Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) (17 page)

Charlotte sat in the reading chair in her bedroom, looking at Tig’s sleeping figure in her bed. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion above and beyond the bruising from the beating that he obviously took in the cage, and when he shifted in his sleep, his face crumpled with discomfort.

As soon as Pierce ended his call to her a few hours earlier, she called Ryan, knowing that, in addition to him rebuilding her kitchen in the new house, he was also a medic of some sort in the military and tended to the fighters’ minor injuries.

What she did not realize was that Pierce and Ryan knew each other, and she surely did not anticipate that they really did not like each other at all.

Ryan had been furious—at Tig, at whoever this Raptor guy was, and a list of other people. Before he left, Pierce had described the other fighter to Ryan, telling him that Tig had been outweighed by at least fifty pounds, easily, and despite that, he had actually won the fight.

And that had been the problem because Pierce said that Tig was not nearly as beaten and bruised when he left the cage as he was when Pierce found him collapsed on a street corner.

“I’m guessing that Tig was supposed to lose, and when he didn’t, those assholes made sure that he wasn’t going to enjoy his victory.”

Pierce hung around for a few minutes, looking very uncomfortable, but at the same time, he seemed very concerned. It was only after Ryan asked Pierce to help treat Tig that the big fighter seem to relax a bit. Nevertheless, when the night doorman called Charlotte to complain that Pierce’s car was parked illegally, he seemed relieved to have to go, and he did not come back to the apartment.

Charlotte’s phone chimed, signaling that she needed to rouse Tig from his slumber and make sure he was okay. She hated to do it, but she knew that it had to be done.

“Tiggy . . .” Charlotte laid her hand on his head, petting the soft burr haircut as she woke him. “Tig, honey, open your eyes for me.”

Tig opened one eye and blew out a shallow breath. “Charlotte? What are you doing here?”

“Hey.” She smiled at him. “You feel okay?”

“I feel like shit.” He groaned as he shifted on the bed, and he opened the other eye and looked around. “Why am I at your apartment? How the hell did I get here?”

“Damon Pierce brought you over. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Go back to sleep.” She stroked his cheek, and Tig closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, and was soon back asleep.

“You need to get some sleep, too, Charlotte,” Ryan said in a low voice.

Charlotte turned to look at him where he stood in the doorway, his large frame cutting the light from the living room. He motioned for her to follow him. With a sigh, she stroked Tig’s face once more and followed the cutman into the living room.

They talked for a few hours, each relaying to the other what they knew about Tig’s financial situation, and came to the shared conclusion that the only reason he was taking the extra fights was to pay for farm expenses.

“He said this was the last fight that he was going to do, but . . .” Ryan’s voice trailed off, leaving unsaid all his fears about his friend. “You gotta talk some sense into him, Charlotte.”

“You think
I
can make a difference?” Charlotte snorted an incredulous laugh. “We haven’t talked in weeks, Ryan. What I think isn’t going to matter at all.”

“I think it might. I think it may just make all the difference in the world.”

Charlotte leaned against the counter, running her thumbnail along the hem of her T-shirt. “I think his stepfather thinks he’s selfish. And that I’m some princess-y priss that’s going to make him feel less than, you know?”

Ryan huffed a laugh. “Yeah. The truth is, Charlotte, you have to be a little selfish to succeed in this. Sometimes you have to tell everyone to fuck off—to throw off all the naysayers that are telling you ‘you can’t do this’ or ‘you’re not good enough to do that’—and just get the shit done. Tig’s been doing that, and doing it well, but damn, he needs some help. He needs some reinforcement, somebody that’s in his corner.”

“The DS Fight Club team supports him. . . .”

“You know what I mean, Charlotte. He needs someone that’s strong enough to support him, to build him up, help him realize that he
is
worthy, and soft enough to help him when he needs comfort.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Oh, man.” She blew out a breath. “Sounds like Tig needs to follow his own advice.”

Charlotte told Ryan about all the pep talks Tig had given her, all the support he had blessed her with, and then she told him about Hattie’s prediction that Tig would pour everything into her and not keep anything for himself.

“Tig’s mama sounds like a sharp cookie.”

Charlotte laughed. “She is—maybe
too
sharp.” She blew out another breath. “He’s not going to let me help him, is he?”

“With money? No, probably not. It won’t hurt to offer him some, though. He might let you help him in other ways, and it definitely won’t hurt to try that.”

“You’re a good guy, Ryan.”

It was Ryan’s turn to scoff. “No, I beg to differ on that, but thank you.”

They stood in silence for a few moments until Ryan stretched his back and popped his neck. “I’m going to head out, okay? Call me if he acts like a jackass.”

“Yeah, expect to get a call, bright and early, then.”

Ryan chuckled. “You’re a keeper, Charlotte. I hope Tig realizes it.”

“Thanks, Ryan.”

Ryan kissed her on the cheek and left the apartment, and Charlotte slipped back into the bedroom to nudge Tig for his hourly wake-up.

Charlotte was in the kitchen, blearily making coffee, when Tig woke up.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” she said. “Do you want coffee?”

Tig gingerly walked across the room. “Sure. Thanks.” He watched her while she poured him a large cup of black coffee and slid it across the bar.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, looking at each other, each trying to gauge if the other needed or wanted to be the first to say something. Finally, Charlotte spoke.

“Ryan is going to pick you up at nine or so.”

Tig did not say anything but nodded to acknowledge.

“Thank you, Charlotte.”

She waved him off. “You should thank that guy, Pierce. He was the one that brought you over here.”

“Pierce?
Damon
Pierce brought me here?”

“Yes, he did. And he stayed for a good while, while Ryan checked you out. I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but you owe him.”

Tig slumped by the bar. “Fuck, man. I owe everybody, it seems. . . .”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “Yeah, about that. Tig, I could help you. . . .”

“What?”

“I could . . . help you. A loan. A gift. Something.”

Charlotte could see his eyes harden and his jaw twitch, and she mentally sighed.

“This is not your issue to fix, Charlotte, but thank you.”

“This is not your issue to fix, either, Tig. You know that. . . .”

“You don’t know my situation, Charlotte.”

“I would if you would tell me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“If we’re dating . . .”

“But we’re not.”

Charlotte sucked in a breath, and Tig immediately regretted his terseness.

“Charlotte . . .”

“It’s fine, Tig. I need to not assume things.”

“Charlotte . . .”

“Don’t, Tig.” Charlotte chuckled sadly. “Don’t. Every time you say my name three times, something wonderful happens. If there’s not going to be any more wonderful, I don’t want you to say my name.” She would not look at him,
could not
look at him, so she fixed her eyes on the lamp that she especially despised. “Ryan will be here soon. You should probably go wait for him in the lobby so he doesn’t have to park.”

Tig’s shoulders slumped. “It was never you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you told me that the last time we talked.”

Tig looked at her, staring at that god-awful lamp, looking as pretty as she ever did, but her back ramrod straight and with a coldness in her expression that he had not seen before.

Shit.

Tig was at a loss for words, so he sucked in a shaky breath, thanked the only woman that he had cared about besides his mother, and made his way to the lobby, where he could see Ryan pulling up.

Tig got in the car and sank down in the seat. “Thanks for picking up me, Ryan.”

“I got you, Tig.” Ryan pulled out of the parking lot of Charlotte’s apartment building. He did not look at Tig at all.

“Ryan . . .”

Ryan held up his hand. “No. Just stop. You’re going back to the Fight Club, you’re taking a shower because you fucking stink, and then we’re having a serious fucking talk. And then, you’re talking to Colin. No excuses and no stalling, okay?”

“Okay.”

*****

Showered and with some food in his stomach, Tig’s outlook improved for a few minutes, and then Ryan pulled up a chair and leveled a hard look at him.

“She loves you.”

“It’s complicated, Goody.”

Ryan scoffed. “What’s so complicated about it? She wants to help you. She wants to take care of you. She wants to love you. She wants
you
to
let
her love you.”

“What if I don’t want that?”

“Then you’re lying to yourself, Tig, and that may be even worse than lying to her.”

“She’s not responsible for me. She didn’t get me into this mess.”

“Did
you
get yourself into this mess? Or is this something that you’re taking on because you feel obligated to?”

Tig just shook his head.

Ryan exhaled loudly. “I’m going to say one more thing, and then I’m going to leave and tell Colin you want to see him. The last question I’m going to ask is: will it be worth it? That’s what you’ve got to ask yourself.”

Ryan got up, and before he left Tig’s small apartment, he patted him on the shoulder.

Tig lowered his still-throbbing head to his hands. How in the world did things get so fucked up? Why was it so hard to do the right thing, and why wasn’t the right thing the same for everyone? He was so sick of the trade-offs, the compromises, especially when he never seemed to reap the benefits.

There were two raps on the door, and Colin called Tig’s name.

“Yeah, it’s open.”

Colin loomed in the doorway, his face carefully blank.

Fuck
.

“Tig, I’ve heard that you’ve got some things to tell me.”

And so Tig told Colin about everything: all the promises that he made and all the problems with the farm. Colin was understandably upset regarding the illegal fights, but Tig was surprised at exactly
why
the former champion was upset. Colin was upset that Tig did not confide in him that he was having issues and that Tig did not feel comfortable enough coming to him and just telling him that these things were going on.

“Tig, man, when you first came on, I told you that I was building a safe place, that my door was open, and if any fighter had an issue, he could come to me and not be judged, but be supported. I want to do anything I can to help you guys. That’s why I’ve got the financial services classes, the nutrition classes, the public speaking exercises. But I’m not a mind reader, and you’ve got to
tell
me if you’ve got something going on that’s way bigger than you.”

Tig thought he was going to throw up. Or hyperventilate. Or possibly both. And maybe cry on top of that. No, he
knew
he was going to cry because he could feel the burn in the back of his eyes, something that he had not felt since the day his backpiece was finished.

So he just nodded, sucked a shuddering breath, and gave thanks that he found someone that gave a fuck about him.

Colin settled back in the chair, his huge frame spilling over the sides. He cocked his head at the smaller, younger fighter.

“Why did you really leave Raptor Pryde, Tig? Truthfully, and I want the whole story, not some sanitized bullshit that you concocted.”

Tig huffed a laugh.
Oh God.

Tig told Colin about the fights at the construction site and how Jett Raptor approached him about becoming a prospect for the Raptor Pryde team, and in a few weeks, he had begun training with them in hopes of being added to their permanent roster. Meanwhile, Tig worked in construction and bussing tables and whatever he could do to pay the gym fees.

“Hold up, Tig. You really were literally sleeping in your truck all that time?”

Tig nodded. “Yep. I couldn’t afford anything else, but hell if I was going to pass up an opportunity like that.”

“But they never signed you on as an actual team member, just as a prospect.”

Tig nodded again. “I suppose that’s my own fault. I complained to Raptor about not getting legitimate fights. Raptor was making the matches at the underground fights. He was discreet about it, but everyone knew. And as we went on, the matches were riskier and riskier, and finally I told him I wasn’t going to do another one until he got me a legitimate match.”

“And that’s when he canned you.”

Tig nodded. “Said I owed everything I was to him.”

“Son of a bitch,” Colin spat. “Is Raptor still involved with the illegal fights?”

“I hadn’t seen him in months, but when Tommy left—that’s the matchmaker over at Raptor Pryde, and he was doing the off-book fights as well—I started seeing Raptor at the fights again. I don’t think Pryde has any idea at all what’s going on. Hell, I don’t know if he knows about illegal fights at all.”

“Okay, Tig, this is something that I was going to talk to you about anyway, but now that I know what’s going on, I really think you need to do this Round Robin that’s coming up.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming . . . ?”

“Because you’d need to do it at bantamweight. Featherweight slots are filled up.”

Tig scrubbed his face. It had been a long time since he’d cut to one hundred thirty-five pounds, especially as he’d gotten older and his natural walking-around weight hovered somewhere almost in the welterweight range.

“Fuck it. I’ll do it.”

Colin took a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll get the entries started and get you an appointment with the nutritionist, okay?”

“Okay.”

Colin cuffed Tig on the shoulder, and as he was leaving, Tig called out to him. “Hey, Colin. . . thanks. For everything.”

Colin huffed a laugh and nodded.

Tig blew out a breath and refused to think about the yet unresolved issues in his life—mainly the one who liked high heels and sparkly hair ornaments.