Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

  I’ve never seen a guy look so sexy in just jeans and a while polo shirt. Tattoos running down his arms, muscles bunching when he moved, and the way his eyes seemed to glow when he looked at me, it’s all a combination that had me on the edge of my seat all night. Need was burning inside of me. My pussy actually quivered with need; I had to change my panties when I got home.

  So, when we went out to his truck and he looked at me, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I needed him. I didn’t care how, where, when or why, I just needed to taste him. It’s been so long since I’ve felt a man against me, since I’ve had a connection with someone else. So long since I’ve been looked at like I’m the sexiest thing in the world, and since I’ve been stroked, touched and kissed. I easily lost myself in it – in him. And I want to do it again. God help me, because I shouldn’t. I know better.

  My phone rings startling me from my thoughts. Seeing the name on my screen makes all the thoughts vanish from my mind in an instant. But not before feeling a moment of dread at the disruption, added to a sprinkle of sadness and regret as reality comes crashing in once again. I hate myself for feeling that way, but it’s the truth. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sydney, it’s LeAnn. Someone wants to talk to you.”

  “Hello, LeAnn, that’s fine and thank you.”

  I hear rustling as the phone is passed over and then, “Hi, Sybney! You coming today wight?” Pronouncing ‘R’s’ and ‘D’s’ aren’t Sammy’s strong suit.

  “Hi Sammy. Yes, of course. I wouldn’t miss today for anything; you know that. I’ll be there in a little bit okay? I just have to finish getting ready, and then I’ll head over.”

  “Yay! See you soon!”

  He hangs up the phone and I laugh a little. He never says goodbye. He always hangs the phone up himself, or hands it to the person that called me for him. Hurrying to get ready, I shower, pull my hair into a quick ponytail, dress in jeans and a t-shirt and run out the door in record time. When I walk into the bakery, an older woman is behind the counter. She’s wearing a bright yellow apron, her hair’s pulled back from her face and she has a swipe of flour on her cheek. When she sees me, she places a bag full of icing down and smiles. “Hello there, dear. How can I help you?”

  “I have a cake to pick up, please. It’s under the name, Sydney Lincoln.”

  She disappears for a moment into the back and I deeply inhale the smell of the many tempting treats displayed behind glass. Pies, cupcakes, cookies and all kinds of bars call out to me with their sugary goodness. The place smells like vanilla and sugar and my stomach growls just as she returns from the back carrying a big pink bakery box. Opening it for my viewing, she holds the lid so I can examine the bright red fire engine, and the words, ‘Happy Birthday, Sammy’ written in yellow. “It’s great. Thank you.”

  “Oh good, I’m so glad. Decorating cakes for little boys and girls is my favorite part of the job. I love imagining their faces when they see their cake.”

  My smile feels frozen on my face as I nod my head, but remain silent. Telling her the cake is for a twenty-five year old man is pointless. I don’t want to see her shock, confusion, or blatant curiosity. So instead, I thank her, pay, and leave.

  After putting the cake on the seat next to me, like it’s on cue, my phone dings in my purse and I start my car to turn on the air since it’s so warm outside today. Looking at my phone, I smile and feel a flip in my belly when I see Tyson’s name on the screen. Opening the text I read, “Hey, beautiful. I’m headed to the gym and was wondering if you’d like to join me? I’d love for you to meet everyone and check out my training if you’re free. Plus, I think someone I know would very much like to see you again. Like, now.”

  I can’t help the big smile that comes to my lips and expands across my face, and I find myself wishing I could see him right now too. But the pink box in the corner of my eye screams at me reminding me that I can’t. I type out a quick reply, “I’m sorry Tyson, I can’t. I have way too much studying to do and I have to get it done. Can I please get a rain check? I’d really love to come soon.” I hate lying, but the truth isn’t an option. I just can’t, I really like him, and I don’t want to lose him.

  His reply comes quickly, “Levi will be really upset.”

  Laughing, I reply, “Apologize for me, okay?”

  “Will do. We’ll cash in that rain check soon. Don’t study too hard.”

  Putting my phone back in my purse, I groan with a touch of regret, then start making my way to see Sammy.

  “Happy Birthday to you,” we all sing the last notes and as they fade, Sammy claps his hands and blows out his candle. Several people that live here and work here alike, are crammed into his room to be part of the festivities. I suggested we use the kitchen, but Sammy wanted to, “have a party in his room.”

  The staff is great as always, and they help me cut the cake. We distribute it quickly, adding ice cream for those who request it. I watch as everyone eats, laughs and wishes Sammy a happy birthday. He grins each time, and happily digs into his chocolate cake, smearing some around his mouth.

  “Did you know that pigs eat or lay on their babies and kill them?” Chris sidles up to me, eager to tell me his fact of the day. Only this time, it’s not his usual kind of factoid. This one is horrifying, not just quirky.

  “What? No, they don’t!” I insist.

  “Yes they do.” He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks at me as if I’m crazy. I almost want to laugh. “Farmers always try to be present for the birth so they can separate the piglets from their mother.”

  With those wonderful words, he walks away in order to share his joy with his next victim while I’m left standing there with horrifying visions. Perhaps I should consider a career change. I wonder if pig rescuer is a thing, and if it pays well? Do they have pig societies like the humane society for cats and dogs? I think I need to look into this.

  “You look great, Sydney,” LuAnn comes up next to me, thankfully interrupting my thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I hand a piece of cake to her. “You look great too. How are things going?” LuAnn is another nurse here and out of all of them we’ve met, she’s worked the longest since Sammy has been here.. Kind and caring, she’s one of my favorites. Sammy’s too.

  “Oh you know, honey, same as always. I was hoping for the chance to chat with you because I want to tell you something exciting.”

  “Oh yeah?” I turn, giving her my attention and look at her expectantly, while keeping Sammy in the corner of my eye. He’s showing off his new ball cap to Rena that the staff was kind enough to give him. He loves hats. Wears one every day.

  “Yes. Sammy tied his own shoes today. You know, we’ve been working on that for a while now.” I nod, swallowing thickly. “He was so excited when he accomplished it. I knew you would want to know in case he forgets to tell you.”

  Gulping painfully, I nod, “Yes, you’re right. Thank you.”

  As if she knows what I’m thinking, she pats me on the arm, “Oh honey, I know this is hard. But remember, we give thanks for the big things, and the small things. Every accomplishment matters.”

  “I know, LuAnn. You’re right. Thank you for reminding me.”

  She gives me a kiss on the cheek, as I smile weakly, then begins clearing out the room. I give Rena a hug good-bye, nodding yes when she asks if I’m okay, and thank her for coming. I’m grateful everyone has left because I’d like to give Sammy my gift privately. When we’re alone, Sammy still has a grin on his face from ear to ear. I help him wipe the cake from his mouth, and I’m caught off guard when he wraps his arms around my waist. “Tank you for my cake. I wuved it. I got to eat one of the wheels.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m glad you liked it.” I gently ease away from him, “I have something for you.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out a package and return to him, placing it in his lap. He smiles at the blue wrapping paper and the bright red bow on top. His favorite colors.

  Clapping his hands in excitement, he grins. He loves opening p
resents, but who doesn’t? That’s at least one thing that hasn’t changed. He’s always loved surprises. Watching as he peels away the wrapping as quickly as possible, I can’t help but gasp in excitement and laugh when he puts the bow on his head. It’s something he’s always done and I feel a stirring of hope in my heart.

  When it’s open, he stares at the gift before him, the smile never leaving his face. His eyes are bright and I wonder if there’s also recognition there. Sitting next to him, I point at the framed photo. “This is a photo of us from a road trip we took to California once. Do you remember?” I look at him hopefully, and feel my excitement grow as his bright eyes glimmer into the picture. “We had a fun time. We stayed at this great little hotel on the beach and had a contest to see who could collect the most shells after high tide. We took naps in the sun, and swam in the ocean when we grew warm. One of our favorite things to do though was people watch.” His finger is tracing our faces over the glass and it makes me tear up. Does he remember? “We also went to Disneyland for the day during that week.”

  His head whips to the side and his eyes meet mine excitedly. I hold my breath. “Disney? That’s where Mickey Mouse lives! Did we meet Mickey Mouse, Sybney? I lub Mickey.”

  Disappointment runs through me like a crushing wave that pounds the shore. It takes all I have to keep tears from popping up into my eyes. My toes curl in my shoes and I grip my hands into fists. Whispering, I nod, “Yes. Yes, Sammy. We met Mickey Mouse too. Some time I’ll bring you that picture too so you can see, okay?”

  “Okay!”

  He continues to jabber about Mickey Mouse, telling me how Mickey loves Minnie and his best friend is Pluto. I nod my head at all the right times and answer his questions when prompted, but the hope that I’ve been holding onto wanes. I’ve always kept a small flame of hope inside my heart, regardless of the doctor’s words. A part of me has wished with all I have that the doctor’s have all been wrong. I’ve always been positive that there’s a little piece of the old him still in there, and it’s kicking and fighting to get out. My hopeful flame lowers and lowers with each passing visit.

  Groaning as I get out of bed, I head straight to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water and pop some extra strength Tylenol. Grabbing a bag of peas from my freezer, I head back to my room. My body is sore today and I’m glad it’s the weekend so I can just chill at home and recover. Throwing the peas on my bed, I walk to the bathroom and turn to check out my face in the mirror.

  My right eye is still angry and swollen, but I can see out of it, which is better than last night when it was swollen shut. The bad part is that I have a bruise surrounding it that’s only gotten darker. Which means any fighter will know in a second that a punch caused it. There’s no way I can explain this away, so I have to keep away from the gym, at least today.

  Tomorrow, I don’t have a choice. I promised I would be there for sparring with Ryder. I can already see the disapproving frown on his face when he hears me make up a lame story for my injuries. I don’t look forward to lying to Jax, or Rowan for that matter, but I don’t have a choice. They can’t know the truth.

  My phone rings and it makes me groan. My head is aching right along with the rest of me. I lie down, put the bag of peas over my eye, then answer my phone. “Hello?”

  “Tyson, where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you for days,” asks the practically screaming voice of my sister. I don’t know if she’s really yelling, but with the way my head is protesting, it sure feels like it.

  “Hey, Row, let’s bring it down a few notches, okay?”

  “Don’t you dare take that tone with me. My twin radar is going off like crazy, what the hell is up with you?”

  “Nothing. Will you please chill out?”

  “No, I will not chill out. Jax said that you haven’t been at the gym much at all. What’s up with that? You’re trying to be on the next MMA card. You don’t do that by not training. So spill it.”

  Why does everyone feel the need to remind me about the MMA card? Like I could forget. “There’s nothing to spill. Really. I’ve just been busy with work and car rebuilds. I’m sorry I worried you and that I haven’t been by, but I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Good. You better be. If you blow it off and don’t show up, I’ll be on your doorstep pounding on the door until you answer it.”

  “Jesus, Row. Chill out. I’ll be there, okay?”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Fine,” she returns and I smile.

  “Love you little sister.”

  I hear her sigh on the line then murmur, “I love you, too.”

  “Give Lily a kiss for me.”

  “Give her a kiss yourself.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Shoving my phone under my pillow, I stare at the ceiling while I reposition the peas on my face. I want to go back to sleep something fierce. My body is begging for it, but images from the fight last night come back to screw with my mind. Money exchanging hands, cigarette smoke in the air, and the loud smacking sound of flesh hitting flesh. This time the fight was in an old junkyard. Eli said the brother of someone owned it and offered it up. Scrap metal, tires, and broken down cars were all around us, the makeshift ring created in the center of it all. When my opponent came into view, I felt stirrings of unease for the first time. Thoughts of backing out fleetingly entered my mind. When we began circling one another, my heart wasn’t really in it and that’s how I found out up close and personal how ‘Concrete’ Carter got his name. His fist against my face sure as hell validated his nickname.

  I was going to lose, I was losing, until he made a mistake. It wasn’t an incorrect move, or an overcompensating kick or jab. It wasn’t even because I started landing hits, not initially. It was because he said the wrong thing. He and his buddies had been throwing insults at me before the fight even started. I heard, “He looks like a pussy,” and “is that all you’ve got?” I ignored them, not really giving a shit what any of them said.

  Rolling over, I punch my pillow trying to make it comfortable and pound it a second time in frustration. Closing my eyes, the irritation I felt when the words he shouted to entertain the crowd and piss me off, runs through my mind. I’m almost tempted to chuckle when I think about the look on his face when I lost my cool. As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw the effect of them in my eyes, he knew he was done for. “You’re so fucking pathetic, I bet your mommy and daddy don’t even love you.”

  My halfhearted attempt to win the fight turned to severe determination after fourteen words. Fourteen words that took probably five seconds for him to say. Five seconds was all it took to turn me into a raging madman. I pummeled the shit out of him. He landed a good jab to my face again in his attempt to fight me off, but it was fruitless. I beat him fucking bloody, and it took several guys to pull me off of him. Eli could barely calm me down afterward and shoved me into his truck and drove around for a while until I had regained a bit of composure.

  Now, I have a reminder of his shit words on my face. But the real shit is the truth that his words live in my soul and resound like a gonging cymbal all the time. Unloved. Worthless.

  Hours later, I wake up and thank god that my head has quit pounding. After throwing away the now squishy and warm bag of peas, I decide to take a shower, but stop to catch a look at my face in the mirror first. I feel satisfaction when I see that it’s a little less swollen, but of course the bruising is darker.

  While toweling off after my shower, I think about calling Sydney and inviting her over for dinner. It’s been a week since our date at the coffee shop. We’ve been texting fairly regularly, but I want to see her. My hesitation is that she’s going to see my face. But damn, I’m not willing to go without seeing her for the time it’s going to take for it to heal, so now is as good a time as any.

  Before I can change my mind, I pick up the phone and dial.

  “Hello?”

  “He
y beautiful, how are you?”

  “I’m good. It’s nice to hear your voice. How are you?”

  “I’m missing you. Which is why I’m calling.”

  “Oh yeah?” I can hear the smile in her voice and my body instantly reacts by making a tent under my towel.

  “Yes. Please tell me that you are free tonight.”

  “I don’t know… give me a reason that I should be,” she teases.

  Smiling, I walk to the kitchen and open my fridge to inventory the contents. “I’m thinking dinner. At my place. I’ll make my specialty.”

  “Oh, I’m intrigued. You have a specialty?”

  “I do. It’s called pasta a la Tyson.”

  She laughs and the sound in my ear makes me wish she were here right now, so I could put my mouth on hers. “You, in an apron? Cooking? I’m convinced. I’m there. Just tell me when and where.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything about an apron.”

  After I give her the details on how to get to my place, I hurry to put some clothes on because a fast trip to the store is needed.

  A few hours later, I’ve got the table set, candles lit, dinner warming in the oven, fresh sheets on the bed (there’s no harm in being optimistic), and I’ve straightened up the place. All I need is the girl.

  When there’s a knock at the door, I eagerly make my way to it and throw it open. I see a flash of her blonde hair, blue eyes and the color red before I put my arms around her. “Ty-” she starts to say, but stops when I pull her inside and shut the door. She opens her mouth to speak again, but I silence her - with my mouth. Pushing her back against the door, I press against her and finally do what I’ve been thinking about all day. She makes a soft, sweet sound, as I lick at her lips, begging for entrance. When she gives it to me, and my tongue swipes inside of her mouth, I groan from the taste of her – sweet, wet and minty. She moves her mouth against mine eagerly kissing me back, one hand gripping my hair at the nape of my neck, and the other exploring my chest. As I move my hand to cup her face, I pull back and smile at her. “Hi there.”