Rough Around the Edges (17 page)

A distinct feeling of wavering restraint washed through his body, making every muscle harden. The sound of her wild breathing intensified the sensation as agonizingly expectant moments rushed by.  Pleasure crashed over him like a wave, sending him over the edge, and as her breathing slowed, his quickened. Blood rushed in his ears and he thrust harder, pushing for the inevitable.

“Fuck yeah…”

She rocked her hips too, matching his rhythm. The resulting friction was explosive. Every muscle in his body was tight and he was beyond coherent thought as he spilled himself inside her pussy’s tight embrace, balls close to his body and hers too, wet with her moisture.

He rode out the last traces of pleasure, stopping only when it had faded and was replaced with a bone-deep, satisfaction-laced fatigue.

When he was still, she leaned back and released her grip on his shoulder, where she’d anchored herself with her nails. He could still feel the impressions they’d made, burning dully through the haze of his satisfaction. If he had his way, the feeling would linger forever, reminding him of where and how she’d held onto him.

She smoothed her fingers over the marks, sending another wave of heat rippling through him as she leaned in and brushed a fleeting kiss across his temple.

Thighs trembling, she rose, unsheathing him, and settled beside him on the couch with a small sigh.

It would’ve been nice to simply sit and enjoy the soft weight of her body leaning against his, but he rose instead to dispose of the condom in the kitchen trashcan. It wasn’t until he returned to the couch that he glanced at the TV screen. The credits were scrolling – they’d kissed and fucked through the entire movie.

It didn’t matter – the sight of her pink lace panties on the armrest reminded him that she probably hadn’t intended to really watch the movie anyway.

He tucked his softening cock back into his underwear and zipped his jeans before sinking onto the couch again.

“How’s your head?” Ally met his eyes for half a moment before letting her gaze drift higher, presumably to the butterfly bandage above his temple. He’d been imitating her original job daily, replacing it.

“Fine.”

She reached for his head and swept her fingers through his short bangs. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. The motion sent her fingers sweeping through his hair and over the curve of his skull – a lucky consequence. The gentle press of her fingertips against the back of his head dispelled tension he hadn’t even realized was there. “The wound is barely an inch long, if that. I’ve had much worse. Don’t worry about it.”

Her eyes didn’t stop shining with concern. “Have you had any headaches – migraines – since Friday night?”

He caught her hand in his and lowered it, intertwining his fingers with hers. “No. I’ve been fine since then.”

A small indentation appeared in the full swell of her lower lip as she bit it from the inside. “I read something over the weekend.” She said it like she was confessing something, like she thought he’d be mad. “Melissa’s sister had it, and I took a look – it was a medical pamphlet, about TBI. Her fiancé is in the Army Reserve and just came back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan.”

A pause stretched between them as her words whirled through the silence that echoed inside his skull like a blast wave.

“I was wondering if that’s the cause of your migraines.” Her eyes never left his, and he was still holding her hand.

“Yeah. That’s what they diagnosed me with, anyway. After the blast.” The truth came out, flat and factual. It wasn’t like he could lie or refuse to answer her question. Denying her anything wasn’t within his power – not while her body’s heat and moisture was still lingering on his.

“When I read about it, I couldn’t help but think of you.”

He did his best to keep his expression neutral as he maintained eye contact with her. “You thought right. It didn’t seem like something to mention on a first or second date, you know?” Mentioning it still didn’t seem right, but she obviously already knew.  “And then you saw what it can do… Still, most people don’t know what TBI is. Those three letters are just out-of-sequence pieces of the alphabet to them.” Would he ever have brought it up on his own?

He brain defied him to come up with a scenario in which doing so would’ve seemed natural, or at least bearable.

“I didn’t know what it was either, before I saw that literature. I’ve spent some time researching it since then, trying to understand what it is.”

“It’s basically the after-effects of a concussion,” he said. “My case is considered mild. Traumatic brain injury – it’s not as dramatic as it sounds.” He’d always thought the term made it sound like he was brain-dead or something like that. He wasn’t nearly that bad off, thank God. He didn’t think or function like before, but he still thought and functioned.

She was still biting her lip.

“I’m seeing a doctor,” he added, “at the VA Medical Center. The migraines and everything… They’ll most likely go away eventually. I already don’t get them as often as I did at first.” Or at least, he hoped to hell they’d stop someday.

“I’m glad you’re getting treatment. And I understand that recovery can take a while. But fighting … isn’t that dangerous?”

“Entering a ring and knowing you and the other guy are both going to try your damndest to beat the hell out of each other before you get out – of course it’s dangerous. You’d know. Haven’t you ever been hurt fighting?”

“Yes. But I’m not talking about the standard risks – aren’t you endangering yourself and jeopardizing your recovery by voluntarily risking more head trauma?”

A sinking feeling struck him – not for himself, but for her. Her worry was obvious in her voice and her eyes. In a way, he felt bad knowing he was its source. But there was nothing he could do to ease it. “It’s been almost a year. I waited that long to get back into competing. I’m not going to wait any longer.”

“What does your doctor say about you fighting?”

“I haven’t mentioned it to him. Look…” He gave her hand a squeeze he knew wouldn’t quell the look in her eyes – a mix of concern and stubbornness. “I know Friday night must’ve freaked you out. And it’s nice that you read up on TBI. You’re kind, Ally, and that’s rare. But I’m not going to stop competing. I know what I’m doing.”

She’d seen him fight. She knew he was capable of handling himself. He wasn’t some idiot who’d stumbled into the ring after watching one too many UFC matches on TV.

“I know you know what you’re doing in the ring. But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to be hit in the head, because you are. And I’m going to think about that every time I watch you fight. Every time you step into the ring I’m going to wonder if you’re going to come out in so much pain you can’t even drive or walk, let alone fight another match.”

The sinking feeling went deeper, and suddenly, touching her felt awkward. “I’m sorry I’m putting you through that.” He kept holding her hand like an idiot, the cold sensation in the tips of his fingers cutting him off from her heat and warning him that his touch didn’t belong there.

She dropped her gaze and said something about the movie they hadn’t watched, but he didn’t feel the sense of relief he’d imagined the end of the disagreement would bring. He didn’t feel anything, really, besides a stifling awkwardness and a gnawing sense of discomfort brought on by the fact that she was obviously worried he’d put her through another night like their first.

* * * * *

Anticipation had Ryan’s nerves humming like live wires. Ally stood beside him, keeping him company while he waited for his match. There were several more to go before it’d be his turn to face the undefeated guy from Philly. He was already thinking about it, his mind half on the fight and half on what Ally was saying.

She’d asked him how he’d gotten into MMA in the first place and he’d told her how he’d been obsessed with martial arts as a kid, how he’d begged his parents for karate lessons when he’d been little and had taken up MMA as a teen back in New York. He spoke without really thinking about it, letting his mind glide over the surface of the memories thinking back to then brought up. The fact that he was focused on his upcoming match allowed him to talk about the past without dwelling on it.

“They hated it,” he said, aware that she’d asked him what his parents had thought of his involvement in more extreme forms of martial arts. “As far as they were concerned, anyone would have to be half brain-dead to want to waste their time giving out and taking beatings inside a ring.” A thread of irritation wove its way through his thoughts, a remnant of his parents’ distaste.

He resisted the feeling and instead thought back to the training sessions he’d had with Cameron during the past week. Thinking about the past sucked. Once his mind scratched the surface of those memories, it was like falling into a tar pit – old times clung to him, sticky and crushing, the recollections unwanted.

“What about now that you’re an adult? Do they still hate it?”

He shrugged, willing his shoulders not to knot with creeping unease. “I’m sure they do.”

“I guess I’m lucky. I originally got into MMA because of my parents. Well, because of my mother.”

“Really?” He jumped on the change of subject as someone took a hard punch inside the nearby cage.

“Yeah. She signed me up for a women’s self-defense class when I was seventeen. That was mostly just being taught to shout ‘no’ and strike your attacker in sensitive areas, but it turned out my instructor was a female martial artist, and I signed up for some other classes under her. I got into jujitsu and boxing that way, and then a couple years ago I started training at Knockout.”

“Did you compete before you came to Knockout?”

“Just in a few tournaments my instructor chose for me. Not for money – just to see if I could and what it was like. I liked it more than I thought I would. I started competing for money a year ago when Cameron started up his women’s nights. What about you?”

“Yeah, back in New York I competed in just about all the amateur events I could make it to.” He’d relished the escape fighting provided even then. Escaping from his parents’ control-freak tendencies and rigid expectations, escaping from the abrasive memories that whirled through his mind like a desert sandstorm – there always had been and always would be something he wanted to forget about for a little while. The inside of a ring or cage was perfect because there, nothing but the fight mattered.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lived in New York my whole life until I enlisted, so that was where I got into MMA.” Tonight’s match would be an escape from both sets of memories, from his entire past. Not that it was Ally’s fault, but her questions had unearthed sour feelings he’d done his best to bury years ago.

At least he’d be able to shed those emotions in the ring, and then they could spend the night together like they’d planned, the basic but awkward questions out of the way. It was probably best that she’d asked him now, really.

“Why’d you choose to live here when you got out?”

He shrugged while focusing on the men grappling inside the cage. “Had to live somewhere. Didn’t want to stay on the North Carolina coast where I’d be looking in from the outside on the Marine Corps every day, so I decided to get out of the area. Didn’t want to go back to New York, either. So I ended up here, about halfway between those places. Got an apartment and a job.” He shrugged again. “Here I am.”

“Will you stay?”

Chapter 10

“Don’t know where else I’d go.” It wasn’t like he belonged anywhere anymore. Baltimore was as good a home as any.

He felt her gaze leave him as she shifted her attention to the cage. “Were you undefeated in New York?”

He fought a small smile. “Afraid not. But don’t tell anyone here that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I know.”

The latest match ended when one of the guys tapped the other out.

“Won’t be much longer now,” Ryan said, rolling his shoulders and stretching them, willing the tension to leave his muscles.