by ML Mystrom
That’s where Table found us.
“The Bobbsey twins not back yet?” he asked, coming into the room. I jumped at the suddenness of his voice. The Netflix movie I’d put on was rolling the credits. I must have slept through most of it, since I could remember only the opening theme.
“Those two will end up shutting down the bingo game. Nanny must be on a winning streak. Either that or she’s dancing the night away with one of the widowers.” He laughed lightly, his face relaxed and happy but his eyes tired and drawn.
I was disoriented from dozing off. “What time is it?” I asked as I sat up. I looked down at the sleeping baby, still curled up next to me, secured in the play area.
Table squatted next to me and stroked his large hand over the tiny head. “Almost ten thirty. How’d she do tonight?”
He smelled of oil, leather, and man, a combination that was addictive. I inhaled deeply. “She ate a whole bowl of sweet potatoes and almost a whole bottle. Then we played here until we both fell asleep. I think she’s really wanting to crawl soon. Martha said something happened at the parlor?”
“Nothing to worry about. Just some teenagers making trouble.”
Table smiled and patted his daughter’s diaper-covered rump. “That’s my girl. Getting ready for another growth spurt, I bet. She’s already ahead of the curve in development. Doctor says she’ll be tall like her old man.”
There was no mistaking the pride in his voice. My heart clenched a bit.
“You know all the stages of child development?”
He blinked. “Not at first. When Angel’s mom dumped her on me, I barely knew she existed. I didn’t even know she was a she, if you get my meaning. Tamara just came to the bar one night when I was on a date and left Angel, a carrier, and a diaper bag. I was panicked pretty bad, but Betsey and the other ladies helped get me straightened out. Google is a wonderful thing. I spent the first night as a dad looking up all sorts of stuff about babies, how they grow, what to feed them, personal care, lots of shit. I got educated real fast. The second day, I went nomad from the club and came here. Martha and Carol raised me after my mom died. I thought this would be the best home for Angel and me, but I tell you, Lori, I really miss my club.”
Nomad? “What do you mean?”
“Means I don’t really have a place to call home. The Dragon Runners in Bryson City were my family and my home. I came here ’cause I thought it was best at the time and this was a home. Now, I’m not so sure. I love my grandma and Carol, but living and working a farm is not really me anymore.”
Table scooped up Angel and stood tall, signaling for me to do the same with an outstretched palm. I didn’t think about it as I placed my hand in his and let him pull me up. The heat brought back the memory of our bike ride.
“Fatherhood. Amazin’ how life can throw a curve like a turn on the Dragon’s Tail. One minute I’d been on a date and enjoyin’ the company of a woman I really liked and was plannin’ on getting to know better, and the next minute, I’m googlin’ how to change diapers and thinkin’ about college funds.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I could bitch about it, but it’s not going to change anything. I’d rather do somethin’ about it, and do it right. I had a good life in Bryson City. Good brothers in the club, boomin’ business every day, party every night; only real blight was my marriage fell apart and even through that mess, I had my brothers at my back. I ain’t got no regrets ’bout leavin’. I think my daughter is worth it.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in my middle. “You gave up a lot, Table.”
He chuckled lightly and patted Angel’s rump again. “Ain’t no sacrifice to take care of the people you love. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I just hope it was the right decision.”
He made his way to the back of the house where the baby’s room was. I followed since I had nothing else to do but go back to my room. The truth was, I was also intrigued.
“So Angel was a surprise. Did you want children before?” I asked as he swiftly changed the sleeping baby. Angel made a few grunts but didn’t wake up.
“Yeah, I wanted kids, but never could imagine them with my ex-wife, ’specially after I found out about her steppin’ out on me. Married for less than a month before she was with another man. I tried to keep to the vows I made, but when Tamara kept messin’ with other men, I couldn’t stay. Didn’t even make it a full year before I left. When I took my vows before God and my brothers, I meant every one of them and I kept them solid up until when the divorce was final. I ain’t got no stomach for cheats and liars.”
The heat in my gut went cold at his words. “I guess I can’t blame you for that.”
He put Angel down in the white crib. “Yeah, well. It’s over and done with. She signed over parental rights without a whimper. Now it’s just me and Angel. Tamara named her Angela and that’s what’s still on her birth certificate, but from the moment I picked her up she became my little Angel. Fits, don’cha think?”
My heart tripped and my head filled with so many thoughts and emotions I could feel my sinuses thrill with the threat of tears. “Yes, it does.”
I had to get out of there before the moisture gathering in my eyes spilled over. “I guess I’ll leave since you’re home. Good night, Table.”
My room wasn’t too far from the house and I didn’t bring a jacket for the short walk. I wrapped my arms around myself in the chill of the night air. When I got to the stairs, I turned and looked back at the house. Table was there in the doorway behind the screen, Angel curled up on his strong shoulder, watching over me. My throat closed as I waved. He waved back and made a shooing motion for me to get inside, and didn’t move until I closed my door. I placed my forehead against the cold wood. Only then did I let the tears fall.
Ten
I wondered for the fortieth time why I’d let Connie talk me into coming here. Friday night fights at her cousin Julio’s gym was not my idea of going out. It had been only a week since Thanksgiving and the mess at the tattoo parlor. I had been working my ass off. Christmas was just a couple weeks away and traffic had doubled as well as my workload. I spent every day cleaning houses, sometimes starting before the sun came up, and helping with Angel every night as Table was either at work or at the gym.
The noise was deafening. Connie and I entered and the wall of sound and were immediately separated by the huge number of people moving in streams around each other. Sweaty bodies packed the gym, concentrating around the central ring. I looked for Connie, but she had long disappeared into the screaming crowd. I was by myself. The feeling of panic crept up the back of my throat; the smell of too many men in one room was overwhelming. It was all I could do to keep from freaking out. The air was like a roasting-hot oven and it was getting harder to breathe. I needed to get out and get some clean air before I choked to death or had a panic attack and started pushing and shoving people. I managed to maneuver through the crowd, and by some miracle found myself at the back of the room in a clearer space. I climbed on one of the risers and got a bird’s-eye view of the combatants in the ring. I gasped as one of them was Table.
I found myself getting heated for another reason.
He was magnificent. I’d seen him without a shirt before but not like this. Not when he was covered in a sheen of sweat, his colorful tattoos glowing with life, his muscles defined and bulging with effort, and looking like a hard marble statue of a Greek god. The rings in his nipples had been removed, probably for safety reasons. His hands were covered in some sort of fighting gloves and his face looked a little distorted from the mouthguard clenched between his teeth. His opponent was also large and muscle-bound but nowhere near the perfection of Table.
The roar of the crowd became insignificant as I watched, mesmerized at the sight of the two gladiators. The bell had already rung. The opponent moved and bounced constantly, looking like an overeager kid in comparison to the rock-solid stance Table held. He jumped and waved at the crowd, flipping his arms up, inciting more and more noisy cheers as Table patiently stayed
put. It was as if Table was waiting for the man to finish his posturing and preening so the match could really start. The bouncing man finally settled and rushed in to engage Table with a wild lunging swing. Table ducked and tagged the man in the ribs, hard enough he staggered and almost lost his footing. This made the man angry and his swings got wilder. Table simply continued to duck and punch, different parts of his opponent’s body. Ribs, face, chest—wherever there was an opening, Table’s gloved fist landed.
Even though I was in the back of the room, I could see the action clearly from my perch. Table looked like a dancer, smoothly controlled in his movements and clearly superior to the lumbering ox he was battling. I found myself silently cheering for him every time he dodged or landed a hit. At one point he was facing me and he looked up and caught my gaze. There was an instant connection. It was like a bolt of electricity hit me and I reeled back, nearly falling from the power. My heart sped up with the intensity of his gaze, and I was burning from the inside out. I had the urge to run, but I couldn’t move.
The opponent took advantage of Table’s lapse in attention to slam a fist into his face, and Table’s head snapped to the side. I gasped as he staggered. The strike didn’t seem to faze him much; in fact, Table’s face went dark with anger and he came back with a series of strikes that drove the ox back into a corner. One uppercut connected and the man went down in a heap.
The crowd went wild, roaring and chanting, “Tay-ble! Tay-ble, Tay-ble!” He spat out the white mouth guard he wore and launched himself out of the ring. I watched, still unable to move, his eyes locking me in place. The crowd parted as he strode toward me, his focus clear. He put one foot on the bottom riser and reached for me, pulling me down into his body.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His heat radiated around me as he all but carried me through the crowd. I could tell he was angry, but he still protected me from the well-wishing people slapping his back and arms.
“I came with Connie, but we got separated.” He smelled of sweat, but it wasn’t offensive. I had the urge to burrow deep into that scent and not come out.
“Yo, Ditch! Connie’s in here somewhere. And find Julio. The asshole I just fought had cement in his gloves. Someone’s running a fuckin’ game!”
“Fuck, I’m on it.”
I found myself in a plain locker room, no windows and gray-painted cement block walls. His foot swept the door shut with a bang and muted the crowd noise, already rising for the next match. He was breathing hard as he ripped off his gloves and tore at the bindings underneath. My belly surged at the up-close sight of his perfect body. My breasts tightened and I flushed from head to toe with warmth.
“I repeat. What the fuck are you doing here? These fights are dangerous, especially for a lone woman.”
“I was with Connie and—”
“Connie is Julio’s sister. No one’s going to bother her here. You, on the other hand, are fair game.”
I wasn’t about to tell him about my earlier panic. “I’m fine.”
He leaned in close and I was frozen in place by his intensity. “You’re lucky. In the mood I’m in right now, if someone had touched you, they’d be carrying their teeth home in a bag.”
“You’re bleeding.”
His thumb came up to swipe the red trickle from the cut on his cheek. “Yeah. That fucker was trying to hedge his bets by loading his gloves. Too bad for him I got more motivation.”
His mouth came down on mine. I tasted the salt of his sweat on his lips as he pressed me close to his slick chest, engulfing me with his heat. I clung to his shoulders and let the storm of feelings wash over me. His kiss went even hotter as his tongue probed at my lips, demanding entry. I opened for him and he dove inside, taking more. His hardness ground against my lower stomach and I reveled in the sensation, moaning into his mouth, ready to explode.
Then panic hit me.
It raced up through my body, paralyzing and choking me. I started struggling, desperate to get free. I couldn’t breathe. I tore my mouth away from his and starting clawing at his arms, his head, his face, anything I could reach. I wanted to scream but my throat was filled with black terror and I couldn’t.
Table spun me around so my back was against his front, and his back hit the row of lockers with a metallic crash. He easily subdued my fighting body, crossing and pinning my arms in front of me and holding me tight and still with his strength.
“Easy, baby, easy,” he crooned in my ear. “Ease up, sweetheart, it’s just me. It’s only me. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
He repeated the endearments over and over again as I grew tired and finally relaxed against him. No, he wouldn’t hurt me. He was Table, the man who fixed stuff around the house, the man who took care of his mother, the man who left his brotherhood in order to raise his daughter, a man I could trust.
My throat closed and my sinuses flooded as tears gathered in my eyes. Table’s grip loosened but his still held me close.
“Some asshole caused you pain, didn’t he?”
I couldn’t answer. I was hanging on by a thread of control. My instinct was to run. Fight and run. Keep running and never stop.
Tears flowed from my eyes and I let them fall unchecked. If he let go of me, I’d collapse into a sobbing mess on the floor.
He kept talking.
“I wish I could get five minutes alone with the bastard that did this to you, sweetheart. I can guarantee, he’d never do it again.”
That did it. I let it go and cried. It was cathartic, cleansing some of the fears of the last few years of my life. Table slid down the concrete wall to sit on the floor, still holding me in his arms and surrounding me with his solidity. He murmured more words in my ear. “It’s okay, baby. You’re fine. I got you.” Later, I would think about how I’d found myself on the cement floor of a smelly locker room, cradled in the lap of a man who was essentially my landlord.
“I’m so, so sorry.” My throat was sore and my voice had lowered to a gruff-sounding growl.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart. It’s me who owes you an apology. I got no right to jump you like that. I came on too strong and I shouldn’t have. I’ve been wantin’ a taste of you for a while now and with my adrenaline running high I just grabbed for it. I was wrong. This don’t mean I’m not interested. I still am, but I know now I gotta handle you with extra care. I hope you know, I’d sooner die than lay a hand on you to cause you pain. I ain’t that kinda man and never will be. You have my blood oath to God on that.”
I stayed where I was, surrounded by his arms and listening to his voice wash over me. My sobs dried to hiccups. Table didn’t make fun of my sounds. He just sat on that nasty floor and held me. I knew he had more questions, but thankfully he didn’t ask. I wasn’t ready to answer.
A sharp knock on the door caught both of us off guard and we scrambled to our feet. Ditchdigger marched in with Connie, followed by a short Hispanic man who was clearly her brother.
“Damn, brother. You were right about the gloves. Not cement, just some rolls of quarters stuffed in at the knuckles for weight. You’re lucky the fucker didn’t break your damn jaw.” Julio stepped forward and held out a wad of bills. “I run a clean game and that bullshit don’t fly in my gym. His ass is disqualified and he ain’t comin’ back. You get his share as well.”
“Thanks.”
“Chingada, Lori! I’m so sorry! I went looking for Julio and lost you in the crowd. Stupid pendejos! Are you okay?
“Yes, I’m fine. Table got to me quick enough.”
Ditchdigger laughed. “Damn straight he did. Even with that cheatin’ mo-fo! Knocked him the fuck aaoout!”
“If y’all are ’bout finished, I need to get showered off and home. ’S been a long ass day as we still got work in the morning.”
Ditchdigger flung an arm around Connie. “All right, brother. We’ll leave you to your girl here. I’m guessing you’ll take her home with ya?”
“I’ve got my truck, so yeah.”
Table
didn’t want to let me out of his sight, so I stayed just to the outside of the half wall separating the shower stalls from the rest of the locker room. My eyes followed the stream of water as it poured over his shaved head and wide shoulders and ran down the colorful tattoos on his arms and back. I had to focus my attention on the dingy tiles of the shower room, so I wouldn’t stare at him and maybe see something I wasn’t ready to see. Not his cock. His eyes. I was afraid of what might be in them. It helped that the shower in the locker room looked just as nasty as the rest of it and I had the urge to fetch my brushes and an economy-sized bottle of Tilex. Still, Table’s clean male scent floated to me when he led me to his vehicle and held my elbow while I climbed in. The quiet in the truck was broken only by the whoosh of the road and the click of the turn signal. The tension was thick and growing in me with every mile we drove. Table’s silence was troubling, and I imagined he was processing what he thought had happened to me. I hadn’t acknowledged it and wasn’t ready to share just yet. There was more to it and there were complications. Ones I couldn’t share with anyone. Maybe not ever.
The farm was a welcome sight and I felt a great sense of relief when we pulled up the driveway. Table put the truck in park and shut off the engine.
“I’m not going to push you to tellin’ me your story, baby girl. I just need to know if you’re okay right now.”
