who was supposed to be her fucking protector, her failsafe, the man whose job it was to stand guard against the rest of the world to make sure, to guarantee, that his woman was safe and protected. I rub my eyes hard, breathing deeply and counting to ten.

…nine…ten.
“Mouse, you and Axelle have been through some shit. You may have walked away from all that, but you’re still feeling it, and it’s clear she’s still feeling it.”

She takes an audible breath.

I cross the space between us and kneel in front of her. “There’s a place. It’s only for women, and I think you two could, I don’t know, talk to someone.”

“Like counseling?”

“Yeah, kinda like that.”

She shakes her head. “My insurance doesn’t kick in for another two months, and paying out of pocket isn’t—”

“It won’t cost you—”

“No, Blake. I can’t accept any more charity from you. You’ve done enough with the car.”

Fucking Raven.
That was supposed to stay a secret. Chicks always stick together.

“Seems I need to have a talk about what it means to keep a secret with Mrs. Slade.”

“I wanted to thank you for that, but you were avoiding me. And when I saw you in the weight room, well…” Her cheeks and neck flush red.

“
Well?
You took me out with that kickass flying knee.”

Her soft giggle penetrates the room along with my chest, spreading warmth behind my ribs. “I had to teach you a lesson.”

I chuckle. “Fuck, Mouse. Next time give me a three count… final warning… something.”

The sound of our laughter swirls around us, and in a moment of delirium, I can’t help but think we laugh well together.

I place my hand on her knee and squeeze. “Raven went through some shit last year. She opened a non-profit place called Raven’s Nest. They provide this kind of stuff to women and kids who’ve been through similar shit. It’s free.”

Her thick eyelashes flutter over her glistening eyes, and she nods.

“I could make a call—”

“I’ll do it.” Her reply comes out quickly, as if she’d made up her mind a while ago. “Raven and I are going out this weekend. I’ll talk to her then.”

They’re going out? Cool.
“Okay.”

I stand up and step back. Being so close to her, in her bedroom while she’s sitting on the bed, is doing fucked-up things to my body. As much as I want to stay, to crawl into bed and hold her in my arms while she sleeps, I know I need to bolt. Get the fuck out before I say or do something I can’t take back.

“You cool?”

She stands and gathers her hair together, pulling the wavy locks in a bunch over one shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Elle’s out for the night, I’m sure. She’ll have me to face in the morning, along with a nasty hangover.”

Digging my hands deep into my pockets so that I don’t use them to pull her closer or tip her mouth toward mine, I step toward her bedroom door. “You have my number. Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter what time.”

We move to her front door, and the air crackles with expectation.
Not going to kiss her, not going to kiss her.

I pull open the door and step out. “Goodnight.”

She stands in the doorway, her hands shoved in her sweatshirt pockets. “Goodnight, Blake. Thanks again. I don’t know what I would’ve done tonight if you hadn’t come by.”

“What are friends for?”
Shit. That sucked.
“See you tomorrow.”

I turn and head to my car before she closes the door. If I stand there for another second, I’m not going to be responsible for what kind of naked happens next.

She’s got an ugly past, a teenage kid who’s working through some crap, and a serious case of the emotional yo-yos. The whole situation screams trouble. Annoyance. Waste of time.

But all I hear is,
Don’t let her go
.

Thirteen

Blake

“You’re kickin’ ass, man. I’ve never seen you so quick.” Rex sidles up to me at my locker. “Been sparring partners for what, seven years? You’re in the best shape of your life.”

I shrug it off like it’s no big deal, but inside I’m celebrating. I’ve been busting my ass to get in shape for this fight. Winning this fight against Wade puts me up for title contention. And there’s no way I’ll accept anything less than a victory.

“Fuck three weeks. You fought Wade tonight, he’d be KO’d first round.”

“Thanks, man. And sorry about…” I motion to the purple bruise on his ribs that’s starting to take on some pretty nasty red tones.

That crazy fucker looks down and rubs his hand along the injury, pushing in and wincing. “Nah. That was a perfect middle roundhouse. Shit felt good.” He’s smiling like he means it.

I shake my head, grinning. “You’re a crazy motherfucker.”

Throwing on my clothes with a mean endorphin buzz, my mind wanders back to Layla. Things are getting hectic with the fight coming up and the promotional stuff that has Gibbs’s ass in a twist. I’m sure these things have been keeping her locked in her office. It’s not unusual that I’d go a day without seeing her, but I thought she’d come find me today.

I hope like hell she and Axelle had a good talk this morning. It took everything I had not to drive to her apartment and hide out, listening for breaking glass and girlie screams.

I would’ve done it if I hadn’t kept myself up all night going over all the reasons why I can’t get involved. Her shit has nothing to do with me, and I got more involved than I should’ve last night. Dragging Axelle to the hallway when she disrespected her mom was probably a step farther than I should’ve gone. But hell if I was going to stand there and listen to someone call my woman pathetic.

My woman?
My friend. Not my woman.

Sleep deprivation has my mind stumbling over itself. I head out and check the clock on the wall in the training center. It’s almost five, and I haven’t seen her once. I change direction and walk back toward the offices. My feet move faster at the prospect of seeing her, and I mentally smack myself for breaking under the anticipation.

Don’t get involved. Just ask her how things went this morning.
That’s a reasonable question. A
friendly
question.

I round the corner to her desk. It’s empty. I flip through a stack of messages on her desk and see some from yesterday and some today.

With a quick knock, I walk into Taylor’s office. He’s kicked back, with his feet on his desk top, ankles crossed, phone to his ear. He smiles, drops his feet, and holds up one finger. “Yeah, Z. I got it. Gotta go.” He replaces the phone to its cradle. “What’s up, Blake?”

I walk in a few steps then turn and point over my shoulder. “You see Layla around?”

“No. She called in this morning.” He shuffles through a stack of papers on his desk. “She sounded like she’d been drinking razor blades.”

My gut churns. “She sick?”

He nods but doesn’t look up from his desk of disorganized crap. “Yeah. She said she needed a couple days.”

I thank Taylor and turn to head out.

“Wait, have a seat.”

Layla calling in sick has me panicked. I wonder if she really is sick or if she had a rough night with Axelle that turned into an even rougher morning. I want to get out to call her or go by and check. The last thing I want to do is sit.

“Saturday. We’re throwing a UFL party at Flesh. I need you to show your face.”

“Sure. Let me know what time.”

“From noon to five. There’ll be some semi-celebrities there. I’m working on getting a few Playboy Playmates to drop by.” He wags his eyebrows and licks his lips like a hungry lion ready to gorge on fresh meat. “Lots of publicity.”

This guy would sell his dick if it meant getting the UFL some airtime on national television or headlines in the tabloids.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Playmates? You really think that’s necessary?”

“Celebrities equal media attention, Blake. We need all we can get.”

“Not really.”

His eyes narrow on me. “Yes. Really.” He tilts his head. “You suddenly some kind of expert on running a professional MMA organization?”

“No. But you’re more about the attention than you are the sport.” My adrenaline is sky-high. I’m worried about Layla and clearly transferring my frustration to my boss, which isn’t a smart thing to do.

“Attention is great for the sport. Any attention.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “Look at what Dominick Morretti’s death did for the UFL. We sold out season tickets—”

“Jonah’s wife was forced to kill her own father, and you’re happy about filling your pockets?” My arms tense and I sit up, ready to launch myself across the desk and rip Taylor’s throat out.

“I capitalized on a tragedy for the sake of the sport.”

I step up to his desk, and he stands. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this has a damn thing to do with the sport.”