by L. G. Kelso
My eyes fell to his lap, and his rough hands resting in it, and the bolded black numbers on his forearm, under the words. A few jagged cuts ran up his forearm. Pink skin swelled around the cuts, and I realized they were new.
I stood, watching his gaze on the numbers as he got up. He stared at the ink before locking his eyes on mine.
"There's going to be a day when you have to choose to live the life you want, to let go of whatever and whoever holds you back," he said.
He brushed past me. I waited a moment. The last of the golden light ran along the top edge of the looming building. The rose bushes at the end of the courtyard faded into the dark dusk, and as darkness draped the beautiful just-emerging plants, I felt like it draped over me, as well. Whatever beauty had been going on moments before had turned cool and hidden, thanks to me.
As I walked out of the courtyard, I wondered if I would ever find the day I could make that decision.
#
Thirty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom in a pair of sweats and one of Max's shirts. The shirt engulfed me, but it was better than that dress.
"Where to?" Max asked as he held the door open. I slipped through, he followed, and I locked it behind us.
"Wherever you want. Anywhere with good food."
"How's Mexican food sound?"
"Fantastic."
He shoved his hands in his front pockets, and we walked down the sidewalk. Light from the streetlamps turned the concrete yellow.
"How did the GRE go?" I asked.
He didn't answer. I could feel him near my side, just as I could when we were fighting, so I looked at him.
He stared at me. His foot caught an edge and Max the fighter about ate concrete. He found his balance as his eyes darted ahead.
"Jeez, I look that bad, eh? I know the shirt is a little large."
Max's right shoulder shrugged.
I stopped, pivoted, and planted a cross into his arm.
His hard ass arm.
He didn't even wince.
"Thanks, ass!"
His gaze flickered to me, out of the corner of his eye, before returning to stare ahead. "Why am I an ass? I didn't say anything. And, you just proved my point. It hasn't even been an hour and you hit something again."
"Your lack of words indicated I do look like a troll."
"A troll?" He chuckled.
"Yes, a troll."
"Aren't trolls short?"
"I don't know? It's not as if I know one. Hey, didn't there used to be those troll toys with the crazy hair? What were those called? Oh my God. I look like an Amazon troll."
This sent Max's chuckle to full-blown laughter. "Maybe that should have been your fighting name. Amazon Troll."
I glared. He tried to restrain himself, but it took a few more rounds of laughter and trying to hold in said laughter.
"I'm kidding. You are not troll-like at all. I think you look even more beautiful than you did in the dress." Max came to a sudden halt, his laughter cut off abruptly.
I stopped. Dark crimson flushed his cheekbones.
His eyes briefly met mine and the red took on a green tinge. Max didn't look so good, but as just as I started to ask if he was all right, he started walking again. His eyes studied each shadowed crack in the concrete as he walked by me.
I watched him walk a few strides, stricken by his movements. Just in his walk, he moved purposefully. His steps were silent. His body was relaxed and yet ready to react. I caught back up with him.
"Were you staring at my ass?" Max asked.
"Was I, wait, what?"
Worry crossed his face and the red hues persisted across his cheeks.
"I don't know," he said. "I was just trying to make you laugh."
"You make me laugh just by looking at you." God, really, Tor? What was that? I just wanted to get that sickly anxious look out of his eyes, and that ill complexion off his face.
It worked. Kind of. He laughed.
"So, now I'm the troll?"
"You do have crazy hair."
"I'm offended," he scoffed.
"I'm offensive. You should know that by now." I tried to be deadpan, but a wink slipped in there.
He grinned. "Does this work?" he asked, pointing to a sign to my right.
I nodded and he opened the door. "Then let's eat. I'm starving and have to start the prefight diet soon."
"So time to gorge yourself?"
"Pretty much."
I walked in, and he followed. I slid into a booth. He sat across from me.
A waitress with big circles under her eyes took our order. She looked like it was midnight.
Holy crap. It was midnight.
Not that it mattered. Thirty minutes, and a few orders of chicken tacos and chips and salsa later, I decided I didn't really care about the time.
Every time I caught sight of Max's arm, his words crossed my mind.
Would that day come? And if it did, would I welcome it or run?
"All right, you have to keep me on track once the diet starts. No middle of the night taco runs." Max threw a light punch into my arm, followed by a light cross as we left the restaurant and wandered down the street.
I couldn't remember the last time hanging out with someone was this easy.
Chapter Nineteen
I rolled with Shane even though our training was technically done for the day. Jeff still wasn't pleased with my ground work, and I sure as hell wasn't pleased either.
Shane had my back, his legs wrapped around my torso, ankle hooks in. He started applying a rear naked choke.
Crap, crap, crap.
I grabbed his arm with one hand and reached my other hand around his arm the other way. As he applied pressure, the memory jogged. Trying to pull his arm off. Pain, needing to cough, not being able to breathe.
My brain started to shut off as feared seized me. Use your fear. I focused on Shane's position, all the parts of his body that pressed into mine, and onto the fear building in my chest. I pushed Will out of my mind, pushed out the panic that I had felt so intensely that night, pushed out the what-if, and focused on feeling the physical fear.
I made my move. Explosive, direct. Grabbed his foot, threw it off me, pushed his arm, slipped out of the choke, passed his guard, and mounted him.
He flipped me, getting mount position.
Hip out, hip out.
I popped my hips up, turned slightly on my side, and made space between him and me, changing the angle between us. Shane moved.
Bridge.
I fell back to my back, stupid but necessary. His arm pressed across my chest; I shoved my arm into his elbow joint and grabbed his Gi, pushing his shoulder down. I brought my heels to my ass, put my weight on my toes, and thrust my hips. My right elbow pressed into the mat, and my torso expanded up and out. The mat came into eyesight and I pushed, over my shoulder, pulling him with me. We rolled.
He released the grips he had on my Gi and flopped to his butt. He wiped at the thin veil of sweat on his forehead as he said, "I gotta call it a night, Tor. That okay?"
I nodded. "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow."
Shane stood. He slipped his Gi top off and pulled on a shirt.
"Tell Max I said bye. I have to run. I'm late to meet my grams."
"No problem. Night."
I grabbed my water bottle as Shane headed toward the front of the gym. Water dripped down my chin. I wiped at it, but couldn't stop my smile.
I had done it. I had faced the panic that had swelled up and I had made it out. I hadn't tapped or frozen.
I felt better about the fight with each gym session. True, my takedown defense and my own takedowns were going to possibly be the death of me, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. A possibility that I could actually do this.
I could succeed—rather that meant win or just not freeze, I wasn't sure yet.
There was a chance I could keep all of this, and that meant I needed to know what the hell was going on with Max and Nicole. All the worries about
walking away from Max one day, or even losing a friend and a training partner if things didn't work out, were overwhelmed by how badly I wanted more with him.
And I could do this. I could do this fight.
The front door dinged open and closed. Shane had left and the door needed to be locked. While anyone who wanted to break into an MMA gym was probably an absolute assclown, I didn't want to have to beat up anyone at this moment.
That would put a damper on the talk with Max I wanted to have. I turned back and jogged to the entryway. I untied my belt, letting my Gi top flap open to cool down. I grabbed my key from the desk and reached for the door. The door flew open.
Cool air blasted against my hot, exposed stomach.
Nicole rushed in, and I darted to the side to avoid her.
"Max! Max, you bastard!"
"Nicole—" I started, but she kept yelling.
"Max, get your ass out here!" She swayed, and her shoulder bumped into the wall. I reached out to steady her. The scent of sour vodka flooded my nose.
Max rounded the corner. Small drops of water fell from the ends of his hair. He had a towel in his hand, and his pants weren't zipped up. His face paled, and his eyes darted between Nicole and me. She shoved away from me and marched over to him.
"I called you. I needed you and you weren't there for me," she snapped. "They sent me home and I needed you. You let me down. You let me die, Max."
"You're not dead, Nicole. You're right here." Water dripped into his eyes. He rubbed the towel over his head.
"But I could have died. I could have died because you didn't come when I needed you. You send me to the hospital and then leave me. Just abandon me."
"I had to get you to the hospital."
"You should have stayed. I'll die without you, Max."
"I can't." He tossed the towel onto the desk and stepped toward Nicole. The frustration rippled through his body, starting in hands, tensing through his arms, hardening his abs, tightening his shoulders, flexing in his jaw. He leashed it, but I could still see the edge of it, lingering in his shoulders. "Not anymore, Nicole. I can't be your lifeline."
"You're a bastard."
"Nicole. Sit down."
Max touched her arm, but she yanked it away.
"Don't touch me! Look what you did." She pointed to her other arm, and at bruises around her bicep. Bruises that resembled fingers. "Get away from me."
Max dropped his arm.
She took a wobbly step closer to him. "You're just like your father. You may not believe it, but it's there. You grabbed me so hard and you broke my table."
Had I heard her right? Her words were slurred, but Max's parted lips and wide eyes told me I had heard right.
"I'm sorry if I grabbed you too tight, but you were falling through your table. You were drunk. Like you obviously are now. Come on. Let's get you home."
"No!" She raised her hand, slapped him across the face, and then slammed the bottom of her fists into his chest. "You asshole! I needed you."
The bitch.
Max just stood there, his arms hanging at his sides, as she pounded her fist into his chest.
The bitch was going down.
I pushed between them, her fist slamming into my arm, and shoved her. Hard. She stumbled, her back hit the counter, and she managed to catch herself. Max's chest pressed into my back as he breathed quick and shallow breaths. His muscles tensed against my back, and then he moved away from me.
I turned around. Max's lips pressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. His breathing increased, and his nose flared as the ragged and trembling breaths inhaled and exhaled.
"Thanks for having faith in me," he snapped. He brushed past me, past Nicole, and ran out of the gym. Cold air hit me in the face and whipped through the papers on the bulletin board. A sharp wind blew by, keeping the door from closing. Papers blew off the desk.
"Max? Nicole, sit down." I grabbed her shoulders, forced her into a chair, and bolted out the door. Max's head bobbed at the end of the block, and he kept running, even when I called his name.
#
I lay on the mats, still in my Gi because the night air had cooled the gym. Max's bag and his keys were still shoved against the wall, so I knew he had to come back. I just had no idea when that would be.
I had left the music off, since I left the front door unlocked and we had gotten into the no-good hour of the night. I replayed the events in my head once I had sent Nicole home via cab, but I couldn't figure out what I had done. I couldn't figure out what I had said that caused Max to get upset with me. I hadn't just pissed him off; I had hurt him in some way. Not knowing why and how was driving me nuts.
The door chimed. I jumped to my feet.
Max walked around the corner and stopped when he saw me. "You're still here."
"Of course. Max—"
"I need to go."
"Where were you?"
"Running."
"Do you have to leave? Or are you mad at me so you're just saying that? Work some gloves with me, please? MMA style so I can work on my takedown setups." Okay, I didn't really care about my takedown setups at this moment, but I knew Max wouldn't be able to say no to helping his partner out.
He met my eyes.
"It always helps me," I added. "Doing these things when I'm upset."
"I don't hit things when I'm angry. I run."
"And you did run. For a while too. Come on. We'll take it easy."
He shook his head and started walking.
"Max, don't leave me. Not right now. I need to know you're okay. What did I do wrong?"
"If we work, will you drop it?"
Not a chance in hell. "Maybe."
He sighed and grabbed his gloves.
I took my Gi top off, tightened my pants, and grabbed my pair of MMA training gloves that left my fingers exposed. Eyeing my mouthguard, apprehension hit me. I snagged my lip between my teeth. I didn't intend for this to get to the point that mouthguards would be needed, but Max was angry. I had done something to piss him off. And we were alone.
But it was Max. I left the mouthguard with my bag.
He met me on the mats. We touched gloves. He stayed still, so I threw a light cross. He blocked. Jab jab. He blocked, but he didn't move. He stayed stiff. I noted the tension in his shoulders, just as I had that night with Will before he lost it.
I cleared my throat, trying to get the lump to go away, and threw another cross. Still, he didn't respond. I threw a right Thai kick slowly, even though I knew he would catch my leg and take me down.
But he didn't. I hit him rib level.
"Why aren't you throwing? Or doing anything?"
"I don't want to scare you."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
I threw a hook to the body then the head. He blocked, but no return. I stayed at the close range, his body inches from mine.
"I scared you earlier. I don't want to scare you again."
"When?"
"With Nicole."
I was too dumfounded, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about, to reply.
He grunted, and a half-smile, bitter and sad, twisted the right corner of his mouth. "See? I thought when I first met you that I scared you. You were jumpy and then you ran into me panicked. I hate that feeling. Hate it."
"Hate what?"
"Scaring someone. I mean, it's fine in the ring. I want them terrified. But, I don't want my friends to feel that way."
"I'm not—"
"I thought maybe I imagined it. I saw you startle once with Shane, and you popped him in the jaw. So, I decided I was just being ridiculous and making it up. But now..."
"You think I'm scared of you?"
His dark gaze locked onto mine. "Aren't you?"
"You're being ridiculous again." I threw a close-range combo. He stayed so still, so perfectly still, it wasn't right. It wasn't Max. It hurt my chest, but not in the way the fear did. I just wanted to this make better.
"Why d
o you think that? What did I do with Nicole?"
"You got me away from her. Were you afraid that I would hurt her? You think I meant to bruise her arm. You felt like you had to protect her from me. I swear that I didn't hurt her. Please believe me." The desperation in his voice made me the ache in my chest expand.
"Okay, now, you're really being an idiot."
I did a flying backhand.
He didn’t block it. My backhand smacked him in the face.
I ended at his side. I turned quickly, keeping my body angled toward him. He didn't square up, didn't turn to keep his foot pointed at me. I stared at his profile, and I realized that he really, seriously, thought he had scared me. Telling him he was an idiot wasn't doing anything.
I lowered my hands as the light left shadows on his back. On his right shoulder blade, the shadows blended in with the ink of the tattoo. On the left, his bare shoulder blade, darkness tinted his skin in an uneven line.
I moved so that I faced his back, and traced my finger over the bumpy skin above the shadow. I had felt it one day when we were rolling. But the other blade—hadn't I felt something there, too? Two rough spots under each of my hands when I had goofed up and groped his back.
Lifting my other hand, I trailed the ink with my fingertip. Smooth, tight skin over muscle. Bumpy. Jagged. I ran my finger horizontally, and did the same with the scar on the left blade.
It was there, under the ink and beautiful design, surrounded by muscle. Another scar, identical to the other one.
I don't hit things when I'm angry. You're scared of me. You were protecting her.
"You're just like your father."
I closed my eyes, and willed away the acid building in my stomach. I wanted to be wrong.
"You are not your father," I said.
His shoulder blades tensed under my hands. In his rigidity, a soft tremble ran through his body and through my fingertips.
He had been so confident for me. He believed in me; he really did. Now, he needed someone who believed in him as much as he believed in me. And I did believe in him. No worry, no anxiety trickled through my mind. Even with his anger and hurt, once I looked at him, any trace of fear had vanished.
I walked around and faced him.
"How did you...?" he asked.
