Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)

by JB Salsbury

  Actually, for me, that’s exactly what it is. Family.

  And for the first time in my life, I’m proud of who I am and what I do. I’ve worked hard to get here, and I’ve earned my position. The interview process alone would’ve inflamed all my old insecurities. God knows my boss isn’t the most sensitive man in the world. But I’m not that insecure girl anymore. I faced adversity, fell in its wake, and dragged myself to my feet to move forward.

  I filter through my work shirts embroidered with the company logo and settle for the blue one. I like the way it brings out my eyes.

  Sliding that over my head with a pair of workout leggings and one of my three pairs of color-coordinated Nikes, I grab my bag and head to the kitchen to grab a bite before I go.

  “Goooood morning, family!”

  “Oh!” My mom slams her cell phone into her lap with a forced smile. “Morning!”

  I narrow my eyes. “What are you hiding?”

  “What? Nothing.” More of that fake smile.

  I pin Blake with a glare. “What’s going on?”

  He sucks on his teeth, seeming to struggle with how to answer my question. “Just, uh…” He slams his lips shut.

  I peek over at Jack, who has his nose buried in a bowl of cereal, his mop of golden hair ruffled from sleep. I swear when you give that kid food he forgets the world around him even exists.

  “Jackie Bear, help a sister out.”

  He blinks up at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Huh?”

  “Ugh, you’re no help.” I motion toward him and his trough. “Continue.”

  He goes back to his cereal, and I turn back to Mom and Blake.

  I nod to her lap. “Something interesting on your phone there, Mom?”

  “Oh, this?” She holds it up and then makes a psht sound with her lips. “I was just noticing the…weather?”

  “Is that a question?” I cock a hip, raise my eyebrows, and she squirms in response. Yep, something is definitely up.

  Blake chokes and clears his throat.

  “Mom, I know you’re hiding something, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’ll worry all day. Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

  Blake mumbles, “She’ll find out on her own eventually.”

  “I’ll find out what?”

  She pinches her eyes closed and shoves the phone at me. “Here.”

  I approach cautiously, snag the device, and hit the screen.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  It’s a photo from an online news article. Killian and Fleur are walking together, his arm slung over her shoulders. He’s leaning in deep to whisper in her ear, and whatever he’s saying makes her smile.

  But that’s not the worst part. After all, seeing them together isn’t new to me.

  The worst part is the view behind them.

  They’re in Paris.

  Walking away from The Eiffel Tower.

  And the caption on the story reads, “UFL Superstar Killian McCreery Bringing his Love Back to the States.”

  There’s an article that follows, which details his week-long stay in Paris. The journalist alludes to the fact that he was there to meet her parents and is now bringing her to Vegas to meet his and possibly get hitched at one of the quickie chapels here in town.

  I finish the article, take a deep fortifying breath, and hand the phone back.

  “You okay?” Blake’s eyes are settled on mine with concern.

  “It hurts a little, but yeah, I’m okay.” I grab a handful of blueberries from a bowl on the table. “He’s not the Killian I knew anymore, and this new Killian seems happy.” I shrug. “That’s all I ever wanted for him.”

  My mom stands and wraps me in a hug. “Is that the truth or is that for our benefit?”

  “It’s the truth. I’ll always love Kill, but I don’t know him anymore. I mean the Kill I knew wouldn’t wear Gucci loafers and Armani suits. I’m not saying he doesn’t look good, but…” He does; he really, really does look good. “That kind of guy would never be interested in someone like me anyway.”

  “That’s a load of bullshi—uh…” Blake’s eyes dart to Jack, who is still blissfully buried in his breakfast. “That’s not true. And from what I hear, the media is blowing this relationship out of proportion. Caleb says they’re just friends.”

  “Who kiss?”

  Blake shrugs.

  “After every single fight?”

  He seems less confident, but still shrugs, this time only one shoulder. “It’s possible.”

  “So the article said he’s coming home. When?”

  Mom and Blake share a meaningful glance, and then she turns to me with sympathy written all over her face. “They got in last night.”

  My eyes widen and my pulse speeds. “They’re here? Now?”

  “Yeah, and you should be prepared because—”

  I hold up my hand. “Mom, please, don’t worry about me. I promise whatever happened a year ago is in the past. We’ve both moved on. I’m really happy about where I am in life, and I think it’s safe to say he is too.”

  Blake sighs and doesn’t look at all convinced. “If you say so, kiddo.”

  “Right. Well, I better get to work.” I grin and race out the door and straight to work, fighting my nerves the entire way.

  Thirty

  Killian

  Feels good to be home.

  I’d forgotten how much I miss the heat until I felt the dry sixty-degree weather when we walked out of the airport at an ungodly hour. We managed to get to our hotel with only a few camera flashes, and after twelve full hours of sleep and room service, I’m feeling mostly human again.

  “I swear to God if you embarrass me I will kick your arse.” Ollie’s been warning his sister about her fangirling since we touched ground, and he’s driving the point home now that we’re walking through the parking lot to the UFL Training Center’s doors.

  “I am sweating like a pig, but I can’t tell if it’s nerves or because it’s fucking hot here.” Fleur holds tight to my arm as if I’m her life preserver in rough seas.

  “Seventy-two is nothing. The summers are brutal.” I ruffle her hair. “Stop being such a girl.”

  Caleb ended up crashing with Rex and Gia, and Laise, Henry, Jay, and Liam all hit the bars and gambling once they got to their hotel last night, so none of them were answering their phones when we tried to get them to come along.

  Opening the doors, I’m hit with the blast of air conditioning, the sound of metal music pumping through the speakers, and the familiar scent of sweat and rubber mats. Yep, smells like home.

  “Hey, Vanessa.” I greet the receptionist and grin as she takes me in appreciatively.

  “Welcome home.” She hits a button on the phone. “Layla, can you let him know the kid is home?” She rolls her eyes at whatever Layla says then hangs up. Apparently, the year I was away didn’t mend fences between the two women. “Congratulations on your fights. Seems like just yesterday you were here washing towels and cleaning toilets.”

  Fleur and Olivier chuckle at my side.

  “Thanks, Vanessa. I appreciate you bringing that up.”

  She smiles and jerks her head toward the main training room. “Head on back. They’re expecting you.”

  I thank her and move with Fleur still welded to my arm.

  She leans in close. “Who’s expecting us? Oh my God, is it The Assassin?” Fleur’s grip on me tightens to the point that my hand starts to go numb. “Because I will die if—Holy Mary, Mother of…”

  We step into the main training center, which is at least triple the size of the one in London. Her and Ollie’s gazes swing from one end of the room to the other, jaws hanging open.

  “There’s The Fade.” Ollie points discreetly to the heavy bags where Wade is working with a fighter I’ve never seen before.

  It seems like there are a lot of faces I haven’t seen before. “There’s Rex.”

  We head over to the mats where Rex is working with a flyweight. W
e stand back until he spots us and grins. “There he is.” He says something to the guy he’s working with then crosses to us with a smile on his face. “Quick Kill McCreery.” He shakes my hand and pulls me in for a back-slapping hug. “Welcome home, brother.” He swings his gaze to Fleur and Ollie, greeting them with handshakes. “Happy you guys could make it.”

  “This place is amazing.” Ollie studies the poster-sized photos on the walls, each depicting a different fighter, both past and present.

  Fleur remains tight-lipped, her anxieties seeming to get the best of her.

  “Is Caleb here?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s in Cam’s office, planning for your future, world domination, shit like that.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Make yourself at home; give your friends the tour.”

  “Alright, thanks.”

  Fleur has let up her grip on my arm a little, but as soon as we start making our way to the stairs that lead to Cam’s office, she tenses up again.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…”

  “What?” I follow the line of her sight and see why she’s freaking out. My lips break into a smile so big my jaw aches.

  “Fuck, here she goes; she’s going to go off on one,” Ollie mutters and drops his eyes to the floor.

  The second Jonah spots me his face breaks into a grin that pops both dimples and shows all his teeth. He shakes his head and moves toward us.

  “He’s coming! He’s walking over here. Oh my God!” Fleur presses her body so tightly to mine I’m surprised she doesn’t wrap herself around my waist.

  “Fuckin’ A.” Jonah opens his arms wide and swallows both me and Fleur, since she’s become a permanent fixture on me, in a hug. “Killer, man…so fucking proud of you, brother.”

  I wish I could say I took his compliment like a man, but tears burn behind my eyes, and it’s all I can do to say thanks without bursting into tears like a pussy.

  He pulls back and sizes me up. “I knew you had what it took.”

  I shrug one shoulder, feeling suddenly shy and vulnerable, something I haven’t felt since I stepped out of the octagon after my first fight. “You gave me the chance. I owe you for that.”

  “Nah, you worked your ass off. You earned your chance.” His eyes track to Fleur, who’s staring up at him in wonder and adoration. “You wanna introduce me to your friends?”

  I blink and shake myself from the daze of his approval. “Yes, Jonah, this is Fleur and her brother—”

  “Assassin, I’m a huge fan. I’ve been obsessed with you since your first fight, and your career has inspired me”—she catches a shaky breath—“so much.”

  Jonah holds out his hand to shake hers. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  She stares at his hand with wide eyes, and then finally all the blood rushes back to my arm after she releases me. I expect her to shake Jonah’s hand, but Ollie groans when she engulfs his entire forearm in her hands and stares at it.

  “Fuckin hell, Fleur.” Ollie studies the ceiling as if he’s looking for patience that’s been stored there.

  “Your arm is so much bigger in real life,” she whispers. “And your tattoos…”

  I laugh, and when Ollie glares at me, I cover my mouth.

  “Um…thank you?” Jonah looks at me and shrugs.

  “She’s a huge fan.” I cough on a laugh.

  He smiles down at her uncomfortably then pries her hands off him. “How about an autographed UFL shirt.”

  She gasps and looks up at him. “Yes, please, who me? Of course I want that.”

  He jerks his head toward the locker room. “Give me a minute. I’ll go grab one.”

  “Thank you.” She reaches for him again, to shake his hand maybe, but he jerks back in time to avoid it and heads to the locker room. “Assassin, it will be one of yours, right?” She calls to him, but he continues his path. “A dirty one is totally fine!”

  “Oh, come on, Fleur!” Ollie groans.

  She cups her mouth to be heard over the distance. “Seriously, though! If it’s dirty, that’s fine with me. I’d much rather prefer—”

  “Fleur, shut up!” Ollie silences her with a hand over her mouth. “I told you not to embarrass me.”

  My eyes are watering from withheld laughter as Ollie and Fleur argue in French. These two are constant comedy.

  “Killian?”

  I turn toward the calling of my name and see Layla smiling up at me. The hilarity I was feeling dissolves, and my heart thuds in my chest.

  “Layla, hey.”

  She moves in for a hug. “So happy you’re home.” There’s a heaviness in her voice that makes me think maybe she’s not as happy as she’d like to be.

  “I’m happy to be home.” A couple of awkward seconds linger between us as if she’s waiting for me to ask about Axelle, or maybe she’s hoping I don’t.

  “Listen. If you’re looking for Cam, he’s in the conference room.”

  “I don’t want to bother him—”

  “You won’t. He’s waiting for you.” She looks over at Fleur. “Hi, I’m Layla, Cameron’s assistant.”

  “Right, sorry.” I rub my forehead, trying to bring my brain back online after the complete one-eighty. “Layla, this is Fleur and her brother Olivier.”

  They exchange greetings, and Layla mentions their beautiful accents, but I can’t shake the feeling that something about the exchange is making her sad.

  I try to ignore it, grateful that I have a few days to pull myself together before I reach out to Axelle. I have to prepare myself for the possibility of seeing her and Clifford as one big happy family, and the certainty of seeing her as a mother.

  “Well, fuck me stupid.”

  Fleur snorts with laughter and Ollie chuckles.

  Layla rolls her eyes. “Blake! Not in front of guests.”

  Blake comes up beside her and pulls her to him. “How the hell did I fall in love with a woman with such sensitive ears? She gives me shit, yet she talks like a trucker when we’re alone.”

  She rocks her hip into him. “Behave. Fleur and Olivier, this is my husband, Blake Daniels.”

  Fleur tenses beside me, obviously recognizing who Blake and Layla are, or better yet who they are to Axelle.

  “Killer.” Blake holds out his hand and I shake it. “Good to have you back.”

  Seeing as the last time we were together he gave me a black eye, things are less than comfortable between us. “Thanks, Blake.”

  “Haven’t missed one of your fights.” The pride in his voice swells in my chest. “Always knew you could do it.”

  I nod, afraid that speaking will give away my delicate emotional state. I expected it to be difficult seeing them again. I didn’t expect it to be—

  The door next to us swings open, which surprises me at first because it’s an old office that was used for storage.

  A guy saunters out wearing nothing but a pair of loose workout shorts and a lazy and very satisfied smile. Judging by his size, he’s a fighter, but he’s also new. “Damn, woman, you’ve got the magic touch.” He rolls his shoulders back. “God, I love you. Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

  “Easy, asshole.” Blake growls.

  Blake’s reaction sends my gut tumbling, as if my body is trying to tell me something I should already know. Then I hear her.

  And just like that the earth beneath me shifts.

  “Oh, Trick, you don’t love me.” She appears in the doorway, and I swear to God I fucking choke on my own heartbeat. “You just want me for my hands.”

  It’s her. It’s really her, and I never thought it possible for her to get any prettier than she already was, but here I am staring at the proof.

  Suddenly, I’m sixteen again.

  Gazing upon the kind of beauty I’d only read about in books.

  Her hair is longer, pulled back in a sleek chestnut ponytail that reaches her mid-back. Her skin, at least the little I can see with her dressed in leggings and a polo, looks even softer than my dreams imagined over this last year
.

  She must feel me staring because slowly her smile falls as she turns her head toward me.

  When our eyes meet, it sends lightning through my veins.

  Everyone dissolves around us. An A-bomb could go off and I’d never know it because locked in the liquid blue gaze of this girl, this woman who I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, nothing else exists.

  “Kill…”

  I bite my bottom lip, suddenly at a complete loss for words.

  “Oh look!” Layla says, but I can’t pull my eyes off Axelle. “There’s Jonah.”

  I feel the people around us shift, as if they’re walking away, but not before Fleur’s voice is at my ear. “Will you be alright?”

  Axelle rips her gaze from mine, and I could cry from the loss of it, but it zeroes in on Fleur in a way that makes me feel like I need to stand between them.

  “I’m fine.”

  I register the absence of her presence and take a hesitant step toward Axelle.

  Her eyes dart from Fleur’s retreat to me.

  “I missed you.” I cringe as the pathetic, but true, words fall from my lips.

  She grins; it’s small and sweet and so fucking gorgeous it hurts. “Really?”

  I blink at the disbelief in her voice. How can she even question that? “Yes.”

  She nervously tugs on the front of her shirt, pulling it tight across her breasts, and my mouth waters at the memory of their taste, the feel of them in my hands, the—

  Wait. I point to the embroidered logo on her chest. “UFL?”

  “Yeah, I work here now.”

  The room, the guy stumbling out… My mind slowly connects it all. “Doing sports therapy or…”

  “Massage.” She draws her shoulders back in a sense of accomplishment. “I got my license last month.”

  She was a business major. “What about school?”

  She licks her lips and looks around as if to see who might hear. “It’s a long story. I dropped out shortly after you left.”

  The baby. Of course. I’m sure finishing up college while pregnant isn’t ideal. “Right, that makes sense.”