Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) (6 page)

A big guy, obviously a fighter, makes his way to my desk. He wears his baseball hat crooked, off center just enough to look cool, and cocked low over one eye. I can’t tell who it is, and my heart races until I notice black hair sticking out from the sides of the hat.
Not Blake. Phew.

Earlier today, I had the energy to put on my confident wares, but exhaustion has set in, and I don’t think I could stand up to him now. The last thing I want is to expose my insecurities. Especially to a guy like him.

“Hey.” He steps up to my desk.

This is one of the guys I met in the weight room.

“Hey. Rex, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and his lip ring shines against the backdrop of his straight, white teeth.

Huh.
He didn’t have that lip ring in earlier. I tilt my head. Or the one in his eyebrow. This guy has a unique style.

“Mr. Gibbs is gone for the day.” I point over my shoulder to the empty office. “I might be able to help you, but I’m still so new I—”

“That’s cool.” He shrugs. “I’m actually here to talk to you.” He turns his head and digs in his back pocket.

My eyes go directly to an orange, red, and blue tattoo that snakes up the side of his neck. Part of it disappears beneath his sweatshirt, but I can tell that it’s a dragon.

He turns back to me, and I’m forced to pull my eyes from his body art. He drops a bright yellow folded piece of paper on my desk. “That’s my band.”

“Oh.” I pick it up and unfold it. “You’re in a band?”

“Yeah. I know you’re new in town, and I thought you’d—”

“How do you know that?” I cringe, and immediately wish like hell I could take back my outburst. Hiding things from people will be much easier if I don’t act like I have something to hide. “I mean, I don’t remember telling anyone that.” I try to force a playful laugh, but it sounds anything but.

His eyes move to the side of my head.

A loose strand of my hair is quadruple wrapped around my index finger. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. With a quick shake, I free it and tuck it behind my ear.

He points down the hallway. “Taylor put up a memo in the locker room announcing your addition to the team, and it said you moved here from Seattle.”

“Oh, right.” I lean back in my chair, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose to study the flyer Rex gave me. “Ataxia” is printed across the top in letters that look like they’re dripping. Dates and club names are listed beneath it.

“I figure you probably don’t have a huge social circle yet, so thought I’d drop by a flyer. Maybe you could hit up our next gig.”

“Looks interesting.” My heart warms at his thoughtfulness. I don’t have any friends in Vegas. And I love music. Live music is even better. Not that I have a ton of experience with concerts, but I’ve always been curious. “What kind of music do you play?”

“Melodic punk rock. Don’t know if it’s your thing, but it’ll give you an excuse to get out. Meet some people.”

“Sure.” A smile tugs at my lips. He’s like a big city boy with small-town charm. “Thanks.”

“Sunday night’s at The Blackout. We get a pretty good crowd.”

I clear my throat. “How long have you been in a band?”

“Been playing local clubs for a few years.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Fighting comes first. Music second.”

“Well, thanks for this.” I hold up the band flyer. “I’ll definitely check it out.”

“Right on.” He rolls his lip ring between his teeth then releases it. “See ya tomorrow, Layla.”

“Good night.” I watch him walk away, both surprised and excited to have plans.

Nothing says roots like a job and plans with friends. The warm feeling of belonging floods my chest. I take a deep breath and allow the sensation to sink in and penetrate the frigid chill of aimlessness that I’ve felt for years.

I’m determined to make this new life of ours beautiful. I can’t accept anything less. Not again.

Four

Blake

“Damn, I’m fuckin’ full.” I lean back in my chair, propping my weight on its back legs. “That was great, baby girl.”

Raven looks to her husband, one eyebrow raised. “See? I told you I could learn how to cook.” She tosses her napkin at him, and he catches it mid-flight.

“Baby, it’s spaghetti. I was cookin’ this shit when I was thirteen,” Jonah says, but his smile gives away his true feelings. He’s proud of his girl.

She stands and grabs my plate. “I’m glad you liked it,
Blake
.”

“I never said I didn’t like it.” He pulls her into his lap and nuzzles her neck, making her squeal. “Best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

I avert my gaze with a roll of my eyes.

After a few giggles and playful kicks, she gets him to let her go. She grabs his plate, and he runs his hand along her belly. Something passes between them, not through words but a look, and whatever it is has them both smiling like dumbasses.

What is it with couples?

Jonah pulls his girl close for one more kiss before she heads off to the kitchen.

“You two done, or should I head out? I’m getting a bellyache from all this sugary sweet bullshit.” I’m still not used to seeing Jonah all wrapped up with a chick. He was my wingman for years, and now he’s Mr. Raven.

Married, just like
Mrs. Moorehead.
That’s how Taylor introduced the little mouse today in the weight room. Not miss, but missus. She’s fucking married. I can’t believe I didn’t see that shit earlier. She wasn’t wearing a ring—probably forgot it on the table next to the bed that she shares with Mr. Moorehead. Lucky fucking bastard.

Hearing that she’s married pissed me off. What I can’t figure out is why? I mean, she’s hot, and cute, and fiery in a way that makes me want to tame her, but I decided early on I wasn’t going to put on my best moves. Too much work.

Then again, I don’t like being told I can’t have something. And knowing that she’s off limits just turned Mrs. Moorehead into something forbidden. Fuck, if I—

“Did you hear me, bitch?” Jonah chucks a piece of garlic bread across the table, nailing me in the head. “Wake up.” I throw it back harder, but he deflects it with a swipe of his arm. “You ready to get serious about training? Your fight against Wade isn’t far away.”

I glare at my friend and then lean in. A pinch twists in my lower back. I put my forearms on the table to hold my weight, hoping he won’t notice. “Real funny, ass. You know I’m serious about training.”

Stretching his arms over his head, he locks his hands behind his neck. “You’re going to have to hit it harder than usual. Rumor has it Wade’s been watching your tapes. Plays that shit in his bedroom when he hits the sack, wakes up to it every morning. He’s eating, sleeping, and living your game.”

I shrug and lean back in my chair. The stabbing pain in my back flares again. “Waste of time.” I fight to take a deep breath.
Fuck.

“You all right, dude?”

“Fucked up my back today deadlifting.” I dig fingers into my aching spine.

“You gonna get that shit checked out?”

The sharp spasm mellows, and I take in a full breath. “Yeah. I’ll take some anti-inflammatory pills. If it’s not better in a few days, I’ll go see the Doc.”

“Why not go in tomorrow? Get a jumpstart on that shit. Hate to see you go down over something stupid, like pride.”

“Pride? You know as well as I do that I will pound Wade’s ass, jacked-up back and all. His game’s fuckin’ pre-school compared to—” My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Jonah laughs to himself. “Yeah, no pride there.”

I scowl at my dickhead friend then check the caller ID. “Shit, it’s Brae. I better take this.”

I stand and walk across the room to the back door, thankful that being on my feet eases the pressure on my back. “Brae. What up, man? Happy New Year.”

“Same to you, bro. How’s the desert?” My little brother’s voice is a welcome sound. I don’t get to talk to him often, and when I do, I’m reminded of how much I dig the guy.

“Nice and dry.” I walk out back and sit on a lounger, poolside. “What’s up with you? How’s things on base?”

He laughs low. “Same. Southern Cali never changes. Camp Pendleton’s quiet. Dad’s keeping me close.”

Yeah, I bet he is.
Asshole wants us to man up, be members of the few and proud. But when combat time rolls around, he can’t let his boy go overseas. At first, I assumed it was because he didn’t want to see us get hurt, but he’d have to give a shit for that to be the case. No, everything with my dad is about control. And I’m sure his keeping my brother stateside is no different.

“You gonna make it to my fight?”

“I’ll try. I really want to. But Dad knows about it. Heard him pissin’ and moanin’ about shit. He’ll probably come up with some bullshit booter-duty for me that weekend.”

I’ll never understand why my brother tolerates our piece of shit dad. I got out of there as soon as I could. The second I got discharged from the Corps, I ran like hell to Vegas.

No use in arguing with Brae. He’s set on pleasing the General.

“Right. Well, you’re twenty-one now. Vegas is your playground. If you ever make it out, I’ll show you how the other half lives.”

“I’d like that, man.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Getting a little sick of this place.”

I’m thankful we’re not face-to-face so he can’t see my grimace. Chances are, Braeden only sticks around to play shield to my mom. Just like I did until I was dragged out in the middle of the night and dropped off at military school.

“How’s Mom?” I want to know but cringe waiting for his answer.

He blows out a long breath. “Same.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“She misses you. Maybe you could give her a call sometime.”

My stomach drops at the mere mention of talking to my mom. I went from being a protective kid to a resentful adult. The conflicting feelings I have toward her make me irritable and…
fuck!
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
No, I won’t.
“But, uh… until I do, tell her I’m good, okay? Tell her I… that I’m happy.” It’s so messed up that I can’t say I love my mom. It’s just so fucking complicated and easier left alone, locked away with the rest of my secrets.

Safe from the prying, judgmental eyes of others.

“Will do.” He clears his throat. “I better run.”

I rub my forehead and try to push back the wave of shitty thoughts that are taking over. “Alright, bro. If you ever feel like getting out of there, you can come live with me in Vegas. You’ll always have a home with me, ya hear?”

“Yeah, I know.” He’s quiet.

The silence hangs between us. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—what our lives would be like if I’d just obeyed our dad back then. Does Braeden blame me for where he is today? Locked on some military base, taking orders?

“Catch ya later, Brae.”

The phone call ends. I stare into the black night, contemplating my ugly childhood. Giving up on dreams, throwing away the things that I enjoyed, things I was good at, all so that I could keep peace in my house. Protect my mom and brother.

A lot of good that shit did them.

I’ve heard men end up just like their fathers. Whether they like it or not, the DNA demands it. I hate that I see him in me, in the rage that draws me to the octagon, the need to have control over my life, my refusal to let anyone influence what I do. But unlike my dad, I’d never subject a kid, or a woman, to that kind of life. Lord knows I’ve seen how that turns out.

No attachments. No risk. No pain.

I jam my fists into my eye sockets. Talking to my brother always brings back the things that keep me awake at night.

My dad thought he could exorcise me of those demons by shipping me off. He was wrong. First thing I did when I got my own place was take back that part of my life he robbed me of. And now it’s the only thing that brings me peace when my head goes down these fucked up paths.

Party’s over. I need to get the hell out of here and to the only place that can bring those evils to heel.

The room.

Layla

“Breakfast for dinner. Yum.” Elle pushes her eggs and bacon around her plate, avoiding my eyes.

“I get my first paycheck in two weeks. Until then, we have to live on a budget.” I fork a bite into my mouth.

It’s funny how these eggs taste better than any others I’ve had. I know now what it means to appreciate the simple things. Like food. And health and work.

In my old life, I had a walk-in pantry full of food, but it all tasted the same. A clean bill of health but always felt sick. And work—well, my job was to stay home and keep house. And it was a gorgeous house. But it felt like a prison cell.

“Have you talked to him?” Elle is staring at me, her head tilted, eyebrows low.

“Who?”

She slides her eyes to the ceiling then back to mine. “Dad. You were just thinking about him, weren’t you?”

How’d she know?

“You always get that look.” She motions to me with her fork. “Lost or empty when you think about him.”

I study my plate, hoping she doesn’t notice how uneasy I am about her ability to read my expression. I wonder what else she’s figured out.

“I wasn’t thinking about him. But I was thinking about our old life.”

“Do you… miss it?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Do you?”

She stabs at her eggs then drops her fork. “I don’t miss listening to you and Dad fight.”

I drop my head and close my eyes.
Shit.
There’ll be a day when I can talk about this with her, but now is not it. Every day is a battle to maintain the illusion that I’m strong and can handle taking care of us on my own. This conversation will expose how weak I really am.

“I bet you miss your friends.” Changing the subject is my way to skirt the difficult subject. “Leaving school halfway through the year was hard on you, I know.”

She glares at me. “What are you talking about? I only had a couple friends, and neither of them has even called me since before Christmas break.” She holds her head in her hands and grips her hair.

Even with the past behind us, I’m constantly reliving my mistakes. The biggest being that Elle had to endure a life with parents who weren’t in love, who barely spoke to each other. When they did, it was through verbal insults or an attitude of indifference. The guilt presses into my sternum.