by JB Salsbury
I scratch my neck as anxiety pricks at my skin. “Do you think we could talk in private?”
He groans as if I’m putting him out and swings open the door for me to come inside.
“Nope. She’s not going into your crack house, bro.”
Clifford jerks and his eyes flash to Blake with a flicker of panic.
“You two talk out here. I’ll wait by the truck.” Blake drops a kiss to the top of my head and stalks back to the Rubicon, resuming his position at the hood.
I lick my lips. “Look. I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just gonna say it.” I meet his eyes to gauge his reaction and then let ’er rip. “I’m pregnant.”
I don’t know what I expected, shock, maybe anger. But I do know that I never in a million years would’ve expected laughter.
Clifford doubles over, his hands braced on his knees as hilarity shakes his shoulders.
I watch him for a few seconds, wondering if maybe he really is still drunk. When he doesn’t stop, I turn to see Blake, who looks about a half-second away from charging Clifford and beating every last chuckle from the guy’s body.
“Did I say something funny?”
“Oh fuck…that’s some good shit.” He stands up and wipes his eyes. “Nice try.”
“This isn’t a joke, Clifford. I’m serious. I’m pregnant.”
He shrugs and grins. “It’s not mine.”
My chin tucks in offense. “Of course it is. You’re the only one I’ve been with.”
“Yeah? Prove it.”
“I…” I shake my head. “How would I do that?”
“Is this about the photos? Some kind of payback or something?”
“No, I’m… God, I just thought you should know.”
“Why? So I’d marry you?”
“Eww. That’s not what I want at all.”
“Then what do you want, Elle? You come over here claiming I knocked you up and I’m supposed to what? Fall to my knees and confess my undying love?”
My eyes heat. “I guess I thought you might be interested in knowing your son or daughter.”
He shrugs like I just told him the weather. “You thought wrong. First, I don’t believe you because the only times we didn’t use protection I pulled out.”
I roll my eyes.
“Second, I think you’re pissed about the pix I dropped on you and your boy toy and you’re trying to get revenge. And third, you have no proof. You got an ultrasound? ’Cause I know guys who’ve had girls claim to be pregnant and it turns out they’re not.”
What kind of woman would lie about being pregnant just to lockdown a man?
He steps in close. “You saw me with another girl and flipped out. I get it. You’re jealous and pissed off. But I’m not stupid enough to fall for this, Elle.”
“This was a mistake,” I whisper.
“Aww, see? She does have a brain.” He laughs and the door behind him swings open to reveal a gorgeous blonde I recognize from all his parties.
She’s wearing a tiny silver dress, heels hooked with two fingers, and there’s dark around her eyes from what I’d guess to be last night’s makeup. Clifford hooks her around the waist and tilts his head, slamming his lips on hers.
I stumble back, my hands tangled in my sweatshirt to keep them from wrapping around Clifford’s neck.
Blake pushes up behind me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Time to go, kiddo. I think you got your answer.”
Both Clifford and his date stare down at me while Blake drags me to the car.
“What did she want?” His date snarls at me while speaking to him.
“Nothing important.”
It’s the last thing I hear before they disappear back inside and slam the door.
Nothing important.
Twenty-one
Killian
“Killer…”
My cheek stings and I’m jostled in my seat. “Hmm…”
“Wake up, dude. We’re landing.”
I force open my eyes and give my brain a second to catch up to my surroundings. Circular window. Tray table. And my mouth tastes like week old tequila and blue cheese. “Water.”
Rex hands me a bottle of water and rubs his temples with a groan. “Look out. My head might explode.”
I down the small water bottle and lick my lips. “How long was I out for?”
“No clue. Last thing I remember was being cut off by the flight attendant; then it was lights out.”
“Were we”—I search my foggy memory—“pirates…at one point?”
Rex’s eyebrows drop low in confusion, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, I was Captain Phallus, Lord of the Deep, and you were—”
“Captain Flaccid, Ruler of the Impototonuis.” I punch the asshole in the bicep. “Fuck you very much for the title, dickhead.”
He rubs his arm, groaning and laughing at the same time. “You weren’t complaining when you were using your swizzle stick as a sword in search for the rare jewel viagranite.”
I burst into laughter, and even though my head feels like it’s being pounded by a jackhammer, it feels good to laugh. “Can’t imagine why they cut us off.”
I flag down the flight attendant for two more waters, and when he delivers them, I catch the look of irritation that flashes in his eyes. I accept the waters politely and gratefully and suck them back. The passengers seated around us shoot weary glances in our direction.
Safe to say we didn’t make any friends on this flight.
~~~
By the time we move through customs, it’s after midnight London time. Having slept for somewhere in the vicinity of six hours and it being around five o’clock at night in Vegas, my stomach growls for some grub.
“Any chance London has a Denny’s?” I hike my duffle further up on my shoulder, following Rex through the glass doors that lead outside. Freezing air hits my face to knock off the lingering hangover. I’m grateful I followed Rex’s advice to pull out a sweatshirt earlier. It’s cold as shit.
“I’ll ask Caleb.” He squints against the freezing wind. “Fuck. I hate being cold. Gonna have to change my pirate name to Captain Shriveldick.”
I cough out a laugh and burrow deeper into my UFL sweatshirt. “He’d make a better sidekick to Lord Flaccid.”
He stops and glares at me. “I’m not your sidekick, dude. I’m the Batman to your Robin.”
“There’s no way Shriveldick trumps Flaccid. Think about it. Flaccid still has size, but lacks strength. Shrivel is… Well, he lacks everything.”
“Fuck that! Shrivel—”
“I thought the good ole US of A was sending me a couple of fighters, not two numbnuts discussin’ the attributes of their tiny peckers.”
Rex and I both turn toward the country twang to find Caleb standing there with his arms spread wide in greeting.
“Hole-ee-shit.” Rex infuses a very unnatural sounding country accent to his voice. “How the fuck are you, man?” He wraps the big blond in a back-thumping hug.
“Can’t complain much.” He releases Rex and swings his gaze to me. “Fuckin’ A, you grew, boy!” He reaches out and shakes my hand. “Last time I saw you, you were”—he holds his hand up to his chest—“yay high.”
Rex slaps me in the chest. “Kid’s been working his ass off.”
He looks me up in down. “I can see that.” He flicks a finger toward my eye. “Who gave you the shiner?”
My heart thuds at the reminder. I push the unwelcome feelings back. “Blake.”
Caleb grins. “Very nice.”
“Any chance we can finish this get-to-know-ya somewhere with a heater?” Rex’s gaze takes in our surroundings. “And less wet.”
“Welcome to London, dude. Get used to it.” He nods toward a navy blue car the size of a roller skate with four doors. “I’m over there.”
My brows pop high. “That?”
“How the hell do you expect us to fit in that thing?” Rex stares at the wheeled dot with curiosity.
&nbs
p; “We’re in London, brother.” He slaps Rex on the back. “This Vee Dub Golf is considered a full-sized vehicle.”
I rub the back of my neck, already feeling the muscle cramps that will surely follow being crammed into the backseat. “Not sure the name implies full-size.”
“You two spoiled American pussies would rather take a cab? ’Cause I’m telling you the taxis here aren’t any bigger.” He motions to a line of small black cars.
“I’ll ride in the back.” I pop the hatchback and toss my shit in, Rex coming up beside me to do the same.
We climb inside the car, and I’m surprised how spacious the interior really is. I still have to sit at an angle to accommodate my legs, but that’s mostly because both Rex and Caleb’s seats are cranked back so they have plenty of legroom. I make a note to call shotgun next time.
“Any chance there’s a twenty-four-hour diner close by? It’s dinnertime in Vegas, not to mention the kid and I are battling a little brown-bottle flu.”
Caleb pulls out and—oh shit—I have to turn away because driving on the wrong side of the road and on the wrong side of the car is freaking me the fuck out. “Nah…only thing here open twenty-four hours is Mickey D’s.”
“Killer, you down to top this body torture off with some fast food?”
“When does training start?” I ask Caleb.
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“Fuck.” I shrug and my stomach growls its answer. “May as well.”
“No barfing tomorrow, ya hear?” Caleb makes a left turn, and the first few sprinkles of rain hit the windshield. “We’ve been scaring the shit out of everyone here, telling them that Killer from Team USA is coming in ready to destroy. You’ve got a rep to uphold.”
Rex chuckles and grins back at me before facing Caleb. “He won’t disappoint. Trust me. The kid is ready. A little hangover and a heart-attack meal won’t change that.”
While staring out the window, all I can think is I hope to God he’s right.
Fighting is all I have left.
Failure isn’t an option.
~~~
“Wake up, princess.” A sharp sting on my cheek pulls me from sleep. “Come on. I’m only here for a few days, and we’ve got shit to do.”
I crack one eye open and stare at Rex, who’s standing on my bed, wearing his training clothes and a shit-eating grin. “What makes you so perky this morning?”
“First of all, it’s the afternoon.”
I rub my eyes. “No shit?”
“You slept like a corpse. Why didn’t you set your alarm?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Your phone, jackass.”
My gut tumbles. “Didn’t bring it.”
He looks confused.
“Figured I’d just get a new one.” And I didn’t want the brutal reminder of Axelle not calling me or the temptation to contact her.
“Okay, I’ll make sure we get you one today. Now wake the fuck up and smile.” He holds his arms out wide. “This is the first day of the rest of your life, man. How the hell can you not be fucking stoked about that?”
I snag my glasses off the bedside table and yawn.
“Get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs.” Rex hops off the bed and crosses to the door. “Hope you got a good night’s sleep. Today is going to be brutal.”
He slams the door behind him, and I groan and drop my head into my hands.
The truth is I slept like shit.
After we hit McDonalds, Caleb brought us to what will be my home for the next year. From the outside, it looks like part office high-rise, part fishbowl. With card access, a gate was opened that led to underground parking and an elevator. It wasn’t until we were inside the elevator and Caleb slid the card into the “lift” as he called it, that I realized we were headed to the top.
A split-level penthouse.
If I weren’t so tired and half stupid from the whirlwind of the last couple days, it would’ve hit me then that little Killian McCreery was now residing in a penthouse in London, fighting for UFL USA. And even after a fitful night’s rest, dreams of Axelle’s beautiful belly swelling with new life growing inside it, her wrapping that sweet body around me and telling me that she loves me and our baby… Damn, I’m far from rested.
But I’m awake.
And it’s sinking in.
I cross toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and pull back the sheer white curtains—another thing I didn’t quite appreciate about this place when I got here. Everything is either white or black. The carpet of my modest-sized room is white and peppered with sleek black furniture and a white overstuffed chair. It’s like living on a chessboard with a kick-ass view.
Gray clouds break up across the skyline, and below is the bustling city of London. But that’s not all. There’s water.
Caleb explained last night that this part of town was called the Docklands, which makes sense. From what I can tell, it’s industrial with waterways and docks for large ships probably making pick-ups and deliveries. It’s fucking cool as shit.
I can hear Caleb and Rex laughing downstairs, where the main living space is complete with a state-of-the-art home theater, an open kitchen with fancy-ass appliances, and a dining room fit for royalty. The three bedrooms are upstairs, each with their own private bathrooms, which are bigger than my studio back in Vegas. That Jacuzzi tub will come in handy after those long training weeks.
I cross to my bag that I tossed at the foot of my bed when I stumbled to it last night. Grabbing some clothes, I allow myself to indulge in a fantasy. I pretend Axelle is here with me, I imagine her sky-blue eyes alight with excitement at living in such luxury. She’d giggle at seeing the bidet and the separate urinal in the marble-floored bathroom. My fingers tingle as I imagine sliding them into her hair, looking deep into her eyes until her humor fades as I promise her every luxury I can afford for the rest of her long and beautiful life.
My chest cramps violently at the realization that these things will never happen. She made her choice, and I thought I made mine when I stepped onto that plane, but it’s as if my heart needs the constant reminder. As if the last few beats of my love for her are refusing to simply die, but would rather suffer from a long drawn-out process that has me in knots.
I drag my body under the shower spray and close my eyes. “It’s over, Killian. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”
I shove all those feelings, all the hurt and the love, deep into the darkest corner of my soul and lock it there behind brick walls. I’ve made the choice to spend this year in London, working on my fighting career, and I intend to do just that.
No more pain and no regrets. No friendships and complications.
From here on out I’m a fighter.
That’s it.
Twenty-two
Axelle
By the time Monday rolls around, I’m ready to get the hell out of my mom and Blake’s house and back to my apartment. After confronting Clifford yesterday, Blake insisted I stay with them. I’m sure it was my crumbling into a sobbing mess in my mom’s lap that spoke to my instability. The more I cried, the more my mom cried, and between the two of us, we could’ve hydrated Nevada with our tears.
When we dried out, Blake made us dinner, and I fell asleep on the couch with my head in my mom’s lap. I don’t remember how I got into my bed, but I do remember Blake’s voice telling me everything would be okay, so my guess is he probably carried me there.
My mom slides a bowl of fruit in front of me while holding my baby brother, who just woke up. “What time is your first class?”
I pop a grape into my mouth. “I missed it. I think I can make my afternoon classes though. But…” My stomach sours and I threaten to heave. “I have to get my car from Killian’s.”
I’m grateful I have my keys with me. Since we were coming to babysit Jack on Saturday, I brought them so I’d have Mom’s house key just in case I needed it. The problem is the bag I brought with me for our little weekend sleepo
ver is still in his place, and since I don’t have a way to get into his studio without him there, I’m forced to see him face to face.
Ever since Clifford practically spit on me, I’ve been entertaining the idea of taking Killian up on his offer. If we raise this baby to know that Killian is his dad, but not his biological father, there will be no surprises. As much as I’ll hate to one day have to explain to him or her that their father was in no shape to be a dad, I believe with all my heart that Killian’s love would cushion that blow. But what would Kill be giving up?
Guilt spills like liquid lead over me, and I slump into my seat. I love Killian. I can’t expect him to make sacrifices to take care of us.
I always dreamed about what my life would’ve been like had my mom been strong enough to walk away from Stewart back when I was born. If she’d braved it and raised me alone, I never would’ve had to bear witness to her abuse. And now here I am considering making the same choice, leaning on a man—albeit a wonderfully loving and gentle man—to avoid having to face the consequences and hardships of my own mistakes.
No, I have to do this on my own—if only to prove to myself that I can. Then and only then will I have anything substantial to offer someone like Killian.
I love him.
I will always love him.
And if we’re meant to be together, we will be, regardless of whose baby I’m carrying.
Right?
“Blake’s taking Jack for a couple of hours. I can take you to Killian’s when you’re ready.” My mom sets her worried eyes on mine as if she’s following the direction of my thoughts.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She comes around the counter and drops onto the stool next to mine. Her deep brown eyes are bloodshot from yesterday, or it’s possible she was crying even this morning. I hate that I’ve done this to her. “Listen. I want you to know I understood what you said the other day about doing this on your own, but without a job, you’ll need to accept a little help.”
She’s not telling me anything I haven’t already made myself sick trying to figure out. I could drop out of school and get a job, but who’ll hire a pregnant woman taking maternity leave just a short time after being hired? And then what? I go back to work to make just enough money to pay for daycare? What about diapers, rent, electricity?
