Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)
Page 27
Her breath shakes with a deep inhale. “You…” She motions to me, her eyes roaming over my designer clothes that I never felt ashamed of until now. “Wow…you’re looking very…successful.”
I step closer to her, and the urge to pull her in my arms and feel her, remind her that behind the designer labels I’m still me, is overpowering. She takes a retreating step as if she can read my intent and then holds up her hands. “Massage oil. I wouldn’t want to ruin your nice clothes.”
Rejected. I cross my arms over my chest to keep from touching her. “How’s everything else?” Clifford. The baby.
“Good.” A high-pitched squeal calls her eyes away from mine, and I stare at her profile as she squints off into the distance. “Wow, your girlfriend really likes Jonah.”
Girlfriend? I whip my head around to see Fleur wrapped around Jonah’s leg and Ollie trying to pull her off as they argue back and forth in French. Luckily, Jonah doesn’t seem too pissed off, and Blake’s laughing so hard his face is bright red from it.
I turn back to Ax. “Fleur and I—”
“Axelle, beautiful, are you ready for me?”
I instinctively step in front of her and glare at a half-naked fighter.
She leans around me. “Give me two minutes, Jose?”
“Sure thing, mami.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Hey, I know you.” His eyes brighten. “You’re Quick Kill, yeah?”
“Yeah, and you’re Jose.” Fucking talking to my girl like she’s some piece of ass.
My girl? She could be married, but I didn’t notice a ring. Maybe she takes it off to do massage. Dammit, there’s so much I still don’t know.
“Jose?” Axelle says again. “Two minutes and then you can fawn over the superstar all you want.”
I turn back to her, not at all comfortable with her tone. She said superstar like it’s some joke.
“Killian, it was really great to see you, and I’m so happy you’re doing well.”
My chin tucks in to my throat. “So that’s it?”
“What’s it?”
I blink, shocked after everything we’ve been through that she can so easily blow me off. “It’s been a year. I thought…” I rub the back of my neck, hating the fact that I want to beg. “Forget it.”
“Okay.” She smiles sweetly, not a hint of regret in her expression. “I’ll see you around.” She waves Jose over.
“Wait.” I move in close without even thinking about it. “Can I call you?” This is wrong. She’s my best friend, and it’s like there’s a canyon between us.
She doesn’t answer immediately, which seriously pisses me off, and then nods. “Sure, I’ll give you my number.”
I glare at Jose, who’s studying us like he’s watching mold grow. “I have your number.”
“Ha…could’ve fooled me.”
“What does that mean?”
She shrugs. “I’m surprised you have my number, seeing as you never use it.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but slam it shut because I don’t have a defense. She’s right.
She disappears into her massage room and comes out with a card. “I have a new number anyway, as of a couple of months ago.” She passes the card to me.
Axelle Daniels
Massage Therapist
Not married. I breathe a sigh of relief as hope floods my chest.
“I tried to call you,” she whispers. “After you left, I called.”
“I left my phone.” Because I was afraid of what one more word from you would do to me.
“I know. I saw Ryder packing up your stuff, and your phone was there.”
“You told me to go; I was just following orders.” I cringe at the hurt that flashes in her eyes. I run a hand through my hair and wipe the slight stick of hair product on my jeans.
Those blue eyes score through me as she lets me sit in my own self-hatred.
“I gotta go.” She smiles sadly and then waves Jose into the room, closing the door behind him.
Closing them in together.
While I stare at the door and contemplate breaking the fucker down.
She acts like everything that happened between us was my fault, like I’m the one who walked away, when she knows damn well she shoved me into this life without apology.
Not that I have a right to be upset, leaving was the best thing I could’ve done for my career. From the frigid way Axelle’s welcomed me home, I’d say leaving was the best thing for her too.
Why the hell does that hurt so bad?
~~~
I pull my phone out of my pocket and head for a quiet corner away from Fleur’s incessant screeching. I quickly add Axelle’s new number to my contacts, storing the important information from her card.
I scroll through my contacts for a different number, and once I find it, I hit “send.”
Ryder answers after only a few rings.
“See what I did there, asshole? Phone rings; I pick it up. It wasn’t even that hard. You should give it a shot sometime.”
“You’re still pissed.”
“Yeah. So you’re obviously calling for a reason. Dad said you were coming back. I’m assuming you want your shit. I gave the key to your storage place to my dad. He’s got all the info.”
“That’s not why I’m calling. I need to talk to you.”
“No.”
I groan and drop my chin. “Really? So that’s it.”
“I’m headed into class right now—”
“I’ll meet you on campus.”
“Are you kidding? That’ll cause a fucking mob.”
He’s probably right. “What about—?”
“Meet me at my pad in two hours.”
My muscles release the tension I didn’t even know I was holding. “Thanks, man. I—”
The line disconnects.
He agreed to hear me out, which is more than I expected.
I shove my phone into my pocket and slide down the wall to plant my ass on the concrete floor. And for the next two hours, I stare at that massage room door. Ollie and Fleur are busy picking Blake’s and Jonah’s brains and have moved on to the full tour without me. People come by to say hi, Cameron stops to welcome me home, but my gaze is glued to that door, not willing to miss another chance to lay my sights on her. When she finally does come out, her eyes flash to mine then narrow before she takes in another fighter.
She seems to be really good at what she does. Every fighter that leaves that room does so with a smile and a dazed look in their eyes. Not that I blame them.
I know what it feels like to have her hands on me. I’ve experienced firsthand what it’s like to be drunk on her attention. It’s the closest thing to heaven.
Thirty-one
Killian
I called a cab and had it pick me up at the backdoor of the training center to avoid being followed by photographers. The entire ten-minute drive to Ryder’s I spent rehearsing my speech. Once I’m finally at his door, I’ve forgotten everything I’ve rehearsed and settle for simply apologizing for being a shithead friend.
I fidget while waiting for him to open, wondering if I should at least hold my hands up to protect my face just in case. Nah, I’ll leave them down. He’s earned the potshot should he feel the need to give it.
He opens the door and doesn’t even meet my eyes. “Come on in.” He turns away and flops on the couch, not a hint of the hostility I was expecting, which makes me worry. Anger would mean he at least cares, but his I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude might mean any number of I’m-sorrys won’t do jack crap
He looks about the same—worn jeans, black belt, Docs, and sporting a black and red Ataxia shirt. His hair is still bleached blond, a little shorter than it was a year ago, but still sticking out at all angles.
I cruise through his pad to the bar and prop my ass on a stool. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
He’s holding onto a pair of drumsticks, absently slapping out a beat on his thigh. “You mind getting to whatever it is you want to say?”
“You were right; I lied to you.”
His eyes dart to mine and his drumstick thumping stops.
“I was busy in London, busier than I’ve ever been, but I avoided your calls.”
“Why?”
I blow out a breath and lick my lips, not liking the taste of humility on my tongue. “Because I was weak. I was afraid if I talked to you I’d hear about Ax, and I couldn’t handle hearing about how she’d moved on.”
“You should’ve just told me that.”
“I should’ve, but that would’ve been bringing her up, and honest to God, Ry, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even think about her name without wanting to jump on the next flight home.”
“I thought you two were good that night you took her home from the party, after you gave that Clifford fuck a new nose. I thought things were solid between you two.”
Even a year later, knocking that asshole for disrespecting Ax is still gratifying to think about. “I did too. Axelle and I made some important decisions about our relationship that night. We were together, ya know?”
He nods. “I figured as much, but then you took the London gig.”
I blow out a breath and nod back. “I left, but only because she didn’t give me any choice.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t make any sense. She needed you.”
I whip my gaze to his, anger boiling in my gut. “I wanted to stay. I wanted to take care of her. I offered to be there for them. She didn’t want me.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “You know she ended up having to drop out of school, right?”
“Yeah, she told me that when I saw her today.” I shrug, the news coming as little surprise. I figured the baby would force her to have to take time off school.
“She had to get a restraining order.”
Time comes to a grinding halt.
The pause button hit on all my internal organs.
No breathing.
No blinking.
I think even my pulse froze. “What did you say?”
“He fucking tormented her, man.” He glares at me.
Still on pause. “What?”
“Clifford.” He throws his hands up. “Dude, are you fucking listening to a word I’m saying? He bullied the shit out of Axelle after you left. He put up naked pictures of her on all the campus boards…”
Lungs back online and pumping.
“…fucking tore her up on social media…”
Eyes blinking.
“…broke into her apartment and trashed the place…”
Pulse pounding.
“He’d make sure to catch her walking through campus so he could trip her and she’d fall flat on her face.”
Fury.
I push up so fast the stool crashes to the ground. My fists clench at my side as adrenaline bursts through my veins. “Why didn’t anyone fucking tell me!”
He jumps off the couch, seeming just as angry as I am. “I fucking tried! You were too busy being famous to give a shit!”
I fist my hands in my hair. “What the hell, Ry! You know I would’ve come home if I’d known this shit was going on!”
“We didn’t even know it was going on until it got so bad she couldn’t hide it anymore. Then she made us promise not to tell you.”
“Why the fuck would she do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, asshole! Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass long enough to think about it?”
Think about it? I can’t concentrate on shit outside of breaking Clifford’s neck.
Unless… “The baby.” It had to be because of the baby, right? God, he tripped her when she was carrying his fucking child! Anger rips red hot through me.
“What baby?”
Annnd I’m back to pause.
“Axelle’s baby.”
His face twists in confusion. “Axelle doesn’t have a baby.”
Hold on. I rub my eyes and try to shake the feeling of being part of some sick practical joke.
“When I left”—I shake my head, trying like hell to make sense of all this—“she was pregnant when I left.”
“No…” He frowns, shakes his head, blinks, and then… “Oh shit.”
“What?”
He drops back down the couch and rubs his temple. “She got really sick a couple of months before she dropped out. They told me it was a stomach bug. When she came back to school, she seemed a little, I don’t know, depressed or something. I just assumed she was still feeling like crap. Then Clifford started messing with her and…shit. I didn’t know.” He peers up at me. “She must’ve lost the baby.”
“When? Do you remember when all this happened?”
“Yeah, it was the time I called you. I called her later that day to talk to her about what a piece of shit you were and…” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Fuck.”
My chest feels like it’s about to explode through my skin.
He tilts his head and stares right through me. “She got sick on the phone. I had to call Blake and…damn, poor Axelle.”
“I should’ve been here,” I mumble to myself. “I never should’ve left.”
“Nothing you could’ve done, man.”
“She told me to leave and I listened. Why did I listen?” I pace the length of the room. “She needed me, and I didn’t even leave her a number to get in touch with me.”
“She had it.”
I freeze and whip my gaze to him. “What?”
“I gave it to her. She had it.”
“Why didn’t she—?”
He laughs, but the sound is more sad than happy. “She told me you’re too smart to give up your future for her.”
“She’s wrong.”
“That’s what I said.” He huffs out a breath. “Then she said, even if you’d tried to give it up, she’d never let you.”
“She didn’t. She made me go to London. I should’ve stayed in touch. Fuck! I should’ve grown a pair and stayed in contact.”
“What’s done is done, brother.”
“It’s not done.” I stare intently at him. “This shit is far from fucking done.”
~*~
Axelle
“Make sure to double up on your water tonight. I went pretty deep to loosen that spasm in your lower back.” I wash my hands and hear the gentle hum of Cameron’s breathing. I turn away from the sink, wiping my hands. “Cam, wake up.”
His big body jerks on the table, and I quickly turn my back on him again. It’s not uncommon for some of the guys to doze off during a massage, but some of them tend to jump up when they wake, and being naked under the sheet has created a very uncomfortable situation more times than I can count.
“Sorry, kiddo.” The sheets rustle behind me followed by a groan. “You loosened up my back.” The awe in his voice makes me grin. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
I make my way for the door so he can get up and dressed. “Don’t forget to drink plenty of—”
“Water. I know.”
The sated sound of his voice fills me with pride. Cameron Kyle is never relaxed, at least, not that I’ve ever seen outside of the massage room.
My fingers hesitate on the door lock. After my short talk with Killian, he stayed, staring at me between clients. Then he was gone. I want to kick myself for wishing it, but a large part of me wants him there when I walk out.
I hold my breath and open the door. My eyes scan the warehouse-like gym, but there’s no sign of him.
He’s gone.
No sign of him or his girlfriend and the man he came here with.
Girlfriend.
The word spoils in my gut.
Why does she have to be so beautiful? And her accent! French is called a romance language for a reason. When she spoke, it was like sex dripped from every syllable. I bet she whispers all
sorts of naughty things to him, and it drives him wild—no! No. I refuse to torture myself any more than I already have.
Cameron shuffles from the room and smiles. “Hiring you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I stand a little taller under his approval. “Thank you for giving me the chance.”
“You’ve got a gift, kid.” His eyes regain their focus. “How much longer you stayin’ tonight?”
“An hour.”
“Looks like most everyone’s gone home, so I’ll walk you to your car when you’re ready.”
I bite my lips and hold my eyes to keep them from rolling to the sky. I realized fighting the whole bodyguard thing was not only a huge waste of my time, but also a waste of energy. I can barely walk to the bathroom without a damn escort, thanks to Clifford. Asshole. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
“Good.” He slaps me on the shoulder with fatherly approval then ambles off to the locker room.
Finished for the day, my back and arms ache. Too bad there’s not a masseuse for the masseuse. I strip the sheets from the table, disinfect, and restock my products then head to the women’s locker room to change into my workout clothes.
I realized just a few weeks into my new career that lifting weights to strengthen my muscles and stretching them out after my shift lessens the soreness. It’s a pain in the ass when all I want to do is go home and crash in front of the television, but I know once I’m done I’ll be grateful I did it.
It’ll also help for me to work through my conflicting feelings toward Killian. In some ways, I’m happy he’s back. The urge to run into his arms and never leave is nearly irresistible. But then I remember how he took off without a single phone call. For a year, he severed all ties. Now he shows up in his designer clothes with his fancy-talking friends, and I’ve never felt more distant. We used to be so much alike, or at least I thought so. This new UFL star Killer “Quick Kill” McCreery I don’t know at all. Sure, there was a flash of the old him in there somewhere, but it felt like this last year had built an impenetrable wall between us.
One we’ll never get through.
I peel off my black leggings and pull on some spandex shorts along with a bright orange tank that says “Woman Up.” I redo my ponytail, making this one higher and tighter, then grab my phone and earbuds. I have three missed calls and four new texts, all from what I recognize as Killian’s London number.