Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance)

by Pat White

  She studied her hands. “I have stomach problems.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Nerves. I get all bunched up inside and need something to calm me down.”

  “Ulcer?”

  “Not yet. Maybe another five years.”

  “What do you have to worry about?” he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Before you started helping your uncle, I mean. You have a great job, successful fiancé, a loving family. You’ve got it all. Your life’s planned out for the next twenty years.”

  “Yeah, well, things don’t always go as planned.” She stroked his forehead, gently, so very gently.

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me,” she said. “Surely you’ve made plans that have fallen apart.”

  “No plans. Just wrestling. Save money for retirement.”

  “And when you retire?”

  “Then I get to live.”

  “Where?”

  “Mountains.”

  “Alone?”

  “Always alone.”

  She blinked, sadness coloring her eyes. The nurse said something and Frankie backed away.

  “Francine?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, not until I’m sure my talent is on the mend.”

  She was angry with him. He couldn’t blame her. But it was for the best. She had to know that. They were growing too close, too comfortable with one another.

  She gripped his hand and tucked it under the white cotton sheet. But she still clung to him. She didn’t let go.

  It felt good.

  “Are you feeling better?” she said.

  He turned his head to look at her. Concern creased her features. He hated that. Hated making her worry.

  “Better,” he said.

  “What is it with the needles?”

  “I don’t like them.”

  “And I don’t like peas, but I don’t go into hysterics when they end up on my plate.”

  He licked his lips and took a shallow breath.

  “I was ten. Cut my arm. Mom was working. Dad was…I don’t know where Dad was. The neighbor wrapped my arm and put me on a bus to the hospital. The doctor pulled out this needle... it was a foot long. They cornered me. Had to hold me down. I was so scared. I remember screaming. I passed out.” He glanced at her but couldn’t read her expression. “Pretty dumb, huh?”

  “You were all alone? You were ten and all alone at the hospital?”

  “I could take care of myself. I always have.” He paused. “But you haven’t, have you?”

  “Nonsense.” She fiddled with his blanket, as if it needed straightening.

  He fingered her hair, silken waves gone awry, yet still so soft. “You act tough, but a part of you likes being taken care of.”

  She pretended to ignore his touch, but he noticed a flush of pink spread across her cheeks.

  “Francine?” He studied her eyes. “That’s why you love Sully. He took care of you. I’ll bet your fiancé takes care of you.”

  “Future fiancé,” she corrected.

  His heart soared with hope. He closed his eyes.

  “Jack?”

  “I’ve gotta rest a minute.”

  Emotion clogged his throat. Of all the pain he’d felt in the last few hours—being whacked with a two-by-four, slammed on a steel door and jabbed by a four-inch needle—this was the worst. The ache in his chest threatened to break him apart.

  He wanted Frankie in his life, and he wanted her as more than a wrestling partner or friend. He wanted her as his soul mate, his lover and confidante. This was nothing like Sandra. Sure, he wanted to do unspeakable things to Frankie, erotic things that would drive her wild and make her cry out in desperation. But he wanted what came after that, the years together, washing dishes and hanging wallpaper. Sharing, teasing. Being.

  But he knew none of that could happen. He wasn’t right for Frankie. He’d mess things up, like he did everything. Hell, if it weren’t for Butch, Jack’s life would be messed up beyond repair.

  No, if he cared about Frankie, really cared, the best thing he could do was distance himself. Which was what he tried doing when he made the crack about her sticking around to protect the talent. He knew more than work obligation glued her to his bedside. They’d formed an unexpected friendship, a unique bond.

  A bond neither of them welcomed.

  Curtain rings scraped across the metal bar and he heard Frankie’s soft voice whisper to the doctor. He couldn’t make out what she said.

  “Mr. Hudson?” a male voice said.

  Jack opened his eyes. A doctor stood beside him. Frankie was gone.

  “I’m Dr. Latharius, the orthopedic specialist.” He extended his hand and Jack shook it.

  “Your wife is in the waiting area making a phone call.”

  Your wife. He sucked in a quick breath of air. His “wife” was probably calling her fiancé.

  “So what’s the verdict?” Jack asked.

  “Not sure until we take some more pictures.” He flipped through Jack’s paperwork. “You’re awfully hard on your body.”

  “Job requirement.”

  The doctor glanced down at him over the rim of his reading glasses.

  “Professional wrestler,” Jack explained.

  The doctor nodded and went back to analyzing the chart. Jack recognized the censure in the doctor’s nod. He’d grown used to the silent, and sometimes not-so-silent, criticism of his work. But there came a time when you had to ignore the jokes and the horrified reactions when people found out what you did for a living. You had to believe in yourself enough to know you were happy with your life. And Jack had been happy. To a point.

  Then disillusionment took hold, frustration at being paid to act more like a vaudeville clown and less like an athlete. They touted pro wrestling as sports entertainment, and many wanted to drop the word “sports” from the definition all together, as if there was no athleticism involved in a grueling twenty-minute match. He wished somebody would tell that to his body.

  “...at least tonight. Okay?”

  Jack glanced at the doctor.

  “What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

  “I said I’d like you to spend the night for observation.”

  “Stay? In the hospital? No, I can’t, I have to—”

  “You have to heal,” Frankie said as she slipped through the curtain and pulled it closed behind her. “How long do you plan to keep him?”

  “Overnight. I’d like to confer with his doctor back home if possible.”

  “Do you have his number?”

  “Yes, I think it’s here.”

  Dr. Latharius flipped pages on the chart, and Jack gritted his teeth. They acted like he wasn’t even in the room. “Excuse me, but I have a plane to catch.”

  They ignored him. He tore off the blanket that Frankie had so carefully tucked around his body. He swung his feet to the floor and stood, swaying slightly because of his bad knee. “I’m leaving now.”

  Frankie reached out to touch his arm, but missed. She continued to address the doctor. “You think it’s a spinal injury?”

  “Most likely. It would be helpful to know if his doctor has noticed anything between the fourth and fifth vertebrae.”

  Looking anywhere but at the needle in his hand, Jack snatched the IV stand and limped out. Pushing through the curtain, he flagged down a nurse.

  “I have to sign myself out of here.”

  “But the doctor—”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Frankie grabbed his hospital gown from behind.

  “Let go of me,” he ordered.

  “Not until you stop.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  He hobbled, she tugged and his knee ached. He really could walk if he put his mind to it, if he didn’t have a hundred-and-twenty-six-pound woman hanging on his tail.

  “You’re making a scene,” he said.

  She let go an
d scanned the immediate area. He smiled to himself. Prim and proper Frankie McGee wouldn’t dare make a scene.

  He aimed for the nurse’s station. “I need someone to unhook me.”

  “Mr. Hudson?” The doctor was walking toward him.

  “No offense, Doc, but hospitals give me the shakes. I can’t stay.”

  “But your wife, here, said—”

  “She’s not my wife. Hell, we don’t even like each other. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

  “I see you’re back to your completely offensive self.” She planted her hands on her hips.

  “Thanks, I’ll take that as a sure sign of my clean bill of health.” He turned to the doctor. “I’m leaving now.”

  Frankie touched his arm, her fingers burning his skin through the light hospital gown.

  “Jack? I wish you’d stay,” she said, her voice a mere hush. “I...it would make me feel better.”

  He glanced into her pleading eyes…and it was all over.

  Her sincerity, her bone-crushing concern tore at his heart. He’d never seen that in a woman’s eyes before. Not aimed at him.

  “I don’t like hospitals,” he said, feeling himself slip under her spell.

  “I’ll stay with you,” she promised, her fingers squeezing his arm.

  “Frankie...” He cocked his head to one side. What was she doing to him?

  “Please, Jack. Let the doctors take care of you. Just tonight.”

  Rationally, he knew she was right. Emotionally, he was a wreck at the thought spending the night here.

  “Frankie, I—”

  She placed her fingers against his lips to stop his protest. He couldn’t breathe. He wondered what she’d do if he kissed them, lightly, delicately.

  “Stay. For me?” she said.

  Captivated by her eyes, the feel of her fingertips against his skin, he could only nod in surrender. He’d never make it through the night, yet he couldn’t deny her.

  She snatched her hand away and flattened it on the counter of the nurse’s station. He noticed it was trembling.

  “Mr. Hudson will be spending the night.”

  “We’ll get him a room,” the nurse said.

  He still couldn’t believe what just happened. In all his years as a pro wrestler he’d never spent more than a few hours in a hospital. That was all he could take.

  But tonight he would face his irrational fear and do the right thing for his body for once. Not because he’d finally been struck by common sense after all these years.

  No, Jack Hudson was checking himself into hell because of Frankie, because it would make her feel better.

  God, what was happening to him?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Something woke her with a start. Frankie didn’t know what. Maybe it was the sharp pain that sliced through her neck. A human being was definitely not meant to sleep curled up in a vinyl hospital room chair, she thought, readjusting her upper body against Jack’s bed.

  But she was here for the duration, no matter how much he protested, or how many times Jack claimed she didn’t need to stick around to keep an eye on the talent.

  That hurt more than anything. The fact he still spouted such ridiculous words. Right, as if she were staying for any reason other than genuine concern over a man who’d become much more to her than an employee.

  What he’d become, exactly, she wasn’t sure. That would take too much soul searching, something she didn’t have the energy for. Her mind and body were spent, thanks to the night’s threatening turn of events with Tiger Man.

  She opened her eyes and glanced at her fingers entwined in Jack’s. Before, when he’d launched his tirade and demanded she leave, she’d done so without protest. Frankie made her way to the cafeteria, found a warm cup of tea and waited. Once she figured he’d fallen asleep, she sneaked back into his room where she belonged. Luckily the nurse didn’t kick her out.

  His fingers twitched and a warm feeling of awareness spread up her arm to her chest. Damn the man for turning her on even when he was unconscious.

  “Not again...” he mumbled.

  Sitting up, she studied his face, shadowed by darkness in the dimly lit room. Sweat trickled across his hairline and his lips moved as if he were trying to speak.

  “Can’t...not again.”

  His fingers squeezed her hand and his legs thrashed beneath the stiff, white linens.

  Was it a dream brought on by the fact she’d forced him to spend the night in the hospital?

  “Jack?” She stood and leaned across the bed, touching his cheek to calm him.

  “My legs, what happened to my legs?” he moaned.

  “Jack, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

  “No life. Have no life,” he moaned.

  “Jack.” She stroked his brow with her thumb. Her heart ached to relieve his agony.

  “Get away. No more, I can’t—”

  He jackknifed and flailed his arms. Frankie jumped back to evade his swing and lost her balance. She grabbed for the chair but missed and tumbled to the floor.

  So much for being able to comfort him.

  “Damn,” he rasped.

  She sat on the cold floor and listened to his labored breathing. It sounded like the man had run a marathon. She popped her head up to check if it was safe.

  “What are you doing here? And why are you on the floor?” He scrunched the bed linens between his fingers.

  “I always sleep on the floor. It’s good for my back.”

  “Bull. Why were you hiding down there?”

  She pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay? You had a nightmare.”

  Running his hand through his long, dark hair, he took a deep breath. “He was coming after me. I couldn’t see his face. I tried to get away. I swung and—” His gaze drifted to the chair, then up to Frankie.

  “I heard this voice, a woman’s voice. She was trying to help me. But he kept coming and…” His eyes grew wide. “Did I...hit you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Aw, hell, I hit you.” He fell back against the sheets and rolled onto his right side, away from her. “Just go. Get the hell out of here before I hurt you again.”

  “You didn’t hurt me. I fell, okay? You know how clumsy I am.”

  She stared at his rigid back. This was her fault. No doubt the hospital stay that had elicited his nightmares. She scooted her chair to the other side of the bed in an attempt to talk to him. He rolled in the opposite direction.

  “Come on, don’t be a jerk.” She lugged the chair back to its original spot.

  “Go away.” He closed his eyes.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Planting herself in the chair, she leaned forward. “I told you I’d stay, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “I don’t need you here.”

  His words sliced open her heart.

  “Tough. Maybe I need to be here.”

  His eyes shot open. “I don’t need your supervision, boss. I can have nightmares all by myself.”

  “I’m not here because you’re on the payroll. Now relax. I want you to get some sleep. Being up all night won’t be good for either of us.”

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “You’re not trying.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to sleep.”

  “Okay, then what do you want to do?”

  “Stop the nightmares,” he mumbled, sounding like a frightened child.

  “Okay, we can do that.” She moved closer to him and sandwiched his hand between her own.

  Jack thought he’d go mad.

  “No more creative imagery stuff,” he said. Hell, he’d completely lose it imagining this woman beside him in bed, touching him, whispering sweet words into his ear. How would he keep his hands off her?

  “Then let’s talk,” she said.

  “Is there another option?”

  “Your favorite Christmas,” she pressed.

  “I don’t remember.” He struggled to ignore the gentle t
ouch of her hand, the stroke and caress of soft fingers against his skin.

  “Okay, I’ll start,” she said. “I was ten. I got my first makeup kit from Mom: blue eye shadow and pink lipstick. It made me feel like a grown up. I always thought it would be so cool to be grown up, wear makeup and, ya’ know, be pretty. That’s before I figured out I’m not the glamorous type.”

  If she only knew how beautiful she looked right now, hair tumbling across her shoulders, her face scrubbed clean of makeup.

  “Your turn,” she said, her face lighting with anticipation.

  Taking a deep breath, he realized he couldn’t deny this woman. He was a goner.

  “Christmas, freshman year. Butch gave me an unlimited pass to Singleton’s Gym.”

  “That’s your favorite present? Working out?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What about before that? When you were little. I’ll bet you were into GI Joe and Monster trucks.” She smiled and his heart skipped.

  “I don't recall being a kid.”

  “Oh, come on. Jack. It’s me you’re talking to, remember?”

  Oh, he remembered all right.

  “I’ll bet you were the big jock at school.”

  She squeezed his hand for encouragement. Warmth shot up his arm and wrapped itself around his heart.

  “Just wrestling. That’s all. And work. I started when I was thirteen, bussing tables.”

  “So young?”

  “Dad’s idea. Almost had to quit wrestling, but Butch wouldn’t let me.”

  “Butch?”

  “The guy who ran the youth center where I grew up. He’s the one,” he hesitated, trying to figure out how to stop talking. He couldn’t. “Butch is the guy who showed me there was more to life than setting off pipe bombs and stealing bikes.”

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  Would she run? Abandon “Jack the Loser,” as his father used to call him?

  She studied him, expecting more.

  “Butch got me into wrestling,” he said, willing to do anything to keep her beside him. “He was the high school coach. But he taught me more than arm bars and headlocks. He taught me to dream big, have confidence in myself.”

  “Sheesh, I never pegged you for having confidence problems.” She chuckled.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “Don’t take that the wrong way. I mean, you have this presence when you walk into a room, a way about you. I don’t know. You certainly don’t seem insecure.”