by Cindi Madsen
I needed to tell him I was sorry we left things so crappy, thank him for sending my dad to me when he could’ve used him in his corner, congratulate him on his fight, and let him know I believed he’d win that belt someday. I’m sure the fact that I loved him would spill out, too. I wasn’t sure where that’d leave us, but right now all I knew was that I needed to see him more than I’d ever needed anything.
I returned to my designated area and wondered if it’d be bad form to kick off my heels and lean a hip against the wall. Every time I thought things would slow down, another surge of people would show. It was good exposure, and I was grateful for it. But I was also antsy and worried that I’d rush down to see Shane and he’d be like whoa, you read way too much into me sending your dad for support.
Or that I’d be too late, and he’d be celebrating in other ways that might wreck me, even though I’d let him go, so he’d be perfectly free to do so. Pain blossomed, robbing me of breath. Yeah, that was the one I was terrified of. The same fear that’d sent me running when I realized how much I loved him, and how big the crash would be, filled me once more.
Since my brain clearly hated me, doubts drifted up to add another layer of anxiety. So much remained the same. The distance, the separate paths our lives were going in.
No thinking like that. Now that I had proof people could change, I needed to alter several years of biased, jaded theories. Dad had come here tonight. Because of Shane, whose actions made it clear he truly understood how important my art was to me. Thanks to his push, my dad and I had come a long way in repairing our relationship. Which added more evidence to the theory that we could grab hold of our destiny and change it. We could determine the outcome.
It took a leap of faith, and that meant jumping before you could see exactly how it would end.
In spite of the crappy odds and how hard it might be, I had to believe that Shane and I could find a way to have a relationship.
Maybe I—make that we—were the exception. I certainly owed it to myself to find out.
I’m going to drive down there, push through my fears, and lay it all on the line. I’ll tell Shane I believe in him, and that I’m in love with him, and then…I don’t know. Then we’ll figure something out.
“…telling you, you’ve got to see her stuff. It’s fantastic.” Dad led a group of three over, and I straightened and gave my most welcoming smile. In another amazing turn of events, he’d stayed. I thought he’d take a quick look and then beat a trail out of here, either to somewhere less “hoity-toity,” or to try to make the headlining fight down in San Jose. Cyclone Jones had been an up-and-comer around the time Dad retired, and I knew he’d been excited about watching the match. But instead of leaving, he kept on recruiting people to check out my art. “Look at that. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
They shook their heads. I’m sure it had something to do with being too scared to contradict a man the size of Dad, but flattering all the same, and the way he talked about my work sent happiness pinging through me. Under usual circumstances I’d be embarrassed by his bragging and fawning over my paintings, but our family had never been usual, and I loved that about them. Even if it took me a little too long to realize it.
All three of the patrons left with one of my business cards—i.e., Dad told them to take one and they complied. As soon as they were gone, Dad gestured me closer. “I’ve now seen every piece in the place at least two or three times, and your stuff is the best here by far.”
“It’s not a competition, Dad.”
He shrugged. “All’s I’m saying is that if it were, you’d win. No contest.”
“I don’t know. There’s always that one judge who sees things differently.”
“I hate that judge,” Dad grumbled, and I laughed. Then I tried to check the clock to see if it’d picked up its pace already, but some tall guy was blocking my view.
He turned, and of course it was Chris, and now he thought I’d been staring at him. He’d stayed on the outskirts since Dad arrived, but every time I’d walked past him he’d stopped me to chat for a minute or two.
He closed the distance between us, and I figured I might as well break it to him now that I was already taken.
“Look, I think you’re a nice guy and all…” But I like my guys hard.
Suddenly the buzz of conversations came to a screeching halt, the silence loud after the constant chatter that’d filled the air.
“Do they have security here? Someone should probably call the cops, just in case.” Chris grabbed my arm to pull me closer, and I glanced behind me, wondering what big threat had everyone so freaked out.
Shane.
His forehead was swollen, a butterfly bandage did its best to keep the split there closed, and that eye was halfway shut and purple and blue. Red scuffs marred his cheek. He’d dressed up, his gray button-down shirt and tie giving him an oddly refined look for someone so beat to hell. My brothers loomed behind him like two bodyguards for a guy who obviously didn’t need one. Then again, it also sorta looked like they’d failed to protect him. But I knew better.
I took a step in their direction, but Chris still had hold of my arm. Since I didn’t want to freak him out any more than he already was, I resisted saying that someone would probably need to call the cops if he manhandled me again.
“Excuse me,” I said, tugging out of his grip, and then I was walking toward Shane and he was walking toward me, and I sprinted the last few steps, heels and slick flooring be damned.
A laugh burst free as he pulled me into his arms, every possible happy emotion crashing into each other at once. I fought the urge to wrap my legs around his waist—after all, I was in a skirt and we were making enough of a spectacle already. “I knew you’d win. I didn’t know that you’d send my dad here, though, and thank you for that. I was planning on driving down to San Jose to see you, but now you’re here and”—I crashed my lips over his, deciding to show him rather than tell him, and he groaned even as his fingers dug into my waist and anchored me to him. I pulled back and gently brushed the skin next to the cut on his lower lip. “Sorry.”
“Never apologize for kissing me, bruiser. I say bring on the pleasure and pain.” He slanted his mouth over mine, tilting his head at a different angle than usual so I didn’t accidentally open the cut on his eyebrow with my enthusiastic kissing.
I ran my hand down his arm and laced my fingers with his, loving the way he automatically tightened the hold, as if he never planned on letting go. The entire room still had eyes on us, so I figured I should introduce them, even though no one else had made introductions on this grand of scale. “This is my family, and my, uh…”
“Hers,” Shane said, curling me closer, and my heart practically fluttered right out of my chest. “I’m hers. I’m also a professional MMA fighter and I had a bout earlier tonight.”
A few people nodded like they understood. Plenty remained on the hesitant and worried side, and I swore I even heard a few gasps. Some of the women were literally clutching their pearls, which made me force back a giggle.
“If you think this is bad,” Shane said, his deep, gruff voice echoing through the room, “you should see the other guy.”
Crickets greeted his joke, and my attempt to hold back my laughter resulted in a snort.
Shane pressed a kiss to my temple. “Don’t worry, we’re just here to check out the art.” He looked to me, so I took the cue and started over to my wall. Behind us, I could hear my dad talking up my paintings to my brothers, and for the second time that night, I almost burst into tears.
One escaped and slipped down my cheek, so scratch the “almost.” It was like 75 percent a happy tear and 25 percent scared that we’d have one unbelievable night celebrating Shane’s win and my first showing, and then the real world would creep in and shove our faces in how much work we were in for. Good thing I’d decided to take hold of my own destiny and kick the odds’ ass, and I really hoped the guy at my side would be on board.
Surely he
wouldn’t come all this way if he wasn’t, right?
We stopped in front of my display wall, and I held my breath, waiting for him to say something about the painting that was unmistakably him.
My brothers chose that moment to step forward and give their opinions on the pieces. Finn liked the girl with the fierce expression, and when Liam told me his favorite was of the girl with her feet in the ocean and her nose in a book, I barely bit back the urge to say Duh, that’s because I used Chelsea’s likeness for it.
“They’re amazing, B,” Finn said. “And I’m not just blowing sunshine up your skirt.”
My big brother. Giving art show patrons a run for their money with his eloquent compliments. At least conversations had started up in the background again, the novelty of my band of brutes wearing off. I had a feeling I might not be invited to this particular gallery again. That was okay. As much as I appreciated the opportunity and the enthusiasm of the woman who organized the exhibition, and had an in with this particular venue, I needed a place that was more me.
Like the gallery where I’d already accepted an internship that would keep me in San Francisco if I didn’t let it go. For the guy who’d declared himself mine, I knew I wouldn’t regret it, even if the thought sent a bittersweet sensation twisting through me—I’d already connected with my mentor there and knew my artwork would benefit from everything she could teach me, and the job experience would really help solidify my future career.
I also understood that it wasn’t only about me anymore. If Shane and I wanted a future, it would mean compromising, and if long-distance ended up being too much of a strain, it might mean letting go of things I loved for what I loved more. Him.
My dad and brothers backed away to intimidate everyone else, leaving me alone with Shane. His gaze was on the painting of him. Slowly he turned his green eyes on me, the right one still slightly obscured by the swelling.
I twisted a strand of my hair around my finger. “Remember the night you took me to Josefina’s restaurant for enchiladas, and then we walked along the beach? That night I snapped a picture—a profile shot of you—which is what I originally painted, but it felt like something was missing. So I started over and added the torso and the red wraps on the hands for the color pop, and…yeah.”
“Do I remember that night?” Shane asked softly, something akin to awe in his features. “Of course I remember. All my life I’d been so careful not to hope, not to want anything. A few years ago, when I started winning all those fights and climbing my way up to the top, I thought my dreams were coming true. I let hope in, and then everything slipped right through my fingers. That night I wanted you so badly it scared the shit out of me.”
“That night scared me, too. I knew I felt more for you than I should.” I swallowed and my heart tap, tap, tapped against my rib cage.
“When things went south, I told myself it was what I got for being stupid enough to hope again.”
“No, it wasn’t stupid,” I said. “It was me. I was scared, so I messed it all up, and I—”
He put a finger to my lips. “Trying to make a big speech here, babe. I’m not going to let you take the blame, either. Liam pointed out that I wasn’t being fair. I asked you to give up your dream so that I could have mine. I’m sorry I didn’t see that before—that I didn’t even fully think through what I was asking of you.
“Tonight I made a major step toward achieving my dream. I won my fight, and while I wished that you were there, I understood why you weren’t. I’m working on my dream and career, and you’re working on yours, and I came here tonight to show you that even though we won’t always be able to make it to each other’s events, that if at all possible, I’ll be there for you. That no matter what—no matter how many obstacles get thrown in our way—we can make it work.” He cupped my cheek. “I don’t care if it means leaving fights early and not even knowing until hours afterward if one of my favorite fighters of all time won the belt.”
“He did. Fourth round, win by arm bar. My dad and I were keeping tabs on the fights the best we could.”
Shane fist-pumped and smiled, wincing when his lip cracked. He flicked his tongue into it and then tugged me closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. “That just makes me love you even more.”
My heart squeezed and squeezed, and if it didn’t take a beat soon, I might pass out, but I’d never been so happy to be lightheaded. “You love me?”
“So fucking much. I’m in love with you, and I need you, and if it means moving to San Francisco and training here so you can complete your internship, so be it. Long-distance, holding two jobs, fighting to prove you belong with me, despite preppy boyfriends or overprotective family members—you name it, I’ll do whatever it takes for us to be together.”
His features blurred and I didn’t bother trying to fight back the tears this time. “I love you, too.”
“Yeah, I figured. The painting kind of gave it away.”
I smacked his chest with the back of my hand. “Oh my gosh, you cocky—”
He cut off the rest of my words with a kiss. He slid his hand into my hair, tipped my chin up with his thumb, and claimed my mouth with a heated sweep of his tongue. Our mouths and bodies got reacquainted, and much more of this kind of kissing and groping, and we’d give the people in here a whole different kind of show.
Shane stroked my jawline with his thumb as he slowed the intensity of the kiss.
“Just so you know, I believe in you,” I said, wrapping my hand around his forearm as I peered into his eyes. “And in us. We’re the exception, no maybe about it. We can make this work.”
“Hell yeah, we can. And we will. I promise.”
“Me, too.”
He raised an eyebrow, silently telling me he’d prefer to hear the words.
“I promise,” I said, and he lowered his lips to mine for another kiss.
The clock struck midnight—metaphorically, this shindig technically ended at eleven—but the spell didn’t wear off. I was still standing there in the gallery, kickass heels on my feet, on my way to a happily ever after with an irreverent prince who was mine, all mine.
Epilogue
Shane
My sexy girlfriend walked past the cage, and my reward for noticing was a jab to the nose. The woman was always getting me hit in the head—I refused to take the blame, since it was literally impossible to not look when she walked by.
“You got soft up north,” Liam said.
“Oh, it’s on now.” I worked my combos. Jab, jab, fake my usual left hook before throwing an undercut with my right. I grinned when it landed, popping Liam’s head back. He might have thirty pounds on me, but a solid hit was a solid hit—he assumed I hadn’t learned a new combo. I knew he’d assume that. Maybe even played it up.
He came at me, and I dodged a swing.
“Boys,” Brooklyn called, and it took all my self-control not to look her way. “We’ve been back here all of two days and you’re already exchanging blows?”
“Training, baby,” I said. “You know, the kind I did in San Francisco the past three months while you were completing your internship and Liam was here getting soft?”
Liam took me to the ground, and I laughed instead of focusing on getting a better position.
“Liam, could you please not bruise his face? I’ve got my first showing tomorrow night at the new gallery where I’ll be working, and I’d like it if he wasn’t black and blue for at least one of my showings.”
The buzzer rang, meaning our five minutes was up anyway. Liam pushed to his feet and then extended a hand to help me up. I’d met some good guys while living with Brooklyn up north for the past few months, but it’d been a while since sparring had been this fun.
We shed our gear, and I walked over to where Brooklyn stood, the cage between us. I curled my fingers in the links, and she leaned forward and kissed me through one of the tiny gaps. With her brothers looking on, it was probably for the best I couldn’t get my hands on her the way I wanted to. During her
internship, she’d been looking for jobs up north and in San Diego, and when a gallery offered her one down here, she jumped on it. We were both glad to be back, although she was my home, and I belonged wherever she was.
She sighed as she reached out and brushed her fingers across a stinging spot on my cheek that couldn’t be more than a minor scuff. “So much for both of your claims to take it easy.”
“Neither of us is bleeding. That is easy for us.”
She shook her head. “I happen to like your face. Is it so bad that I don’t want it all beat up?”
I poked a finger through one of the links, hooked it on her nearest belt loop, and pulled her to me. “All that really matters is how it fits between your thighs, right?”
An adorable blush crept across her skin, and satisfaction that I could still get that kind of reaction out of her coursed through my veins. She recovered quickly, going from blushing to vixen in two seconds flat. “You better get out of that cage so you can take me home and give me a demonstration. Our new apartment needs christening, after all.”
I practically tripped over my feet in my rush to get out of there.
Brooklyn stopped by her dad’s office to say good-bye, and I hung back and watched the easy conversation between them. Old scars had healed, and they understood each other better these days. It helped that he’d been so gracious about letting me work with other trainers for the past few months—though I’d always be Team Domination, and in another six weeks I’d take on my next opponent, and all four Roths would be in my corner. Between gaining a handful of new fighters and implementing Brooklyn’s ideas about opening up the gym and holding classes, the gym was back in the black.
Blake gave me a nod I returned and then Brooklyn was at my side again. Out of habit, I’d nearly exited out the back, down a hallway I’d always remember fondly thanks to our many heated interactions there. Right before we stepped outside, Brooklyn stopped and surveyed the gym. The activity, the buzz in the air.
