“Yeah, bitch.” Blake’s tacked on words are aimed directly at Reece.
“Blake.” Cameron gives Blake one look that he shrugs off immediately. “If this is not your home training center”—he glares at the visitors from both Reece and Wade’s camps—“when you’re in my house I fucking own you.”
The group nods and keeps their mouths shut.
“I was fighting for the UFL before you all tried on your first jockstrap. It’s an organization that demands respect, or it was once. I will bring it back to where it was before Taylor Gibbs destroyed it, and that means crushing any piss-dicks that get in my way.” The room is silent. This guy is tough as shit. He must’ve been an animal in the octagon. I make a mental note to Google some of his old fight footage. “We have a multi-million dollar fight to showcase tomorrow night. Do not fuck this up.”
With that he turns and heads back to his office. Blake and I wait the few seconds it takes for everyone to break up and go their respective ways.
He steps up to me. “I owe you, man. Thanks for looking out for Layla.” He offers his fist and I raise mine for a bump.
“No problem, man. You’d do the same for me.”
“Yeah, I would.” He crosses his arms at his chest and smiles. “What’s up with you and Mac? Layla said you two are hookin’ up.”
I shake my head, trying to understand what’s up with Mac and me enough to put it into words.
“Oh shit.” He punches my chest. “You too, huh?” He laughs so loud he gets the attention of the room. “And another one bites the dust.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I’m grinning and pretty sure I know exactly what it means.
“Nothing, man.” He moves past me, chuckling and shaking his head. “I’m off to find my woman. She’s gonna love this.”
Yeah, she’s not the only one. I hide my grin and move to the locker room.
As if thoughts of Mac weren’t enough to have me flyin’ high, Cameron’s speech, along with my recent vendetta to take down Reece for fucking with my family, has me fired up.
Things couldn’t possibly get better, except taking the next step with Mac. Feeling stronger and braver than I’ve ever felt, I consider what sex with her would be like. I grin and welcome the tiny nauseating twist in my gut.
She could be it.
My cure.
Fifteen
I walk through the flames
Pulse throbbing, head light
Naked, exposed, and ashamed.
Only for you will I fight this fight.
--Ataxia
Mac
It’s funny how looking through the box feels different now. Rex’s no longer the boy who clung to me for survival, or the memory that I kept alive for my own. The relationship we had built on fear and revenge now seems insignificant. Today, we have so much more. Shared experiences and opening up vulnerabilities have replaced old feelings with new ones. Better ones.
Some much better ones.
I shift from sitting crossed-legged on my bed to lying down. Spending time with him, being invited into his home, and the picture . . . My heart flutters. To think this whole time he’s held me close, just as I have him. Our dedication to one another and our love for each other transcend memory. He doesn’t remember Mac, but he loves Gia. Reconciling the two will mean keeping him forever: the child he loves and the woman he wanted to touch.
My skin tingles where his hands roamed. Goose bumps race down my arms as I remember his growling voice at my ear. His tall frame had pinned me to the door, supporting my weight with a tender strength more intimate than any sexual experience I’ve ever had, not that I’ve had many. But the one thing I needed after being locked up was to experience all that I’d missed: movies, junk food, and sex. I never understood what the big deal was, why people talked about it as if they couldn’t live without it. Now I understand. The things Rex did to my body with a simple touch or a few perfectly timed words were amazing. A shiver races up my spine. I want more.
Rex is my addiction.
On some level he always has been.
But not like this.
I’d beg, get on my knees and plead for him to take me, control me, and have me for no other reason than his pleasure. I scrub my hands over my face. That sounds insane.
But it’s true.
I love Rex in a way that can’t be defined in words or songs or poems. Unconditional, completely, and irrationally obsessed. A kind of love born from suffering, solely created to bind and heal the broken.
I pick up the teddy-bear and trace the letters on its shirt. “How did you know we’d end up here?”
The stuffed toy doesn’t answer. I hug it to my body and close my eyes. Will there ever be a day when I can hold Rex like this? Or better yet, wrapped up in my arms, legs tangled together with nothing to distract us but the rhythm of our breathing.
The pinging sound of our doorbell steals me from my moment. Trix is at work and there’s only one person I’d be interested in seeing, but he’s busy prepping for his fight.
The bell rings again. What are the chances that they’ll go away if I ignore it?
It rings again, this time in obnoxious repeat. What the fuck?
Tossing the bear on my pillows, I jump up prepared to give the damn bell ringer a lesson in etiquette.
My feet slap against the tiled foyer. I grab the door handle. “What the fu—” I gasp and stare. “Rex.”
Wearing a pair of black track pants that hang low on his hips and a TapOut tee, I’m assuming he came directly from the training center. Ravenous, I devour every inch of his inked arms.
He shuffles his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “I was on my way home.” Exhaling a long breath, he meets my eyes. “I had to see you.”
A slow grin pulls at my lips. “I’m happy you did.” He had to see me. See me—shit! My contacts. I drop my eyes to the ground and turn back into the house. “Um . . . yeah, come on in.” Crap! I have to get my contacts in before he notices my eyes.
The door closes, and I’m guessing he walked in behind me. “Just have a seat and let me go, um, grab . . . I’ll be right back.” I take one step toward the hallway before the heat of his grip wraps around my upper arm.
“Wait.” He spins me toward him and crashes his mouth against mine.
The spice of his clean skin hits me instantly, and my knees buckle under his exuberant assault. His tongue invades my mouth, and towering over me, he bends me back. My hands dart out to grasp his biceps.
He nips and sucks at my lips, drinking from my mouth with greedy grumbles of satisfaction. I pull at him to get closer. I feel the overwhelming urge to have him on me, in me, around me, to be consumed completely—mind, body, soul—by Rex.
I use my teeth and tug on his lip ring. He growls so deeply I feel it in my chest, between my legs, in my blood. “Please, don’t stop.” I keep my eyes closed but find his jaw and trail kisses down his neck. “Never stop.”
He cups my ass with both hands and squeezes. “I want this.”
I moan and press back, giving him what he wants. Always, anything for him. “It’s yours.” I’m yours.
“No one else.” He drops his head to the side, and I suck at his neck, knowing that with his tattoos even the darkest hickey won’t show. “Harder.” Gliding his hand up my spine, he cups the back of my neck, holding me to him. “Mark me.”
Pleasure torpedoes through my body. I hum low in my throat, my teeth and tongue taking his sweet skin into my mouth.
He flexes his hips, and the iron ridge of his hard-on against my stomach robs me of breath. I break off to gasp for air, only to have his mouth cover mine again. Long, deep glides of his tongue suck the salt of his own skin from my mouth. My hunger increases, roaring its gluttonous request. He cups my breast, squeezes, and tugs my nipple. He claws at my body as I rob from his mouth.
I lurch back to break the kiss, keeping my chin tucked, eyes to his shirt. “I’m going to jump out of my skin.”
His hand
leaves my breast and wraps around my back to pull me to his chest. I’m grateful for the closeness so he can’t see my eyes.
“Me too.” He’s breathing heavy. “Haven’t felt anything like it.”
“I haven’t either.” I’m aching for him so badly that I run my hand between us and grip his hard-on.
He sucks air through his teeth but doesn’t push me away.
“Can we?” I roll my forehead against him with impatience, hoping he doesn’t say no.
He kisses the top of my head. “We can, but like last night, I have to do it my way.” He sounds embarrassed.
My stomach twists. “I don’t care.” I squeeze him tight. “Whatever you need.”
“There’s something I need to talk to you about first. If we’re going to try this, I need to be honest with you.”
I nod, and the ache of arousal turns to the pinch of tense muscles. Honest with me. The opposite of what I’ve been with him. “Um, sure, that’s fine. Give me a sec?”
He presses his nose to the top of my head and inhales before pressing his lips there. “Sure, baby.”
With a final squeeze, I turn and head to my bathroom, maintaining eye contact with the floor the entire time. Once inside, I close the door and grab my colored contacts. Before putting them, in I stare at my reflection.
Whatever he has to talk to me about obviously has something to do with sex. He’s made it clear he doesn’t remember his childhood, so it can’t be about his abuse. Usually the idea of a heart-to-heart with Rex would make me excited, but now I’m afraid it’ll bring up things that muddy the electricity firing between us.
I lean in and place one light brown lens in at a time. A thought, poignant and unwelcome, crashes in. I’m covering up and he’s stripping down.
The heavy weight of my guilt presses against my shoulders. My mind works to justify my cowardliness. Telling him everything will only ruin what little progress we’ve made. Or maybe you’re just afraid he’ll hate you.
Every day that passes in silence is another twenty-four hours of betrayal. I’m going to tell him, and when he hears me explain, he’ll understand why I waited so long. He has to. Right?
“Don’t go there, Mac. Not tonight.” With a steadying grip on the countertop, I take slow breaths. Mac doesn’t have secrets. That’s who Rex wants to be with. Don’t fuck this up.
I smooth my hands over my hair and make my way back to Rex. I pass through the living room. No Rex. Kitchen? Empty. Huh.
I go to the sliding glass door and look out to see him silhouetted by the pool. He’s in a squat, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.
With a hard gulp to push down my nerves, I slide open the door. The sound gets his attention and he stands, but doesn’t move toward me.
Covering the distance between us, I stop a couple feet away, making sure not to crowd him. He’s looking thoughtfully at the pool water that looks black without the light.
“Everything okay?”
He motions to the table and chairs by the door. “Can we sit?”
I grab a chair and drop in it. He pulls out the one next to me, turns it to face mine, and has a seat. “There are . . . things, um, about me that are probably not like most guys you’ve been with.”
I know. “Rex, you don’t—”
He holds up his hand. “Let me explain.”
I nod for him to go on.
He digs his fists into his eyes then drops to rest his elbows on his knees as he was by the pool. The look is pure defeat, and seeing a strong fighter like Rex curled in on himself twists my gut.
He tilts his head up to meet my eyes. And like the pool water, the usual blue looks like black in the dark. “You already know about the, uh . . . my home and the control thing—”
“I know, but, Rex, this conversation obviously makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to share with me anything that you don’t want to.” Because it reminds me of all the ways that you’re strong and I’m weak.
“The way I see it, the direction this”—he motions between us with a few flicks of his hand—“is going? I’ll sacrifice a little comfort now to avoid the situation that may or may not happen later.”
“Situation?”
He exhales and drops his head into his hands, plowing his fingers through his hair. I want to comfort him, kneel down at his feet, wrap my arms around his body, and take it all away. If only the sheer power of my love and need for him could erase a multitude of ugly, I swear, if he’d let me, I think it could.
But this isn’t the time for hugs and confessions of love. This is my chance to shut up and listen. I lean toward him and cover my mouth to make sure I don’t interrupt him again.
I study the colors on his arms, a million different tiny pictures I’m sure I could study every day for a year and find something new each time. Unique. Beautiful. Just like him.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist since I was a kid.” He keeps his face toward the pool deck.
I’m comforted to know he has someone to talk to, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous. I wish I could’ve been there for him, his shoulder to cry on, his sounding board. His everything.
“Remember that night we spoke about the nightmares?” He peeks up at me from beneath a few longer pieces of his hair that have fallen over his forehead. “Mac, I can’t—shit, this is impossible.” He leans back in his seat, throwing a forearm over his eyes.
I roll my lips between my teeth. He’s in pain, hurting, and it’s killing me to watch. I just want this over with so we can get back to us. The present day us.
With a deep groan, he’s back, eyes on mine. They’re conflicted, and damn it’s hard to hold his stare. “I don’t remember much from my past.”
He’s going there.
“When I was ten I was taken out of a foster home.” He talks fast, as if he can’t wait to be free of the words. “My time there was a . . . before and when I was there is all kind of a blur.”
I force an emotionless mask as my heart thunders against my ribs.
“I get flashes—recurring dreams.” He shrugs and uses his fingers to spin his lip ring. “They’re pretty violent. Evil. All except one.”
My nose and eyes burn with emotion as it threatens to unleash. I need to give him this, allow him this moment. His strength is astounding and I can’t help but envy him.
“My shrink says that some trauma from my past is locked up in my head somewhere, torturing me.”
As if what he had to endure as a child wasn’t enough, he’s still suffering. I guess I expected that, but the hopeful side thought maybe it’s possible to move on from the ugly. The successful career, popular band, all his friends, he looks like he’s doing great. But what’s going on inside his head is the proof behind his past.
A past he can’t remember.
A past he doesn’t know exists.
A past that I can give back to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I cough to clear the sob that’s pushing to the surface.
“No.” He leans forward, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s just it. I made more progress yesterday than I have in years”—he smiles, small but unmistakable—“because of you.”
Game. Over.
I cover my face with my hands, no longer able to hold back the rush of emotion. I thought I knew pain, internal anguish, heartache that stung so badly you pray for death. I was wrong.
This is worse.
“Whoa, Mac.” He pulls me from my chair and into his lap.
I curl up there, while sobs rip from my chest. He holds me tighter, rubbing my back and saying soothing things that I can’t even hear over the sound of my breakdown.
As if I could feel any worse? Guilt for not saving him when I had the chance and now the shame that I’m still not strong enough to tell him everything, consume me. He’s exposed his weaknesses, let me in and never looked back, but me . . . I can’t bear to tell him the truth.
It was stupid to think my coming to Vegas wou
ld be good for anyone. He says my presence in his life has helped, but he’s not talking about me, Gia. He’s talking about Mac.
And Mac is an illusion.
She doesn’t exist.
What the fuck am I doing? I want to scream, break, and destroy. Sanity wanders off as my thoughts turn desperate. I dig fists into my eyes, pushing back my frantic desire. Think. I’ve come this far. I can’t give up yet, not when I’m so close.
Mac isn’t real—her social security number, ID, eye color. But that’s who he wants—the fake—not me.
Unless . . .
I could become Mac permanently, change my name legally, and keep dying my hair. The contacts will be harder to keep up with, but not impossible. It would be worth it to be with Rex, to keep him in the dark about his past, our history.
My crying quiets as a new plan forms.
“Why are you crying?” He’s still rubbing circles on my back. “What did I say?”
I wipe the moisture from my cheeks “I hate that for you. All of it.”
“Yeah, baby, me too.” He gives me a squeeze. “But things are lookin’ up. I’m here with you, got you in my arms, biggest fight of my career tomorrow night, and you in my corner. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Mac. I’m thinkin’ with you by my side, there’s not much I can’t do.”
I pull back enough to see his face, and it doesn’t look like he’s joking. “I think you’re amazing.” And so much more.
His hand moves to cup my cheek. He runs his thumb along my lower lip. “I want to kiss you, but there’s one more thing you need to know before we go there.”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“In the past, after I, uh . . . sex, or actually after sex, I sometimes get sick.”
What? What!
“It’s embarrassing, and it’s not something I’ve ever shared with anyone else, but I think if we plan on hanging out in the future I want you to know if that ever happens it has zero to do with you.”
Fighting to Forget Page 16
