by Cindi Madsen
“I bet you’ve had some fucking dreams about her. Hell, I’ve had some—”
“Unless you want me to rearrange your face, you’ll stop there. Not to mention her brother is headed our way, and if he hears you talking about her like that, he’ll punch you and save me the effort.”
Liam glanced from me to him and narrowed his eyes, as if he sensed we’d been talking about Brooklyn.
I tipped my head toward my best friend, since so far he and Liam hadn’t crossed paths yet. “This is my boy, Hector. Hector, Liam Roth.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees and sucking in one last gulp of air. “I’m ready to commence with the torture.”
Liam’s mouth kicked up on one side. “Actually, we’re going to try something different today.”
Visions of running through dry sand and going toe-to-toe with all three Roths flickered through my mind. Instead he told me to hit the showers and then meet him in Blake’s office, adding that Hector was welcome to join.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of us walked into Blake’s empty office. Liam instructed us to sit on the couch, and we reviewed hours of film. My old fights and Conrad’s old and new fights. Naturally I’d seen most of the footage before, but this time I noticed something I hadn’t before—flashes of Brooklyn standing nearby, cheering on her boyfriend at the time.
Toxic jealousy ate away the lining of my stomach. She’d cheered for him, but she wouldn’t be there cheering for me. On the upside, it was great motivation to pummel Conrad into the ground next weekend. Downside, holy shit, I miss her.
Hector announced he had to take off, but of course he couldn’t leave without a not-so-cryptic: “Think about what I said. Pick up the phone. See what happens.”
Liam clicked off the TV and silence cloaked the room. “I’m guessing he’s talking about calling my sister.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t call her.”
While Liam was usually pretty stone-faced, his features hinted at being conflicted now. “I thought she was a distraction, and in some ways—in a lot of ways—I was right. But some of the fire you used to have has gone out. You hit as hard, and your form is good, but…”
“Something’s missing.” She’s missing. “Yeah, Brooklyn was a hell of a distraction, but she also gave me a new reason to fight. To prove myself, not just in the cage, but with everything.” I need her. “I asked her to stay.” I wasn’t sure why I added that last part—it was supposed to stay in my head with the other overly-personal thoughts I should let go of.
“And I pushed her to go,” Liam said. “Last time I watched her give up her dream and stay for a fighter, it didn’t go so well.”
Offense pinched my gut and the muscles in my body coiled. “I’m nothing like her asshole ex.”
Liam’s sharp gaze homed in on me. “Did you ask her to put off her dream so you could achieve yours?”
I opened my mouth. Snapped it shut.
“You’ve put all this work into getting ready for this fight, and you’re so close that now you can taste it. What if she asked you to walk away? To take a chance on getting another fight in the future that’d help your career instead, even though it would involve a lot of happenstance?”
All that work and training, a chance at victory and greatness finally within my grasp. All the people who claimed I was washed-up choking on their words as I proved them wrong. Would I really be able to shrug and walk away? The thought alone fired me up. Made me want to protest and yell and plant my feet. If it were a sword, it’s the one I’d choose to die on.
“But Brooklyn would never do that,” Liam said. “Instead, she knew how badly you wanted—hell, how badly you needed—a fight like this to get your career back anywhere near its former glory. So that night at the bar she did what she could to make it happen. She knew she was distracting you from your training, and that we all need you to win this fight or we’re looking at losing everything. I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, but it’s the truth. One of our employees stole from us, and business has slowed to a trickle, and everything we’ve built here could be ripped right out from under us.
“Brooklyn found out, and she had a hard decision to make, and when I could see she was about to give up everything, I pushed her to get back to her dreams. Honestly, I thought it’d be better for both of you.”
Everything he’d told me sank in a little at a time as my mind wrestled with what I wanted versus what might be better for her. Hope had bested me again, and the thought of letting Brooklyn go for good ripped the gaping hole in my chest even wider. All my life I’d been afraid to want anything. This thing with Brooklyn was stronger than want. I needed her. Needed her to ground me and to give me a bigger reason to fight than simply proving myself. But if she needed to live up north to paint and sell her remarkable works of art… God, I wanted to be strong enough to let her live her dreams, even if doing that crushed part of mine.
“Have you…?” The words snagged in my throat and I forced them out. “Have you talked to her? Is she okay?”
“I talked to her yesterday. She’s a bit homesick, but she’s also excited and nervous about the big exhibition. It’s a huge opportunity for her, and along with that, she’s already been meeting with the artist who’s going to mentor her during her internship, and they get along really well. She’s painting again, too. Not just squeezing an hour in a week, but actively spending her time on what she loves.”
He didn’t come out and say it, but I heard it there between the lines. Leave her be. She’ll be fine in time, and her dreams are coming true.
The best thing I could do for her was win my fight so that her family didn’t lose their livelihood. That would be my new motivation. The spark I needed to reignite the fire that’d died over the past two weeks.
Back to fighting for titles. No one could rip those away. Take them from me for a while, sure, but that particular fight and title would always be mine once I won them. “I appreciate you being straight with me, so I’ll be straight with you. I’m in love with your sister, and because of that, I’ll do whatever it takes to win my fight.” Lead filled my lungs, cutting off the ability to take in or expel oxygen. “It also means I won’t stand in the way of her dreams. You have my word.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Brooklyn
I felt the other side of the bed, my hands coming up devastatingly empty, and my heart squeezed into a tight knot that made it hard to breathe. I’d dreamed that Shane had shown up on my doorstep and we’d kissed and everything was right between us, and then we’d fallen into bed, and he was supposed to be next to me and he wasn’t, and dammit, I was going to start the day crying again.
I bolted upright, threw off my covers, and forced myself to get started on my day instead of sulking, because it was getting pathetic. When I had a paintbrush in my hand and a canvas in front of me, I felt alive. Each time I stopped by the ritzy gallery where tonight’s exhibition would take place, I got a contact high from all the magnificent artwork. The first day I’d strolled inside I’d had to beat back the voice in my head whispering that I was a farce and they’d find out they’d picked wrong. But after spending time setting up my display, I could now walk inside and feel like my pieces belonged there along with the others.
As for me? I still wasn’t sure if I belonged there. Mostly because every time I thought about Shane and my brothers and the gym, I felt like I belonged there instead, even though I knew otherwise. The damn pull of the MMA world was just that strong, constantly trying to take over, the way it always would if I let it.
Basically, if I didn’t fill every waking minute of my day with art, art, and more art, I forgot why I was here in San Francisco, and thoughts of home left me floundering and two shades past miserable.
I cracked a couple of eggs in my skillet, then I thought of how Shane made me eggs and bacon one morning, and instead of pushing it away, I closed my eyes and relived the way it felt to be wrapped in his arms. The way his lips felt against mine, and how his kisses awaken
ed something inside of me I’d never felt before.
Then I was thinking of that night when he’d uttered the words: But most of all, I like you being mine.
It was enough to make me want to crawl back to him and beg him to let me be his again. If he really cared, though, surely he would’ve wished me luck and told me good-bye. He would’ve made at least one fucking phone call to check in or tell me he missed me. Something. Anything.
You could call him.
But the ball’s clearly in his court. I’m not going to beg. Not going to take second place in his life. Not going to wait for that day when he blames my not being there for why he cheated.
What did you expect? You should’ve been there. Conrad’s voice echoed through my head, a tormenting, stuck record that played every time I thought that maybe Shane and I could’ve found a way to work things out. I hated that the asshole’s words were in my head. Hated that he’d made me doubt Shane, who didn’t deserve to be compared to someone so far below his level.
Except for when they stepped into the cage tonight. Then everyone could compare how much better Shane was in every way.
Out of habit, I opened my calendar on my phone, despite being more than aware of the date and the two very important events happening today. I focused on the Golden City Art Exhibition!!!!! entry, and on how my paintings had been chosen from thousands of submissions—thousands. Along with established, well-known artists, my pieces would be on display for everyone who wandered through the gallery this evening, and over the next week as well. Unless I sold them all tonight, but that was getting way ahead of myself.
Even if I don’t sell a single one, it’s still a win. Nervous bees swarmed my stomach, and I placed a hand over the worst of the stirring, as if that’d help settle it down. Then I let my thoughts drift to the fights that’d take place in San Jose around the same time, and the swarm turned into an angry hornet’s nest that I’d kicked. Sting after sting, no end in sight.
It would’ve been hard enough knowing the fight was taking place, but the fact that it was a mere hour away made the burning sensation even worse. My brothers, Dad, and Shane would’ve traveled there yesterday. They would spend most of the day going through strategies and trying to calm their nerves, and later Liam would tape up Shane’s hands, put on his gloves, and the tension in the locker room would practically choke out everyone on the team. But my boys wouldn’t tap out. They’d use that tension in the cage.
I could picture Shane walking from the locker room, through the crowd, up to the octagon. Most fighters’ hands were bound up enough that if they hadn’t come out shirtless, they’d need someone to help them out of it.
I volunteer as tribute! Of course, then I’d have to touch Shane’s pecs and abs and that V disappearing into his shorts. Man, I should’ve spent more time tracing it with my tongue. My throat went dry, my thoughts counterproductive in so many ways that I should really slam the door on them.
Since I was bad at listening to reason, I shut my eyes and recalled that day in the locker room when he’d been wearing only a towel. How he’d pushed me back against the wall. The dirty reel took right off from there, replaying snippets of every time we’d had sex, although now I regretted not fitting more in. But it was so much more than that. I could talk to him about anything and everything, including my rocky relationship with my dad. Morning afters, snuggled up next to him, so much happiness filling me I thought I might burst. Training in the gym with him and how he’d never made me feel like I was a weak girl who couldn’t keep up. No, he’d made me feel stronger than ever. Then there was the way he’d studied my art and told me it was where I threw my punches.
Maybe I should’ve told him that I loved him. Not enough people told him how truly extraordinary he was. I couldn’t decide if that would’ve made it better or worse. Either way, the sucky end would’ve still come. We’d already pulled the pin out of the grenade by that point, and waiting around to see how big and devastating the explosion could be if we drew it out wouldn’t have done either one of us any good.
But, man, I missed him. Missed the gym and my brothers and even my dad. I missed the beach he and I walked along, and riding on the back of his bike, and that secretive smile he’d give me whenever our eyes met.
Grief washed over me in waves, wanting to pull me under, but I couldn’t stop fighting the current. I didn’t have time for that.
I’d survive this crazy, busy night, and then I’d deal with the rest of my issues.
Six more hours till go time.
An eternity and a blip of time.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Shane
This day had dragged ass, the hours taking weeks, the seconds minutes. Then suddenly time sped up and here I was in the locker room, getting ready for a fight I’d been ready for until I’d arrived. My stomach rejected food despite being able to finally eat again without worrying about making weight, my nerves went to town ripping apart my gut, and the hollow spot where my heart used to be ached worse than usual.
I’d been through the doctor check-in, my clothes had been examined, and I’d received my four-ounce gloves. The commissioner had gone over the rules we’d all heard a hundred times, Finn taped up my hands, and now it was a waiting game.
My coaches paced around like caged tigers ready to pounce, which didn’t help my nerves. Liam’s phone chimed. He glanced at it. Then looked right at me. Then turned around like he needed to hide whatever message had come through.
Immediately my thoughts went to Brooklyn. Was she okay? Was she ready for her big showing?
Knock ’em dead, baby.
Blake Roth walked into the locker room, and I lowered my eyebrows, anger slowly simmering. I’d overheard Liam telling him about Brooklyn’s art show, and I assumed that meant Blake wouldn’t be here for my fight. I didn’t want him to be here. Brooklyn needed him there—she’d told me she’d never felt so alone last time, and I didn’t want her to have to experience that again.
“Mr. Roth,” I said, pushing to my feet because I was stupid and couldn’t leave things alone. He turned to me and opened his mouth, presumably to ask the question everyone asked. Are you ready? Well, he probably wasn’t ready for what I was going to say. “No disrespect, sir, but you’ve made your apologies to Brooklyn and promised to be better at supporting her, and this is the first opportunity for you to prove to her that you mean it, and you’re choosing wrong. Liam and Finn have the coaching thing covered, and her art show is literally an hour away, for fuck’s sake. You should be at her show, not here with me.”
Jaws dropped, silence descended. I might break a record as the first fighter to have his ass kicked by his coach pre-fight.
I’d already dived, head first, so no reason to stop now. I paced toward him, my irritation acting as a catalyst to the nervous energy already churning through me. “You’re going to lose her for good this time, no matter how many phone calls you make, or how much guilt you throw at her. Take it from someone who lost her, it’s not something you want to have to deal with for the rest of your life.”
I let that hang in the air for a moment, and I told myself to leave it at that, but my temper got the best of me. “You know what, actually strike the ‘no disrespect.’ I don’t give a shit how you take it. Someone needed to say it.”
Liam placed a hand on Blake’s chest as he advanced, holding him back. “Do you want to hit him, or keep Brooklyn? You’re going to have to choose, because you can’t do both.”
Hell, I knew what I’d choose if I had to do it again. For the first time in my life, I wanted something as much as I wanted a belt. Maybe more.
Blake stormed out of the locker room and then the heavy silence and anxiety-smothered air returned. Liam slowly approached me, and I braced for a lecture about focus and how shit mine was. As if I didn’t already know.
“I got a text from Brooklyn a few minutes ago,” he said.
“I figured. Is she okay?”
He nodded. “She told me that she’d let me gaug
e your mood and decide whether to show this to you before or after the fight. I wasn’t sure, but after what you just told my dad… Here.” He thrust the phone at me and I reached for it, but my gloves were bulky, so he had to hold it up for me. Not weird or anything. I skimmed past the part addressed to Liam until I reached my name.
Brooklyn: Shane. I have so much I want to say, but I’ll try to keep it short and sweet—even though you’ve accused me of being anything but sweet.
That aching spot in the middle of my chest thumped once, regret and affection making a strong cocktail.
Brooklyn: I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it. You’re going to wipe the floor with Conrad, and I wish I was going to be there to see it. But I want you to know that with or without the title, you’re enough. You’re so much more than a fierce fighter. Don’t get me wrong, your ego is huge, and you’re still the cockiest, most frustrating person I’ve ever met. But you’re also funny and tenacious, with a heart of gold, and you always made me feel stronger and braver, so I’m hoping to do the same for you. Even though I know you’re probably rolling your eyes and insisting you don’t need it.
Xoxo,
Bruiser
My heart thundered in my chest. Not even close to rolling my eyes, babe. I need it. I need you.
“I hope I didn’t make a mistake showing it to you,” Liam said.
My adrenaline surged, the rest of the world going fuzzy around the edges. She believed in me, even after everything. “Not a mistake. Not for me, anyway. Conrad probably isn’t going to enjoy the results, though.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Brooklyn
My art belonged on the walls, but I wasn’t sure I belonged on the floor with the rest of the glamorous people. Not wanting to distract from my art or other artists’ pieces, I’d gone with a little black dress with a plunging neckline and added my red and purple Iron Fist heels for a color pop. The bow on the toe also had studs because I liked shoes that could double as weapons. My lips matched the red, my jewelry the purple. I looked like Punk Rocker Chic Barbie in a world of Country Club Queens.
