by M. N. Forgy
God is taking more than my mother away, he’s taking my life away.
Chapter Nine
Camden
When I walk inside the gym I immediately notice Tate is hitting the bag, wincing with every strike. Debs has had her on that bag the last few days, and hasn’t even corrected her stance. It’s no wonder Tate’s hurting.
Taping my hands, it eats at me that Thomas gave Tate the worst trainer and it’s my fault. I know he’s screwing Debs, but surely he knows she’s a shit trainer. Nobody wants her, not even Chase. She wants fighters who are already trained and, making it big. She’s a greedy bitch that knows nothing about MMA. If anyone doesn’t belong here, it’s her.
I’m nervous Tate may get hurt under Debs’ watch.
Flexing my hands, anger pools in my chest that I even care. I let go of Tate a long time ago, I need to keep it that way.
Stepping out of the locker room, I find Thomas and Debs sitting next to the ring. Debs has this love struck look on her face, and is completely ignoring Tate. Again.
Minding my business I climb into the ring, jumping on my feet and roll my shoulders trying to warm up.
“Camden, spar with Pinky for a bit on the mats,” Thomas instructs. Pinky is the one that drew the short straw in assisting my vigorous sparring sessions. He wears the full body shield, and lets me punch him around daily. He does a lot of sparring around the gym, and everyone loves him.
Pinky waddles into the ring with gear head to toe. He gives me a nod, and I start laying combos into him. Staying light on my feet I try to outsmart him, and hit him before he can think about blocking.
Even with all the noise in the gym, all I can hear is her. Tate. She whimpers with every punch, cursing every time the bag comes back at her. Glancing at her I find her bent over holding her wrist, her face in a state of pain.
I try to ignore it, but I keep finding myself looking back at her, worried.
“Stop!” I demand Pinky. He stills, lowering his hands. I glance at Debs, she’s oblivious to Tate’s pain. If I don’t step in, Tate is going to break her damn wrist.
Seeing red I climb through the ropes and I eye Thomas angrily. “When I told you not to train Tate, I didn’t mean find the worst coach you could find to train her,” I spit, before staring daggers into Debs.
“Excuse me!” Debs gasps, holding her chest.
Marching toward Tate, her face goes pale when she notices me coming at her.
She tries to play it cool, and hits the bag.
“Stop,” I snap. She huffs, rolling her eyes before standing straight. “You’re going to break your damn wrists if you keep at it like you are.”
“I don’t need your help.” She steps back, crossing her arms. Her pink nail polish sticks out amongst beautiful, pristine skin. Since when does Tatum Davis wear nail polish?
“That might be so, but between your pink nail polish and that bitch face you keep wearing, nobody wants to tell princess almighty she’s not doing it right. So, that leaves me.”
Her jaw drops, her eyes frantically looking anywhere but at me.
Exhaling an annoyed breath, I step forward and grab her shoulders to position her. Warmth spreads through my palms from the contact, the fire licking up my arms and exploding in my chest. And just like that, years of telling myself I hated and was going to forget Tatum Davis… vanish. All the anger replaced with flashbacks of us together as kids.
Her eyes widen as if she felt it too and quickly I let go. My heart beating wildly as I try and shake out the memories of her.
“Um,” I stumble on my words. “Keep your fists closer to your chest. When you go to strike, twist your hand to where the top of your fist is horizontal,” I school, as I demonstrate. Her brows furrow as she watches me strike the bag.
“Got it?” She blinks a few times, as if she’s trying to focus.
Stepping back, I gesture toward the bag. “Hit it.” She eyes me warily, like she’s embarrassed to do it in front of me. “Do it,” I reaffirm, raising an eyebrow.
Getting into position, she gives it a punch, and her body sways inward.
What the hell? Did she move to LA and forget everything she knew?
“Wait, why are you leaning in like that?” Grasping her shoulders, she takes a quick breath. The subtle sound hitting me right in the cock. Images of her under me when we were teenagers flash in my mind and I have to let go of her.
Anger pulses through me, breaking through my concern for her. I want to hate her, why can’t I just stick to my guns and be an asshole!
“Just keep your spine straight,” I demand, my tone hard. Pissed at myself for giving a shit.
She nods, and hits the bag again. Her body stays straight, and her hit is more powerful and direct than before. She really is a great boxer.
“Good. Try that.” I can’t help the praise leaking through my tone.
Shit, I gotta get away from her.
Turning, Debs is staring at me like she wants to kill me.
“I thought her daddy was some famous boxer, how is that she can’t throw a correct punch?” she sneers. I glance at Tate, letting her answer that.
We used to practice hitting all the time as kids. I’m pretty sure we were doing it all wrong, but it seems like her skills are definitely lacking more than I remember.
Tate grabs the bag with both hands and leans her head on it.
“My dad played the role of being a father when I was finally old enough to practice the sport. He never taught me how to throw a correct punch because when we sparred we did it for fun. My mother was sick with cancer and let’s just say death has a way of changing people. Is that enough of a history lesson for you, or do you want to know more about my life?” Slowly turning her head, her sad eyes hit me and I instantly want to protect her all over again.
Exhaling a ragged breath I turn to get the hell away from her. Debs has a smart ass look on her face, her arms crossed as I pass her. I can tell she’s about to fire a smart ass comment back at Tate so I stop.
“It took me five minutes to teach her to throw a correct punch, how long have you been training her again?”
Marching past her, I search for Pinky. I’m so confused, so pissed at the way Tate gets to me that I may give Pinky the beating of his life. Thank god he has extra padding on today.
Tate
Thomas and Debs leave early, along with a lot of the other trainers and fighters. The storm has picked up, and nobody wanted to get caught in the middle of it.
It’s just Camden and I.
Alone.
The gym is filled with so much tension even a perfect combo couldn’t split through it.
Camden keeps looking at me, and I can’t help but sneak a few glances myself. My body is vibrating with sexual tension as I watch him. He’s something else when he’s in his element. I can’t believe he helped me today. It was a surprise to see him being… nice. I was humiliated I have been hitting wrong all this time, but I’m relieved he taught me. I don’t think my wrists could have gone another minute going the way I was.
To be honest, I kind of wish he was mean to me because when he’s nice I want him that much more. When I left four years ago it hurt, I felt like I was dying from the inside out of loneliness. I went from doing everything with Camden, to nothing. I must have adapted to that pain because being so close to Camden causes me to feel it as if it was the first day I left all over again. I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me?
The lights flicker with the sound of thunder and I tense.
“We should probably get going,” Camden suggests, as he glances at the windows that flash with lightening every now and then.
Nodding, I head toward the locker room to clean up.
Un-wrapping my hands, my knuckles stick to the tape with dried blood. After Camden instructed me how to hit correctly, the impact was less painful, but the damage was already done.
I wonder if he’s naked right now. Maybe in the shower. I bite my bottom lip at the thought of sneaking in the men’s lock
er room, maybe slipping into the shower with him. Butterflies fill my stomach at the risky thought. I would if the idea of rejection wasn’t so probable.
I’m a complete spaz when it comes to men, all except Camden. He’s the only one I have ever been comfortable with. My mother always said you’d fall in love with your best friend. Camden was not only my best friend, but he was my only friend. The world was lost when it was just us.
After getting dressed, I head out of the locker room just as Camden does, nearly running into him again.
“Shit, sorry.” I step back letting him go.
“No, you go ahead.” He waves me forward. This is so awkward.
Giving a tight lipped smile I walk ahead. He showered. His hair is wet, and I can smell his Old Spice shampoo. It takes everything I have not to look behind me to see his wet blond locks one more time.
Opening the front doors, the rain pours from the skies.
Counting to three, I sprint toward the parking lot. The rain slamming into my skin like hail.
Jumping in my car, I’m soaked and cold. I throw my bag in the side seat, and attempt to start the ignition.
It doesn’t start. My eyes widen, and I try again. Nothing. The radio doesn’t turn on, and neither do the lights.
The battery is dead.
I must have left the headlights on.
Getting out, I run around the front of the car and pull the hood open. A perfect roar sounds from beside me, startling me. Camden reverses his dark 1969 Camaro out of his parking spot his eyes on mine as he pulls away.
I can’t believe he’s just going to leave me stranded. What a jackass!
I swipe my wet hair from my face, and duck inside the car to grab my phone from my bag to text Chloe. Taillights light up the parking lot and I stall. Glancing out of my car I find Camden stopped in the middle of the parking lot.
I clutch my phone in hand, unsure if he’s stopping to help me or just stopping in general. The driver door opens, and he sticks his head out.
“Get in!” Reaching inside my car I grab my bag, and race toward Camden’s nice shiny car without a second thought.
Quickly, I get in and shut the door.
The smell of old leather hits me first, then Camden. He’s all I smell now.
The seats are worn leather, and the dashboard is lit up with an old time cassette player. Even with the car’s old age, it’s in great condition. I know a lot about cars because I came across a few car ads in my sports magazines as a kid; you pick a few things up from them.
“Thanks,” I mutter under my breath. He either didn’t hear me or doesn’t respond as he pulls out of the parking lot.
Looking out of the corner of my eye, I catch him looking at me before he directs his attention back on the road.
My heart is beating a mile a minute. My thighs are clenched together like they’re glued, and if my underwear weren’t soaked from the rain they’d be wet just by being this close to Camden. After all these years, the boy I fell in love with next door still does it for me. I’m starting to think I’ll never move on. I should really invest in a vibrator.
“How are the hands?” His voice comes out sexy and rough.
I glance down at my hands noticing they’re discolored and look terrible.
“They’ve seen better days.” I turn them, hiding them from his sight. I feel like an amateur next to him.
“You seemed out of breath today,” he observes, his jaw cocked as if he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. He’s trying to make conversation, which takes me aback.
“What can I say, I’m out of shape.” I shrug, smirking.
“Jog a mile a day, that’ll help build your endurance up, trust me it works.” His tone of voice light, as if we are old buddies catching up.
Why, why is he helping me when he clearly told me to go away? Does he feel sorry for me?
“Why are you telling me this and why did you help me today?” I ask, not being able to keep the thoughts to myself any longer.
He stops at a red light and pins me with those gorgeous eyes.
“I’m not going to sit back and watch you break your damn hands Tatum.”
“Don’t do me any favors, and… and don’t call me that.” I grit my teeth in anger.
“You’re just as stubborn as you were when you left, you know that?”
“Yeah, and you’re still a know it all, did you know that?”
His hand reaches for the gearshift just as mine reaches for the dial to turn some music on. The touch of his warm skin against mine I gasp in reaction and pull away. His mouth parts and eyes flash with something seductive just before he draws his back.
Our eyes look around the car awkwardly, as we stop at another red light.
“I don’t remember you tensing up so much when I touched you before,” he states matter of fact, and my face pales.
He’s so sure of himself it’s ridiculous. I’m sure his bevy fan group help stroke that ego of his. Well, I’m no groupie, and won’t play his games.
“I only tense when I’m in the car with bad drivers.” I point at the light that is now green and a car honks behind us. Camden glances in the rearview mirror before speeding off so fast the tires spin.
He glances at me as if he’s waiting for me to squeal in fear, but I don’t. I like going fast, not only in a car but in life. He shifts gears, and eyes me again.
My heart skips a beat as he practically drifts around a corner, but I remain calm on the outside.
He finally slows down and I exhale a calming breath.
“If you’re trying to scare me it won’t work. I like going fast.”
A sexy smirk fits his face. “I remember a few things you liked doing fast.”
My mouth parts, and I give a sideways glance. My mind searching for a comeback.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you know they say too many hits to the head can cause brain damage, I think you’ve met your quota.” I tilt my head to the side and give a condescending smile.
“Cute, but I see the way you look at me when I’m training.” He keeps his eyes on the road as he points out my horrible stalking.
“Ever think I was looking for fighting tips?” I question, but I’m lying through my teeth. I’m not thinking about anything fighting when looking at him.
Running my palms along my sweats my body grows anxious.
“No, you look at me like you want me, yet left me behind like I was nothing. Ironic isn’t it.”
My head whips to face him, my fingers digging into the seat with anger.
“I didn’t leave. I—”
“You did.” He cuts me off. Closing my eyes I try to calm myself and explain why I left the way I did when I was eighteen.
“I did what I thought was best Camden. If I called you, or told you where I was, you would have come after me.” My face contorts as I bare my soul, wishing he could see I was a confused person four years ago. I missed my mom so much when I left for college, I didn’t want to accept that she was gone. My dad pounded in my head that I needed to leave Chicago, get away and try new things.
“Exactly. We would have been together, what was so wrong about that?” he asks. With one hand on the wheel he glares at me with a look of hurt in his eyes. Anger laces its way through that he doesn’t see I was doing the selfless thing.
“You would have thrown everything away for me and in the end I would have been a pregnant teenager while you worked some dead end job trying to pay rent in our shit trailer, all the while hating me. All because I was selfish and made you give it all up!” My face reddens as the urge to cry becomes overwhelming.
His narrow eyes slowly lift, softening his angry look. But only briefly, as his jaw ticks and his brows pinch together in frustration.
“Bottom line, you left and coming back here thinking we’d get back together was plain stupid on your part.”
I open my mouth to protest me wanting to get back with him, but the words don’t come out. Hurt chokes me of a rational explanation. Through all of hi
s games and flirting I thought getting back together might have been a possibility… ‘til now.
Hurt strikes my chest so hard I have to look the other way as a tear manages to escape my left eye.
“I guess so,” I mumble, as my hand searches for the door handle, opening it, I grab my bag and get out. “Thanks for the ride.” Venom drips from my voice as I slam the door.
Rain splinters my skin it’s falling so hard, wind sweeping my hair around my face. I make my way onto the sidewalk and peer up under my wet lashes, I’m several blocks away from home. I should look for a train.
Camden drives beside me and rolls the window down, the rumble of his car barely heard over the storm.
“Damn it, Tate! Get back in the car!”
“Screw off!”
“Get in the fucking car, Tate!”
Ignoring him I continue walking. “I’m not going to do this, I’ll drive off,” he threatens.
“Then go!” I throw my hand out, gesturing for him to just leave.
He stops the car, and gets out. His feet stomping in the rain as he marches toward me.
“It wasn’t up for you to decide Tate, leaving me here to rot, that should have been left for me to decide!” His hair is soaked, sticking to his forehead as he yells at me.
“I did what I thought was best given the circumstances. When I left, I wasn’t the Tate that you loved. I was a shell of a person, I was lost and scared. I didn’t want to ruin your life while I figured out mine.”
My voice cracks with emotion. This has been weighing heavy on me for four fucking years. I had my dad in my ear telling me my mom wanted me to go to college, and at that point I would have done anything for my mom. Leaving hurt me more than he’ll ever know, but staying would have killed me. My family was broken, and I was lost.
