She tilted her head to the side. “Which guy?”
“The jerk who went home with groupies,” he said bluntly. “The shorter the skirt, the better.”
“What changed?” The grey eyes were alert.
“I lost a fight,” he said brutally.
She didn’t say anything to that, only watched him as he got his coat and his bag. As they started out into the city, he was afraid she would ask him more about his past, but instead she sighed heavily.
“I’m sorry, you know.”
“Hmm?” He looked over at her, and resisted the urge to reach over and take her hand.
“For yelling at you.” One shoulder lifted. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Sixteen seemed so young to me, and in some ways, Michael is still my little kid brother who fell off the counter trying to get cookies. But he has to learn to be a man. He…found a way to deal with anger without letting it affect his school. Or us. I’m proud of him.”
“I’m glad,” Tyler said honestly. “You should be. Your brother’s going to be a remarkable man. But don’t apologize.”
“No?”
“No. I…admire it, really. You came in there all fiery, and it was clear you cared about him so much. For a long time, I haven’t cared about anyone that way. You wanted to protect your brother, and a few months ago that wouldn’t even have made sense to me. But this job has taught me a lot about that. It’s, ah…”
“What?” She was smiling as she looked over at him, and he was embarrassed by the revelation.
“Well, I guess you could say it’s saving my life.”
She considered for most of a block. “Saving you from what?”
“Success. Sounds pretty stupid, but it’s true. I wasn’t ready for it, and it ate me up. After I lost, I had nothing to live for. It showed me that I didn’t have what it took to win. I’d just gotten lucky before, I guess. They don’t get it, either, those boys. They keep getting on my case about tournaments and…”
“You only ever lost once?” Jasmine asked him.
“Yeah.” He held open the door for her and she preceded him into the little diner.
“So why do you think you just got lucky the other times?”
“Well, I was fast, but I didn’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I guess. I feel like I didn’t earn my success. It took losing to show me that.”
“Who beat you?”
“A kid I’d trained with.” He shook his head as the coffee mugs were set down in front of them. “I always thought I was better than he was. But he kept training and I got sloppy, see. Too many drugs. Too many late nights. I was skipping practice. And in the end…it caught up with me.”
“None of that is luck,” Jasmine told him flatly. She raised her eyebrows. “You were born with talent. If you worked like that other kid did, you could have beaten him.”
“So?”
She considered, searching for the words. “So you said when success came for you, you weren’t ready for it. Maybe that’s because you never had anything to work for. When you told me that you knew how my brother needed an outlet, I’m guessing that’s true. Maybe now, seeing what it means to someone else, you can see why it’s important to work for your wins—and your success would feel earned. Then it wouldn’t eat you up.”
He felt his lips twitch in a weak smile. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” She shook her head at him. “I saw you when you said you used to be good. Your face lit up and then just crashed down again. You want to get back in the ring. I’m not going to say you just run away, because it sounds like that life was killing you. But I think you’ve figured yourself out—and now maybe you want to win again.”
“I don’t even know…”
“Maybe start by taking the advice you give the guys,” she said quietly. “Michael told me, you know. He wanted me to know you were a good guy. He told me how you’re always telling them to do their absolute best on the fundamentals, push themselves until they’re tired, always striving to do their best.”
“And then what?” He stared at her bleakly.
“Then you get back in the ring.”
“What if I lose?” The words were harsh.
“You’ve done that already,” she said. Her smile was gentle. “It didn’t kill you. And you can’t win if you don’t fight. Tyler…I can’t even remember a time when I had something I wanted to win like that. But you have something. Fight for it. And—what?”
Tyler couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “I think I need to kiss you again.”
Chapter Five
“Oh, no.” Michael looked faintly queasy. “Look, I’ll go, but—”
“I’m not here to yell at you,” Jasmine whispered. She held a finger up to her lips and beckoned Michael to come closer to the ring with her.
“Oh, my God.” Michael stopped dead. “You’re the chick he won’t shut up about?”
Jasmine turned guiltily, a flush rising hot in her cheeks. She tried to bite back a smile, but couldn’t bring herself to do so.
“You are.” Michael’s voice was accusing. “Look at you! When was the last time you dressed up?”
“Shut up! I’m not dressed up.”
Michael raised an eyebrow at her shirt, jeans, and boots. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you wearing something other than your scrubs.”
“That’s…never mind.”
“Oh, my sister is screwing my MMA instructor…oh, no.”
“Shut up!”
They both quieted down when some of the boys looked over at them, and crept closer to watch the match in progress. Tyler had gotten in the ring himself, as he’d told Jasmine he was going to do. I’ve even been afraid to fight my own students, he said, shaking his head.
He had clearly been training. They hadn’t had much time for one another in the past few weeks, her with her work and her school, him with his training, but she had often brought her work to the gym after classes were done, and read as he trained. She let her eyes travel over the bruises on his torso, wincing in sympathy, and noted the scrapes on his knees and knuckles.
He had also clearly been fighting for hours by now. His steps were dragging with exhaustion, though his eyes were clear, and his opponent had all the quicksilver speed of a tiny teenaged boy. Without an ounce of fat on him, and fairly short for his age, he had clearly learned to get out of the way in fights. As they watched, however, he seemed to work his courage up, and as he danced away and Tyler followed, the younger boy came back with a punch that knocked Tyler back across the ring. There was a murmur.
“Oof.” The man stood, but he was grinning around the blood on his mouth. “Good. Good job.” There was some scattered clapping, and the boys went to retrieve their bags, a few of them throwing curious looks Jasmine’s way.
“That was a good match.” She smiled as she looked at him. “Aren’t you worried you tired yourself out too much, though? The tournament is tomorrow.”
“This is the only way I can sleep before tournaments,” he confided. “Otherwise I lie awake all night.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I’m terrified.”
“Don’t be.”
“Why not?” He looked over at her. “Do you know what it’s like to lose in front of that many people?”
“No. But I know you didn’t let yourself be destroyed last time.” Jasmine reached out to put a hand on his face. “And I know that the worst part of losing was realizing that you didn’t have the life you wanted. And so you built one.”
He leaned his face against her hand, smiling. “Sometimes I think you’re not even real.”
“I’m real.” Jasmine smiled at him, then looked over to where Michael was hovering. “I’ll be right there.”
“Stay with me tonight,” Tyler said quietly. “Come back to my place.”
“I can’t. I need to go cook some dinner and—”
“Emma and I can cook dinner,” Michael said. He flushed when they looked over. “Well, we can.”
“And pack lunches fo
r yourselves?” Jasmine asked suspiciously.
“I can’t make your crazy rice bowls, but I can make PB&J.” He shrugged, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. “Why don’t you take a night off?”
“That would be nice,” Jasmine admitted.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Michael said, and left at high speed before his face could explode from his blush.
“He’s a good kid,” Tyler said. “So. Shall we?”
“I don’t have any pajamas, or a toothbrush, or—”
“We’ll stop and get you a toothbrush, and you can wear one of my tee-shirts for pajamas.” He gave a little growl. “I cannot wait to see you wearing it.”
Jasmine blushed and laughed as he ushered her out, but she sobered as they walked through the streets together to his apartment. He’d become more withdrawn with every passing day as the tournament approached. Often she saw him staring at the wall, his eyes shadowed as if he hadn’t slept. He’d pushed himself hard enough in training that she had worried for him, at times. He would hobble along the streets with her, refusing her offer to get a cab.
She would take care of him tonight. She rolled her aching shoulders and promised herself that no matter how tired she was, it would be worth it for her to see him win and regain his confidence tomorrow. She plastered a smile on her face and looked brightly at him whenever he looked over at her.
When they got to his apartment, however, he poured a glass of wine and put it in her hand, then ushered her firmly to the couch.
“Sit,” he said firmly.
“What?” She could see the steaks and potatoes on the counter, and she wasn’t sure how long she could stay awake. She should start cooking now.
“I’m going to make some dinner,” Tyler said. He draped a blanket over her lap. “You rest a moment.”
“You’re going to cook?” They had spent their dates around the city, walking to taco stands and hanging out in the little diners between their homes.
“It’s not going to be gourmet, but I actually can cook, you know. How did you think I survived this long living on my own?”
“That’s true.” Jasmine kicked off her boots and curled her feet up under her. It felt amazing to be able to sit down. Her shift at the hospital had been much too long. “So…” She watched him as he began to chop the potatoes. “Who taught you to cook?”
“I learned to cook on my own, actually.” He shook his head. “I was terrible at it for years. Thankfully, we have the internet. I was trying to get through a steak one night and I thought, ‘I bet someone actually has steps to do this.’ Turned everything around.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jasmine cradled the wine glass in her hand and watched him work, smiling as he tossed the onions in a pan and set the potatoes to boil. “So what do you normally cook for yourself?”
“Piles of pasta and salad and meat,” he said cheerfully. “I want to try those rice bowls Michael mentioned, though. Will you make me one?”
“Sure, but it’s nothing fancy. It’s just plain old Jamaican rice and peas. My dad taught me how to make it.”
“Rice and peas? That sounds…Indian.”
Jasmine laughed. “It’s actually kidney beans. And coconut milk, and spices…it’s good. Not fancy, but good.”
“My kind of food.” He grinned up at her. “Drink your wine.”
“I’ll fall asleep if I have any wine.”
“You need some sleep.” He came over to kiss her. “Did you get your paper in?”
“Yeah.” She felt herself grin. “I got an A.”
“Of course you did. Did you know you have this ferocious scowl while you’re writing? It’s adorable.” He grinned at her as he went back to the stove. “You like balsamic vinegar, by the way, right?”
“Ugh, white people. But, sure. I’ll have some of your fancy vinegar.” She took a sip of her wine and grinned at him over the rim of her glass.
“I will have you know,” Tyler said with great dignity, “that balsamic vinegar makes a fantastic marinade.”
“Uh-huh.” She giggled. “You have any sea salt over there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a white boy.” He gave her a surprisingly cheeky smile. “You like me, though.”
“I do.” She shook her head to watch him. He’d cleaned the blood away, but he was still covered in bruises and scrapes. Even so, he was one of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen in her life. That he was with her—that he wanted to be with her—was something that still didn’t make any sense to her.
As if sensing her thoughts, he looked up at her.
“I’m so happy with you.”
“It’s only been four weeks,” Jasmine admonished him. At his raised eyebrow, she felt herself grin. “I’m happy with you, too.”
“Because we’re perfect for one another,” he said precisely. “See, you’re smart and pretty, and I like smart, pretty people. It’s uncanny.”
Jasmine snorted a mouthful of wine up her nose and reached frantically for a napkin.
“Sorry, sorry.” He came over to kiss the top of her head, and then knelt by her side. “What I mean to say is…I’ve never actually had anyone believe in me. My coach took me on because he thought I could win without him having to do anything. My parents…well, never mind about them. My teachers thought I was a lost cause. And I…well, I tried to live up to that.” He shrugged his shoulders and swallowed. “I did everything I could to disappoint them. Maybe I thought it was funny. Maybe I thought that if they were so determined to convict me, then I’d just be that person and not give a damn about any of it.
“You’re the only one who has looked at me, looked at what I was too afraid to admit I wanted, and ask why I wasn’t working for it. Maybe it means nothing to you—but it means a lot to me. I know it means a lot to Michael, too. I’ll bet it means a lot to your little sister.”
Jasmine reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“We’re going to find you a dream,” Tyler promised her. He laid his forehead against hers. “Something you really want to do with your life. Maybe it’ll be nursing. But whatever it is, we’ll find it. And I’ll be there whenever you need encouragement to go for it.” He kissed her. “And I’ll cook you dinner.”
“Every night?”
“If you want me to.”
Chapter Six
Even in the locker room, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Tyler sat on the bench and sank his head into his hands. He could remember listening to this sound before, back when it only fired him up. His words to Jasmine rang in his ears: I did everything I could to disappoint them. It hadn’t just been his teachers and his parents. He thrived off the energy of thinking that the world hated him and wanted to see him lose. When he went into the ring, it had been with the assumption that everyone there wanted to see him get knocked out—and he wasn’t going to let them win. He was going to disappoint them.
Jasmine was out there today, her and all the guys from the gym. There were people in the crowd from his neighborhood, who’d stopped to ask if he was the Tyler that was fighting in the tournament coming up. These guys knew boxing from the old days, from growing up like he had, fighting anyone and everyone. And as soon as he went out there and started to lose, they were going to know he was a fraud and there was going to be pity in their eyes every time they saw him afterward.
He was shaking. He wanted to grab his bag and run. Better to be a coward and have them believe he could have won, after all, than have them see him lose. Everyone was out there. His old coach was out there, even—but for the other guy.
Drake. Tyler shook his head. The kid had kept training. Tyler supposed he had kept training, too, honing his eyes to see new techniques and working his body to the limit every day before class and after class. He’d spent his mornings running down the familiar roads and lifting weights in his tiny living room, but surely that wasn’t the same.
Unless…well, maybe it was.
You’ve lost before, and it didn’t kill you.
So what
if they all thought he had lost it? He stood up, bouncing on the balls of his feet to loosen the muscles. So some of them expected him to win. Hell, some of them probably did hate him. But this time, he wasn’t here for any of them. He was here because he found a pure, unmatched beauty in the art of the fight. He was here because the woman he loved had believed he could do this.
And he had better win, because it was going to be damned awkward to tell her how much he loved her if he had just lost. It would be too demoralizing. It was scary as hell anyway, and he needed all the help he could get. He wondered what she would say, and imagined her telling him that it was too early. She would tell him that, too. She would say it had only been a few weeks.
He already knew his answer to that: I know I’m going to love you. I don’t know how I know, but I know it. He knew it didn’t make sense. But he also knew it was true. He pushed his way out of the locker room and into the deafening roar, and felt a smile stretch across his face. He did not look for Jasmine; he could feel her there, believing in him. He did not look for the guys—he could hear them yelling his name, and it made the blood pound in his chest. He’d never had anyone in the stands cheering for him before.
He’d never given back before. He’d never taught, or helped, or been kind. And he was surprised to find that the thought of the past few months warmed him more than the thought of victory.
He sized up Drake as he stepped into the ring. They boy was taller now, and his shoulders were broader. He’d been training hard, that much was clear. But there was a sleekness to his gear, a smoothness to his skin, that suggested he’d been training in an elite gym, pushing himself to the limits on shiny machines while never getting down and dirty. Tyler allowed himself a lazy smile.
When the bell went, he waited, and saw the flicker of consternation on Drake’s face. Once Tyler had been impulsive, always rushing in. He had no defensive mode then, and Drake had taken full advantage of that. It was as if the man had expected that Tyler would come back knowing nothing new.
Jocked Up: Sports Romance (A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance) Page 23
