by JB Salsbury
“If you’re calling to bitch because we’re gonna miss the movie, I swear I have a valid excuse.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
I freeze, staring at the rainbow of dress shirts hanging in my closet.
“I thought for sure you’d died and the only reason I’m seeing your photos all over the Internet is because your training crew was pulling some kind of Weekend at Bernie’s shit.”
“Ryder, it’s been awhile.”
“Ha! Ya think?”
He’s pissed. I guess I can’t blame him. He can’t possibly understand what my life has been like.
I toss a navy-blue shirt on the bed next to my pants and grip my towel around my waist. “What can I say, man, I’ve been—”
“Swear to God if you say busy I’m hanging up. That’s what people say to people they don’t like. I’d rather you just tell me the truth.”
I pull out a black belt, socks, and search for a pair of shoes. I don’t have time for this shit. “That is the truth.”
I’m met with silence.
“I’m focusing on my fighting.” It’s the excuse I use with myself; surely Ryder will believe it too.
“Bullshit.”
Frustration pricks at my skin. “Look. I really have to get going. Did you call for a reason?”
“I’ve been trying to call you all week to congratulate you on your fight. Although, it seems from all the media coverage, you’re getting plenty of that, so I can see why you don’t need to hear it from me.”
My hand freezes on a pair of black Ferragamos. “You watched the fight?”
He laughs humorlessly. “Of course I did, asshole. We all did.”
We all. As in…
Walls crumbling.
Chest aching.
I scramble for a way to end it. “I appreciate that, but I’m out the door—”
“I heard. Late for a movie.”
“Right.”
“But too busy to text me back.”
“What’re you, my wife?”
He sighs. “I get it, Killian. You’re moving on. You’ve got a new life, new friends, new girl…”
Girl. He’s obviously believing the rumors. My mouth moves to correct him, but the memory of Axelle and Clifford kissing flashes behind my eyes, and I slam my lips together. Maybe it’s best they believe I moved on.
“I’m just sayin’ it sucks—”
“Believe what you want.” I run some sticky shit through my hair.
“Whatever, man. I’ll let you go.”
“Ryder, hold up.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t hear him hang up.
“How’s um…” I wonder if she’s announced her pregnancy, if her belly is starting to swell, if Clifford got his shit together so he can take care of her. I fist my hand in my hair, begging myself not to ask, struggling to hold up the barriers, but feeling the words bubble up from my throat anyway. “How’s Axelle?” I haven’t said her name in so long, and yet saying it now feels more natural than breathing.
“Why do you ask?”
My stomach tightens with offense. How the fuck can he ask me that? She’s my best friend, was my best friend. Fuck him.
“Never mind—”
“I’m not interested in playing telephone between you and Axelle. You wanna know how she is; you clear your schedule long enough to call her and ask her yourself. You should know I didn’t have the heart to sell all your shit, so I put it in storage along with your Jeep. Dad said the UFL would cover the cost.”
I rub my eyes as guilt floods in. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“No shit. Have a nice life.”
The phone line goes dead, and I stare at the ceiling, feeling sick to my stomach.
Not only did I just lose one of my best friends, but I didn’t get jack shit as far as information on Axelle.
But she’s not my problem anymore. I wanted her to be my problem. She wanted nothing to do with that. What more could I do?
You could’ve remained in touch, asshole.
And watch her throw her life away for a loser like Clifford? No fucking way.
This was the best thing I could do for both of us.
Just because it feels like my soul is dead doesn’t mean leaving her wasn’t the right thing to do.
~*~
Axelle
It’s hard enough trying not to think about someone when he’s on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. What makes it damn near impossible is when that person becomes famous and everyone at school won’t stop asking me about him.
“What’s it like being friends with Killer?”
“Does he eat raw eggs for breakfast?”
“You should’ve dated him; then you’d be famous. Wait. Why didn’t you date him?”
I’ve come up with some standard issue answers that seem to shut people up for the time being, but some of the questions make it hurt to breathe.
“Did you know his girlfriend is, like, French royalty?”
“Have you heard he’s proposing?”
“Is it true he bought her a Porsche?”
I had to stop Internet stalking him the day after his fight when I saw a photo of him kissing Fleur and the caption read, “A Killer and his Queen.”
I cried for hours, blaming pregnancy hormones, of course.
“Hey, Axelle, wait up!”
I turn around to see Brynn speed-walking toward me with a smile stretching her lips and a mane of strawberry billowing in her wake.
It’s not her fault she’s pretty. I’m in faded black sweatpants and an oversized tee and flip-flops, feeling like Nanny McPhee, ya know, before she got pretty.
“Sorry to bother you, but…”
Three.
Two.
One.
“Do you know how I can get ahold of Killian?” She flashes a bright smile, which only manages to deepen my frown.
“Of course I do. Why?”
“I tried to call him, but it says the number is no longer in service. I’ve been messaging him on Facebook, but he hasn’t messaged me back.” Her gaze darts around as if she’s making sure we aren’t being heard. “Can you tell me how to reach him?”
I tilt my head and study her overeager expression. “No.”
“Wait. Are you guys, like, you know, together, because I thought—”
“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but, no, we’re not.”
“So…?”
“So you think because we’re not dating that I should just pimp him out to anyone who asks?”
Her expression falls, and for the first time, I see a hint of irritation in her glare. Finally, woman. Backbone! “He’s my friend too.”
“Really? Then why didn’t he give you his number?” The question sours my stomach because clearly he didn’t give me his number either.
“I…”
“Exactly. I’m sorry, Brynn, but I’m not comfortable handing out his info.”
“Okay, I understand.” Her shoulders slump, and I immediately feel like a huge bitch.
“Listen.” I sigh hard. “Ask Ryder, okay? I’m sure he can pass along a message to Killian for you.”
Brynn nods and walks away. I internally scold myself for being rude. My stomach aches, and I’m sweaty, and all I want to do is go home and sleep.
Feeling heartless, I walk with my head down to the café to grab a cold water, hoping it’ll help end the blazing inferno inside my body, when I trip over something. I drop the spiral notebook in my arms to try to get my hands in front of me to catch my fall, but I’m not fast enough and land hard on my shoulder.
“Shit!” I push to sit, and my face flames as the sound of muffled laughter surrounds me.
“Are you okay?” A guy reaches out his hand to help me up.
“Yeah, thanks.” I wave him off, holding on to a sliver of my pride, then gather my things before pushing back up to my feet.
“Oops.” A deep male chuckle sounds to my right. “You should probably watch where you’re going.”
; I groan. Clifford, that ass, tripped me.
I turn to face him, frustrated I wasn’t paying attention and allowed this to happen again. “It’s not your fault; it’s hard to avoid tripping over piles of shit when they’re as big as you.” Even as my tough-girl defense falls from my lips, humiliation burns in my chest.
He glares and gets close enough to whisper. “How’s the baby, huh?” His eyes track down to my belly and back. “Funny how, what, two months later your stomach is still flat.”
“You made it clear you don’t care, that I was nothing important, so why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Don’t want to.” He reaches to touch my hair, but I duck away and head to the café.
“This isn’t over, Elle!” He yells from behind me.
That’s okay, two more months until the semester is over, and then I won’t have to face him on a daily basis.
I shove my middle finger into the air and hope to God he sees it. For a second, I fear he might come in behind me and continue to harass me, but when I grab a water and find an empty seat inside with the blessed air conditioning, I’m grateful to see he’s gone.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see I have a text from my mom.
Last minute, I know, but can you watch Jack tonight?
Last minute, like that matters. I have zero social life.
I text her back.
I can do that. What time?
I take a few swigs of water, feeling a little better.
Seven until late. Maybe midnight?
No problem. I’ll bring my school stuff and sleep there.
Thank you, honey! See you then.
Free dinner, a warm bed, and my baby brother? Sounds like the perfect cure to my shitty day.
~~~
“There’s veggie lasagna in the oven.” My mom’s heels click across the hardwood floor as she grabs her clutch, and I smile, watching Blake watching her. Eyes wide, lips parted, that subtle awestruck gaze. It’s the same look Jack gets when staring at a doughnut.
I don’t blame Blake for still being gaga for Mom. She’s smokin’ hot. His feelings for her give me hope that I might not end up alone, that a great guy could fall for a single mother.
“You cooked veggie lasagna?”
“Of course not.” Blake scoffs. “I did.”
“Where were you when we were living off cereal and peanut butter?” I laugh and poke my head into the living room to see Jack playing with his toys on the floor.
“I was waiting in the wings.” He flicks lint from his dark gray button-up dress shirt. “Gearing up to blow your minds with my culinary flair.”
My mom’s warm palm cups my cheek, and her eyes roam over my face. “Are you feelin’ okay?”
I turn my face away from her touch. “Mom, you worry too much.”
Blake comes alongside her and stares down at me. “She’s right to; you look tired.”
“That’s because I am.” And heartsick over losing my other half to a gorgeous model-looking fighter, but they don’t need to know that. Pregnant by a fucking asshole who purposefully tripped me at school. There’s nothing in my life that doesn’t make me tired.
“Jack’s ready for bed. Feel free to crash out as soon as he does.” Blake hooks me around the back of the neck, pulling me in for a hug. “Hate leaving you with him if you’re tired, kiddo.” He releases me to be hugged by my mom.
“It’s okay, really. I’m looking forward to a good dinner then flopping on the couch and watching Nickelodeon.”
My mom holds my face between her hands. “We won’t be far away. If you need us, just call, okay?”
“No need. We’ll be fine.” I pat my mom’s hand and go into the kitchen to dish up my dinner.
Mom and Blake give Jack kisses good-bye then head out to the garage. “I’m arming the alarm, so no opening doors.” Blake hits the four-number code and I salute him.
“Yes, sir.”
He grins—“Smartass”—then heads out.
Jeez, the guy is seriously over protective.
I drop open the oven door and grab hot pads to pull out the bubbly lasagna. As I move to stretch over the oven door and place the lasagna on the stovetop, my lower back cramps. The dish drops hard to the burner, making a loud noise.
“Ass-ole?”
“I’m okay, Jack.” I bend over slowly and pull the oven door closed then rub the monster back spasm that seems to wrap around to my front.
I cut out a square of the cheesy, veggified goodness and take it out to the living room. Setting my dinner down on the side table, I dread asking the question I already know the answer to. “What do you want to watch, Jack?” It’s seven o’clock, which is his bedtime. Whatever we put on, he’ll fall asleep watching, so at least I won’t be subject to too much torture.
“Cars!” He holds up a toy car and smiles with his little white teeth. He mumbles something then makes car sounds as he comes to me in his one-piece pj’s with the words, “I’d Flex, but I Like this Onesie” written on the front.
Crawling up onto the couch, he snuggles up to my side as I queue up his favorite video. He smells like baby soap and that naturally mouthwatering scent that babies have. I hit “play” and wrap an arm around him then shovel a bite of Blake’s lasagna into my mouth. Damn, the man can seriously cook.
I shift to try to get more comfortable, my back still spasming, until I find a position that buys me some relief.
Less than twenty minutes into the movie, I’m staring at an empty plate and a sleeping little boy. I slip out from under him and take my plate to the kitchen to rinse when my cell vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out and it’s Ryder’s name on the caller ID. I peek in on Jack, who is gone to the world, so I hit “accept” and drop onto a stool in the kitchen.
“Hey, Ryder.”
“Hey.” He sounds a little bugged.
Shit, I should’ve probably warned him Brynn would come sniffing around looking for Killian’s contact info.
“Crap, you’re calling about Brynn.” I rub my forehead. “I meant to warn you she’d be—”
“Brynn? What about her?”
“I ran into her at school today. She was looking for Kill’s new phone number, but I didn’t feel comfortable giving it out. If she told him she got it from me, he’d probably be pissed I had it, and anyway, I thought she could just let you know she’s looking for him and you could pass it along.”
“No, I haven’t talked to Brynn today. If I had, I would’ve told her to leave him alone anyway.”
“That’s probably smart. I figure his phone’s probably already blowing up with women calling him and begging for autographed pairs of his dirty boxers.”
He laughs and the sound makes me smile, which takes my mind off the dull ache in my gut. “Nah… Kill doesn’t have dirty boxers to give away. He tosses them and wears a new pair every day. Probably makes his butler go out and buy him the ten-thousand-thread-count kind.”
I’m not smiling anymore because whatever humor was in Ryder’s voice is gone. “What happened?”
“What—?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Ry. You’re clearly pissed at Killian. Why?”
He exhales hard. “I shouldn’t have called you. I just didn’t know who else to tell.”
“Tell what?” I press my palm to my lower abdomen. “Is he okay?” Please, don’t tell me the engagement rumors are true.
“Okay is debatable.”
“Stop messing with me.” My back and abdomen cramp. “I’m freaking out here.”
“I talked to him.”
I jerk upright and stare blindly across the kitchen. “And?”
He makes a frustrated sound. “He’s changed, Ax.”
“Changed? How?”
“I’ve been calling and texting the guy since he left, and he’s never gotten back to me. The only reason I got him on the phone today was because he answered, thinking it was someone else.”
That doesn’t sound like Killian at all.
He’s the most loyal friend I’ve ever had, and even though he’s basically famous now, he’s not the type who buys into his own hype and gets arrogant. No way. Not Kill.
“He’s busy. I’m sure it’s not personal.”
“He said as much, but I don’t buy it. Who’s too busy to send a text? Fuck, that can be done at a stoplight.”
He’s got a point. “Fame is all so new to him; it’ll take some getting used to. You know Killian’s never been the most popular kid in school; now he is. Give him some time to soak that in and be that guy for a little w—” I double over as a cramp squeezes my lower body. “While.” I spit out the last word through clenched teeth.
“John-Mayer syndrome, I get it.”
Sweat breaks out across my forehead. “Right, that’s all it is—” Oh God! My back and womb squeeze hard, feeling like they’re crushing my spine between them. I groan and move the phone from my ear. Shit, shit, shit! This is bad.
“…you there? Axelle, talk to me! Are you okay?”
“I’m not feeling well. I—argg!” I drop the phone on the floor and double over hard, just as a gushing heat coats my inner thighs. “Oh no, no…”
Ryder’s yelling through the phone. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I know he’s panicking.
I grab my phone and breathe through the pain. “Ryder, listen…” Another cramp squeezes hard enough to take my breath away. My eyes water, and I look down to see my light gray sweatpants soaked in bright blood. “Call Blake, okay? Tell him…just tell him that…”
I think I’m losing the baby.
~~~
From my bed in the dim light of the spare bedroom, I stare at my mom, who’s talking on the phone with Dr. Schwartz.
“She took a shower and has a heating pad, yes.” My mom looks over at me with sympathy. “I’ll bring her in tomorrow. Thank you.”
Luckily, Ryder called Blake the second I asked him to, and within five minutes, they were home. I was afraid to leave the kitchen and go to the bathroom because I wouldn’t be able to see Jack from there, so I was curled up on the kitchen floor when they came in.
Blake wanted to take me to the hospital, but my mom calmed him down, saying, “It’s a miscarriage; she’ll be okay.”
He wasn’t convinced and demanded the number to my OB. Another five minutes later they verified what mom had said.
