Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

  “Where to?” he asks after he climbs into the car beside me.

  “222 Foster Street in the Lower Haight. You can just drop me off. I’ll be at the gym later today, so I’ll probably see you there. I’m going to watch the tapes of my old fights to see what I’ve been doing wrong.”

  “You’re not going to the gym.” He starts the engine, and the quiet parking lot is suddenly filled with sound. “I’m taking you home to rest. That’s what the doctor said.” His voice drops to a low rumble. “Do I need to come inside and tie you to the bed to make sure it happens?”

  All my blood rushes down to where blood shouldn’t rush when you’re sitting in a car beside a sexy hunk of male perfection who has just spent all night beside you in the hospital.

  “Um…no. That’s okay.” I shift uneasily in my seat, wondering why someone invented panties and how much cooler things would be down below without them. “And actually, he didn’t say I had to rest. He just said ease up on the training.”

  “He meant rest.” Zack peels out of the parking lot like we’ve just robbed a bank, tires screeching around the corner. Then he blasts down the road.

  “I’m curious.” I gasp when he narrowly misses a woman with a baby stroller. “I was going to ask this question on the way to the hospital, but I was busy holding on for dear life. Why did you settle for the Acura if you wanted to drive like you’re in the Indy 500?”

  “They were out of Indy cars.”

  “Hate it when that happens.” I rub my hand over my forehead as we weave through traffic at the speed of light.

  “You okay?” He drops one hand to my thigh, his warmth seeping through my jeans.

  “Yeah. Mostly tired.” We drive in silence for a few blocks and narrowly miss cars, pedestrians, motorcycles, and almost run a red light. I can tell from the way he nibbles on his bottom lip that something is bothering him, simmering under the surface. He’s distracted, and I am almost about to tell him to put both hands on the steering wheel when he squeezes my thigh.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not much since I took the painkillers the doctor gave me.”

  He pats my thigh. “I meant your leg. I saw the scars.”

  My body tenses even though I should have known the question was coming. Although I asked him to step outside when the triage nurse asked me about past injuries, he would have seen the scars at the gym and again when I was walking around in my hospital gown.

  “Sometimes,” I say honestly. “I still have the pins in it. I’ve been afraid to go through the surgery to get them out. The specialist said they could stay in, so I just live with it.”

  He shifts in his seat, and his hand tightens on my thigh. “What happened?”

  “I fell down a flight of stairs,” I say, giving him the half-truth that I’ve repeated so many times, I almost believe it. “I broke my leg and a couple of other bones, too.”

  “Is that why you don’t dance anymore?”

  “Yes.”

  He draws in a ragged breath. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to give up your dream.”

  Hard doesn’t even begin to describe waking up in the hospital alone and being told that the life you have known since you were three years old is over, that you will never dance again or feel the music lift you and carry you across the stage. All the blood, sweat, and tears I shed were for nothing because I trusted another man, and I was betrayed again.

  “It led me out here, so I guess it turned out okay in the end. I love fighting and training at Redemption, and I enjoy my job. I have a new dream now. I’m going to be a professional fighter, like you were.”

  He reaches for my hand, threads his fingers through mine. “I should have been there for you.”

  If Zack had been there, Damian wouldn’t have found me crying in the changing room after rehearsal one night. He wouldn’t have held me and soothed me and said all the kind words I needed to hear. He wouldn’t have insisted on taking me out for coffee, making me laugh, showing me the beauty of New York. I wouldn’t have fallen for him and married him. If Zack had been there, I would still be dancing.

  “Did he look after you?” he says into the silence.

  “Who?”

  “Your husband.”

  “Mom and Matt were there. Mom stayed in the hospital with me, because I had casts on my arms—”

  “Jesus Christ.” Zack yanks the steering wheel to the side, and moments later, we are parked behind a gas station. At this early hour, there is no one at the pump, and the cashier is inside watching TV.

  “What the hell kind of fall was it?” He scrubs his hands through his hair. “How high were the stairs? Were they concrete?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Shay.” His voice cracks, breaks. “Please. Tell me. I need to know.”

  With a sigh, I unclip my seat belt and turn toward him. If this is what it takes to get me home, I’ll give him the details I gave Torment when I first joined the gym. “I broke my right arm, some bones in my left hand…”

  You won’t be calling him now, will you?

  “And a few ribs…”

  Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Kick. You’re still in love with him. Kick. All those fucking years and you couldn’t let him go. Kick.

  “My left shin…”

  I’ve been practicing my swing.

  “I had a few bruises, a concussion, broken nose, black eyes…”

  I made you what you are, and I can take it away. No one wants a broken, ugly ballerina. If I can’t be part of this world, neither can you.

  “And, of course, my leg…”

  You want to go, bitch? I’ll let you go. I’ll let you go to fucking hell. Forever.

  I lean back in my seat. “Can we go home now?”

  Silence. And then, “Your husband. Where was he?”

  Your husband has been arrested. He is in jail and faces multiple charges in connection with the assault. If he makes bail, you may wish to get a restraining order…

  “Away.”

  Zack shouts a string of expletives and pounds on the dash. This isn’t just about me, I realize. It’s about him. He protected me from the first day we met, and it’s killing him that he wasn’t there to protect me when I needed him the most.

  “Stop it,” I shout over the noise. “Enough. It’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Why the fuck did you marry him?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you wait for me? It was one year. You acted like what we had was nothing, like what we had never mattered.”

  Now it’s my turn to get angry. “Of course it mattered. You were everything to me. But what did you expect me to do? We had made a plan for the future, and you just threw it away without even talking to me. Did you think I’d go to San Diego and sit around alone, waiting for you to achieve your dreams and forget about mine?”

  “I left because I loved you,” Zack says. “I found out about New York and I knew it was the only way to make you go. I thought you’d forgive me when you realized it was the right choice, and we’d pick up where we left off. But that clearly wasn’t the case, because you didn’t just jump into another man’s bed right away; you got married. We never had a chance.”

  How can he be so clueless? I feel like my sweet Dr. Jekyll who took me to the hospital has suddenly turned into the evil Mr. Hyde. Pushing open my door, I step out of the car. “I can’t even believe this conversation. I’m calling a cab.”

  “Don’t run away from me.” Zack exits the vehicle and grabs my hand. “I want to know. What was it about him that made it so easy for you to move on? Was it that he had money? Or a college degree? Or was it his family? I’m pretty damn sure he wasn’t a high school dropout who grew up in a trailer park with a drug addict for a mother and an abusive alcoholic for a dad.”

  “Don’t.” My hand flies to
my throat where my dragonfly necklace is tucked under my shirt. “I missed you so much, I couldn’t breathe. Everything reminded me of you. Every dance. Every song. I saw you on every corner. I kept hearing your voice on the street. My heart shattered the day you left me, and it has never been the same. I just wanted the pain to end.”

  “It never ended for me.”

  Zack cups my face between his hands and kisses me. His lips are soft and sweet and painfully familiar. My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I melt against him. I don’t want to kiss him, but I do. I move my mouth against his, explore the painfully familiar seam of his lips with my tongue. He tastes of coffee, bitter and sweet, and I am lost in a sea of emotion so deep, I don’t know if I’ll find my way home. His hands wrap around me, pulling me in, and the risk of getting swallowed in his embrace wakes me up. I step back, tear myself away, my chest heaving.

  “You can’t do that.” A wave of anger surges through me, disappointment that I have been so weak when I have spent years learning how to be strong. I force myself to remember how I felt the night he left me, the hollowness that consumed me in the weeks and months that followed, and the vulnerability that left me open to a relationship that almost killed me. “I can’t do that. We can’t go back, Zack. Things can’t be the way they were.”

  His face smooths to an unreadable mask. “It won’t happen again.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  He draws in a ragged breath and holds open my door. “I’ll take you home.”

  I get in the car only because I don’t want to stand in a parking lot at six in the morning trying to find a cab. Zack settles in his seat, and a few minutes later, we are back on the road. But something has changed. I am aware of him now in a way I wasn’t before. I can feel the tension in his body as if it were my own. I can taste him on my lips. His warmth lingers on my skin.

  “You hate me, don’t you?” he asks, the tension in his voice belying his calm demeanor.

  “I could never hate you. You’re still a part of me. But you hurt me so badly, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

  “You recovered from your accident.” He drops his hand to my thigh, tentatively this time, but I don’t push him away. After what happened between us, I need this connection even though it might be the last time we’re together. He left me once. No doubt he’ll leave me again.

  “That’s different. I had Redemption.”

  He pulls up in front of my apartment, his face thoughtful. “Maybe I need Redemption, too.”

  9

  Zack

  Zack heaved himself off the mat, blood dripping from his forehead, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled himself to stand. His fingers gripped the cold metal wire of the fight cage, and his chest constricted with each rasping breath.

  No pain. No blood. No guts. No glory.

  Except for the first time in his MMA fight career, glory was slipping out of reach.

  Across the cage, his opponent, Tadashi “the Mountain” Okami, licked his lips, his gaze flicking to the championship belt on a table in full view of the cameras. The thunderous crowd in the arena, only a small fraction of the millions who were live-streaming the big event, bayed for blood.

  Zack’s blood.

  After watching Zack win the MEFC middleweight title belt three years in a row, the fans wanted something new. And Okami had promised to provide. After a brutal knockout loss, the aging five-time MEFC light heavyweight champion had shed some serious weight to go after Zack’s middleweight belt. And right now, four minutes into the fight, he was up on points and looking as fresh as a goddamned new recruit.

  Okami’s dark eyes flicked to Zack’s broken arm, and a smirk played over his tanned, broad face. If either of them called out Zack’s injury, the ref would end the bout, giving Okami a technical knockout victory. But Okami wasn’t the kind of fighter who would be satisfied with a technical win. He wanted a fight to the finish, and he would keep going until the end. It was up to Zack. Fight or fall?

  A choice that was no choice. Zack Grayson had never walked away from a fight. Not even when he was six years old and facing an opponent three times his size. He shut out the raucous cacophony of the bloodthirsty crowd and drew in a lungful of thick, humid air, scented with sweat and fear, stale beer and cigarettes.

  Okami grinned.

  Zack cracked Okami with a right hand down the pipe. And another to the body. He dove in deep with a single leg but couldn’t get a takedown. Okami feinted right, then lunged for Zack’s broken arm.

  Pain fuzzed Zack’s brain, and his legs trembled as Okami landed blow after blow on his head and broken arm. His vision became hazy, his mind shifting between past and present.

  Memories assailed him. Another life. Another beating. Screams. Blood.

  His vision sheeted red, and he launched himself across the fight cage with the last of his strength, throwing knees and elbows as his body moved on autopilot, doing what it was trained to do. Protecting his left side, he drove a surprised Okami into the fence, dropped level for a single to take Okami down. Quick to his feet, Okami landed a grazing head kick, knocking Zack to the side. Zack poleaxed his opponent with a short, chopping right hand to the chin. Okami’s head bounced backward, and his legs folded under him from the knee. He cursed, and Zack followed him down for the final punch.

  Winner by knockout…Zack “Slayer” Grayson!

  Even through the haze of bloodlust, the fog of memory, and the thrill of victory, Zack knew something wasn’t right. He knelt beside Okami, put his hand on his opponent’s chest, waited for a breath.

  He prayed, although he wasn’t a praying man.

  And then he shattered.

  * * *

  Zack awoke drenched in sweat from his nightmare. His phone buzzed beside him on the night table. He reached for it, trying to clear his head. On the road for most of the year, he had become used to having to orient himself in strange hotel rooms every time he awoke, but when the nightmares came, he needed a few extra seconds to pull himself out of the darkness.

  Pushing himself to sit, he grabbed his phone, surveying the rich woods and jewel tones of the penthouse suite. Although he was now a recruiter and not an MMA star, MEFC still treated him well. No doubt because they expected him to make a comeback and they didn’t want him jumping ship for another promotion.

  “Where the hell are you?” Kip Wilson, VP of MEFC and Zack’s boss, never wasted time on pleasantries.

  “San Francisco.”

  “You’re supposed to be in Rio.”

  Zack swung his legs over the side of the bed and shook off the last remnants of the fight that still haunted his dreams.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Well, what the fuck happened?”

  Shayla had happened. And although it was clear she still hated him, he couldn’t stay away.

  It made no sense. He’d been hurt, too. First, when he’d found out from Matt that she’d been hiding her New York acceptance from him. And then again, after they’d finally made love and he’d suddenly been hit with the enormity of what she had entrusted to him. She was his. Body and soul. But was he really ready for that responsibility? Was he worthy? What if he turned into his father?

  The two hurts had armored his heart, making it easier to justify cutting her loose. But they were nothing compared to the gut-wrenching moment, just over a year later, when Matt told him she was married. And even that had paled in comparison to the pain he had suffered when he went to New York and saw her with her new husband from across the street. He knew that he shouldn’t try to find her, but part of him couldn’t believe she had moved on so quickly, that the promises they had made to each other were a lie.

  After their kiss last night, he was more confused than ever. He had felt their connection, the electric current between them that was as strong now as it had been when t
hey were together. Despite the fact that she had chosen another man, that bond was why he had never been able to move on. Last night, she had made it clear, she had no interest in getting back together with him, and he couldn’t blame her. But what the hell was he supposed to do when his heart wasn’t going to let him walk away?

  “Something personal came up. I needed some time to sort it out.”

  “I need you in Rio now,” Kip barked. “There’s a hot new fighter storming up the amateur circuit, and the vultures are circling. I know of three other promotions who have recruiters down there already. Our stable is getting smaller, and market share is dropping. The higher-ups are worried, Zack. We’ve just lost our two biggest stars to injuries and another twenty to the competition. And on the women’s circuit, we’re down to only thirty female fighters worldwide.”

  Zack knew the drill. They were always losing fighters, always desperate to find the next big star. He’d go to Rio, recruit the fighter, and then Kip would send him to another country, and then another… It didn’t end. But then he’d never wanted it to end. Recruiting gave him the financial security he needed to care for his sisters, and the constant travel kept him too exhausted to think about the man who had lost his life in the cage.

  Although he had been cleared of any negligence or wrongdoing after the MMA governing body discovered Okami had entered the ring against doctor’s orders and fully aware of a potentially fatal subdural hemorrhage, Zack couldn’t bring himself to fight again. He had been pushed past his limits in the cage that night—of pain, of endurance, of restraint—and he’d lost control. Although no one blamed him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would have noticed that something was wrong if he hadn’t let loose the beast inside him, his father’s only legacy to his son.

  “Zack? Are you listening? Rio. I need you on the next plane. This kid is gold. He’s going to be the next you.”

  He hoped not. After years of beatings from his father, school fights, bar brawls, and ambushes by Matt and his friends, he’d developed the kind of street-fighting skills that gave him an edge in MMA. He’d trained hard in Seattle, motivated at first by the need to prove his worth, and then for the amateur sponsorships that paid the medical bills after Viv had been diagnosed with leukemia. After a winning streak that wouldn’t quit, he was recruited by MEFC. And then everything changed.