by JB Salsbury
I’m losing the baby.
“The doctor said to take you to the hospital if you get a fever or if the bleeding gets worse.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry, honey.”
I sniff back tears. “What if it was something I did, ya know? I don’t think I drank enough water and—”
“Shh…your doctor said this isn’t uncommon. For whatever reason, the baby wasn’t healthy enough to grow.” She nods and continues to stroke my hair. “She’d mentioned that the father’s lifestyle might have something to do with it, or it could’ve been any of a bunch of different factors that have nothing to do with you.”
That makes sense. Who knows what drugs the guy was using and what all they were doing to his sperm?
“I can’t help but feel like I lost something important. Really, really important.”
“You bond instantly with your baby on some primal level, even if you’re not fully aware of it.”
I wipe a wayward tear from my cheek. “I didn’t realize how much I loved him until I lost him.”
Her smile quivers. “He was a boy, huh?”
“Maybe.” Or maybe the loss I’m feeling is for my best friend. Because not having him here when I need him most amplifies the hole in my heart he left behind.
“It’ll be okay, Axelle. I promise. You’ll bounce back and finish college, get married, and have as many babies as you want.”
“How’s our patient?” Blake stands in the doorway, keeping his distance while lending support.
Mom turns toward him. “Better. Did you get Jack back to sleep?”
He nods. “Out like a light.”
“What did you tell Ryder?” The last thing I want to do is explain that I miscarried, seeing as he never even knew I was pregnant.
“Told him you got sick to your stomach but that you’re feeling better and resting.”
“Thank you.”
“You girls have everything you need in here? Want me to bring you some water?”
Mom looks down at me. “That’d be great.”
“You don’t have to stay with me all night, Mom.”
“I know, but I want to.” She climbs under the covers and pulls me to her chest. “You’ll always be my baby, Axelle, and right now I just want to hold you.”
I snuggle in close, absorbing the warmth of her touch.
Blake places two glasses of water on the side table and then kisses me on the forehead and Mom on the lips. “I’ll be right across the hall if you need me.”
“We know.” My mom holds me closer.
“Blake?”
“Yeah, kiddo.”
“Please, don’t tell him, okay?”
He doesn’t need me to say his name to know who I’m talking about. “Think he’ll figure it out on his own when nine months come and go. You sure you don’t think he should know?”
I shake my head. “You know him; he’ll worry. He might try to come home, and”—my heart shatters—“I don’t want to be his reason for coming home.”
Blake studies the floor for a few beats then nods. “Alright, I won’t tell him, but I’m going to be honest here and say I think he needs to know. You’re the most important person in his life, Axelle. When he finds out we all kept this from him, I don’t think he’s going to be happy about it.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, the only people who know about the pregnancy are Clifford, who didn’t believe me anyway, Killian, and the three of us. I’d like to move forward, pretending these last two months were a dream, and go on with my life.”
“It’s your call, sweetheart,” my mom murmurs.
“My lips are sealed, kiddo. Now you two get some sleep. Love you.”
“Love you too,” we say in unison.
And shortly afterward I fall sound asleep in my mom’s arms.
Twenty-seven
Two months later…
Killian
There’s got to be one hundred fifty people in the small Irish pub we’ve taken over for the night. Having met the maximum occupancy hours ago, the manager closed the doors to the public, but a crowd gathers in the street, celebrating along with us.
My second win.
Another knockout.
This one in fifty-eight seconds.
Liam pushes his way through the crowd around me and shoves a pint into my hand, spilling dark beer over my knuckles, not that I care. “Drink up, mate!” He yells to be heard over the voices of hammered fans and music. “We’re back at it on Monday!”
“I’m ready now!” I tilt the glass to my lips, losing my balance a little but being held up beautifully between two women who’ve been acting like gutter bumpers to my drunk ass all night.
“You killed it tonight!” Caleb grins, pride and respect shining in his eyes. “Fizzouli didn’t know what hit him.”
“They don’t call me Quick Kill for nothing!” I hold my arms out and knock one of the girls by accident. “Oh shit.” I turn to her and cup her face awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
A trill of laughter falls from her lips, and she leans in close. “You didn’t; you swatted my boob.”
My eyes fall heavily to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”
She cups her breast. “She forgives you.”
“No accent.” I pull my focus from her chest. “You’re American.”
“Yes.” Her expression softens. “I’m from Denver, but I go to school at Kings.”
“Nice.” I turn away from her probing stare; that ache in my chest that comes when I’m around women is dulled from beer, but undeniably there.
“I saw your fight!” Her breath skates along my ear. “You’re really good!”
I peer down at her and grin. “I know.”
Another string of giggles falls from her lips. She’s a pretty girl, really pretty. “Oh! Here!” She pulls out her phone and holds it up. “Let’s take a selfie.”
“I’ll take it.” Caleb grabs her phone and stands back a little. “Kill, pick her up.”
I groan, but comply and set down my beer. I scoop the woman up and into a cradle hold. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she presses her lips to my cheek. Shocked by her show of affection, I laugh, and Caleb snaps the photo.
“Thank you! My friends are gonna freak when they see I partied with you!”
“No problem.”
Another girl, I presume the one who’s been on my right all night, pulls out her phone. “Can I get one?”
Then another standing off to the side yells, “Me too!”
I look at Caleb as he laughs and holds out his hand to take the next phone. “Step right up, ladies. One at a time, and please respect the guy and keep your hands to yourself.” He’s cracking up laughing as each girl hands over her phone and shows off how she’s ignoring his warning.
Photos are taken with hands up my shirt, on my ass, and a couple of girls pulled my shirt up and had Caleb take a shot of them licking my abdomen. Thank goodness I’m drunk, or I’d probably get hard from all the groping. It’s not my fault. I don’t even want any of these women. It’s scientific—stimulus, response.
“My turn.” A curvy woman steps up to me with a sultry sway to her hips, her body talking dirty as she sidles up to me.
Caleb holds up her phone. “Say cheese!”
I grin, and just as the flash pops, her hand cups my dick. “Cheese!”
“Whoa!” I jump back, laughing, not because it’s funny as much as uncomfortable. “That’s enough photos for me.”
Fleur pushes through the crowd, shaking her head and grinning. “Women are worse than blokes!” Her eyes fix on Little Miss Grabby Hands. “Go on now. The poor guy needs a break.”
She winks at me then grabs her phone from a purple-faced Caleb, who’s laughing so hard no sound comes out.
“Nice to see you’re getting a kick out of my misery.” I shove him back, and if there weren’t a wall of people behind him, he would’ve fallen to his ass.
“Dude…” He sucks in a breath
and wipes his eyes. “This is every man’s dream. You can’t tell me that having the entire female population worship you isn’t awesome.”
A slow smile pulls at my lips. He’s right, but it’s not the women; it’s everything. It’s the other fighters who look at me the way I look at my UFL idols, it’s the kids that stand dazed when I walk by, and it’s the way heads turn when I enter a room.
I’ve never been that guy.
I spent twenty-one years of my life a loner. Went through four years of high school never really being seen by anyone. Popularity was never a goal of mine because it seemed too far from my reach, too impossible to ever attain.
And here I am, the most popular guy around, and I wish I didn’t like it. I wish my intellectual side would shun fame and expose it for the shallow hero-worship that it is.
But nope.
If I can’t have the life I dreamed with the girl I love, this ain’t a bad second.
~*~
Axelle
Staring out the window of my classroom with the warm sun on my face, I wait for the fifty-minute class to end.
The weather is warming up, and as much as I’d love to go find a nice spot in the grass to study, I can’t. Mindy is in class for another hour, and Ryder’s class isn’t out for another forty-five minutes, which means I’d be alone.
Being alone in the quad is like putting a big fat target on my head.
So I have two options: go to the library or go home.
Neither is an outdoor option.
“Hey…” A voice whispers next to me.
I turn to the kid that sits at my left, Brandon or Brendan. I can’t remember.
He holds his phone up, and a photo of Killian holding his shirt up with two women crouched down licking him is plastered on his screen. “You know this guy, right?”
I move my eyes from his phone to his face. “Yes, I used to.” Although the man I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in that kind of position with two women.
“I’ve been following him on social media; the guy is a playa’,” the kid whispers.
Yeah, well, he didn’t used to be.
“Did you see his fight the other night?”
I turn back to him and huff out an annoyed breath, hoping he gets the hint. “I did.” I’d never miss one of his fights. I learned my lesson though, and as soon as it’s over, I avert my eyes until the interview. He did the same thing he did last time, crossing his heart, and all the pain of losing him came rushing back.
Luckily, this time I was at my mom’s, watching Jack, and was able to cry and feel sorry for myself with the only audience being my three-year-old brother.
“He’s unstoppable.” Brandon, or whatever, leans back in his chair and continues to scroll through photos, getting the attention of the guys around him. I catch their whispered words, like, “Damn, she’s hot,” and “Lucky guy probably got triple-teamed,” but it wasn’t until the “She’s sucking his…” that I finally had enough.
I shove my binder in my backpack and throw it over my shoulder as I step down the lecture hall steps and to the door.
That’s the great thing about college. You can just get up and leave without excuse, without having to explain that your ex-best friend has turned into a womanizing prick. I try to close the door quietly behind me to keep from disrupting the class any more than I have, which takes some effort since my muscles are tense with frustration. It isn’t until I’m out in the fresh air that I take a calming breath then stop dead in my tracks.
There, sitting on the picnic bench that Killian used to wait for me on, is Clifford. Great, and with class still in session, there’s no one around to witness his cruelty.
I spin on a heel and speed-walk to the breezeway that leads to the parking lot and my escape. My heart beats wildly in my chest, but I don’t hear him following me, so I try to force myself to breathe. I’ll be okay. Just keep your eyes open and get to the car.
Once my shoes hit the asphalt, I risk a look and peek over my shoulder. He is behind me. Shit. He’s keeping a good distance though, slowly meandering in my wake.
Whirling my backpack to my front, I fish out my keys and peek behind me again. He’s stopped at the curb where the lot meets the sidewalk, and his eyes are boring into mine. A slow grin crawls across his face, and if this were some kind of mafia movie, it would be the last thing I’d see right before my car exploded.
Thankfully, Clifford isn’t in the mob.
I hit the key fob for my SUV, and my breath catches in my throat.
My car exploded, alright; although not in a burst of fiery flames and shrapnel. That would’ve been better.
No, my car is plastered in photos.
And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re of.
The sound of students filtering from classrooms calls my eyes away from the hideous pics, and sure enough, people appear from everywhere.
“Shit.” I race to my car and scramble to remove the photos, but they’re stuck. Like really stuck. I pick at the corners with my nails, my hands shaking as the rumble of engines firing up sounds all around me. I rip one off and move to the next, but my gosh, there has to be nearly fifty of them. “Come on. Come on…” Tears sting my eyes, blurring the images of flesh on flesh, as I frantically rip photos from my car. Giggles erupt from a group of girls passing by, then comments from a group of guys, and no one offers to help.
Tears are streaming down my face now, and I pull as many pictures off as I can. I throw them into the back of my car and decide as the parking lot fills that it’s best to get the hell out of here and work on this away from prying eyes.
“There’s more, ya know?”
I shriek at the sound of Clifford’s voice and find him there with his hands shoved in his pockets and a satisfied grin on his face. “Why are you doing this to me?” I hiccup on a sob and hope my tears appeal to what little, if any, humanity remains in him.
“You fucked with me first.” He steps closer. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“I didn’t fuck with you, Clifford! I was pregnant, but I lost the baby.”
He clicks his tongue then tilts his head. “Of course you did.”
It’s pointless. “Even if what you’re saying is true, I didn’t ruin your life. I let you off the hook, walked away. You’re trying to destroy me.”
“You’re destroying yourself by sitting here arguing with me when you should be hitting all the community boards.”
I swivel my gaze from him to one of the large corkboards in the common area by the parking lot. A group of people crowds around it, and when one of the guys turns to look at me, his face twists in pity.
Clifford posted these photos on the community boards!
Leaving my car door open, I sprint to the board, feeling the sting of tears on my cheeks. I get there just as my lit teacher Mr. Decker shoves his way to the board. His face pales. “That’s enough; everyone back away.” He rips down the photos and then pushes people back. “I’m serious; you all need to back away. Now!”
The crowd thins, and Mr. Decker pulls the last of the photos from the board to add to the stack in his hands. “Miss Daniels, I think we need to talk.”
A muffled burst of laughter moves past us, and I look up just in time to see the back of Clifford’s head disappear into the breezeway.
Twenty-eight
Seven months later…
Killian
Having spent my entire life in Las Vegas, I’ve never experienced a white Christmas. Sure, I’d heard the song, know all the words, but never really thought there was anything magical about one, that is until now.
There’s something about a city, from the slush-ridden streets to the tallest skyscrapers, covered in the cold white stuff that makes me feel like I’m living in an old black-and-white movie.
Staring out through the front window of an over-priced restaurant, buzzed on expensive booze, I think about Axelle. Neither of us had ever traveled. She lived in Seattle, which is one more city than I’ve experienced
, but like me, she’d never been anywhere else. She would love this: the history, culture, all of it. Sorrow attempts to disrupt my holiday buzz when I realize she’s a mom now and her chances of ever getting to lay eyes on the view before me are slimmer than ever.
My chest cramps every time I think of her. And when I don’t think about her, she manages to come up. Every old story I tell, every memory of the UFL camp in Vegas, all of it is wrapped up in her.
Just the other day I overheard Caleb talking to Blake on the phone. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but we were both in the kitchen, so I may have listened a little more intently than I should’ve. From what I could tell, it was something about a Christmas card that was sent. It was when Caleb had said, “Yeah, that’s one hell of a good-looking baby, man,” that I nearly choked on my sandwich and decided to finish my meal in my room. There’s not a doubt in my mind that Axelle’s child is just as beautiful as she is. I worry about her, about the toll being a young mother with that fuck Clifford would take, but she has a family and people to support her.
I haven’t had the balls to talk to Ryder since the last time we spoke, and other than the occasional talk with Cameron, I stick to my training partners here in London. It might make me a pussy, but it’s better this way.
“I’d like to make a toast!” Laise struggles to push up from his seat, his three-piece charcoal gray suit, big-ass beard and longer hair making him look like David Gandy and William Wallace’s love child. “To the best fucking UFL team in the world!”
I hold up my beer and cheer, probably a little too loudly, but fuck it! It’s Christmas Eve and I’m feeling all kinds of merriment.
Laise sets his eyes on me. “To Killer, who after last week’s fight is still undefeated with now three knockouts under one minute!”
Caleb shouts and the rest of the team follows suit.
“And to big decisions.” He stares at me thoughtfully. “We’d love to have you stay, brother.”
