Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series)

by Salsbury, JB

  But today, I’m even more anxious to see him. He left my bed early after I got a phone call from my parents. I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed mad when he left. I’ve replayed our conversation a million times but can’t figure out what triggered his sudden departure, or why he slammed the front door when he left.

  Things like that have been happening a lot lately. I’ll be in the middle of talking to one of the other fighters at work, or I’ll mention something about our lives back in Seattle, and Blake goes solid, tensing his jaw and clenching his fists. Sometimes I could swear I’ve heard him grinding his teeth.

  There’s a part of me that worries I’ve attracted someone with anger issues. A man who walks the thin line of his temper, always on the verge of blowing up. My stomach spirals and I pinch my eyes closed. But he’s also so sweet. Caring in a way I’ve never experienced before. The complete opposite of Stewart.

  “Excuse me,” an irritated female voice sounds from behind me, dragging me from my thoughts.

  I spin in my chair to see a beautiful blonde in revealing workout clothes standing in front of my desk. “What? Um… can I help you?”

  Her cheeks puff with an exaggerated breath. She drops her gym bag on my desk, sending my pencil cup tumbling. “Uh, you better. Taylor said I’d have the same locker I had when I was here last. I tried the combination, and it didn’t work.”

  “Oh.” Who is this woman? She’s not a Cage Girl. Those girls have killer bodies, but this girl’s body is trained to kill. Her muscles are cut like a man’s, but on a smaller scale. Her blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, the long locks trailing down just past her shoulders. With her bright blue eyes and full lips, she’d be considered gorgeous if it weren’t for the hideous scowl marring her perfect features.

  “Who are you? Where’s Heidi?” She’s still scowling.

  “She doesn’t work here anymore. I’m Layla.” I stand up and offer my hand. “And you are?”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes narrow even more. “Who am I?” A burst of humorless laughter flies from her lips. “You don’t know shit, girl.”

  Girl? Who the fuck is she calling girl? I might not be old enough to be her mom, but I’m definitely older than this twit.

  I lower my hand, straighten my shoulders, and throw on a confident smile. Even across the desk, it’s obvious this girl has a good six to ten inches on me. “I’ll tell you what I do know. I know you need a locker. I’m the person who assigns them. If you tell me who you are, I can help. If not, then you can wait for Mr. Gibbs.” I motion to the chair at her side.

  She studies me in a way that would make a lesser woman squirm. But I hold her evil eye, eyebrows raised, waiting.

  “Call him right now and—”

  The door to Gibbs’s office swings open, and the sound of his angry voice breaks up our bitchy-girl stare-down.

  “—how risky that was?” Gibbs growls into the phone before looking up to see he has company. “Z, hold on.” He looks at Robo-bitch. The bright red of his cheeks recedes, and his thin lips relax into something that resembles a smile. “Camille, you made it.”

  “Yeah, I need a locker.” She scoops her gym back off my desk, narrowly missing my framed picture of Axelle. “You told me I’d—”

  “Layla’ll take care of that.” He nods in my direction. “I’m on an important call.” Pushing past her, he calls over his shoulder, “Good to have you back. We’ll talk later.” He presses the phone back to his ear and snarls something I can’t make out.

  I slide my gaze from Gibbs’s retreating form to the fuming mass of muscle and make-up in front of me.

  “Locker.” She spits the word, making sure I know it’s not a request.

  “Name.” I return the attitude in true teenage fashion. Thank you, Axelle.

  “Camille.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Do you have a last name, or do you go by just the one? Like a dog?”

  Her eyes flare and the muscle in her jaw jumps. “Did you really just say that?”

  I tilt my head and give her my sweetest smile. “Damn right I did.”

  “Aw, fuck.” Blake’s voice rumbles through the space between us, shattering my tough girl ’tude.

  My fake smile morphs into a genuine one. “Hey, Snake—”

  I stop, suddenly realizing that I’m no longer Camille’s target. She’s got laser vision, and it’s pointed directly at my boyfriend. “Well wha’daya know? My elevator hook-up returns.” The drawl of Robo-bitch’s words leaves zero questions as to her meaning.

  My mouth falls open and my ribs seem to contract, making it hard to breathe. I swing my gaze between her and Blake, waiting for the denial from his lips. It never comes.

  I know Blake has a past that involves many women. I’m pretty sure most of the Cage Girls have seen the inside of his bedroom. That’s part of who he was. I accept that. But those girls are like prey. Innocent victims lured in by his demi-god good looks and panty-melting charm.

  This woman is different. She’s a predator. His equal. A protective instinct stirs within me and runs a close second to my jealousy.

  Blinking, I clear my throat. “I guess introductions aren’t required.” Desperate to get rid of her, I pivot to my computer and pull up the locker assignment file.

  “What are you doing here, Camille?” Blake asks in a low, grumbly voice.

  Of course he knows her name. I wonder what he had to do to get it out of her? Ugh! No, I don’t want to go there.

  “I’m in Vegas for some promotional stuff,” she says with no hint of her earlier hostility.

  Bitch.

  I jot down the first number I see, along with the three-digit combination. My back is to them, but my ears are tuned in and turned up.

  “Good to see you, Snake.” I hear the sound of her feet shuffling on the carpet as she moves. “I’ve been thinking about you. I’ll be in town for a while, we could—”

  “Here ya go.” I rip the Post-it from the stack and spin around in my chair. Blake’s eyes are on me, radiating comfort.

  Her eyes are on me too. And she’s furious.

  I shove my finger toward her, sticky note first, and wiggle it. “Here. Your locker. Take it.” And get the hell gone.

  My eyes move to Blake. He’s biting his lip to fight a smile. When it looks like he’s about to lose his hold on his humor, he drops his chin.

  Laughing? Really?

  Camille finally plucks the paper from my hand. “If you don’t mind? I’m catching up with an old friend.”

  Blake steps around her and walks behind my desk. His eyes are still dancing with humor as he cups the nape of my neck with one hand and circles my waist with the other. Before I can open my mouth, he covers it with his.

  My legs wobble for an instant before he pulls me in tight so that I’m flush with him from hip to chest. I grip his biceps, holding on as he curls his towering frame over me. Possessing me. His taste, so distinctly Blake, with a hint of Gatorade, floods my mouth. A moan rumbles in my chest, and I tilt my head, allowing his dominance. Desire unfurls in my belly with every wet thrash of his tongue. All too soon he pulls back, nipping at my bottom lip.

  “Move along now, Camille. You got what you came for, and I need some privacy with my woman.” His words are directed at her, but he never once takes his eyes from mine.

  “Your woman?” She makes a disgusted noise. “You’re kidding, right? She’s like… old.”

  Blake’s body gets hard, and his hands flex into my skin. Her comment hit me like a brick to the gut, and my body’s hot with humiliation.

  I watch as he fights to control his temper. “Blake, it’s—”

  “Watch your fucking mouth, Camille.” He grounds out the words through clenched teeth.

  “I can’t believe this shit.” I don’t look, but I hear the sound of her retreating footsteps as she heads down the hallway in a huff. That was close.

  My hands glide from his arms and over his shoulders, where they hook around his neck. Rubbing
circles into his tense muscles until he relaxes, I force my embarrassment away and focus on lightening the mood. “You did that on purpose.”

  He takes a shaky breath, and the rage clears from his eyes. “Did what, Mouse?”

  “I was formulating a strongly worded speech about the hazards of screwing crazy Amazon-looking bitches. But then you kissed me, and I forgot.”

  “Never screwed that bitch—”

  “Crazy Amazon-looking bitch.”

  His lips tick with the hint of a smile, and he gathers me closer. “Right. Never screwed her. We hooked up about six months ago. One night. It wasn’t anything more than—”

  I cover his mouth with my hand. “How is it that those lips can cause delirium with one kiss, and induce a gag seconds later?”

  He kisses my palm, sending tingles up my arm. I move it away to find him grinning.

  “Mouse, just keeping it real.”

  “Yeah well, I’ve got enough information. My mind is all over the place with all the real that happened between you two.” I groan and drop my forehead to his chest. “She’s right though. I’m way older than you.”

  “I dig that you’re older. Chicks my age act like toddlers hopped up on helium. They’re obnoxious. Or didn’t you notice with the production that skank just put on?”

  I place my palms on his chest and look up at him. “Skank? That’s not nice.”

  His eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “Oh, you can call her an amazon-looking bitch, but I can’t call her a skank?”

  “Well, yeah. Being a bitch is one thing, but belittling her because you two hooked up? I mean technically if she’s a skank for hooking up with you, then you’re just as much of a skank for hooking up with her.”

  He holds a stoic expression for a few seconds before he drops his head back and roars with laughter. His eyes sparkle with humor, the skin at the corners wrinkles from the force of his smile, gorgeous lips framing his perfectly straight teeth. My heart leaps in my chest.

  “Sweetheart, that was some funny shit.” He kisses my forehead, still shaking with a silent chuckle.

  “You know what sucks?”

  “No, but I’m looking forward to hearing it.”

  “She’s super pretty.” I’m not hideous looking. Some would say I’m attractive, for an older mom type, I guess. But she’s the full package. Well, except the bitchy part.

  He cups my jaw with both hands and tilts my head to look me in the eyes. “Not nearly as magnificent as you.”

  “You say that, but she’s, like, model gorgeous. And she’s totally into you.” Dropping my gaze, I slip my fingers into the ends of my hair and wrap one strand around my forefinger.

  “Is that what you’re worried about? Me and—”

  “Blah, blah, blah. Please don’t say it.” I scrunch my face hoping, it will block out the image of his words. Me and Camille. Ick.

  I feel his eyes on me. “Hear me, Mouse.” Thumbing my lower lip, he drags my gaze to his. “I’d rather cut my own dick off than put it inside anyone else. No bullshit.”

  Oh my gosh. Warmth floods my chest. I can’t believe he just said that.

  “Blake?”

  “Hmm?”

  “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “That’s me, Mr. Romance.”

  I giggle and push up on my tiptoes to kiss his smiling lips. “You’re something else, Blake “The Snake” Daniels. Always a surprise.”

  “Yeah? You lookin’ for a surprise?” He grips my bottom with both hands.

  A squeak shoots from my lips. “Save it for tonight. Right now, I’m hungry. Feed me.”

  “Oh, I’ll feed you.” The rough baritone of his words combines with his wicked smile.

  An aching low in my belly hums its request, drowning out the grumbling of my empty stomach.

  Lunch smunch.

  Twenty-five

  Blake

  It’s early. Through the plastic vertical blinds, I’ve watched the black night fade into purple and then blue. Sometime around purple, my woman rolled onto me. Her soft lips brushed against my pec and then moved down, getting me up in more ways than one.

  After she gave me my wake-up call, I returned the favor. Twice.

  Our legs are tangled together. Her head rests on my chest, and her arm lies over my belly. I run my fingers through her hair in long strokes. It’s almost time for me to go, but leaving her bed makes me feel heavy. Every footstep toward the door is like dragging bricks.

  “Snake?” My nickname from her lips drips like honey to my ears.

  “Hmm?”

  She swirls her fingers around the tattoo at my ribs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable talking about it. If not, that’s fine, but I’m curious.”

  “You can ask me anything, Mouse. I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

  “Why were you only in the Marines for two years?”

  Except that. Her question dropkicks my post-coital bliss right out the window.

  I don’t want to hide anything from Layla, but I’m not excited about baring my ass to her either. Some stories can make a man look like a dipshit. This is mine.

  I let out a long, deliberate exhale to calm my nerves. “Promise you’ll hear me out?”

  She moves to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Of course.”

  “I never wanted to go into the military in the first place. My dad put the big fat fucking kibosh on my music, shipped me off to military school, and I found myself out of options. I liked combat training, so I threw myself into becoming the best. I couldn’t wait to use what I’d learned, to fight and protect my country. But orders never came. I brought it up to my pops, asked him why the fuck everyone else was going off to fight except me. He told me I’d never see a battle field.”

  “I can see that. I mean, I’d be sick if I had to send Axelle into war.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, because you love Axelle. With my dad, it was all about control. I swear the guy got off on watching me suffer. Taking away my music, training me for a fight I’d never get a chance to win.”

  She drops her cheek to my chest and resumes tracing swirling patterns on my skin.

  “Guys I knew since military school were being shipped overseas. A lot of them never came back. I felt so damn helpless. One day I woke up and realized that I’d let my dad control my life. I was a grown man, and I’d given up so much of what I wanted. I decided that day I was getting out. No matter what it took.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “I started an underground fighting circuit. After a few warnings, I finally got what I wanted.”

  “What was that?”

  “Discharged. Disorderly conduct.” The words taste bitter. I want her to see me as honorable, not as a fit-throwing kid with daddy issues. I wait for the information to sink in and hope it doesn’t change the way she feels about me.

  She doesn’t say a word, or jump off the bed in revulsion. “I’m surprised your dad didn’t fight to keep you in.”

  “He did for a while, until he realized that I’d eventually beat him at his own game. He’d rather let me go than have me spend the rest of my military career embarrassing him.” I run my hand through her hair, leaching comfort from the silky locks. “You know the most fucked-up part? I didn’t feel good when I’d finally won. I felt like a coward. It’s exactly what he wanted me to feel. So even though I got out, I still lost.” I rub my eyes with my free hand.

  Reliving the day I was discharged, when I saw the disappointment in my father’s eyes and knew that nothing I could do would ever be good enough, still hurts. When will I finally stop caring?

  She burrows into my side in silent thought. “You know, just because someone makes you feel like a loser, doesn’t mean you are. Look at your fighting career. From where I sit, I’d say you won. And in less than two weeks, when you go up against “The Fade”, you’ll prove it again.”

  Her insightful wor
ds settle in the dark void behind my ribs, making me instantly feel better. I kiss her head, unable to vocalize how much I appreciate her understanding. More than ready for a subject change, I focus on the fight. “Two weeks. Can’t wait.” I’m so prepared, not even a flutter of nervous energy stirs at the thought. Or maybe it’s the thickness that hangs in my blood from the weight of our conversation. “Which reminds me, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” My stomach rolls with anxiety.

  What does it say about a man who can walk into the ring to face a trained fighter and not even flinch, but the thought of asking his woman out makes him twitchy?

  She nuzzles in closer. “What is it?”

  I’m grateful she doesn’t tip her face to look at me. I don’t need the extra pressure. Pulling in a deep breath, I charge forward. “In five days, I’d like to take you out.”

  Her neck stiffens a second before she lifts her head and props her chin on my chest. “On a date?”

  “Not just a date.”

  Her eyebrows pinch together and her gaze slides to the side then back to mine. “I don’t get it.”

  “Pretty simple, Mouse. I’m asking if you’ll be my Valentine.”

  A lazy smile curls her lips, seductive and sexy as hell. “Yeah?”

  “That a question or an answer, sweetheart?”

  “Both.” She dips her chin, a faint blush visible even in the dawn-hued light. “I’ve never had a Valentine.”

  A woman married for sixteen years has never had a Valentine? Every time I learn of a new way her ex failed her, the burning in my chest that’s becoming as familiar as my own heartbeat flares up. I count to ten, take deep breaths, and force a steady voice. “That’s all right, Mouse. I’m a virgin Valentiner, too.”

  She giggles and drops her cheek back to my chest. As soon as her eyes are off me, I scrape off my bogus smile. My pulse races. She has to be able to hear it from her position.

  “What are we going to do?”

  I’m still counting to calm myself down and release the lock my jaw has on my mouth. “Just be ready by seven. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “I’m excited.” She squeezes me tighter. “Thank you.”