by Josie Kerr
Maybe she was.
But she also wasn’t willing to pass up the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a brand-new weight division in women’s fighting and the chance to train with one of the best teams in mixed martial arts. For once, she was in the right place at the right time.
She also knew there was no way she could have done this, any of it, while she was still married to Kevin. Although chronically underemployed, Kevin was content to work part-time and had even turned down a full-time job, with benefits, because he didn’t like the potential of not being able to take off whenever he wanted to in order to work on his music. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Bridget had grown up the child of a professional musician and had seen her father work two jobs in addition to playing gigs all up and down the East Coast. No, Kevin wanted the accolades and the fame, but he didn’t want to put in the work.
To make matters worse, he wasn’t content to stand by her or even take a step back if she was the center of attention. Now that she was five years removed from the situation and had completely severed ties with him, Bridget was finally honest with herself about the fact that he was never fully supportive of her career, no matter what it was, unless he was able to glean some sort of benefit from it, and he actually seemed to resent any success that she achieved, no matter how small.
The end of her marriage was a good thing, and she had to remember that even though the divorce made her sad sometimes, she was much happier for it. She knew Kevin was as well, though she wondered how long this newfound soul mate would last once she figured out he wasn’t going to be content to be merely the guy with the successful girl.
“Bridget Therese Doherty, you’ve spent way too much time thinking about the past tonight,” she admonished her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You’ve got a big fight coming up, and you spent the evening dancing with a great guy. Those are two things that never would have happened in Boston. Get a friggin’ grip, lady, and snap the fuck out of your funk.” She gave herself another stern look and finished getting ready for bed.
Bridget instantly awoke when her landline rang, as good news rarely happened when a call came at three o’clock in the morning.
She scrambled to get the handset off the cradle and then uttered a panicked, “Hello?”
“Baby, what’s going on?”
“Jaysus, Kevin! What are you doing calling me in the middle of the night? Is someone dead?”
“Oh no, baby, no, no. I just wanted to hear your voice, Birdie. Just wanted to talk to you, make sure you’re doing all right.”
“Kevin, I’m fine. It’s really late. Why don’t we talk when you’re not fucked up and I’m not half asleep?”
“Baby, I’m not fucked up,” he slurred. “I just had a few drinks with the boys, and we got to talking about old times, and I knew I needed to talk to you.”
“Kevin, this has got to stop . . .”
“Birdie, babe, you gotta listen to me.”
“Good-bye, Kevin. Please don’t call me again.” Bridget slammed her hand against the switchhook and then calmly replaced the receiver on the cradle. She flopped back in the bed, simultaneously wide awake and exhausted. Talks with Kevin always wore her out. In the early days of their relationship, she found his manic demeanor exciting, but as the years passed, she recognized it for it what it was, and it just made her tired. Chances are he wouldn’t even remember that he called her when he looked at his phone the next day. Then he would call again, surprised, and ask her why she’d called him. It happened every few months, the same thing every fucking time.
After lying in the dark for a half hour, Bridget decided a nice hot bath was what she needed to ease her tension and hopefully help her unwind enough to sleep. She popped into the bathroom and turned on the tap before going into the kitchen and pouring a small glass of wine as an additional sleep aid.
When she got into the bathroom, the tub was almost full, so she stripped and sank into the almost too-hot water. As the bath worked its magic and she savored her last pre-camp vino, Bridget found her mind wandering back to Nolan. They’d danced a lot that night, and Bridget had to admit that she’d wanted to see just how the hair of his beard felt. Was it soft or rough? She bet it was soft. And he’d taken an unexpected meeting with her father in stride. Not that there was any sort of significance in meeting Liam—it was completely random. But still . . .
Bridget, stop thinking about him.
Determined to unwind, Bridget let her mind wander until the obnoxious beep of her alarm nudged her to get out of the bathtub. She hauled herself out of the tub and quickly dried off. Then she slipped across the hall, back to the bedroom.
Bridget flopped down onto her bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, and tried to sleep, knowing she had to be at the gym in just a few hours. Absentmindedly, she rolled a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. The central air felt good on her exposed bits, and she allowed herself to succumb to self-pleasure. She thrummed one nipple, and with her other hand, stroked between her legs. Nolan’s face surfaced in her mind’s eye, and she refused to think too much about why exactly he appeared. Instead, she imagined the silky-rough hair of his beard between her thighs, touching herself until she couldn’t stand it anymore. And with a thrust of fingers, she came. Shortly after, she fell asleep, to dream of his sweet smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Nolan sipped on a cup of black coffee, grimaced, and decided that he’d just adjust his calorie count to accommodate a morning soda for his caffeine delivery mechanism. When the waitress brought his food, he ordered a soft drink. Nolan fiddled with his food until the woman brought him his soda, and after that, he tucked into his weekend breakfast of eggs over medium, bacon, and of course, biscuits and gravy.
“Ha! I’d wondered how long you would last with the black coffee,” Cal remarked as he slid into the cracked booth opposite Nolan. He grabbed an overturned mug and poured himself a cup from the carafe, adding cream and sugar to the strong beverage.
Nolan’s snort quickly turned to choking because he aspirated part of a biscuit, and his brother spent the next moments pounding him on the back.
“You good, Nol?” Cal squinted at Nolan, whose beet-red face slowly returned to his natural color.
“Yeah, I’m good. Whew.” He blew a breath out and took a sip of soda before mopping his face with a napkin, which disintegrated in his hands, of course, leaving him with bits of paper stuck to his beard and forehead, much to Cal’s amusement. “Goddangit.” Nolan swatted at the stuck pieces, which made Cal laugh harder until the older brother was practically rolling with mirth.
“I get it all?” Nolan craned his head back and forth, still brushing at his face.
“Sure did. You look fine, Nolan.”
“Bev.” Nolan swallowed hard. He hadn’t seen Beverly for at least a few years. “I . . . thought you moved to Miami.”
“I did. I’m back for my daughter’s baby shower.” She cocked her head, studying Nolan first and then turning to Cal, who was alternating looking at Nolan and the woman, with his eyes wide and jaw dropped.
“You must be Cal. Tobias and Nolan told me all about you.” Bev smiled at Cal.
“Oh, yes. Um. Yeah. I’ve heard about you, too,” Cal stammered.
Nolan looked down at his plate, if only to hide his grin. Cal wasn’t easily flustered, but this conversation with Bev seemed to have the normally outspoken, confident man completely tongue-tied.
Bev flashed a megawatt smile at Cal. “Oh, I’m sure you have.” She turned back to Nolan. “You look good, Nolan. Look me up if you’re ever in Miami.”
“Sure thing,” Nolan lied, secure in the knowledge that Bev never expected to hear from him. “Good to see you, Bev.”
“Likewise, Nolan. Tell Big Brother ‘hi’ for me.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Bye, boys.” Bev wiggled her fingers at the two men and then sashayed her way out of the diner.
Nolan hooted, his earlier embarrassment
forgotten. “Oh my Lord. I should have been taking pictures because that was a one-in-a-million look you had on your face, Cal. That was priceless.”
Cal shook his head and leaned his elbows on the table. “It’s not every day that a high-priced escort calls your baby brother by name,” he said in a low voice. “Now, where did Toby meet her, again?”
Nolan shrugged. “Who knows with Toby? You know him—he’s flypaper for freaks.”
“Oh, so she’s a freak, is she?” Cal grinned at Nolan, whose face suddenly flared bright red. “Oh, that’s how it is, is it? I figured you’d had a little crush on her, but there’s something—”
“Stop, Cal.”
“Shit, Nolan. I figure every guy’s gone to a professional once in his life. If not, he needs to.”
“Stop.”
“Why are you getting so wound up?” Cal scoffed. “Jesus, it’s not like she’s around anymore, right? It’s not like you and Miss Fighter Chick are gonna run into her.”
Nolan chuckled softly. “I . . . didn’t want to die a virgin, so Toby hired Bev to . . . when I was well enough to . . . perform.”
Cal’s grin faded. “What? Nolan, you were thirty-five when you had that heart attack. You mean . . .?”
“Yeah.”
“Man, I had no idea.” Cal slumped back against the back of the booth. “And no one since?”
Nolan shook his head. “Pretty pitiful, huh?”
“Nah. I mean . . . whatever. Is this why you’re reluctant to ask Bridget out?”
Nolan inhaled deeply. Was it? It certainly wasn’t helping matters; that was for sure. At a loss for words, he just shrugged. So he’d been a thirty-five-year-old virgin. Hell, if he hadn’t had the heart attack, he’d probably still be one. And Bev was a good instructor—at least, he’d assumed she was.
“So . . .”
“Oh, just spit it out. Ask me all the questions you want, and I’ll answer them as long as it won’t get us kicked out of the diner, because I’m still friggin’ hungry,” Nolan groused, recognizing the glimmer of curiosity in his brother’s eyes.
“So this wasn’t just a one-time thing? I mean, you had lessons or something?”
Nolan massaged his eyelids with his thumb and middle finger. “We met for about six months, and yes, there were lessons of various sorts. Expectations on both sides, techniques, just . . .”
“It doesn’t sound very . . . sexy. I mean, at all.” Cal had a look of extreme distaste on his face, and well, Nolan didn’t blame him. It wasn’t sexy; it was practical. And Nolan was thinking that that was the real problem: he wouldn’t know what was really appealing or sexy if it came up and slapped his ass. Well, maybe if it slapped his ass, because he definitely found that appealing. Oh, fuck.
“It was a means to an end.”
“Yeah, the end of your virginity,” Cal retorted with a snort, causing Nolan to shush and glare at him. But then the man grew thoughtful. “You still need to ask that fighter woman out. She likes you. Tobias told me you two danced and had your hands all over each other last night. And you met her dad.”
“I suppose . . .”
“Do you still find her attractive? Do you still like her?”
“Yeah, I do. A lot, on both counts.”
“Then goddammit, man, quit being a chickenshit, and ask the woman out on a real date.”
“Tobias said the same thing last night,” Nolan muttered. “No fair conspiring before breakfast.”
Cal laughed. “Man, we just don’t want you to be as fucked up relationship-wise as we are. Ask her out. I mean, she’s gotta eat, right? Do some sort of fancy health-food dinner. Live a little, Nolan. You might just like it.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Chapter Fourteen
Bridget just finished a session on the Jacob’s ladder when Colin’s earsplitting whistle cracked through the gym and he crooked a finger at her. She jogged over to the big former heavyweight champion, who wore an uncharacteristic grin.
“ ’Sup, C?” Bridget, still a little winded from her workout, tried to hide her sudden anxiety as Colin continued smiling at her.
“SoPro’s intrigued.”
“What?”
“Southland Promotions is in for you fighting Kowalczyk. He’s got his matchmaker working to make it happen.” Colin’s grin faded when Bridget didn’t respond. “Bridg?”
“Whoo!” Bridget whooped and raised her fists in the air. “Fuck yeah!” Then she leapt at Colin and wrapped him in a bear hug. “Thank you, C.”
“Okay, Birdie, okay. But don’t thank me yet. Come on. We need to have a talk.”
Well, shit.
Colin barked a laugh. “It’s not that bad. We just need to talk about expectations.”
“Sure.”
Once in Colin’s office, the big former heavyweight champion leaned back in his chair, his fingers tented on his abdomen.
“I’m gonna tell you some things, and then you’re going to tell me some things, all right?”
Bridget nodded.
“So, Hanna Kowalczyk has started training with a new team.”
Bridget frowned. “Since when?”
“Since about the same time as you came down.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. She’s been training with Jett Raptor’s team.”
Bridget sat up, suddenly even more attentive. Jett Raptor’s team had a beef with DS Fight Club. Or rather, Jett Raptor had a beef with Colin Carmichael. She’d heard enough stories and seen enough news reports come over the wire of confrontations in and out of the cage to know that the rivalry wasn’t just for show, and that rivalry made this fight with Kowalczyk potentially explosive.
“Yeah, exactly.” Colin chuckled, but then his expression grew thoughtful. “Tell me what really happened after that fight. What you didn’t or couldn’t say in front of the other guys.”
“It was five years ago, C. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Oh, I think it does. I think it might matter more now than it did then.”
Bridget exhaled. She’d known this was coming the moment she’d heard Kowalczyk was going to be fighting again.
“Kevin was involved with her. Is involved with her.”
“Kevin? Your husband?”
“Ex-husband.”
“And you found out after the fight.”
Bridget nodded. She’d gone to shake Kowalczyk’s hand, and Hanna had pulled her into an embrace and whispered in her ear, telling Bridget to ask Kevin how his set at the Roxy was. Bridget had been shaken, because Kevin had bowed out of coming to her fight due to a last-minute DJ gig he’d picked up. They’d fought about it, and Bridget had reluctantly admitted that a gig that potentially put him in front of producers would benefit them both more than him coming to a fight. Agitated, she’d skipped the post-fight presser after giving some stifled answers to the reporters who were waiting outside the dressing room.
She’d arrived at the club where Kevin should have been starting his set to find that it was the site of the after-party for Hanna Kowalczyk. Hanna had jerked her chin up in acknowledgment when they’d locked eyes at the club, and Kevin had just shrugged and given her a grin as Hanna groped him. He hadn’t even tried to come after Bridget when she turned around and walked out the door.
“Kevin blamed my fighting for the rift. He said that his late nights and my early morning workouts were tearing the marriage apart. Sure, I’d beaten Kowalczyk, but what was it worth if I lost my marriage, right? Kevin’s career seemed to be picking up, he was getting more gigs, and people were paying attention to him. So . . . I quit.”
“But he didn’t. I mean, quit her.”
Bridget shook her head and stared hard at a photo on Colin’s wall, a photo of Colin with Junior, both of them much younger, with big grins on their faces and Colin with a giant belt over his shoulder. She clenched her jaw, humiliation heating her face.
“No,” she ground out. “I was going to surprise him for his birthday. I’d gotten a room at the Langham an
d, um, done a little scavenger hunt thing, you know, to make it fun and mysterious. I was waiting in the room, you know, ready”—she cleared her throat—“and when he got to the room, he said, ‘Are you ready for me, Hanna?’ Yeah, that pretty much sucked.”
When she dared to meet Colin’s eyes, he was merely looking at her, but not with pity, thank goodness.
“So Paddy doesn’t know.”
She shrugged. “I’d switched over to an MMA gym, but the world of combat sports is small and you know how fighters gossip. He probably knows. Maybe not all the dirty details. He doesn’t need to know all that, okay?”
“I completely agree. Do you think you’re ready? To face her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What about him?”
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I just want to have a good camp, just wanna have a good fight.”
Colin sat back, and with a huge, satisfied grin on his face, put his hands behind his head and said, “Yeah. You’re ready.”
Chapter Fifteen
Nolan lumbered into the break room, sweaty and winded, to find an assortment of fighters all gathered around Bridget, who had a big, embarrassed grin on her face.
“Right here, y’all! Ima say it right here and now—y’all are looking at the next featherweight women’s champion, right here! Birdie girl’s gonna take it to the bank all day long!” The whip-thin fighter with blue hair and tiger-striped leggings bounced around Bridget like a hyperactive Jack Russell terrier, playfully cuffing her on the chin.
“Guys, we don’t even know if it’s a done match yet,” Bridget protested. “SoPro just said they were interested.”
“Raptor’s already running his mouth, talking trash, Bridg. Look.” Dig shoved his phone into her face. “Kowalczyk’s chiming in, too. This thing is blowing up. SoPro would be stupid not to book it now.”
Nolan thought he saw her smile waver just a bit, and an inexplicable sense of protectiveness came over him. He wanted to push all those other men out of the way of her personal space and whisk her away to somewhere private.
