Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1)

by Josie Kerr

  “Okay.”

  *****

  Showered and with some food in his stomach, Tig’s outlook improved for a few minutes, and then Ryan pulled up a chair and leveled a hard look at him.

  “She loves you.”

  “It’s complicated, Goody.”

  Ryan scoffed. “What’s so complicated about it? She wants to help you. She wants to take care of you. She wants to love you. She wants you to let her love you.”

  “What if I don’t want that?”

  “Then you’re lying to yourself, Tig, and that may be even worse than lying to her.”

  “She’s not responsible for me. She didn’t get me into this mess.”

  “Did you get yourself into this mess? Or is this something that you’re taking on because you feel obligated to?”

  Tig just shook his head.

  Ryan exhaled loudly. “I’m going to say one more thing, and then I’m going to leave and tell Colin you want to see him. The last question I’m going to ask is: will it be worth it? That’s what you’ve got to ask yourself.”

  Ryan got up, and before he left Tig’s small apartment, he patted him on the shoulder.

  Tig lowered his still-throbbing head to his hands. How in the world did things get so fucked up? Why was it so hard to do the right thing, and why wasn’t the right thing the same for everyone? He was so sick of the trade-offs, the compromises, especially when he never seemed to reap the benefits.

  There were two raps on the door, and Colin called Tig’s name.

  “Yeah, it’s open.”

  Colin loomed in the doorway, his face carefully blank.

  Fuck.

  “Tig, I’ve heard that you’ve got some things to tell me.”

  And so Tig told Colin about everything: all the promises that he made and all the problems with the farm. Colin was understandably upset regarding the illegal fights, but Tig was surprised at exactly why the former champion was upset. Colin was upset that Tig did not confide in him that he was having issues and that Tig did not feel comfortable enough coming to him and just telling him that these things were going on.

  “Tig, man, when you first came on, I told you that I was building a safe place, that my door was open, and if any fighter had an issue, he could come to me and not be judged, but be supported. I want to do anything I can to help you guys. That’s why I’ve got the financial services classes, the nutrition classes, the public speaking exercises. But I’m not a mind reader, and you’ve got to tell me if you’ve got something going on that’s way bigger than you.”

  Tig thought he was going to throw up. Or hyperventilate. Or possibly both. And maybe cry on top of that. No, he knew he was going to cry because he could feel the burn in the back of his eyes, something that he had not felt since the day his backpiece was finished.

  So he just nodded, sucked a shuddering breath, and gave thanks that he found someone that gave a fuck about him.

  Colin settled back in the chair, his huge frame spilling over the sides. He cocked his head at the smaller, younger fighter.

  “Why did you really leave Raptor Pryde, Tig? Truthfully, and I want the whole story, not some sanitized bullshit that you concocted.”

  Tig huffed a laugh. Oh God.

  Tig told Colin about the fights at the construction site and how Jett Raptor approached him about becoming a prospect for the Raptor Pryde team, and in a few weeks, he had begun training with them in hopes of being added to their permanent roster. Meanwhile, Tig worked in construction and bussing tables and whatever he could do to pay the gym fees.

  “Hold up, Tig. You really were literally sleeping in your truck all that time?”

  Tig nodded. “Yep. I couldn’t afford anything else, but hell if I was going to pass up an opportunity like that.”

  “But they never signed you on as an actual team member, just as a prospect.”

  Tig nodded again. “I suppose that’s my own fault. I complained to Raptor about not getting legitimate fights. Raptor was making the matches at the underground fights. He was discreet about it, but everyone knew. And as we went on, the matches were riskier and riskier, and finally I told him I wasn’t going to do another one until he got me a legitimate match.”

  “And that’s when he canned you.”

  Tig nodded. “Said I owed everything I was to him.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Colin spat. “Is Raptor still involved with the illegal fights?”

  “I hadn’t seen him in months, but when Tommy left—that’s the matchmaker over at Raptor Pryde, and he was doing the off-book fights as well—I started seeing Raptor at the fights again. I don’t think Pryde has any idea at all what’s going on. Hell, I don’t know if he knows about illegal fights at all.”

  “Okay, Tig, this is something that I was going to talk to you about anyway, but now that I know what’s going on, I really think you need to do this Round Robin that’s coming up.”

  “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming . . . ?”

  “Because you’d need to do it at bantamweight. Featherweight slots are filled up.”

  Tig scrubbed his face. It had been a long time since he’d cut to one hundred thirty-five pounds, especially as he’d gotten older and his natural walking-around weight hovered somewhere almost in the welterweight range.

  “Fuck it. I’ll do it.”

  Colin took a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll get the entries started and get you an appointment with the nutritionist, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Colin cuffed Tig on the shoulder, and as he was leaving, Tig called out to him. “Hey, Colin. . . thanks. For everything.”

  Colin huffed a laugh and nodded.

  Tig blew out a breath and refused to think about the yet unresolved issues in his life—mainly the one who liked high heels and sparkly hair ornaments.

  Charlotte looked around her new home after the movers brought in the last pieces of furniture and boxes. She felt as if she had consumed a whole magnum of champagne—giddy, light-headed, and maybe a little bit sick to her stomach.

  She had completely splurged on this move, the only move she had ever done as an adult. Most of the packing, loading, moving, and unloading were all completed by professionals, but she was going to touch everything in her house and put it exactly where she wanted it. She took one more look around and decided to go ahead and start unpacking.

  She was in the middle of the third box of bathroom items—how in the world had she ended up with so many scents of body wash?—when a knock came on her door.

  Curious, she looked out the peephole to see Em and Bailey on her front porch, grinning and holding up a bottle of prosecco and bags of take-out.

  She flung open the door and lunged toward the women, catching them a huge hug.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Charlotte exclaimed.

  “Honey, you have a lot of stuff for someone who left a whole apartment full of furniture behind. Let’s have some dinner before it gets cold, and then we’ll help you do some unpacking.” Em gave Charlotte a little squeeze, and all the girls went into the house.

  “Oh, Charlotte, this is just perfect. It looks like you’ve been here for years,” Bailey said as she looked around in wonder. “How did you find all this furniture in such a short amount of time? It’s just perfect for the house.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Well, I kind of had a whole storage unit of furniture that I picked up here and there over the years—furniture and pieces that I really liked, that were reflective of my personality.”

  Em looked around the living room. “I didn’t ever imagine that boho chic would go so well with midcentury modern in a 1910 Queen Anne, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t. I love it.”

  Charlotte pinked up at the compliments, smiling shyly. “You really do?” she asked, and Em and Bailey nodded enthusiastically.

  “Oh, let me get some glasses out. I know exactly what box they’re in, too.”

  Bailey set out the take-out on the kitchen table while Em joined Charlotte in the kitchen
to help set the table. Em rubbed her hands over the counter tops and cabinet fronts.

  “Boy, Ryan and Jason did a great job with these, didn’t they?”

  “They really did,” Charlotte said as she opened one of the many boxes that still sat on the kitchen counters.

  And then she froze. She took a deep breath and then started pulling glasses out of the box.

  “Charlotte? What’s wrong?” Em moved to Charlotte’s side and looked in the box. “Oh, honey. Is it his?”

  Charlotte’s face crumpled. “Yes,” she whispered. She stroked the singlet with one finger. “I borrowed it when I went down to Montezuma.”

  “Wait—you went down to his hometown? Did you meet his parents?”

  Charlotte nodded, then took a deep breath, and told the girls about her trip to middle Georgia and all that happened in the weeks after. And when she finished telling them everything that happened, including Pierce bringing Tig over to the apartment after the fight, Bailey let out a long, low whistle.

  “Charlotte, you’ve got to tell him how you feel.”

  “I don’t want him to feel pressured. I know he already feels very torn about having to choose his fighting career over the family farm; I don’t want him to feel like he has to choose me over something else.”

  “But you care for him, right?” Em’s soft brown eyes were sympathetic.

  “Yes,” Charlotte whispered.

  Em slapped her hand against the table. “Well, then, go get the idiot. March right into that gym, and take what’s yours.”

  “What?” Charlotte looked horrified, and Em rolled her eyes.

  “Girl, sometimes you just have to take what you want in this world. Especially when what you want is a goofy man who is scared to death.”

  “And this worked for you, I take it?”

  “Um, yeah. I, uh, essentially busted into his house and dared him to either kiss me or give me the permanent kiss off.”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. She could not imagine Em bossing that huge husband of hers around, but then again, they had gotten married.

  “And what was his reaction?”

  It was Em’s turn to pink up. “He told me he was going to eat my cunt until I couldn’t stand it.”

  Charlotte’s and Bailey’s mouths both fell open, but Em, while still blushing, just shrugged. “He likes to talk dirty.”

  Bailey fanned herself. “Wow. I thought Colin talked hot. Wowie.”

  “I need to do this, don’t I? For myself. Not for Tig or anyone else. Just me.”

  Em and Bailey nodded, and Charlotte took a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth.

  “I’m going to do this. But tomorrow. I gotta figure out a plan of attack first.” Charlotte nodded ferociously at Em and then at Bailey. “But now, tiramisu. Because I can.”

  “Yes, you can.” Em and Bailey said, both grinning widely, and the women sat down to dessert-for-dinner, and to plot. Operation Kicker was officially under way.

  Tig was hungry, he was horny, and most of all, he was lonely. And all of that made him impatient and in a rare foul mood, and Paddy’s smart mouth was not helping matters at all. Sweet Mary, Paddy’s obnoxious.

  “Ach, boyo, quick, quick, quick, quick,” Paddy taunted Tig from under his helmet and behind the punch mitts. “You’ve got heavy hands, yeah, but you have to catch them before you can knock ’em out.”

  The wiry Irishman, even at almost seventy, was cut and had the heaviest hands that Tig had ever met, as evident from the knot that was forming on his upper arm from Paddy’s demonstration of how Tig was not adequately protecting himself.

  “Again.” Paddy barked. And Tig shook his head and began. Again.

  As the two men moved around the mat, Tig moved into the mental zone where he did not see anything but the man in front of him, did not think of anything but trying to anticipate what that sneaky Irish sumbitch’s next move would be. He was so far in the zone that he did not notice that the yelled conversations of the other fighters had died down enough to actually hear the Allman Brothers song playing over the loudspeakers.

  Paddy put the punch mitts down and bellowed, “What the fuck is going on?” And Tig clocked him, hard, on the side of the head, knocking the trainer down on his ass. Paddy looked at him, mouth slightly open in shock.

  “Well, thank fuck, finally, Tig. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Tig chuckled and stuck his hand out to help a grinning Paddy to his feet.

  Tig began to talk, but Paddy’s grin grew wider, and he held up his hand.

  “Boyo, you’ve got a visitor.”

  What?

  Tig turned around and saw the most likely reason for the quiet.

  Charlotte.

  The woman that had occupied every spare moment of his thoughts—and some not so spare moments—was standing in front of him, in the same outfit that she had on when he first laid eyes on her.

  She looked beautiful. She looked like she was waiting for him to say something.

  “What the hell are you doing here? I’m in the middle of training,” were the words that came out of his mouth.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Really?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tig heard Paddy mutter under his breath, and then he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. Tig turned around, reluctantly taking his eyes off of Charlotte.

  “You need to get sorted, boyo. We’ve not got time for this shite.” Tig watched Paddy stalk off across the gym until he heard Charlotte clear her throat.

  “Hi,” she said when he turned back to look at her again.

  Tig’s eyes roamed over her figure, from the top of the sparkly clip that held back her dark hair, down to her red-soled shoes, but he did not say a word.

  Charlotte huffed another laugh. “Really?” she repeated. “Really, Tig? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  I miss you. I was an idiot. Can you love a broke-ass peanut farmer? Because this broke-ass peanut farmer loves you.

  “You look nice today.” Tig fidgeted. “I heard you moved out of that apartment. Good for you.”

  “Oh, Tig.” Charlotte stepped up to Tig, getting in his space like he had so often invaded hers. “Is that all?”

  “I think it’s good for you. You need to do something that’s just for you, for no one else. I know you haven’t ever done that.”

  “Oh, Tig,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “Honey, you need to take your own advice.”

  “What?” Tig blinked at her.

  Charlotte stepped closer into him, into his space, close enough that he could smell that perfume that she wore.

  “What if what I want to do. . . is you?” She stepped even closer to him, and Tig was completely surrounded by her presence, by her scent.

  She leaned into him, laid a small hand on his chest, and stretched up onto her toes to whisper in his ear. “On the kitchen table, on the floor in the middle of the living room, under the pergola in my new backyard and in the garden.”

  “Holy crap.”

  Charlotte laid her hand on his sweet face, nudging him to look at her directly. “Sweetheart, you just need to do something for yourself as well. Let me give my love to you. . .because you’ve already got my heart. I’m just going to ask one thing of you.”

  “What’s that?” he whispered.

  “You’re going to have to give all your love to me, too. That’s all I’m going to ask of you.”

  A slow smile spread across Tig’s face. “Easy enough, Charlotte. Easy enough.”

  And he bent to kiss her, his arms going around her waist and pulling her tightly to him. Tig could feel her lips curl up into a smile as she kissed him, and he pulled her even tighter to him.

  Charlotte broke the kiss. “Why did this have to happen during the Allman Brothers?”

  Tig laughed and lifted her off her feet and spun her around. And when they embraced again, hoots and cheering and clapping filled DS Fight Club, at least until a shrill whistle silenced the encouragement.<
br />
  “Kicker. You have seventy-two hours—make the most of it,” Paddy bellowed. “Now fucking get out of here.”

  Tig stood in the entranceway of Charlotte’s new house and grinned. “Now, this is more like it. . . more like you, sweetheart. I love it.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” Tig tugged on Charlotte’s hand. “Come here, honey.”

  She let him pull her into his arms, and once there, closed her eyes while he stroked the back of her head.

  Charlotte could feel Tig’s fingers working into her hair, loosening the complicated braid and removing the bobby pins that secured it to the back of her head. She heard the pins clatter on the tabletop, and she sighed as Tig gently tugged her hair free and combed it with his fingers.

  “It’s a wonder you don’t have a headache,” he murmured. “Girl, you got a lot of hair.”

  Charlotte chuckled, and she felt Tig press his lips to the top of her head.

  “What do you want to do, sweetheart?” he whispered.

  Now that he was here, she did not know what she wanted to do, so she stayed in his arms, both of them swaying to silent music.

  He hugged her a little closer, a little tighter, a little more urgently, and Charlotte nudged him toward her bedroom. They never let each other go; they just made their way to the bed, almost as if they were still dancing.

  Normally she would have been horrified at the unmade state of her bed and her nightclothes strewn all over, but she did not care today. Unpacking was the last thing on her mind when she set off to the fight club that morning.

  Tig kissed her once more and gently pulled the cardigan off of her shoulders and folded it neatly. Then he began to untie the pussycat bow at her neck.

  He huffed a laugh. “This blouse is so you,” he said, running his fingers over the small pearl buttons as he unfastened them. “It seems so delicate, but it’s silk that’s deceptively strong.”

  Tig caught Charlotte’s chin in his big callused palm, nudging her face up so she met his eyes. “You get tied up in silk, and you’re never going to get loose.”