by Anne Martin
She studied me for a long time before her face got all shocked and horrified. “Horse, are you in love with her? How long?”
I ran my hand over my face. “What’s love?”
“How long? Heaven help you. It’s been from the beginning. What was it about her? The leather corset? The leather pants?”
“She’s good.”
“Not when she goes on a bender.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“And yours was in loving someone like Trix. She’s going to eat your heart when she finds out. She doesn’t have time for love-sick men.”
I scowled at her. “Thanks, Jezabel. It’s always a pleasure to see you. If you’ve finished, I’ll call you a cab.”
She shook her head and held up her phone. “Nope. I’m not done. Nix has a very personal message for you.”
I took the phone. “This is Horse. If you’re going to repeat the idiotic assertion that I would get Trix pregnant just to make you lose, then you can think what you want.”
“What kind of stunt are you pulling? Why would you let her fight pregnant?” His southern drawl wasn’t relaxed and easy, no. It was hard and shark-like.
“I don’t let Trix fight. I didn’t notice, or I would have stopped her.”
“You’re saying that it wasn’t staged? She actually got jumped? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“What were you thinking? You’re getting into actual street fights in New York? People are going to come to find you to get camera time.”
I rubbed my chin. If anyone found me while Trixie’s family was around, it would be fine. “Is there a reason you sent Jezabel personally? You could call me on my phone.”
“She’s going to check on Trix. I don’t trust you.”
I ran my hand through my hair. I didn’t need Jezabel talking to Trix about how monk-like and love-sick I was. I wasn’t a monk, I just hadn’t had time lately for a lot of that kind of thing. Playing the role of man-whore got exhausting.
“It got good rankings,” he said, reluctantly.
“Her brother recorded it. He could have stopped that girl from fighting her.”
“She had a good look. She’d be great for ratings. Maybe put them in mud. I forget sometimes how Trix looks when she’s brawling. Nothing sexier. Other than my wife.”
“Of course.” I gritted my teeth. “So glad you called.”
“Just to be clear, Trix is not working with you?”
“No. The only thing she asked was for me to hit on her in front of her ex. I beat him up instead. I really don’t follow directions well.”
“You’re an arrogant cock.”
“I try.”
“The women had a big wake for you, to mourn your passing from man-whore to whipped puppy.”
“Did you go? I hope there were condoms filled with goodies. I bet Jezabel went. You did, didn’t you, sugar?”
She gave me a hard smile and crossed her arms. What was her game? She needed a therapist.
“Horse, if you’re trying to seduce Trix onto your team, I’d appreciate the head’s up, as a professional courtesy.”
“Are you insane? She’s pregnant. I’m trying to convince her to quit the life entirely and let me support her while she makes me spaghetti and changes diapers. It’s kind of a tough sell. She’s probably not racing again, not for you, not for anyone. It’s a hard lifestyle. She’s got to be doing the most important thing in the world.”
“You sound like an alien. Are you telling this stuff to Trixie?”
“Not exactly.”
“Good. Just, don’t. I can’t fathom the idea of Trix walking out. It’s probably a good idea, but she’s not a quitter.”
“Say that again.”
He laughed. “She’s not a quitter. You’re worried about her quitting you? It’s dangerous to be in love with someone like Trix. Your underbelly has always been too soft.”
“Yeah, Jez has already told me Trix’ll rip my throat out.” Was I so obviously smitten? I had leapt into this marriage without thinking twice about it.
“She’s always helpful. Are you still up for the cage fight?”
“I’ll be there. Unless Trix asks me not to.”
He sighed. “She won’t. Kitten hates them. I think that if Trix is done, this will probably be my last season.”
I stood there on those steps in front of Trix’s apartment and felt like he’d told me I needed to find a new job. Mick’s gym was there for me if I wanted to live around that life forever. Is that what I wanted? Any life with Trix was the life I’d choose. We’d definitely get our own apartment and a king-size bed.
“Thanks for the heads up. I guess this is my last chance to beat you.”
He chuckled. “Maybe so.”
Chapter 13
Trixie ‘Dragon’ O’Hara
Jezabel came in while I was impatiently waiting for Horse. He’d been gone for too long.
“How are you feeling?” She put a vase of daisies on the side table and perched on the edge of my bed.
“I’m fine.”
Horse stood in the doorway, his face still colorful, but not worse than this morning. I smiled at him. I’d missed him all day. Maybe I should have called him, but I didn’t want him to think I was needy or something.
“So,” Jezabel said, leaning forward to stare at me. “How long will you be stuck in bed?”
I looked from her to Horse. “I haven’t seen the doctor yet. Is he still coming?”
He nodded. “He’ll be here in an hour or so. How were you today? Any bleeding? Sharp pains?”
I shook my head. It felt so weird to talk about that kind of thing where Jezabel could hear. She looked uncomfortable. She’d given up on the idea of having a family. She stood up suddenly. “I’m here to check on you for Nix. Are you doing okay? Horse isn’t messing with you, trying to seduce you so you’ll fight with his team?”
I frowned at her. “How would that work? He won’t let me get out of bed.”
She raised her eyebrow. “I see. Well, there isn’t anything we can do about that. The man’s prowess is legendary.”
I didn’t like the way she glanced at him, like he was candy that she could buy for cheap.
“Although,” she added as she walked towards him with more sway than was necessary. “Legends are often nothing more than tall tales with very little substance.”
She gave him a weird look and brushed past him.
“Horse?” I said once she’d gone.
“Hm?” He was looking over his shoulder at her.
“Did you ever sleep with Jezabel?”
“No.” He flashed a smile that softened his bruised face. “I’m going to start thinking that you’re a jealous woman. I love it.” He walked over and lay down on the bed next to me. “Trix, what do we do if you have to stay on bed rest for awhile?”
“For me, not much. You should probably go back to Vegas and work with your team.”
He shrugged. “They’re doing individual comps and ranking well. Mac is stepping up. He wants to win.”
“Don’t you want to win?”
He closed his eyes. “I want to win the important stuff. This life is more real than racing, fighting, that whole mirage. No, I’ll stay with you until you’re good to go.”
“You don’t have to do that. I mean, you could get a hotel.”
“I don’t want a hotel. If you don’t want me crowding your bed, I’ll take the floor.”
“Or the couch.”
“Not the couch. I saw your parents making out on that couch.”
I smacked his chest. “Don’t talk about my parents. They’re so bad.”
He laughed, his teeth nice and white. “They’re happy. Whatever works to keep their marriage alive, I just don’t want to sleep on the couch.”
I tugged him closer and started kissing him. He kissed me back while his hands roved over my body. He had very good hands.
When the doctor came, he checked my blood pressure and heart rate, and
the baby’s, and then said that another week of bed rest wouldn’t hurt.
“Mrs. VanBuren, I don’t need to emphasize the fact that you need to be careful with this baby and with yourself. The baby isn’t the only one at risk here.”
I nodded and felt hollow, but when he stood up, I grabbed onto his hand.
“Wait. What about sex?”
His eyes got wide for a second. “What?”
“Can Horse and I…”
He was a doctor. He shouldn’t blush when he knew how a woman got pregnant. “Ah, nothing extreme. Probably no actual coitus if the male’s equipage is very prominent.” He cleared his throat and made a hasty exit, leaving me with Horse who had spent the entire exchange leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Trix, you’re voracious. Shouldn’t you be tired of me by now?”
I shook my head and gestured him close. He came and I tugged him on top of me. He growled and nibbled on my ear. “What are you doing? The good doctor might call this extreme.”
“Horse, I need you to touch me, to love me. Do you mind?”
He didn’t answer with words, and neither one of us spoke for a long time. He felt so good, so strong, so right.
Life became a weird kind of normal. My aunts took turns visiting me as though I needed their gossip. I could always feign exhaustion and then watch races. At least the bed rest had given me the chance to get caught up on the myriad kinds of racing. My kind was showier, usually off-road. I missed racing.
Horse would get back tired and sore in the evening, but he’d grin at me and snuggle me, telling me about the exercises my dad had put him through. My dad was pushing Horse hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. When my dad came in, he told me Horse was coming along.
I was looking forward to the cage fight. We’d all be cheering for Horse. One week went by, and the doctor came again. He wanted me to spend another week resting because of my blood pressure. That was my mom’s fault. Too much salt. I told the doctor to talk to her, and that was amusing, the poor young doctor trying to hold out for vegetables against my mother’s carb machine.
Finally, I told her that I’d have to get a hotel if she didn’t cut back on the fat, salt, sugar, and pasta. It was like I’d killed someone she loved. I hated bed rest. I hated it so much, but I tried to make use of my time, planning the garage I’d open with the track out back. It would be in Vegas, because that’s where Horse was. I still wanted to work on the assault trucks. They were the most beautiful things in the world.
Not entirely. My husband was more beautiful. Sometimes I’d watch old fights and zoom in on Horse. He’d been fighting for as long as Nix. I went back to the days before teams, when Nix and Horse had just been street fighters with good cameras. His nose used to be bigger.
“Horse, I’m getting so fat,” I said, tracing his nose with my finger that night.
He ran his hand down my side. “You’re pregnant, not fat. There is no such thing as a fat pregnant woman. I’m getting fat. Your mother is making me eat carbs to make up for you.”
I ran my hand down his chest to his stomach. “My dad’s working you too hard for you to put on anything but muscles. You’re a beast. When we go out for the cage fight next week, we’ll be able to see the baby’s sex.”
“Only if the doctor…”
I covered his mouth with my hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. If I’m still on bed rest, I’m going to kill someone. No. I’m going to the cage fight. I’m sitting right there where I can feel the spray of sweat and blood.”
“Mm. I love it when you talk dirty.” He kissed me.
I rolled on top of him and had my way with him. I was very careful, at least at first. Afterwards, I lay in his arms feeling very full, very happy, and a little bit nervous.
“Are you getting bored yet?” I asked.
“I work too hard to be bored. Your dad works me almost as much as you.” He nibbled on my neck. “You’re bored enough for both of us. I’m sorry that you’re still stuck in bed.”
“No, you’re not. You’re happy that I’m not running around doing something stupid.”
“No, I’m happy that we’re both in bed together at night, even if it’s a small bed, but I would like to take you out. We could go to a concert, Jazz for you, opera for me, or something else, sports, dinner, something. Not that you aren’t the best thing I could do every night, but this is New York.”
I turned to face him. “You could go without me.”
“I don’t want to go without you. My point is, I’d be happy going out with you, not just stay in, although if it was a trade-off, I’d choose staying in with you every…” He kissed me. “Single.” Another kiss. “Time.”
The next morning, my mom came in with the old scrapbook. I’d managed to avoid looking at that thing up to that point.
“Mom, I know that you think it was so cute when I was ten and two hundred pounds, but living through it was enough.”
She tutted and sat down next to me, like she didn’t hear me. She opened it up at the beginning, the picture of my christening. I’d been a chubby baby. She pointed at every adorable dimple while I rolled my eyes, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. I was going to have a baby. I’d be making a scrapbook of his life. Would he be a fighter or a racer? Maybe he’d go wild and be a chef or something. Mom would love that.
We moved on to the races, and then she hesitated on the newspaper clipping of the kid who crashed his car dodging a squirrel. What an idiot.
“I still don’t know why you didn’t cash the check.”
“Maybe I will.” I ran my finger over the sloppy handwriting. One-hundred-thousand dollars. N. D. VanBuren.
I froze and the world got kind of blurry and faraway. Nathaniel David VanBuren. I vaguely remembered the rich kid no one could stand, Davy Van-B. He’d been tall and scrawny, with icy dark blue eyes that always held contempt for everyone who wasn’t rich. So, why was he on our tracks? He’d never answer questions, never talk to anyone, just stare at you like you were unworthy of his words. Not that I hadn’t heard him talk. He’d order tacos, or hamburgers, and once he’d paid for me. I’d thrown the burger in his face, because that’s how gracious I’d been in those days.
I ran my hand over my forehead. Horse and Davy Van-B weren’t the same person. Although, it was possible that Nathaniel, the guy who lived in a world of impressionist paintings and first editions, was.
“Are you all right? Do you need some coffee? Oh, you can’t drink coffee. That’s probably what’s wrong with you. Herbal tea?”
I smiled at her and pulled the news clipping out of the page protector. “I’ll keep this for a little while.”
She gave me an eye. “You’re such a strange girl. Horse stared at that for a long time. Pride, Trix. You’ve always been too proud.”
I nodded. “And stupid.”
“Not stupid, but you’re afraid of being hurt, so you keep your guard up. You’re more strong than you give yourself credit for. It’s good to see the way that you love your man. I was worried that you’d never be able to open up your heart and let yourself be brave.”
“Thanks mom. I’m going to rest, okay?”
She kissed me and left me alone. I pulled out my phone and started researching Horse. Before his street fight days, he didn’t exist. I looked up Nathaniel David VanBuren and found five master’s degrees, and one picture of him, when he was a kid, at his mother’s funeral.
“Who are you?” I whispered, brushing his face. I got out of bed and started packing. I took it easy, leaving my suitcase on the floor so I wouldn’t have to pick it up, but then I had to bend over to put my things away. I folded everything very neatly until it was all perfectly packed, then I sat on the edge of my bed in a maternity outfit that he would call cute suburban pregnancy wear. I adjusted the front of the jacket and tried not to freak out. Horse had played me. He was one of those rich jerks who thought they could buy anything with money. He was also a liar. He’d never mentioned a word
about the accident. I’d thought that we were something like friends. Why didn’t he tell me the truth about our history? Did he think I’d throw a hamburger at him again?
When he came in, he took in me sitting on the bed, my suitcase on the floor, and the newspaper clipping in the middle of the made up bed.
He looked into my eyes, and there was something fierce and hard that gave me goose bumps.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why didn’t you cash it?”
“I answered that when your butler came to give it to me. I tried to give it back. I told him why.”
“You said that you didn’t want anything you hadn’t earned. But your dad’s place was struggling back then. Everything you won went back into your family. You wouldn’t have had to win the races Lucas set up if you’d just taken it. You saved my life. You walked through flames to save someone you didn’t even like. You earned every cent.”
I shook my head. “Life is priceless. And, taking care of my own family is how it’s supposed to be.”
He nodded. “Right. In your world. In my world, that hasn’t been the case.”
“Because you just throw money at everything to solve your problems.”
He bent at the waist and glared at me. “Everything that I use, I earned. The painting in my place was my mother’s, but I could pay for it with my own, made money if I had to.”
“That’s nice.”
His nostrils flared and he pressed his lips together, studying me like I was logical problem that he could solve. This was him, the real him, cold, calculating, in complete control. “Do you want to have this conversation, or should we skip to the end?” That voice was so crisp, so cold.
“Oh, wow, giving me options? How generous of you. You can sum up the conversation. That way I’ll be sure to have had my say.”
He inhaled deeply. “I love you. I love you the way you don’t want to be loved and I’m going to continue loving you with or without your approval or permission. You can’t accept my love because you’re stuck between feeling unlovable and terrified of loving someone who doesn’t value you, so you’re going to take this small lack of disclosure as a sign that there never was an us, and that we’re a lie, therefore negligible, therefore over. How am I doing so far?”
