Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)

by JB Salsbury

  “I know. I just don’t know what to do about that. I’m tired of being a burden on everyone.”

  “You’ve never been a burden. I know what it’s like to have to depend on others when it’s the last thing you want to do. I married Stewart for the same reason. You don’t have to do that, Axelle. Blake and I would love it if you moved back home.”

  “Mom, no, I can’t. You guys have a great thing going on here. I’d only—”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t finish that thought. Your lease with Mindy is another four months. Take your time, consider your options, and make the decision that’s best for you, but know that we’re here to help you through this.”

  She and Blake have been paying my rent in exchange for me watching Jack when they need me or take a trip out of town. The tradeoff is in my favor since they only need me about once a week, but I can’t ask them to continue to pay for my rent once this baby is born. And what am I going to do? Live with Mindy while she’s banging football players on the couch and I’m up all night with a baby?

  “Okay, Mom.”

  She sighs heavily. “We’ll come up with a plan as things mellow. In the meantime, you should make an appointment with your doctor.”

  “That’s right.” I rub my temples. “I need to do that.” So much for my I got this attitude. I can’t even remember to do the simplest things on my own.

  Her soft touch runs up and down my back. “One day at a time.”

  “Am I going to be able to do this, Mom?”

  She presses a kiss to my head. “You’re never alone. We’ll always be right here if you need us.”

  “You realize I’m making Jack an uncle, right?”

  She sucks in a breath.

  I tilt my head to study her. “And you’ll be a grandmother.”

  Her eyes widen, but she wrangles in her shock and smiles shakily. “That’ll take some getting used to.”

  ~~~

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” My mom’s hand grips mine from the front seat of her car as I stare at the back of Killian’s Jeep.

  He’s home.

  “He’s missing class. He never misses a class,” I mumble to myself, trying for the life of me to sort out what I’m seeing.

  “These last couple of days have been hard on everyone.” Her eyes stare thoughtfully at the back of his car. “He’s probably just taking a day to come to terms with everything.”

  “I should just grab my car and go.” I can’t face him now. He’ll ask about Clifford, and I’ll have to tell him how he blew me off, claiming the baby wasn’t his and that I was trying to corner him into a commitment.

  And then what? Will he offer to get back together? To raise this baby together? I press my palm to my lower belly. If he did, would I have the strength to say no?

  “Come on. This is silly.” My mom swings open her door and slides out. “This is Killian we’re talking about. He’s your best friend, Axelle. He wants what is best for you. Stop acting like he’s the enemy here.”

  I open my mouth to defend myself, but she shuts the door before I can. I watch in horror as she crosses to the stairs, and before I can think better of it, I’m bounding up the stairs behind her.

  “Mom, wait! What if…?” I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from being heard because, damn, for a little woman, my mom is quick.

  I’m out of breath by the time she reaches Killian’s door and knocks. My pulse rockets even higher with nerves, and I lean against the wall to keep from passing out.

  Male voices come from behind the door, and butterflies burst behind my ribs as it swings open.

  “Oh hey, Layla.”

  I step to my mom’s side at the sound of Ryder’s voice.

  He stares between us, confused. “What’s going on?”

  I peek around his shoulder and see Theo with his hands in a box, staring back at me.

  “Ryder, um…is Killian around?” My mom seems just as confused as I am because it seems like they’re moving Kill’s things.

  “No, he’s in London.”

  “What!” The word flies from my mouth with such force Ryder slices his gaze to mine.

  “You didn’t know?”

  Tears prick my eyes, but I hold them back. “No, I had no idea.” He didn’t tell me he was leaving so soon. I thought I had more time. He didn’t even say good-bye.

  “When did he leave?” My mom presses in close as if to hold me up if my legs give out.

  “Yesterday. I guess he changed his mind about the London gig, called my dad, and hopped on a plane with Rex first thing. He asked me to sell all his shit, but Dad said pack it up and store it. We’ll put his Jeep in storage too until he gets back.” He shrugs, but his eyes fix on mine.

  I can’t imagine Killian told Ryder about my situation, but he saw us leave together Valentine’s night and probably assumed we’d be together. The fact that Kilian left without telling me makes it pretty obvious to everyone where things stand between us.

  I clear my throat, eager to get out of here before I burst into tears. “I need to grab my things.” I push past Ry and see my bag in the same place I left it. My gaze slides to the bed, and my chest clenches to see it’s already been stripped and disassembled.

  Pulling my bag up, I go to the bathroom and dump the contents of my drawer into the bag. I quickly glance in the shower and see his things are gone, another reminder that he truly has left to the other side of the world.

  I pass by the bowl of change and see the keys to his Jeep and his phone. My heart stutters as I stare at the device. Ryder must be watching because he sidles up next to me. “Guess he forgot it. I told my dad I’d send it to him, but he said it’s just easier for him to pick up a new one over there.”

  Reaching out, I grab it and hit the button that brings it to life.

  The screen lights up to an image of our faces, a selfie we took in front of the Eiffel Tower at Paris on The Strip. It was during Christmas break and Vegas was having a cold snap, so I was dressed in a big coat with a fur collar, and Killian had on a hooded sweatshirt and a black beanie. Our cheeks and noses are flushed pink, and he’s smiling casually while I’m laughing hard at the story he’d just told me.

  Did you know a woman once jumped off the real Eiffel Tower to commit suicide, landed on a guy’s car, and they ended up getting married?

  I swore he made that up, but he insisted it was a true story.

  His future wife fell from the sky right onto his car. They don’t call Paris the City of Love for nothing. People line up at the base of it now just waiting to get clobbered by their true love.

  I laughed. He snapped the picture.

  We posted it on Instagram, along with selfies of us on a gondola at The Venetian and in front of the Statue of Liberty at New York-New York with the hashtag #worldtravel. It was stupid, and no one actually believed we were traveling the world, but for two people who’d never even been on a plane, for just that night, it sort of felt like we were.

  “You ready, Axelle?” My mom smiles sadly at me, most likely having been witness to me staring at Killian’s phone.

  I nod and set the device back down by the bowl of change.

  He left his phone here on purpose. That’s obvious. He’s sending a message, cutting all ties. As much as it hurts, I can’t deny that it’s probably for the best.

  With a wave good-bye to Ryder and Theo, I keep my head down to hide my tears as I scurry out the door and to my car. My mom makes sure I get in okay, and once I’m out of sight, I pull over onto a side street and bawl.

  Twenty-three

  Killian

  One month in London and I’ve managed to fall into a robotic routine. I wake every morning at five and jog The Thames Path along the river. I throw down a mostly tasteless breakfast and shower then head to the training center with Caleb. The training center here is a quarter of the size of the one in Vegas, more like a storefront than a warehouse, but only five miles from home. Just like back in Vegas, I train wit
h different members of the UFL UK team, but all under the supervision and expertise of Caleb. I’ve met so many new people it took weeks for me to remember all their names.

  There’s Laise, pronounced like Lacey, the Scotsman who rivals the likes of Jonah Slade in size and ability. His overgrown beard and shoulder-length hair give him an ominous look inside the octagon, but he has the temperament of a kitten when he’s outside it.

  Then there are the three local British fighters: Liam, Henry, and Jay who encompass the MMA trifecta: Liam’s ground game, Henry’s stand up, and Jay whose takedowns are better than Rex’s (not that I’d ever admit that out loud).

  And finally there are the French siblings, Olivier and Fleur, a brother and sister who’re so bad-ass their blood type must be BA positive.

  It’s Ollie who stares at me now as I annihilate the speed bag. His eyes are narrow and assessing. My arms and back, legs and core, all strain with fatigue as the Frenchman lifts a brow at me. I step back and pop off my earbuds. “I don’t care how many times you ask. I still refuse to autograph your dick.”

  His mouth lifts in a one-sided grin, and he scratches his shaved head. “Hilarious, Harry.”

  I control the urge to sock him in the gut. Just one time these assholes saw me in my glasses and they’ve been calling me some variation of the young wizard’s name ever since.

  “Caleb wants you at grappling.” His French accent is weak and mixed with the Londoner accent he’s picked up since he’s lived here most of his adult life. “And you should know you hit like my little sister.”

  I laugh and pull off my gloves to wipe the sweat off my forehead. “Is that supposed to be an insult? Because your sister’s quick as shit.”

  “That’s what I mean. Your arms are fast; it’s like…like…” His eyes widen. “Magic!”

  I grab my shit and make my way over to the grappling pads. “You guys really need to come up with some new material.”

  He follows right behind me. “Tell me, Potter, how long did it take until Hermione let you Slytherin, huh?”

  He laughs at his own joke, and I can’t help but chuckle too. The guy is creative. I’ll give him that. “Did you know Merlin was a Slytherin?”

  “You’re off your trolley.”

  “I’m serious. The Merlin was taught personally by Salazar Slytherin.”

  “You nerds done?” Caleb calls from the mats, waiting with Liam. My first fight is in three weeks against Hugo “Spidey” Webb. He lost the welterweight title his last fight and is looking to make a comeback, and I’m not going to let him earn it on my back.

  “Liam’s been watching Webb’s tapes.” Caleb motions to the stocky Brit. “Let’s run through some ground game and defensive moves.”

  Fine by me. Pride isn’t something I’m comfortable feeling. I’d like to think I’m a constant work in progress, that there’s always room for improvement. But the last two grappling sessions I had with Liam I came out on top. Hopefully, he has something new for me today.

  “You ready, old man?” I toss my towel away and grin at Liam.

  He snarls and flashes his chipped front tooth, which adds a ruthlessness to his already intimidating mug. “Fuck yeah, you little tosspot.”

  These guys and their slang. British insults are the cutest damn things I’ve ever heard. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

  He growls then lunges, and just like every other day, we move through takedowns, submissions, and escapes.

  The weeks go on like this, training every day and going back to the penthouse every night to wind down, make dinner, and read or watch a movie.

  As fast as the weeks fly by, the weekends do the opposite. Saturday and Sunday drag along at a slow crawl. I train lightly those days, and I’ve managed to do some sight-seeing, but it makes for an isolated experience. I hit the pubs with the guys at night, which is fun. The UFL UK has a decent amount of groupies, so no matter where we go, we end up with plenty of company.

  I’ve never been the guy who’s always surrounded by groups of friends. Being an only child who grew up to be a somewhat—oh, who am I kidding—a total nerdy adult, I’ve only ever had one friend, who I refuse to let myself think about. So, although being the center of attention isn’t something I’m used to, I gotta admit it’s not half bad. It’s on that thought that Liam hooks my neck from behind.

  “Oh come on!” The female voice with a thick French accent sounds from just off the mats. “No chance you’ll beat Webb if you’re sleeping on the job, Harry!”

  “She’s right, HP.” Liam mumbles in my ear and laughs before releasing me.

  Fleur, all five-foot-three inches, stomps across the mats and props her hands on her narrow hips. Her big hazel eyes blaze with irritation, and her dark blond ponytail falls over her sculpted tan shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug and get to my feet, getting a sense of victory when I stand a whole head taller than her.

  “Did you hear that, cowboy?” She glares at Caleb, who rolls his eyes. “He says nothing, but he let himself get choked out by Liam.”

  “I didn’t let myself; he just bested me.” Okay, that’s not exactly true. I may not have been as focused as I should’ve been.

  “Oh…he bested you.” She smiles, and every time she does, I’m always amazed she chose fighting over something more fitting like modeling. She has an innocent beauty about her that reminds me of a young Kate Moss, except with more muscles. She steps back and crouches, opening her arms in a fighting stance. “Let’s see if you can best me, Potter. After all, I’m just a teeny girl.”

  “Oh fuck…”

  “He’s shafted.”

  The surrounding fighters continue with their mumbled comments as they back off the mats.

  Even her brother Olivier says, “Watch your balls, HP. She doesn’t fight fair.”

  I sigh and shake my head, staring down at her. “You don’t want to do this, little flower.”

  “Don’t I?” She lifts a sculpted brow. “Make me regret it.”

  I keep my eyes on her as she circles me; her eyes study me as if she’s calculating where to strike first.

  Her legs step with practiced fluidity; they’re short but toned and lead from a pair of long MMA training shorts to end with bare feet and bright red toe nails—umph!

  Her shoulder hits my gut and arms wrap around my middle. Her leg sweeps at my feet, but I step back to avoid her kick.

  No matter how many times we train together, it always amazes me how much power she can pack in her small frame. The guys call from all around us, taunting and cheering, which is ridiculous. The girl weighs next to nothing, so I fold over her, reach around her waist, and lift her off the ground.

  “Gah!” Her legs kick, and in one swift move, I flip her to her back and hold her arms above her head.

  She digs her heel into the mat to try and flip me, which makes me laugh.

  A weak growl rumbles in her throat as I tangle my legs in hers and lock her down with my hips.

  “I win.”

  Her eyes narrow, but I see something else there. It’s in the way her pupils dilate and her lips part. Even under her loose T-shirt, I can feel her back arch to press her breasts against me. I hiss out a breath and drop my chin, pretending it’s exhaustion and not the uninvited rush of lust that’s heating through me.

  Shit! I don’t want this.

  I shove off of her and hop to my feet, more than a little troubled by my body’s reaction to her.

  Not that it shouldn’t react. I mean the girl is gorgeous and the soft curves of her body pressed to mine would elicit a reaction out of a dead man, which is basically what I am—dead—at least on the inside.

  The slow clap from Caleb calls my attention.

  “Very nice, Killer. You’ve managed to takedown a hundred-pound female. Now let’s see if we can work you up to a one-hundred-seventy-pound professional fighter, m’kay?”

  His teasing tone is just what I need to clear my head. “Then let’s stop sta
nding around bullshitting and train.”

  I reach out to help Fleur to her feet and she laughs. “I have to give it to you; those were some impressive moves, Killian.” She used my real name, and genuine admiration fills her voice.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you have plans tonight?”

  My eyes dart around to the guys, but they’re all huddled together, talking fight-night strategy. “No.” Unless a date with my e-reader counts.

  Her eyes light up and her expression goes soft. “There’s a place I want to show you.”

  I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know. The last time I went out drinking with you I was hungover for three days.”

  She cocks a hip and crosses her arms at her chest. “And that was my fault?”

  “I don’t remember much, but what I do involved you dancing on the bar—”

  She slaps my gut. “Enough, please, don’t remind me. Anyway, it’s not a pub; it’s a place for dinner. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  The excitement in her expression is hard to say no to, so I simply nod. It’s dinner. I can do dinner.

  “Great. I have my car, so we can go straight from here.”

  “Killian!” Caleb motions to the center of the mats. “Let’s try this again.”

  Fleur slaps me on the upper arm. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

  Dinner with a friend is doable. Granted she’s female and gorgeous, but this is strictly platonic. And besides, I have one year in London, and I’m soaking it up for all it’s worth.

  ~~~

  We finish up training around five, and I shower and throw on some clean clothes. For a second, I wish I had something a little nicer to wear. After all, I have no idea where Fleur is taking me, and the last thing I want to do is show up looking like a hillbilly. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my short time in London, it’s that appearances are important.

  With no other choice but to go in my Adidas workout pants and UFL sweatshirt, I push out of the locker room with my bag slung over my shoulder.