Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (20 page)

She sits, and from the way she’s hanging her head, my guess is she knows what’s coming.

“Elle, I’m sorry.”

Her wide eyes flash to mine.

“Things have been difficult for you. I know that. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

She drops her gaze to her lap.

“You know, when I was your age, I got drunk at parties.”

“You did?”

I hate telling her what a fuck-up I was, but pretending to be someone I wasn’t is what got us here in the first place. “Yeah. I wanted to stand out, be different, make my own rules.” I shrug. “Thing is, drinking never gave me any of those things. It only led me to make horrible choices that hurt my parents, and myself.”

She nods behind the thick veil of her hair, but doesn’t offer anything else.

“You remember Raven from the garage?”

Her head tilts back, and she looks at me. “Yeah.”

“She has a place, I guess, where we can go. Talk to some people that might be able to help.”

“That’s my punishment?” A grimace tightens her pretty face. “You’re sending me to therapy?”

“No, not you. Us. Together. And it’s not punishment.” I know from experience that when parents pull in the reins, it only makes the child fight harder to get free. “I think it might help.” I want her to be on board, so I throw out a last ditch effort to win her over on the idea. “Blake said it might help.”

“Really?” The wonder in her voice makes me smile. “He said that?”

“He did.”

She chews on her lip.

I sift my fingers through the ends of her hair, and for a second she’s five years old and still my baby. “It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try.”

I blow out a long breath, the relief relaxing my shoulders. “Great. We’ll talk more tonight, after dinner. I’ll make that pasta you like.”

She stands and shrugs on her backpack. “Okay, but we should probably use all the stuff that’s in the fridge first, you know, before it goes bad.”

“What stuff in the fridge?”

“Blake stocked the fridge.” For the first time since she walked in, I catch the ghost of a smile. “He even got ice cream. Nice guy.”

“He is.” The car, then the soup, and now the food. And to top it off, he’s responsible for her smile.

A flutter of excitement jumps in my belly. Blake is so different from what I’d originally thought. Behind the hot guy with the tough-as-nails, fuck-the-world attitude, there’s a caring man who buys ice cream and makes his mom’s soup.

Last night, when he was talking about his dad, I was reminded of Stew. The taunts, the verbal abuse, and the control. A heavy feeling settles in my chest. Maybe Blake and I aren’t that different after all but are bonded by our struggles, like two sides to the same destruction.

Or maybe I’m just desperate to make sense of the dangerous feelings that swirl just below the surface when he’s around.

In the words of Ozzy Osbourne, I’m going off the rails on a crazy train. And crazy never felt so good.

Blake

There’s usually nothing fantastic about a Thursday at the training center. Most days start with a workout, followed by sparring and an occasional meeting thrown in the mix. But this particular Thursday is different.

I’m grinning like an idiot as I dig clean clothes out of my gym bag. My back is numb, and the sparring session I just had with Jonah was one of the best I’ve had in a long time. But that’s not what’s making this day better than most.

It’s Layla. She’s back.

After three days without seeing her face, I’m jumping out of my skin for a glimpse. Leaving her house after the night I dropped off groceries and made her soup, I gave myself a grade-A mental bitch slap. I stayed away from her after that, but getting an update from Killian as to how she was feeling fueled my unhealthy obsession. I still plan on keeping my distance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy watching her
from
that distance.

Shit, I’m a stalker.
Disgust curls in my gut.

“You ready to head to the meeting?” Jonah’s showered and throwing on his shirt.

I stuff my sweat-soaked training clothes into my workout bag and toss it into the locker. “I am now.”

“Wade’s camp will be here in a week. Think you can keep it cool until the fight?” He slams his locker door shut and turns to lean against it.

“As long as the fuck-stick stays out of my way, I’ll be good.”

We head to the conference room. Rex and Owen are already there. My stomach flips as I search the room for the familiar face that’s been making a guest appearance in my dirtiest dreams. She’s not here yet.

We all drop into our seats around the table. After a few minutes of talking about nothing important, Gibbs strolls through the door. Following behind Gibbs and looking sexy as hell, is Layla. I tilt my head for a better view, and she gives me a shy smile.

She’s rockin’ a pair of black dress pants and a red silk shirt. The torturous top is unbuttoned just enough to tease my dick to life. Professional and fuckable. I shift in my seat and try to squelch the urge to stand up and pull her in for a hug. My eyes keep getting drawn to her hair. She left it down today, the way I like it.

Gibbs starts off talking about the fight week agenda. Layla pulls her lip between her teeth as she scribbles notes into her planner. Just watching her, I can feel a tooth-baring grin pull at my lips—
Ouch!

I rub my shin that Owen kicked beneath the table. He mouths, “Pay attention
.
” I glare at him then swing my gaze to Gibbs, wrestling to keep my focus on what he’s saying.

“We’ve got some promotional stuff coming up,” Gibbs says, and grabs a sheet of paper from Layla. “I’ll need you guys to put on your attention-getting best, if you know what I mean.”

Jonah, Rex, and Caleb all grumble their response.

Rather than sit here and listen to Gibbs talk about how badly he needs us to make fools out of ourselves in public to get in the hottest gossip magazines, I’m back to staring at Layla.

She was gorgeous when she was sick in bed, but she looks even better now that the glow of health is back. After I got home that night, it took forty-five minutes in
the room
to take the edge off my lustful imaginings. Usually a quick trip to Zeus’s Playground would do the job, but the thought of being with another girl feels dishonest. Not dishonest toward Layla, but like I’m cheating myself. Like using a breadcrumb to satisfy starvation. Which is ridiculous, but no less a fact.

I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do about my attraction to this woman. Maybe I can’t get her out of my head because she’s not throwing herself at me. Could it be that simple, a silly case of cat and mouse?
Snake and mouse.
Yeah, that sounds more like it. And everyone knows who wins in that game.

“…but Layla will be there in my absence—”

“What?” Just the sound of her name from another man is enough to make me mental. I clear my throat and try to shrug off the fact that I wasn’t listening to a damn word Gibbs has said for the past who-knows-how-long.

“He’s talking about Flesh,” Rex answers from across the table. He’s slouched down in his chair with his elbows propped on the armrests, looking at me with an annoying-ass smile.

I glare at him and then turn my attention to Gibbs. “What about Layla and Flesh?”

“I’ll be out of town this weekend, and I need this publicity party to run smoothly. I’ve asked Layla to be there and make sure that happens.” He says it in such an everyday way, like he didn’t just verbally taser my adrenal glands.

“You can’t send Layla to Flesh.” My resolve is absolute. In the hundred different ways I play it out in my head, she doesn’t belong there.

“Blake, I’m happy to go. It’s not a big deal.” Her light voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

I lean toward her, resting my forearms on the table. “Do you even know what goes on at a place like Flesh?”

She blinks rapidly as if I caught her off guard, but doesn’t respond.

“It’s an adult pool. Topless. As in, the women don’t wear them.”

She recoils, but quickly recovers and leans in toward me. “You think I can’t handle a few naked boobs? Hate to state the obvious, Blake, but that’s something I see on a daily basis.”

The guys make no attempt to muffle their laughter.
Bastards.

Jonah shrugs, fighting a smile. “She’s got a point, Blake.”

I glare him. “So bring Raven.”

His smile dies and his jaw gets tight. “Fuck no.”

Yeah, now who’s laughing?

Sitting back in my chair, fairly confident that I just made my point, I study Layla. She’s glaring at me, her mouth in a tight line as if she’s fighting to hold back what’s behind her teeth.

“Dude, you can’t compare sending a man’s wife to Flesh with sending a female UFL employee.” Caleb shakes his head. “Not the same.”

Holy shit, I compared Layla to Raven. What the fuck does that mean?

“Appreciate your concern for
my assistant
, but she’s got a job to do and that includes going to Flesh. Now, I have a teleconference in”—he checks his watch—“shit, three minutes.” He gathers his things and mumbles something to Layla. “Grab a schedule on your way out.” He scurries out of the room.

She drops a stack of papers in the middle of the table, and all the guys grab one except me. My eyes stay on her.

The thought of her at that pool surrounded by bare-breasted women, horny guys looking for action, mix that up with liberal amounts of alcohol. That’s an orgy waiting to happen. Layla’s fucking smokin’ hot and radiates an innocence that gives assholes ideas.
Yeah, this shit ain’t happening.

“You’re not going.” The words come flying from my mouth and still the movement in the room.

“Excuse me?” She stands, places her palms on the tabletop, and leans forward. I’d make a wise crack about the perfect cleavage shot she’s giving me, but I’m too pissed.

I copy her confrontational stance, daring her to fucking try me. “You heard me.”

Her eyes flash with fury. “You don’t tell me what to do, Blake. This is my job.”

“Don’t give a shit. You’re not going.”

She slams one palm to the table. “Why are you fighting me on this?”

I don’t know.
I can’t tell her the truth—that she and Axelle bring out a basic male instinct to protect. Even in my head, that sounds insane. This is why I stay away from women with kids. To keep my guardian complex locked up and avoid the feeling of betrayal when all my efforts aren’t returned. Just like with my mom the night she ratted me out.
Dammit. I’m not doing this shit.

“Fine.” I drop my head back. “I give up. You’ll see for yourself.” Straightening from the table, my lips pull into a snarl. “But don’t come crying to me when you get mauled by assholes looking for an easy lay.”

Her sharp gasp is the last thing I hear before I storm out of the room.

Charging down the hall and into the training center, I shove past people in my way. The locker room looms in the distance like a safe haven. I throw open the door and march toward the showers. It’s the safest place I can think of to pull myself together because there’s nothing to break.

Even fully clothed, I contemplate dousing my dumb ass with freezing cold water to take the edge off my agitation.
What the fuck was that?
One minute I’m all smiles and happy thoughts, and the next I’m aggressive as hell. I remember my dad pulling shit like this. Blowing his lid over something like a bad grade or an unmade bed.

The murderous beat of my blood pounds in my head. I lean my forehead against the cold tile and wonder if head butting the shower wall will alleviate some of the tension.

“I get it.”

My eyes swivel in the direction of Jonah’s voice. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed at his chest.

I turn around, slide my back down the wall, and sit.

He has no clue. His dad was Ward freakin’ Cleaver until the day he died. “No. You don’t.” I hold my head in my hands.

“You’re into her.”

I exhale hard and bury my fists in my eye sockets. Into her?
Fuck. Yeah.

“I’d lose my shit at the thought of Raven going to Flesh.” I hear Jonah step toward me. “But it’s Layla’s job, man. She’s got a kid to feed. Good news is, she won’t be there alone. We’ll all be there. Make sure no one fucks with her.”

I nod into my hands, my heart rate slowing.

“But B, man, you owe that poor girl an apology. Had to be embarrassing, you nutting up on her like that in front of us.”

“Fuck, I know.” I want to ask him to knock me out. I’d do it myself if I could. “Something’s not right. I’m jumping out of my skin.”

He squats down to my eye level. “Dude, just admit it. You’re falling for a chick.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Suit yourself. She’s hot, sweet as hell. You deny this, you’re missin’ out.”

Not at all enjoying his reference to my woman being hot, I scowl. “You think you’re telling me something I don’t know? I don’t
want
to be a dick to her. It just keeps happening. I’m fucked up.”

He shrugs and shakes his head. “You’re holding back a monster by keeping in your feelings. That’d make any man go crazy.”

Maybe he’s right. Denying the pull could be what’s making me act like an ass. But allowing myself to feel what I’ve been pushing down deep means… fuck, I have no clue. What I do know is that being a part of Layla and Axelle’s life means responsibility. I won’t let myself give in to the possibility of what might be if I’m not committed to making it happen. And then there’s my past to wrestle with. The anger, the control, my secret. What if they walk away? Could I handle that kind of loss? That’s what I’ve got to figure out.

I look up from my huddled ball of shame. “You know where she is?”

He tosses a quick look over his shoulder. “Last I saw, she was outside with Rex and Caleb.”

“Fuck.” I push up from the ground. “I’ll make it right.”

He claps me on the shoulder as I pass by. “Good. And think about what I said.”

Yeah, yeah.