by Carly Fall
Regan turned at the door, her gaze on Lila, and then she looked back at him. “I don’t have anything else to say.”
“Regan!”
“No!” she said harshly. “Just don’t, Dylan. Don’t.”
That was the last he had seen her. It was like she’d walked out into the busy streets of Los Angeles and had simply disappeared into thin air.
And now, here she was in the same building as him, in a small casino located in the middle of the desert in Indio, California.
“It’s go-time, Dylan,” Max said from the doorway.
Dylan slipped on his white and blue robe and took a deep breath while turning to Max.
“You keep it steady, Dylan,” Max said patting his cheek. “You keep it steady and you win this. Focus.”
Dylan nodded and headed to the ring.
CHAPTER FIVE
Regan got to her feet with the crowd as Dylan was introduced. As he made his way down the aisle with Max right behind him, Dylan kept his eyes forward, his stare intense on the ring despite the throngs of people on both sides of him looking for a high-five or a picture. She smiled, recalling that she used to call it his “I-mean-business” look. He climbed up the stairs and crawled between the ropes to a crowd that burst out in a roaring round of applause. Watching him make his way around the ring and wave at his fans, Regan’s adrenaline kicked up, her heart raced and she couldn’t help but clap along with everyone else.
When he came to her side of the ring, she found herself smiling. And then he saw her. He stopped for a moment and looked at her as if he was surprised she was there, his gaze piercing, and her breath caught. He gave her the half-smile that used to make her feel mushy inside—even when she was mad at him—and then moved on to the other side of the ring.
She sat down, her heart pounding wildly. Max helped Dylan get his robe off and, despite her best intentions, she couldn’t help but feel her body warm as she admired his strong, solid physique. He looked good.
His opponent was introduced, and Regan assessed him carefully. He was a few inches shorter than Dylan, but had just as much brawn. The grooves and valleys of muscle moved smoothly under dark-as-night skin that gleamed with sweat under the lights. As he danced around the ring, she detected a vibe of uncertainty from him in the way his gaze never met Dylan’s. She joined the crowd in polite applause, but it was clear Dylan was the audience favorite.
The bell rang, and she watched as they traded jabs and punches against the cacophony of the armchair boxing coaches in the audience. She couldn’t help but feel the knot of apprehension and the thrill of the fight well up within her, and it took her back to her time with Dylan.
Flat out, the guy had swept her off her feet in the beginning, and she had been naïve enough to think that she was the one for him, that the love she thought they shared was something special for him as well. At one point in her early twenties she had thought she was in love, and perhaps she had been. However, it didn’t compare with the feelings she had for Dylan, which made his betrayal even harder to take. In fact, she had been certain it would destroy her.
The first round ended and she turned to Brett, who was studiously examining the blonde-haired ring girl prancing around in little black shorts and red halter top, with a sign over her head that read Round 2. The audience exploded in cat-calls, and the ring girl smiled at the attention. Regan found the whole thing amusing, and despite Dylan being the one in the ring and all the memories being dredged up, she was glad she had stayed. She truly loved the boxing community and everything that went along with the sport.
“Great first round,” Brett said.
She nodded. If she were a betting woman, she would call it a draw and her nerves jangled at the thought. Even though Dylan had hurt her terribly, she still wanted him to win.
As she watched Max dry Dylan’s face and talk to him, Dylan nodded, his focus on Max. The bell rang, and he was up on his feet again.
The second and third rounds were unremarkable, both boxers trading some good hits. Regan noted that Dylan seemed to be favoring his left shoulder, not throwing as many punches with it as he should have been.
The fourth round was where things got interesting.
Dylan’s opponent caught him with a hit to the left pectoral and an uppercut that sent him to the ground, right in front of Regan. She stood, along with everyone else, a collective gasp hissed through the room.
Would he get up?
Time seemed to move in slow motion as they all waited. Dylan rolled over to his stomach as the referee began to count. He was maybe ten feet away from Regan, and his gaze found her. Their eyes locked, and in that moment she saw the pain etched in his face, but she didn’t know if it was from the uppercut or the hit to his shoulder.
“Get up!” the crowd yelled.
As he stared at her, the world seemed to stop. It was as if she had stepped into a wind tunnel. The yells of the crowd became background noise, and she couldn’t break the stare with Dylan. On the fringes, she heard the referee.
. . . 5 . . . 6 . . .
He had to get to his feet.
“Get up,” she said quietly.
As if he could hear her, he gave her a small smile, nodded, and got to his feet before the ten-count ended.
The crowd cheering brought her back to reality, and she sank to her seat. Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Are you okay?” Brett said over the din of roaring fans.
She nodded and continued to watch the match. The nerves she felt were just like those she had five years ago when she watched him fight. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.
Turning her attention back to the ring, she watched the boxers trade a couple more blows, and then Dylan jabbed with his right and landed a powerhouse shot to the body with his left that sent his opponent to the mat.
The crowd exploded, and a ten count later, Dylan was declared the winner.
Regan stood and cheered as Dylan waved again to his fans and then looked directly at her.
Heat rose in her cheeks, and he turned to Max. Max then looked over at her, and a warm smile spread across his face. Regan felt the ache of loss as tears stung her eyes. Max had been like a father to her, always kind, ready with a bad joke and a good hug. She missed him terribly.
“Great fight,” Brett said, smiling. “You ready to go?”
Regan nodded, remembering being backstage after the fights. She would throw herself at Dylan, and he would spin her around in a circle. Max would get his gloves off while she tended to any cuts or bruises. The three of them had made a great team.
It was slow going as they made their way up the aisle to the exit since they were down by the ring and had to wait for everyone else to file out in front of them.
Regan felt a hand on her arm and turned around. Max smiled. “Regan,” he said. “I had to say hello.”
He pulled her into one of his bear hugs. Regan looked over his shoulder and was both relieved and disappointed that Dylan was nowhere to be found.
“It’s so good to see you, honey,” he said into her ear.
Tears welled in her eyes. “You too, Max.”
She stepped away and swiped her eyes.
“You didn’t tell me that you knew Max Rodriguez, Regan!” Brett exclaimed from behind her.
“Max, this is my friend, Brett. Brett, this is Max.”
Max offered his hand and Brett shook it with enthusiasm. As Brett prattled on about what a fan he was, Regan studied Max. He was greyer and thinner than he was five years ago, and he looked a little more tired. However, his eyes still twinkled as he soaked up Brett’s praise about how well Dylan had done.
After a few minutes, Max glanced over at her, and she knew that he was asking her to end the conversation. She had been in this role before, acting as a buffer between a fan and Max or Dylan.
“Brett,” she said laying her hand on his arm, “I’m getting pretty tired. Can we take off?”
“Yeah, sure, Regan. I’m so
rry about that.”
Brett fished in his pants pocket and found his phone. “Would you mind if she snapped a picture of us together, Max?”
“Of course not.”
Brett stood next to Max and both smiled and put up a fist, which Regan never ceased to find absolutely hysterical. There wasn’t anyone within the boxing community—whether it was a fan, a boxer, or a trainer—who she had ever met that posed for a picture in any other way.
She snapped a picture with the iPhone and handed it back to Brett.
“It was good to see you, Max,” she said.
It was then that she realized how exhausted she was. This night had been difficult, bringing up all sorts of memories and feelings, both bad and good. It had been an emotional rollercoaster, and she was ready to get off.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you a minute, Regan. Privately.”
“Max, I—”
“You don’t have to see Dylan, honey, and I don’t blame you. This is between you and me.”
She glanced over at Brett, who looked confused. “You know Dylan, too?”
Regan smiled. “It was a long time ago.”
“Ten minutes, Regan,” Max said. “Please.”
Brett shrugged. “I can wait. I’ll be by the door where we came in.”
“Thanks, Brett.”
She took a deep breath to try and steel herself for whatever Max had to say.
CHAPTER SIX
They sat at the top of the wooden bleachers, watching security clear out the stragglers and the TV crew break down the cameras and lighting.
“You look good, honey,” Max said, taking her hand.
“So do you, Max.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Max, what is this about?”
Max exhaled loudly, let go of her hand and looked down at the floor.
“You know Dylan went to jail.”
The words knotted her gut. She had hoped what she heard earlier hadn’t been true. “I’ve heard rumors. I didn’t know for sure. What for?”
Max shrugged. “It don’t matter. Nothing too bad. When he got out I was there to grab him before he got himself in any more trouble. My Papa had died while Dylan was in jail and left me a little bit of money, so I grabbed his ass and moved us to Phoenix.”
Regan remained quiet, waiting for Max to continue.
“That boy is like the son I never had, Regan,” he said quietly as he leaned back and watched the action below. “I had to do something to save him from himself, and we’re back on track now, except for one thing.”
Regan’s heart felt like it was going to come out of her chest. “And what’s that?”
“That damn shoulder.”
Max turned his gaze to her.
“And?” she said.
Max sat forward. “Here’s the deal, Regan. We’ve got a shot at getting Dylan to the pros. You and I both know that at twenty-seven, his time in this sport is almost up. His biggest obstacle is that shoulder.”
“Well, send him to someone who can fix it.”
“I have, honey. Right now I’ve got him going to PT, a masseuse, and an acupuncturist. Nothing is helping.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“I want you to come to Phoenix with us. As a favor to me. I want you to work on his shoulder.”
Regan stood up as though the bleachers had been set on fire. “Max, I cannot believe that you are asking me to do this after what he did to me! Did he put you up to this?”
“Regan, sit. Please. And no, he doesn’t even know I’m out here. I told him my prostate was acting up and I needed to hit the head.”
Regan couldn’t help but laugh, and she sat back down.
“Honey, this isn’t about him. It’s about me. I got every dime I have in that damn boy. If he don’t make it to the pros, I’m going to be out on the street, and I’m too shittin’ old to be homeless. You fixed it once before, and I know you can do it again. You’d be doing this for me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Regan lay in bed, and turned to look at the clock. Three a.m. and she had yet to get a wink of sleep. Her mind was reeling from her talk with Max.
Move to Phoenix? With him and Dylan?
There were so many reasons why she couldn’t go. Number one being her past with Dylan. Number two being her life here, however pathetic it may be. She had a PT job. It wasn’t the best paying job, nor was it even half as glamorous as her last job in L.A., where the office she worked in specialized in sports injuries and she worked on a lot of high-caliber athletes. With Palm Springs just over the hill, her PT clinic in Indio catered to the elderly who had trouble with their backs and joints.
The moonlight flooded the bedroom of her small apartment through the uncovered window. The walls were white and she hadn’t bothered to even hang a picture. She sat up in bed and looked around. In the corner of the room, there were still boxes that had been sitting there since the day she moved in, never unpacked.
That was the problem with this place: she had never really moved in, never made it her own.
After leaving Dylan in the gym that day five years ago, she had gone home and thrown everything she could into her car and headed south on Interstate 5 that night, with nowhere to go.
She was born in Massachusetts and her mother had died from breast cancer when she was twelve. Four months after they had buried her mother, her father remarried and immediately started a new family. Ten months later, Regan found herself on the outskirts of her family as her step-mom and father doted on their new twins. Regan often felt like the odd person out, and her father and stepmother did little to change that. As she withdrew further from the family, she longed to get away from all of them.
When she chose to go to college in California, her father hadn’t blinked an eye—just wrote a check. Now she talked to him maybe once a month or so, and he certainly wasn’t someone she could go to for help or a shoulder to cry on in her heartbreak with Dylan.
That night she had ended up in San Diego where she stayed the night with an old college friend. The next day she scoured the Internet for a job and found her current one. Her mind had been in such a haze of heartache that she hadn’t given much thought to where she was going. She only knew that she needed to put some distance between her and Dylan, and she needed to stay in California since it was the only state she was licensed to practice in. So, she had landed in Indio, one hundred and thirty miles away from him.
For five years, she had existed, but she hadn’t lived. Hell, she hadn’t even unpacked.
She rolled out of bed and went to the living room. The old, blue leather couch had definitely seen better days, as had the ratty coffee table. Besides a used exercise bike she had bought when she first arrived in Indio and a small bookshelf that housed a few already-read paperbacks, that was it for furniture. Opening the refrigerator, she knew she wouldn’t find anything but a half-full bottle of Chardonnay and some out-of-date string cheese.
Sinking to the old, brown linoleum floor, Regan leaned against the refrigerator and ran her fingers through her hair. She picked at some lint on her plaid pajama bottoms. So this is what her life had become. Living among boxes, going on dates with guys she didn’t find all that interesting, and working at a job she found less than fulfilling.
“If you’re happy here, then don’t come,” Max had said. “I don’t want to ruin your life, honey. But, I need you and frankly, it didn’t look like you and Blondie were all that cozy together.”
No, Brett was a nice guy to have lunch with at the office, but beyond that . . . forget it.
What if she did go to Phoenix?
She wanted to help Max; she loved him like a father. But what would be in it for her?
First, she would be in a big city that housed professional sports teams. While she was working with Max to rehab Dylan’s shoulder, she could work on getting her Arizona PT license, put out some feelers and maybe get a job at a clinic that treated athletes. Or she
could go back to school to up her education and maybe work for a team someday.
Max had told her that Dylan had a big fight coming up in one month. She would have that short amount of time to get his shoulder into good shape. If Dylan lost the fight, that would be it for his career, and Max would be destitute. She couldn’t imagine that for her old friend and wanted to do whatever she could to make sure it didn’t happen.
If she did go, it would be a win-win for everyone.
But, what about her heart? What about Dylan? Could she be around him and not fall for him again?
The pain of her loss of him washed through her, the events leading up to their separation crystal clear in her mind.
Yes, she could be around Dylan. Regan just had to remember why she had left in the first place and not get tangled up in his sweet smile, hard body, or delicious sense of humor.
Getting to her feet, she was happy that she had made a decision. She picked up her phone and took a deep breath.
I’m in, she texted Max.
Max had told her they would leave the next afternoon, and she decided she would be ready to follow in her own car.
For the first time in five years, she felt a flicker of excitement for her future.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I can’t believe this,” Dylan said again as he looked in the side view mirror of the car.
“You already said that,” Max quipped.
Yet, there she was, driving behind them in her blue Hyundai, wearing sunglasses, her blonde hair whipping around in the wind from the open window.
After the fight, Dylan had gone back up to the hotel room he was sharing with Max. The hotel might have been small, but it was a four-star place. The showerhead was high enough to accommodate his height, which he appreciated as he let the water run down his body. The brown stone inside the shower offered a cocoon-like effect, and he stood under the spray for a long time. Afterward, he studied his reflection in the large mirror and decided his chin needed some ice from that uppercut. He slipped on some sweatpants and went down to the ice machine, returned to the room and gingerly laid himself out on the brown and white comforter of the queen-size bed, placing a washcloth full of ice on his chin, his mind racing through the events of the night.
