Fighting to Forget

by J. B. Salsbury

  Regret? No. I’d suffer the internal war that wages every time I touch Mac just so I could feel her, but the battlefield is a bloody mess in the wake of all that happened. The shame and guilt that rises up from nowhere reminds me how sick I am. It screams that I’m not good enough for anyone, especially her.

  “I’d never regret you.”

  The flush of her cheeks darkens. “Thank you.”

  I shake my head. “For what?”

  “For trusting me enough to show me where you get your adrenaline fix.” She dips her chin, peering up at me with a shy smile. “Never thought jumping off a building would be fun.”

  I nod and shrug. The change of subject seems to help me relax.

  “Then you brought me here, let me into your home. You fed me.” She steps forward. “But the best part was that you trusted me enough to show me what you need.” Her eyes are soft. Accepting. Proud? “I want you to know that . . .” A slow and sexy-as-fuck smile pulls at her lips. She lifts one eyebrow.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  “I liked seeing that side of you.” She cups my jaw and runs her thumb along my lower lip, lingering at my lip ring. Her eyes follow the path of her thumb and flare. “A lot.”

  Fuckin’ A. She liked it. I mean her body seemed to like it, but the body is twisted as shit. It has desires that the brain won’t get on board with. I should know.

  “You don’t think I’m a freak?”

  She lifts her other hand to my face and holds me there. “Never say that around me again.”

  “I’m only—”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is you think about yourself is not how I think about you.”

  “Mac, you don’t know—”

  “I do know!” She cringes and drops her chin. “What I mean is I don’t claim to have all the answers. What I know is . . .” Her head tilts back and she looks at me. “I like you and everything we do together. I like you exactly how you are, and nothing you do or say can change that.”

  I give her words a second to sink in and only then realize that the shit I felt earlier, the feeling of inadequacy and loathing, is gone. How does she do that? Make me go from semi-suicidal to downright . . . happy?

  “Nod if you understand,” she says, using my own words from earlier to playfully remind me she’s thinking about our hookup.

  I exhale and the ghost of a grin ticks my lips. “Yeah, I understand.” Taking her hand from my face, I kiss her knuckles and repeat it with the other.

  “Guess you have to take me home now, huh?”

  As much as I’d love to say no and drag her into my bed, my nerves are shot to shit. I’ve overcome more in one day than I have in years.

  My mind cranks back to my session with Darren. Decoding the past so that I can make a better future. Maybe I don’t need the missing memories of a lost childhood to find a cure. Maybe all I need is someone who understands and likes me for who I am, and that includes the ugly and the depraved.

  Could it be that my cure lies not in my past but in Mac?

  ~*~

  It’s late by the time I get home after dropping Mac off. I walked her to the door and thought a good night kiss would be harmless enough.

  I was wrong.

  She seems so damn hungry every time we kiss, as if everything I have to offer would never fill her up. I groan and roll my sore lips between my teeth. She sucks at them so fucking hard I have to wonder what that suction would feel like in other places.

  The roll in my gut combined with the painful pulse in my shorts injects me with a dose of adrenaline. I head into my condo and slide my shoes off at the door. The lingering scent of tropical fruit and suntan lotion hits me with a burst of arousal. Fuck.

  A cold shower should work to clear my head. I need to get my schedule and go over my interviews for the week, but at this rate, I’ll be reliving the curves of Mac’s body all night.

  Back in my room, I move to the bathroom, pulling off my shirt as I go and tossing it in the hamper. My mind is a cyclone of all things Mac. Holding her hand, wrapping my arms around her after the Skyjump, the simplest things have my chest warming.

  I strip down and turn on the water. Looking down between my legs, I groan at the disgusting display that taunts me.

  “Fuck.” I step in and cold water hits my heated skin. All day my dick has been a constant presence, half swollen and painfully aware of the gorgeous woman at my side. As much as I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t help but notice the way it rubbed against every fiber of my boxer briefs as if they were made of the softest silk. And then at the door, pressing it against her, giving in to what it begged for all day.

  I drop my head beneath the stream. My eyes slide closed and she’s there, her full cherry lips that beg to be kissed, the memory of how they felt against my fingers today, silken pliable flesh, so damn soft. I pull my lip ring into my mouth, sucking the metal and moaning against the sting. Her tits, weighed heavy in my hand as I toyed with the nipples, and I imagine what they look like naked. I bet her nipples are the same dark cherry of her lips.

  “Dammit, fuck.” My hand slides down the wet slope of my abdomen and I grip my dick. Humiliation and disgust do nothing to hold me back.

  She doesn’t deserve this, to be the fantasy of a sick fucker who’s whacking off to her image. My mind takes off without permission to imagine all the things I’d do to her, increasing my shame. I pound myself hard, punishing my depravity with pain.

  Dirty. Wrong. Bad.

  The words run through my head on repeat, but it doesn’t stop me. I’m too far gone, wound too tight, lost in the sickness. The pain combines with the humiliation, and my thoughts of Mac turn into violent flashes of sexual domination.

  I rock into the tile wall, my forehead pressed against it so hard it hurts. “Sick.” My fist tightens and the helplessness washes over me. My toes curl on the slick tile floor as my body readies. I don’t want it and try to force back the inevitable. “No.” Stop!

  Two voices rage in my head. Body over mind. I’m helpless. Helpless.

  A guttural whimper, which I recognize as my own, echoes around the shower stall. I bite down on my lip as my release reminds me I have no control. That’s what it is: a filthy cancer that eats away at my head, turning me into a monster of sexual depravity.

  And this is all I have to offer a girl like Mac.

  That’s where I was going today. Today, I was thinking about having another date with her. I considered what it would be like to have her on the back of my bike or, hell, have her riding her bike next to me. My head allowed me to have even the scariest of thoughts and considered something exclusive. A relationship. And it didn’t scare the piss out of me.

  I grab the soap and go to work on my arms first, digging the bar into my skin and scrubbing until it burns. “Filthy fuck.” I drag my nails along my arm. Not good enough.

  Reaching over for the scrub brush I keep in the shower for this purpose, I bury the stiff bristles into the tender underside of my arm. “Fuck yeah.” Harder, faster, deeper. I scrub every inch of my body until it’s bright red and aching.

  Sick of looking at my own naked body and tired of the losing battle to get it clean, I shut the water off and grab a towel. Even the soft cotton feels like sandpaper as I dry off, but fuck if the pain isn’t what I deserve.

  I move into my room and pull on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. I drop to the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, and hold my head into my hands. When will this stop? What the fuck is wrong with me that I can’t even jack-off to the thoughts of a pretty girl like every other red-blooded male alive?

  My head’s a mess of bullshit I can’t control. I grab my iPad and pull up my schedule for the week, sent over by my publicist. I concentrate on that and hope the monotony of it all will kill my self-hatred, even if only for the night.

  Fourteen

  Love’s an illusion.

  We long for the truth.

  I won’t believe it’s real<
br />
  Until I see proof.

  --Ataxia

  Rex

  Pouring a protein shake from the blender into a to-go cup, I check the clock for the tenth time this morning. It’s almost eight a.m. I swing my gaze to the window. The sun is turning the sky into a brilliant blue, and it looks as if it’s going to be one of those perfect Vegas days.

  Not as perfect as yesterday.

  I bury a small smile into my cup and take a gulp of the thick sludge. I’ve been itching to call my therapist since I woke up. Now that I’ve overcome the first few hurdles with Mac, I’m ready to push myself to accomplish more. My heart jumps at the thought of more with Mac.

  She’s nothing like any of the girls I’ve met before. Her ability to throw herself into a dangerous situation, whether it be breaking up a fight or riding without a helmet, reminds me of myself. The way she embraced the rides at the Stratosphere, so carefree and open for anything, was refreshing She’s not one to shy away from pain or danger because she knows the payoff is worth it. Amazing.

  I hit the door, lock up, and pull out my phone while walking to my car. Scrolling through my contacts, I find Darren and hit—

  “Mornin’, Rex.”

  I’m a few feet from Emma’s door when she walks out, backpack on and a coffee mug in hand.

  “Hey, Em. Off to class?” I wait for her to lock up.

  “Yeah, biology test today.” She holds up her coffee and smiles. “Extra caffeine.” Her eyes roam from my baseball hat to my toes. “You headed to work?”

  “Yep. Day before fight night.” I hold up my protein shake and smile. “Power breakfast.”

  She laughs and we move toward the parking. I can’t help but notice how different she is from Mac. Both girls are beautiful and easy to talk to yet completely different.

  I wonder if Emma had been in Mac’s shoes yesterday how would she have responded to my asking her to take off her shoes. Would she be open to diving off the Stratosphere? My guess is she wouldn’t have enjoyed my pinning her face first to the door and feeling her up.

  No, Emma’s a good girl.

  Mac is not. She’s my own personal brand of crazy, and fuck me, but I dig it. A lot.

  We say goodbye at the lot, and I hop into the truck to head to the training center. I call Darren on the way to get his advice before I fuck everything up with Mac.

  He doesn’t have much to say beyond telling me he’s proud of me and that I need to listen to my gut—whatever that means.

  By the time I stroll up to the training center doors, my mind is already overthinking things. She seemed to enjoy what we did yesterday, especially what I did to her before she left, but could I have read things wrong? What-ifs eat away at me, and the whisper of insecurity infiltrates my confidence.

  I’m just through the lobby and at the mouth of the training center when I see a group of guys who don’t usually train here. They must be our competitors. Great.

  Moving past them, I keep my eyes to the floor to avoid the uncomfortable welcome-to-town-I’ll-be-the-dude-beating-the-snot-out-of-you-tomorrow conversation.

  “Woof, woof.”

  They burst into hysterical laughter at their unoriginal taunt.

  I stop and swing my gaze to them, lifting my chin in greeting. My opponent is surrounded by a few guys who must be from his camp, all shit-stares and sneers. “Reece.”

  “Hope you’re ready for tomorrow night, puppy dog.” He takes a few steps toward me. “I don’t plan on leaving you conscious.”

  What a douche. There’s no way I’m falling for his lame attempt at shit talk. “Yeah, well, I hope you do try to knock me out. That’s what we train for.” I move past them, and two steps beyond his little crew, I get shoved in the back.

  There are a lot of things a man can take. Shit talk is one of them. But when a dude puts his hands on me with aggression? It’s fucking on.

  I whirl around and glare. His lips curl to expose one gold tooth right up front, and I almost lose the battle against my laughter. Jackass.

  “I’m ready to beat the fuck out of you tomorrow night, but if you insist on starting this now”—I hold out my arms—“take a shot.”

  “You know I can’t touch you before we hit the octagon.” He jerks his head, motioning to a stocky guy with a buzzed head. “But he can.”

  I turn to the bald guy, who’s bouncing on his toes looking amped for a fight. “You shove me?”

  “Yeah, bitch.” He gets in my face, nose to nose. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

  Fuck, I’d give anything to knock this dipshit out, but I know that’s exactly what he wants. “Not a thing.”

  Reece laughs. “What a pussy.”

  I turn to him, taking my eyes off the twitchy fucker in my face. Probably not smart, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this guy think his threats intimidate me. “What’s your fucking problem? You should be kissing my ass for saving this fight for you.”

  “My problem, dog, is that you’re sandbagging. You probably begged for this fight to save your non-existent fighting record.”

  My fighting is the only thing I take seriously, and implying that I’d drop weight to fight in a lower weight class for an easy win is beyond insulting.

  “I’m loyal to the UFL.” I step into his space and feel the snarl that pulls back my lips. “And I’d never turn down the opportunity to fuck you up.”

  He shoves me. “What’re you waiting for?”

  I move to throw my weight behind my fist.

  “Stop!” Layla’s voice pulls me from my internal struggle not to hit Reece. She stomps our way, shaking her head. “Tell me you guys aren’t doing what it looks like you’re doing.” Her eyes go back and forth between me and Team Dumbass.

  I step back from Reece, but move toward Layla. Call me paranoid, but I’m a little nervous at the idea of her getting between us. And knowing that she’s carrying Blake’s baby ups my unease.

  “It’s cool, Layla.” I don’t take my eyes off the little shit who looks as if he’s about to pop the first person who gets close enough. Damn, what is that dude on? “Why don’t you go find—”

  “Now hang on there, puppy dog.” Reece puffs out his chest. “Layla, huh?” He runs his dirty eyes up and down her body, and I pray like hell Blake’s not within one hundred yards.

  “Go on, Layla.” I move in front of her, facing Reece.

  She moves around me and glares at him. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You heard her; she wants to stay. Stop cock-blockin’.” His pack of idiots laughs.

  My muscles tense, readying to defend Layla from his advances. “I’d watch your fuckin’ mouth if I were you, Reece.”

  “Back off, dog.” He licks his lips. “Damn, you’re hot.” He moves to grab her hand. I pull her behind me.

  “Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you are not hitting on my woman.” Blake’s voice comes booming from behind me. Before I have a chance to turn around, he’s in front of me and nose to nose with Reece. “You’re over here nutting up on my boy and disrespecting my woman? Back the hell off, asshole.”

  Blake’s always been protective of Layla, but ever since they found out she was pregnant, he’s gone nuclear possessive. Come to think of it, I rarely see her anywhere in the training center without him.

  “Ha! Your woman?” Reece laughs and his team of dumb asses follows along. “You tappin’ her ass doesn’t make her yours. If that were the case, half the women in Vegas would belong to you.” The group of them burst into laughter.

  The fighters in my camp are the closest thing I have to family. We get each other’s backs in every situation and nothing—career fight or risk of being fired—means more than that. Blake’s shoulders are flexed to his ears. Shit’s about to go down. My muscles tense and I flex my fists.

  “Layla,” I say over my shoulder. “Go. Now.”

  She grips the back of my tee. “No, Rex. I’m not leaving and—”

  “Mouse, baby, listen to Rex.” Blake’s low
grumble gets Layla moving, and I take my first full breath, knowing that she’s safely out of the way.

  I move close to get Blake’s back when I see a few guys who just walked in stop and watch. Wade, Blake’s opponent, stalks in our direction, stopping just shy of the Reece-Blake faceoff. The tension is palpable.

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to walk away, Reece,” Blake says, a heavy growl rumbling his words.

  “Yeah?” Reece tilts his head and sneers. “Well I don’t appreciate you standing between me and a little pre-fight head.”

  Oh shit.

  Blake knocks Reece back into his buddies. They advance. The short shit, finally getting the fight he wanted, throws a punch. I grab his fist and twist. He drops to the ground. Blake moves on Reece again.

  Wade wraps two arms around Blake’s shoulders. “Not worth it, man.”

  “Get the fuck off me.” Blake jerks out of his hold.

  “Daniels,” Wade says, jumping in front of Blake and pushing him back. “Don’t do this. You’re giving him what he wants.”

  Blake lunges toward Reece, barely held back by Wade. “He disrespected my—”

  “What the motherfuck is going on here?”

  All eyes dart toward the furious voice of Cameron, who’s barreling toward us. His fists are clenched, eyebrows dropped low, and his body looks as if it’s about go all kinds of Hulk on his corporate business get-up.

  He shoves Reece and steps into his space. “You pull this shit in my house?” Another shove. He points to the training center floor. “You’re a guest in my motherfucking house, and this is the respect you show? You little fuck. I could fire you right now. You want that? No more fat paychecks to buy all those trampy bitches you pay for.”

  “Cam, man.” Reece shakes his head and throws his hands up. “I didn’t do shit! Daniels attacked me.”

  What a pussy. I’m really going to enjoy knocking his ass out.

  “Didn’t do shit? You disrespect my assistant in front of her man and you think that’s nothing?” He jabs a meaty finger toward Blake. “He had every right to crack your skull.” He turns to make eye contact with every one of us. His furious glare would make lesser men tuck tail and run. “Those of you who collect your paychecks from this organization will obey its principles. Loyalty. Honor. Respect. Self-control. If this is a problem for you, pack your bags and get the fuck out.”