The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances (24 page)

W
e made
it to Hamburg without any real incidents at sea. A couple stormy nights had me vomiting like a pussy in my toilet, but nothing major cargo-wise. Captain McKinney declared me the ship’s lucky omen, but I knew better. If my life was spared on this voyage, it was only because something crueler was in store for me.

Walking through the market near the docks, I couldn’t stop thinking about Kenny. I didn’t want to miss her as badly as I did, but I knew I’d never stop. She would always haunt my thoughts.

One of the merchants made miniature dolls. Not knowing any German, I couldn’t speak to her, but she demonstrated how the tiny doll in my palm had moveable hands and feet. She had long purple yarn for hair. The part of my brain that wallowed in self-immolation imagined Kenny and me with a blue-eyed baby girl. She would love something like this. I pulled out the few Euros I had and handed them over.

The merchant was overjoyed, but I didn’t know what I’d do with the doll. Its eyes were closed, and it looked so vulnerable in my hand. Something about it reminded me of that night on the beach. I wrapped it in tissue and slid it under my pillow when I got back to the ship.

As I sat with the crew waiting for us to leave port again, headed back for Bayville, I watched the crewman Anders twisting wire into different shapes. He was Finnish, and with a pair of needle-nose pliers, he took a thin piece of silver and twisted it until it was a tiny boat with sails.

“That’s pretty good,” I said, watching him.

“It’s nothing,” he laughed, handing it to me. “For our good luck omen.”

He was something of the ship’s philosopher, and he reminded me a little of Doc. He was also the same joker who liked talking about all the different ways cargo ships could sink.

“Who do you make them for?” I asked, watching him start another.

“Meh,” he shrugged. “Wife and kids, mostly.”

Nodding, I picked up one of the small silver rods and rolled it between my fingers. As he worked, I saw a thin red ring around his thumb. “Did you get caught in the line?”

He inspected his hand. “Oh, no. That’s the Red String of Fate. Chinese legend. It’s for those who are destined to be together no matter time, place, or circumstance—an invisible red string runs from her pinky finger to his thumb.” Turning his hand, he smiled. “It might stretch or tangle, but it can never break.”

My eyes ached and I curled my fingers to touch the little black heart in my palm. “You believe in that stuff?”

“I’m a sailor, mate. I believe in omens, myths, legends, prayers.” His gravelly voice was low when he spoke again. “What’s her name? The girl who has your string? I can see it tormenting you.”

Glancing up at him, I couldn’t find a reason to hide it. “Kenny.”

“She married?” I shook my head, and he poked his lips out. “The Japanese have a word,
Komorebi.
It means ‘The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees.’ There’s no English equivalent.”

I thought of Kenny’s smile as I watched him continue to twist the silver pin into an infinity knot. He continued working, and after a while, it was a heart. Finishing, he wrapped it around, and it was a ring.

“Here.” Holding it up, he inspected it a few moments. “Tie a red string to this and give it to her.”

With a sad smile, I shook my head. “It’s going to take a lot more than a twisted piece of silver to fix what I did.”

“The red string can never break. Now be our safe omen home.”

* * *

T
he sunlight was too
bright hitting the courtyard on that steamy morning, the grass too green. It stung my eyes, and I wiped the back of my hand roughly across my brow, blinking fast.

The older man in the blue cotton tee and matching blue work slacks clapped me gently on the back. “You got this.” Deep lines on his face told of every hard lesson he’d ever learned, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d ever see him again after I walked out those gates.

“I got nothing,” I said, rubbing an inked hand over my diminished midsection. Then I picked up the pack at my feet. “All I’ve got is this. What I brought with me.”

“That’s all anybody ever has in life.” The man gave me a warm smile. His brown hair hung in his brown eyes. It was a style from another era, and the grey at his temples gave away his age. “But you’re ready to pick up your life again. You’re taking what you’ve learned.”

My lips tightened, unable to force a smile. Yes, I’d learned coping skills, how to control the rage in my chest, how to walk away, but I had no life to pick up. Not anymore.

Still, I didn’t want our parting words to be cross. “Thanks, Doc,” I said with a nod.

“Don’t thank me. I only helped you see what was inside you. You had to take the first step.”

The first step.

“Right. Well, take it easy.” I shook Doc’s hand then put one foot in front of the other, slowly making my way to the waiting taxi.

Leaving this place wasn’t like graduating from high school or college. Everyone would look at me differently now. They would question everything, from my trustworthiness to my ability to handle stress. Most wouldn’t even want to be around me. The stigma would follow me wherever I went, and at twenty-six years old, that was going to be a long fucking time.

“Where to?” The cab driver’s voice was wary. Or maybe it was disgusted.

My faded jeans hung a little looser on me now. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the folded map I’d studied for the several days. My eyes had devoured the coastline, reading name after name, trying to decide which one felt right on my tongue.

I imagined living near the ocean would help. I could find a simple, low-stress job—maybe construction or maintenance—and if it all got to be too much again, I could go down to the water, practice the things Doc had taught me. Centering, breathing, green-light the emotions, name them, embrace them, let them go.

My mind had settled on Bayville. It was small and close to what used to be home. One thing about losing everything—it brought a definite sense of freedom.

“Hey!” The driver’s voice was sharp. “You with me? I ain’t got all day. Where to?”

My ice blue eyes flashed, and fear registered on the man’s face. I’d have to adjust to that as well, I guessed. “Bus station.”

Inside, the taxi smelled like old vinyl and stale cigarettes, and I wondered how many times this stocky, unshaven man in the dirty chambray shirt had driven from here to the Greyhound station. My pack was at my feet as I pulled the heavy metal door closed with a pop and a slam…

I
jerked
awake in my cot. Something slammed in the boat above me—crews working around the clock. Blinking into the darkness, I tried to get my bearings. It was just a dream.

Only it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. Was it possible to dream memories?

Yes
.

It was the first time I’d dreamed of anything that wasn’t Kenny. That painful thought sliced through my chest. Night after night I closed my eyes and I was in her arms. I’d touch her face, smooth back her dark violet hair, kiss her pale pink lips, hold her against my chest. I could hear her sigh as I sank into her warm depths, feel her legs wrapping around my waist, her fingers in my hair.

I wasn’t sure why I thought climbing into the belly of a ship and sailing to the middle of the ocean would help me forget her. Every morning I awoke to the searing pain of losing her all over again.

Tonight was different, though. Maybe because of the story Anders had told me. The string. I remembered studying that map, looking at every city and thinking about the names. Of all the places to choose, I chose the one that would bring me to her. Did I have any control at all?

Shaking my head, I rolled over in my bed. I didn’t believe in fate or Chinese legends. Yet, here I was, longing for her with every breath. I rubbed my forehead hard and tried to find a way through the pain.

In my mind, I heard Doc’s words.
Without the darkness, you never see the stars.

T
hanksgiving was four days away
, and I’d promised my parents Lane would be with me for the annual Woods’ family gathering. My dad and I had never seen eye to eye, and I didn’t visit them as much as I should. But I tried to get Lane over to see them as often as made sense. It meant a lot to my mom.

Patrick and Derek had found Stuart and were with him in Montana. Something was wrong there, but I hadn’t asked for details. Once Lane and I left, Elaine would fly out to join them for the holiday—or for a conjugal visit, more likely. I knew Patrick.

Lane snuggled in my lap until he fell into a deep sleep. Elaine and I stayed up a bit longer watching the fire and sipping red wine.

She chuckled. “If you’d told me three years ago I’d be sitting by a fire sharing a glass of wine with the mother of my fiancé’s child, I would never have believed it.”

“I guess it is sort of an awkward arrangement.” I still wavered between feeling comfortable and feeling like I should apologize all the time when we were together. Still, I was so thankful Lane was here and not in New York with Aunt Laura. He would’ve been happy living with her, but our lives would be so different. I’d never see him.

“Oh, Kenny!” She sat up straighter, her eyes full of concern. “That’s not what I meant, but even you have to agree life can take some pretty unexpected twists.”

I couldn’t deny that. “Sometimes I feel like the twists are all I get from life. Or the screws.”

Elaine chewed her lip, her green eyes sparkling in the fire. “You and I have never had that kind of relationship, I know. But if you ever want to talk to me… I mean, we are Lane’s two mommies.”

In that moment, I knew why Patrick loved her so much. “Thanks, but I don’t know if I deserve consolation. All the screw-ups in my life can be laid directly at my feet. They’re all because of my choices.”

She looked into her wine glass, and I could tell she was weighing her words. “From what Patrick said, this business with Slayde wasn’t something you chose.” Her eyes flickered to mine, and she quickly added, “Not that we were discussing you. I just… I knew something was wrong when you went a month without visiting Lane. You never do that.”

Hugging my little boy closer to my chest, I felt the tears rising in my throat. “I didn’t want him to see me cry. He’s too little to understand.”

She nodded, taking another sip. “Want to tell me about it?”

I exhaled a laugh. “The perfect mommy of my little boy? Not really.”

“I’m not so perfect.” She rested her head on her hand. “I’m a person just like you.”

The fire crackled, and I stared at it a moment. “Blake was the first guy I ever loved. He was exciting, and he didn’t give a shit about anybody. He had these sparkling green eyes and spiked black hair… he was covered in tattoos, and he was dangerous and sexy… I felt so alive when I was with him.”

“I think I can understand that.” She smiled, waiting.

“He was also a first-class asshole. He was a nineteen year-old former juvenile delinquent. He was the guy in the convenience store hassling the clerk. He was the idiot who’d be in your face if you tried to criticize him.” Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the chair. “If I met him now, I wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

The living room was quiet except for the hiss of the fire. Just then, Lane made a snarfle, and our eyes met. Then we both laughed. “Is my baby snoring?”

“Can’t you see him being just like Patrick?” Elaine’s voice was full of adoration.

I couldn’t stop the smile crossing my lips. “Watch out preschool girls.”

We both laughed more, and she picked up the gauntlet I’d thrown. “So Blake was a mouthy troublemaker. Slayde…?”

“Is a quiet killer.” My eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus! I don’t know what to do with this.”

She took a deep breath and a sip of wine. “When you came back pregnant, and Patrick and I split up, I was so miserable. But I thought he had to be with you. He got you pregnant, he had to make it right.”

“But Patrick never loved me. He loves you.”

“And if you had married him, how long would it have lasted?” Her tone wasn’t aggressive. It was thoughtful, building, and I was curious about her point.

“Until I stuck a fork in his head,” I said with a smile.

She smiled too. “I guess what I’m trying to say is sometimes the ‘right’ thing isn’t what we’ve been taught is what’s supposed to happen. Life isn’t neat or clean enough for that. We have to be willing to try a different way sometimes, take a risk to get to happiness.”

I thought about what she was saying. “I feel like my life is one big test.”

“And what if it is?” She sat up in her chair. “I give tests all the time. They’re not judgments. They’re an opportunity to show what you’ve learned.”

Her eyes were round and full of heart, and a pain twisted in my chest. “I guess I’ve learned I’ll never stop making mistakes.”

“Does it have to be a mistake? I mean, look at us right now.”

My eyes went from her to my happy little boy sleeping in my lap, and I thought about the twisted path we’d followed to get here. “You’re really smart.”

“I’m a teacher.”

“A middle school teacher. The worst years.”

“That means you should listen to me even more.”

She grinned, but I couldn’t talk about it anymore. I hugged Lane and stared into the fire thinking about tests and twists and finding a path to happiness through a life filled with wrong choices.

* * *

L
ane was
snug at my mom’s house when I set out to do my usual jog on the beach the night after we returned to Bayville. She loved keeping him, and he was seriously in danger of being spoiled completely rotten.

Whenever I took him to visit my parents, she was beside herself with wanting to hold him and show him off to all her friends. Even my dad softened when my little boy’s golden head appeared with me in the doorway. He might’ve been angry and disappointed when Patrick and I showed up that day with the news I was pregnant and had no intention of marrying the father, but he couldn’t fool me. His love for his grandson was stronger than his lifelong frustration with his daughter.

The sun was just starting to set, and I parked my car at the end of the pier. As much as I didn’t want to look toward Slayde’s apartment, I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering in that direction. Doc was still there. He was determined to stay until his friend reappeared, and somehow that made the pain in my chest a little easier to bear. It gave me the slightest bit of hope that maybe there was a solution. I couldn’t see it yet, but perhaps it would come to me.

Leaning forward, I stretched my hamstrings. Then I straightened and pulled my foot to my buttocks. The warm-up filtered through my quads, and I took off walking through the soft sand down to the firmer, wet sand by the shore.

Running in sand was tough. It was one of the hardest exercises I’d ever done, but it was nothing like being on these familiar beaches alone, trying not to remember Slayde’s arms around me, him lifting me in the surf. I ran harder, away from the memory of finger paint floating around us in a loving rainbow as our bodies slid together.

More, faster, dig deep…
I tried to outrun those feelings. If I kept going, the pain in my chest would dissolve into a burn that blocked out every emotion. The only room left would be for adrenaline to push me on, fighting the resistance low in my stomach begging me to stop.

I’d gone a mile, maybe farther when I saw the lights of a bar ahead. It was the boardwalk or it was one of the clubs on Toms River. I couldn’t tell. I kept pushing until the burn in my chest lost out to the screaming of my lungs. I had to take a break.

Slowing, I dropped to a jog, then to a walk. I was breathing hard, but the pain was temporarily gone. No emotion could withstand the punishment of a sustained sprint.

There was no reason for me to keep walking toward the bar, but my legs kept moving putting one foot in front of the other. The night was completely black. Either it was a new moon or the clouds rolling in had obscured it. Self-preservation should’ve made me go back, but I kept walking until I slowed to a stop.

Above me on the beach I could just make out the dark shape of humans. I froze in place, fear gripping my insides. What was I doing out here alone? I was far from anyone who could help me, and worse, nobody knew where I was.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. The shapes further up on the shore weren’t interested in me. First I heard a moan. It sounded like sex on the beach. Then I heard the scream.

“Let me GO!” A female voice.

Through the darkness, I could almost make out arms, waving like a pinwheel, but the larger shape clamped them down.

“Stop fighting me you little bitch, and you might enjoy yourself.”

The words hit me hard, like lightning, fusing me to the spot. The voice.

I knew that voice.

More struggles, female wails. Then a second voice.

“Come on, Grif. Let’s get out of here.” The skinny guy. They were both here.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of here so I can nail this bitch.”

It was the same thing all over again. Did they rehearse this sick stunt?

“Please let me go. Please.” Her whining and begging twisted an ache of anxiety in the center of my torso. I was paralyzed with fear, but I couldn’t let this happen. I had to do something.

“That’s right,” Grif snarled. “Stick that little ass up.”

My stomach roiled, and I thought I might vomit. Her next words snapped me out of it.

“Help me! Somebody, plea—”

“Shut up.” It sounded as if his hand was over her mouth the way her voice became muffled. Still it was enough.

Rage that had simmered long and low in my stomach for months boiled up and over. I remembered what Slayde told me, but I didn’t have pepper spray or mace. All I had was the power of my body, my fists. He’d taught me how to throw a punch from the depth of my core all the way through the center of my fist, and I was ready to put my skills to the test.

Running forward, my hands clenched into tight balls as I rapidly crossed the sand, tilting my wrists slightly. I was just at him when the roar pushed out of my throat. “Let her GO!” I shouted in a voice I didn’t recognize.

My first two knuckles plowed at an angle across his cheekbone and into his nose with the force of all my running and what little body weight I had to throw behind it. Pain exploded into my forearm when I made contact, but my form was good. I wasn’t injured. I’d only made contact with bone, and he staggered dropping to his knees on the sand, releasing his victim. Fast as I could, I followed my one with the two, this time aiming for his throat.

“BASTARD ABUSING ASSHOLE!” Another roar tore from my throat, but no pain followed my second strike.

He fell flat, arching his back and gagging. As before, the thin man was nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t care. I waited over Grif’s body, fists still up, elbows tight. He struggled in the sand to breathe, and the girl crawled away fast, just like I had done the night Slayde saved me.

I looked up and she was limping and running back in the direction of the bar. “Wait!” I yelled, but she didn’t stop.

I let her go. My rapid breathing moved my shoulders as I stood over the loser at my feet. I didn’t have a phone. I didn’t have any way to report this. He continued writhing and gagging, and at least I knew he wasn’t dead.

“Look at me,” I growled. He didn’t move, and my voice grew louder, another roar. I was the tiger. “Look. At. ME!”

His head turned. “That was your second warning, fucker. Do you hear me?” I kicked him in the torso, and he let out an
Oof!

“NEVER COME BACK.” I pulled my leg back and kicked him again, harder. Another
Oof!
I dropped to my knee and grabbed the hair at the top of his head in my fist, jerking his head back as hard as I could. Blood formed a black mask over the lower half of his face in the darkness, and a sick satisfaction warmed my chest.

My voice was low and sinister. “If you ever come back here again, I
will
find you. And I
will
finish you. This is your last warning.”

The sound of another person approaching snapped my head up. I released Grif’s hair, and stood to face what had to be his accomplice walking toward us.

“Who’s there?” I couldn’t believe this asshole was going to try acting tough—again! He was going to try and spin it like the girl had asked for it.

Standing over the moaning body at my feet, I almost wished I had killed him. Then I thought about what kind of person that made me. I thought of Slayde—standing right here, fighting with all the inner strength he had not to kill this guy. I could still see his fists clenching and unclenching.

Pulling my foot back, I planted another, hard kick right in Grif’s stomach, resulting in another grunt. This time, he curled forward.

“What are you doing?” Skinny was moving a bit slower.

I spun on my heel and started to run back the way I’d come. I heard his voice yell after me as my pace picked up. I was flying back toward the pier, toward Slayde’s place.