by Winters, KB
The girls had given me a lot to think about, but the guilt bubbled up in my belly, and I decided those were thoughts for later, when I was at home.
Alone.
By myself where no one could see me break down at the thought of moving on from my guaranteed happily ever after. Whenever I tried to think of another man or sex, the guilt crept in, making it impossible to experience those tingles.
Hell made it impossible to feel anything other than the guilt.
Yeah, definitely thoughts for another time.
Any other time.
Chapter Thirteen
Emmett
“You’re reacting about half a second too late for Jimenez, Rachel. She’ll have you on your back, take down or KO, in the next move.”
Usually, training my fighters was the best part of my day. The best distraction from the other parts of life I chose not to deal with when I could help it. But for the past hour as I worked through training tapes with Rachel Cruz, the number one contender, all I could think about was Vanessa.
Not just her big blue eyes and stunning curves, but also just how she was doing. Her car was fixed, so I hadn’t seen her in a few days but she responded to my text messages and shared a few of those weird internet memes with me. It was nice that she thought about me, but what did it mean?
Rachel’s throaty laugh pulled me from my thoughts and brought my attention back to the mat. “You’re way more off than half a second today, Em. Who’s the girl?”
I frowned. “What girl? What are you talking about?” I didn’t get personal with my trainers. It was my job to listen to whatever shit clogged up their minds and took their focus away from training and fighting, but my own business was just that, my own.
Rachel took a long gulp of water and shook her head with a knowing smile on her face, her teeth so white against her darker skin. “Uh-huh. Dudes don’t get all googly-eyed like that unless it’s over a chick.” She shrugged and took another sip before wiping the sweat from her brow. “I say it’s a good thing. It’s about time you got laid. You’ve been crazy stressed out lately.”
She wasn’t wrong, but it was my job to make sure fighters like Rachel didn’t have to worry about anything outside the octagon. Between the shit that went down with Ravager, Fiona’s murder, and keeping Vanessa safe, I was abso-fucking-lutely stressed.
“If you have time to think about my sex life, then I’m not training you hard enough.”
Rachel flashed another toothy grin and said, “Now I know you’ve got a woman on the brain because you’re talkin’ shit,” then shoved her mouthguard in again and bounced on her toes. As soon as Rachel’s sparring partner stepped onto the mat, her smile faded, and the look I called the warrior death stare crossed her face. She was ready for battle.
As soon as the first kick hit her opponent’s leg, my thoughts had once again wandered to Vanessa. What is it about her that draws me in? I’d like to think it was more than her beauty because after that meal at the diner she was all I could think about. My shrink would probably say some stupid shit like it was because she understood my grief and the feelings of loneliness and guilt. Well, he would if I ever shared any of this with him.
Vanessa was my secret. My dream. She was the bright spot in my life that I refused to share with anyone. At least until there was anything worthy of sharing.
Enough about Vanessa. As much as I liked to daydream about her, House of Ashby was paying me to focus on my trainees. I shook my head and narrowed my eyes on Rachel’s form. I saw something I didn’t like, something that marred her perfection and needed adjustment.
I called into the ring, “Relax, Rachel!”
She tended to panic on the ground, her one downfall, because every one of her opponents knew it. So far, her quick hands and faster feet had saved her when it mattered, but every fighter knew, as did every solider, eventually you found yourself in exactly the wrong position at exactly the wrong time.
“Relax!” I repeated in case she hadn’t heard me.
Two seconds later, Rachel dropped her tense shoulders, which gave her more control and managed to maneuver her partner into a submission.
Exactly what I wanted.
“Relaxed enough for ya?” That cocky smile was back, and I was confident she was almost there. Almost.
“Finally, yeah” I said. But I couldn’t let Rachel get over-confident. “Jimenez won’t give you those extra two seconds though. You have to keep on top of your game.”
Her smile dimmed just a little bit at the reprimand, but Rachel gave me a short nod. She knew as well as I did, it was the truth.
“She won’t need to,” she said, her voice low and lethally serious as she toweled off her glistening brow.
I acknowledged her with a quick salute. That was my girl. “Again,” I said. “Another round.”
After a quick water break, the women squared off once again, and my thoughts turned back to Vanessa.
I had to focus on something else. Anything else. I couldn’t obsess over a woman who still mourned another man. Vanessa’s guilt weighed so heavily on her that only friendship was possible right now. I knew that. I was okay with it.
But still, thoughts of her filled my mind. I was a man after all.
The session ended with my trainees showing gratifying progress but no resolution for my growing desire for Vanessa. I began shutting down the gym for the night, my discipline for keeping the House of Ashby tight as a drum helping me concentrate on something other than the beautiful widow.
Rachel waved as she headed for the door. “See you later, Em. Hope you finally get laid tonight.” Speaking of discipline, she was always the last person other than me at House of Ashby after nine o’clock on a Saturday night.
“Yeah, yeah. Put some ice on that lip,” I told her and got a two-handed ‘screw you’ for my efforts.
An hour later, the gym was clean and ready for the next day. I locked up and planned to head straight home. What was that saying about making plans? Watch the universe laugh at you? I knew the saying involved God, but I stopped believing in him a long damn time ago. I figured if there was anyone or anything to blame, it was the general nature and chaos of the universe. And when my phone rang as I started my car, I knew it was chaos and not some celestial force.
“What’s up, Ma?” No matter how many times I tried to think of her as Cheryl, I couldn’t help but call her Mom.
She coughed for a good fifteen seconds before she was able to form actual words. “Is that any way to greet your mama?”
I rolled my eyes and started driving because I knew this call would require a face to face visit. “Does that mean you’re just calling to check in? To see how I’m doing?”
“You’re fine,” she said. “You’re always fine.” Which meant she was about to tell me all the ways she wasn’t fine and how I could fix it.
“You planning on fighting again? I got some friends who could make some good money betting on you.”
Yeah, I bet she did. It was another reason I was happy to work as a trainer. Between the Ashby family and my biological family, there were too many strings attached to me stepping into the ring again. And I wasn’t willing to get my brains scrambled again for any of it.
“I’m outside,” I told her.
The three-story apartment building Cheryl lived in looked about as rundown as they came, but according to her, she preferred to stay with her own kind, so I kept my mouth shut.
She stepped out onto the balcony and waved. “Come on up, then.”
“Let me in,” I called. The buzzer released the front door to the lobby and I made my way up to the second-floor apartment and took in the sight of my mother. She was thin, too thin for my liking, probably about a buck five if I had to guess. Her dark hair was bleached blonde everywhere but the roots and her pale skin showed signs of acne and faded bruises, or what I called her fresh from County look.
“How long have you been out?”
She shrugged and scratched her forearm. “A few days.
Why?”
“Just curious.” It usually took a week for her to remember she had a kid, unless, of course, she needed something. Usually money.
“You been taking in anything other than booze since you got out?”
She had that emaciated look that told me she was back on the hard drugs.
“I’m just drinking, I swear.”
Those pleading brown eyes were as full of shit as they always were, and I just sighed because I’d given up praying or hoping that she might change. Might get clean one of these days. I had a better chance at becoming President.
“I am, and I don’t need you giving me shit, Emmett. Always thinkin’ you’re better than me. Remember where you came from.”
Fuck. Here we go again. She was so damn bitter that Sadie had taken me in and given me direction in life, making it so she couldn’t use me to score drugs, make money.
“Is that why you called, Ma? To insult me?”
Cheryl flashed a smile that was almost reminiscent of the woman I’d seen glimpses of in my childhood, when she was sober, but it fell short because that woman no longer existed.
“You were always so sensitive, Emmett.”
As if she ever knew me or bothered to try.
“Well? What do you want this time?”
Her smile faded, and she patted a hand over her hair, a coquettish move that probably worked on dealers willing to accept currency other than cash for payment.
“I need some money, sweetheart.”
And there it was, the real reason for her call.
“Cheryl, your rent is paid and the fridge is full. I make sure of that. Every goddamn month.”
She’d shit a brick if she knew the Ashbys had been taking care of her for years. Colm insisted before he died.
“So you won’t give me a bit of spending money?”
“No.”
“What the fuck, Emmett? That old bitch has you so twisted up you’d leave your poor mother to fend for herself?”
I laughed in her face at that. “You have a place to stay and food to eat, thanks to me. But still, that’s not good enough for you. Take care of yourself, Cheryl.”
She sucked in a deep breath, her face growing redder by the second. “You ungrateful little shit! After all I’ve done—”
“Leave me to fend for myself when I was just a kid? Yeah, it doesn’t feel so good, does it? Try getting a job if you need more than food and shelter.”
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth screwed up into an ugly sneer. “I hate you! I fucking hate you and that smug smile. Get out.”
“Happily.” I had my own place and didn’t need to stand around and listen to her verbal assaults anymore. Not that it mattered. They stopped working on me right around the time I grew up enough to stop being afraid of her when she was drunk. Or high.
“I better not see you around here again,” she threatened as if she wouldn’t call again for money after a few days of partying, this encounter all but forgotten.
I waved as I walked away and took the stairs down and out to my car two at time, eager to put as much real estate between me and my mother as I could. I slid into the Tesla, too riled up to go home and relax, so I decided to cruise around town. Glitz at night was as lit up and energetic as Vegas with music pumping out of night clubs, bars, and casinos alike. The streets were littered with people, smiling and laughing, kissing in dark corners or outright groping each other on the street.
Glitz was alive. It was one of the reasons I came back here after the Army, though if I’d been thinking clearly instead of struck with grief over losing so many close buddies, Cheryl would’ve been the biggest reason to settle anywhere else.
But Glitz was home. It was where my family was, the family I’d chosen according to Vanessa. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I cruised into the parking lot at The Lucky Lopez, a strip club I frequented for no strings attached sex and made my way to the Valet. Letting go of some of this tension after my conversation with Cheryl would do me a world of good.
Laughter rang out, and I looked over at the two main performers. Honey Bum and Tawny had stepped out the side door for a smoke. Both ladies were beautiful and sexy as fuck, and I’d just had an all-night fuck fest threesome with them about two months ago.
What the fuck am I doing? I don’t want this.
With that thought, I sped out of the parking lot and made my way home. If I needed some stress relief, I’d take it out at the gym. Vanessa was who I wanted, and I hated myself for even stopping at Lucky Lopez.
I kicked off my shoes and plopped down on the couch. Fuck! What was I thinking? It was late and even though I was hungry, I didn’t have the energy or interest to eat anything more than a frozen pizza.
One of the benefits of being a trainer instead of a fighter.
I was halfway through my pizza when my phone buzzed on the couch beside me. A text from Vanessa.
How about dinner tomorrow night? On me.
I tried not to be too eager, but my fingers flew over the screen before either of us changed our minds. Sounds good. Am I picking you up?
Nope. You’re eating at Casa Vanessa. Reservations at seven.
Dinner with Vanessa, cooked by Vanessa, was exactly what I needed after my fucked up night.
Can’t wait. I typed back, suddenly feeling a lot less pissed about the drive to the Lucky Lopez, and my frozen pizza dinner.
Chapter Fourteen
Vanessa
What in the hell was I thinking, inviting Emmett over for a home-cooked dinner? I was a proficient cook, but the idea of cooking for someone other than Lance and his buddies filled my stomach with anxiety. And why, oh why, had I decided to impress him with my take on Asian fusion food, I had no fucking clue.
Except you do, my conscience prodded, and I did. I invited Emmett over because I thought it would feel less like a date and more like two friends sharing a meal.
Our diner meal had been great, but it felt like a first date. Like two people getting to know each other and learning new things, flirting shyly. Hell, even that baby kiss on his cheek felt very much like a first date peck with the promise of more to come.
Because dinner at Casa Vanessa absolutely was not a date. I dressed casually in a denim skirt and a white blouse, opting for fluffy slippers instead of heels or bare feet. My hair and makeup were on point, because a girl needed to find her courage somewhere, and I would need it to get through the night with Emmett’s overwhelming masculine presence filling up my dining room.
When the doorbell rang one minute before seven, I couldn’t help but smile. The man liked to be punctual, which I appreciated, but it still amused me just how much you could take the man out of the military, but never, ever take the military out of the man.
I wiped damp hands on the sides of my skirt as I made my way to answer the bell, giving my thick waves one final fluff before pulling the door open.
I put on a bright smile, and said, “Welcome to Casa Vanessa. Reservation name, please?”
While his eyes took me in, I succumbed to the moment and did the same. He wore jeans and a gray button up shirt with a blue blazer, looking handsome and dressed up. Just for me.
Emmett’s lips twitched at my question and then his tongue peeked out and slicked across his bottom lip, undeniable heat shooting sparks.
“Emmett Manning but it could be under Vanessa.”
“Good answer,” I told him and took a step back. “Come on in.”
“Nice shoes,” he said with a genuine smile as he kicked off his own brown leather shoes and hung up the blazer.
“You look beautiful, as always. And damn, it smells incredible in here.”
I laughed and looked back at him. “Thanks, and I’ll try not to be offended that the food got a bigger rise out of you than I did.”
Holy shit, that was full on blatant flirting, wasn’t it? It was. But it was also too soon for that, wasn’t it?
“The rise you’d get might be considered inappropriate,” he practi
cally growled at me.
I shivered but chose not to respond to those words, because how in the hell could I respond to such blatant desire? Instead I gave him a quick tour of the house that ended in the kitchen.
“We’re eating in the dining room tonight because I might have gone a little overboard trying to impress you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I don’t know.” I said shyly. “I like hanging out with you Emmett, and I wanted to cook something that would show you I’m more than a grieving widow.”
“I already know that Vanessa.” He dropped down onto one of the kitchen chairs, his gaze dark. Intense.
“You do?”
He nodded but it didn’t make sense. “How?”
“Because I know I’m more than a solider with PTSD, more than a former boxer, and more than a man who can’t forget the friends he’s lost.”
“Yes, you are, Emmett.”
He didn’t look like he believed me so I went to the bottle of sake and poured two ceramic cups.
“Drink up and tell me what’s bothering you?”
He sighed, sniffed the sake and then shrugged before taking a sip.
“Not bad. You sure you want to hear it?”
I nodded. “It’ll be nice to listen to someone else’s problems for a change.”
“It’s my mother. I don’t know why I always expect things to be different when they’ve been exactly the same for two decades. Why do I keeping wanting to rescue a woman who doesn’t want to be rescued?” He finished off the sake and reached for the bottle. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I liked that Emmett was protective in a caring, gentle way. His protectiveness wasn’t the big bad alpha, almost bullying care of Lance. This was the kind that made your knees weak just a little bit.
“It’s not a bad thing to love your mother and want better for her, even if she doesn’t want that for herself.”
“Makes me a fool,” he growled.
“It makes you a good son and an even better human.”
