Strong Hold

by Sarah Castille

  He missed her.

  Zack had spent so long hating their drunk of a father that he had forgotten the man he’d been before their mom had died—a man who had struggled to provide for his family, who had been devastated by his wife’s addiction, and who had loved his wife so much, he had turned to the bottle to deal with the pain when she died.

  Maybe he didn’t have bad genes after all.

  Rocked by the revelation, he stood abruptly. “I didn’t come to see you for a lecture. I can manage my own life.”

  Far from being offended, Viv just laughed. “Not very well, as I see it. You help the women in your life, but you don’t let them help you. Just like you’re doing now.” She grabbed his arm just as he moved toward the door, her grip surprisingly strong for her light frame. “If you fix what’s broken between you and Shayla, maybe you’ll be able to fix what’s broken inside you so you can get back to doing what you love.”

  “I’m not broken,” he said, gently removing her hand.

  “You don’t go through the kind of childhood we went through and come out without a few scars. But they aren’t your fault. Mom chose to take the drugs that led to her death. Dad chose to drink and take his anger out on you. Their decisions meant we were alone, and you did your best to look after us, just as you did your best to look after Shayla, and I know part of that was letting her go to make her own choices. You carry too many burdens, Zack. You need to forgive yourself first before you can expect forgiveness from anyone else.”

  “I never realized you were so bossy.” He tucked the bracelet in his pocket.

  Viv looked up and grinned. “I learned from the best.”

  19

  Shayla

  The Monday night after my underground win, the Redemption team heads to the Protein Palace for some healthy post workout treats. We buy protein shakes with extra wheatgrass boosters and big bowls of chicken and steamed vegetables. Blade Saw orders half a bagel on the side and is teased for living dangerously.

  “Good atmosphere tonight.” Doctor Death indiscreetly eyes up a tall brunette by the juice bar, and I shift my chair to the side so I don’t cramp his style.

  Sadist cuffs him across the head. “Down, boy. I thought you’d found the one. Weren’t you going to get her name tattooed on your ass?”

  Doctor Death sighs. “Thank goodness Shilla talked me out of it. She wanted a commitment.”

  “No.” Blade Saw gasps in mock horror.

  “Yes. And after only five dates. I couldn’t handle it.”

  Sadist laughs. “So now you’re a free man.”

  “Indeed I am.” Doctor Death turns to me and flashes his pearly white smile. “I was thinking candles, soft music, a little Nirvana, and maybe licking wheatgrass off each other as we do a late-night naked workout in the gym.”

  “Sounds tempting.” I don’t even try to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “But if Torment caught us licking wheatgrass off each other on his pristine mats, our lives wouldn’t be worth living.”

  “It’s not Torment he should be worried about,” Sadist says. “It’s Slayer. What would he do if he saw Doctor Death doing the nasty with his girl?”

  “I’m not his girl.”

  Blade Saw snorts a laugh. “Beating down some dude in the ring because he pulled your ponytail and then giving you a big fat smooch in front of fifty people says he thinks you are.”

  I guess having sex in an abandoned boathouse might strengthen that claim. But not after I pushed Zack away. He didn’t join us for drinks after the underground fights ended, and I haven’t heard from him since he went to visit his sisters in Seattle, although I know he came back last night. But I did what I had to do. It was too easy to be with him. Too easy to forget the past and see a future together. I couldn’t expose myself to the vulnerability that comes with love.

  Doctor Death’s shoulders slump. “Scratch fantasy number 342 off my list.”

  A shadow crosses the table. “Shayla Tanner?”

  I look up and smile at the sandy-haired dude who has saved us from Doctor Death’s fantasies. In his sharp black suit, white shirt, and navy tie, he is so out of place in the sea of sports gear, muscle shirts, and shorts, he’s got to be a recruiter. “Depends who is asking,” I say, all cool and collected, although inside, I’m a twisted mess of puzzled excitement. What would a recruiter want with me? Except for the other night, which was an unsanctioned fight, I’ve lost my last four bouts, and I’m not scheduled to fight again in the near future.

  He gives me a crooked smile and hands me his card. “Reg Knight from Radical Power MMA. I saw you fight the other night in the underground. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  My mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. Radical Power is not a small promotion. They are one of MEFC’s biggest competitors and one of the top promotions in the sport. Luckily, Doctor Death comes to the rescue.

  “She’s just cooling down after another epic fight, but I think we can let her go.” Doctor Death gives me a nudge and whispers. “Looks like Slayer has competition in more ways than one.”

  Reg and I head outside to the small courtyard overlooking the parking lot. Although busy, it’s much quieter than inside, and we sit at a table in the corner. I take a breath of cool night air and pretend I’m just talking to a friend and not an ohmyGodprofessionalrecruiter.

  “Before we talk, I just wanted to know if you’ve signed with MEFC,” Reg says. “I saw Grayson with you at the underground fight.”

  “No. He’s just coaching me.”

  “Is that part of some deal you have with them? Are they training you to join their stable?”

  I pick at a paint chip on the table. “No. MEFC isn’t involved. It’s just…Zack and I grew up in the same town. We’re…friends.”

  “Ah. Got it. Good to hear.” Reg relaxes in his chair. “I didn’t want to step on any toes or waste time if you had already accepted an offer.”

  Reg says lots of flattering things about me. He says after seeing me in the underground, he thinks I can overcome my four-fight losing streak and still have a chance at making it into the state finals. He talks up Radical Power, telling me how they are the best promotion to work for. Not only do they secure the best fights and the biggest sponsorships, they insure their fighters against injury, and they offer all sorts of benefits MEFC does not. He gets excited, and his blue eyes sparkle as he talks. He’s cute, smiley, and very relaxed despite the suit. The waitress flirts with him and brings us complimentary protein shakes. We sip our drinks under the moonlight and talk about life as a Radical Power fighter.

  “You would need at least one win for us to make you an offer,” Reg says. “And it would have to be against a top ten fighter in your amateur weight class, which would put you in the running for the state finals. We wouldn’t expect you to fight in the finals, but it looks better for the promotion if they make an offer to a top ten qualifier. Are you on a card for any upcoming fights?”

  “No. My last coach pulled me off the competitive circuit after my last bout.”

  Reg twists his lips to the side. “Carla Gordon is on the card for the TVP Promotion in three weeks. I know it’s short notice, but she’s ranked number ten, and if you win against her, you would take her place.”

  My hands tingle, and I press my lips tight to keep from smiling. “I’ll talk to my coach.”

  “Which one?”

  “Get the fuck away from her.” As if he knew we were talking about him, Zack strides into the courtyard, a man on a mission with fury in his eyes. He drops a possessive hand to my shoulder as soon as he reaches our table and glares at Reg. “What are you doing here, Knight?”

  Reg’s smile fades, and the muscles in his jaw twitch. “Grayson. I heard you’d given up the recruiting business.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  His abrupt answer doesn’t seem to faze Reg, who smiles again and gestur
es to the chair beside me. “Pull up a seat. We were just talking about the possibility of Shayla joining Radical Power.” Reg gives me a warm smile as if he’s unaware of the imminent storm. “But now that we’ve finished the business talk, maybe we could go for a drink.”

  Thump. Zack spins a chair around and straddles it beside me, draping one heavy arm across my shoulders. “Her coach doesn’t want her to go for drinks.”

  “Actually, the team was planning to hit a local sports bar after we eat,” I say to Reg. “I’m sure they would love for you to join us…” My voice trails off when Zack’s arm tightens and he yanks me against his side.

  “No drinks.”

  Irritated, I push his arm away. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “You.” Zack twists his hand around my ponytail and yanks my head back for a fierce, possessive kiss that leaves me stunned and breathless.

  A crease furrows Reg’s brow. “So…are you two together?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “We’re just—”

  “Yes.” Zack cuts me off, tightening his grip.

  “Definitely no. You have issues.” I reach behind me and pull my hair free.

  Zack snorts. “The only issue I have is why you keep pushing me away.”

  Mortified by Zack’s caveman-like behavior, I give Reg an apologetic smile. “Issues.”

  “We all have them.” He tips his head toward the Protein Palace. “Should we head back? I’m here for a few days and wouldn’t mind a chance to check out a local sports bar with the team.”

  “She’s not going drinking with you.” Zack leans across the table. “She’s mine.”

  “I’m not yours,” I spit out, at once amused and annoyed. It’s like he’s suddenly become Zack from Glenwood times ten.

  “So you are together.” Reg frowns. “How does that work recruitment-wise? Like I said, Radical Power might be interested if you get your game on again in your next fight.”

  “If she signs with anyone, it will be MEFC.” Zack gives a satisfied snort and leans back on his chair, tightening his arm around my shoulders.

  Reg’s gaze flicks to me and back to Zack. “Are you making her an offer, Grayson? Because she told me she hasn’t signed with you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Zack’s hand clenches into a fist over my shoulder. “She’s not fighting for Radical Power.”

  “Um. Hello.” I pull away and frown, scrambling to make sense of what’s going on. “We’re talking about hypothetical choices right now. And hypothetically speaking, I would consider all hypothetical options available to me if, hypothetically, an opportunity to sign with a promotion became available.”

  “Except Radical fucking Power.” Zack grunts and pulls me close again as if that’s the end of the conversation.

  “How about some respect? I don’t go around saying M. E. Fucking C.” Reg’s voice is tight. “Although you deserve it after what happened in Cape Town and Atlanta.”

  “What happened in Cape Town and Atlanta?” I don’t want to know, but I do.

  Zack and Reg glare at each other, and I realize their rivalry must go a long way back.

  “It’s a cutthroat business, love.” Reg gives me a warm smile. “You gotta do what it takes to get the best talent, whether it’s doing a little wining and dining or coaching and poaching.”

  Coaching? Is this all a game? Am I misreading Zack the way I misread Damian? “I’m sure you do.” I return the smile. No damn way am I going to let him see he rattled me.

  “Either way,” he continues, “I can’t see you signing with MEFC. If you’re together, then there’s a conflict of interest. If you’re not, then maybe Zack’s up to his old tricks, and you might want to think about that. He’s always got an edge on me when it comes to female fighters. There are some lines I just won’t cross, if you know what I mean.”

  I don’t dare glance over at Zack in case I see something in his face I don’t want to see. “I can handle myself.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Reg finishes his shake and stands. “I’m not in a position to make an offer right now, but if you can win that Gordon fight—”

  “I can,” I blurt out. “I will.”

  Reg smiles. “I guess I’ll see you inside then, and if not, I’ll be around after your fight.”

  As soon as he’s gone, Zack grabs my hand and half leads, half drags me to the back of the courtyard. “What the hell was that all about? Are you seriously thinking of signing with Radical Power?”

  “Are you seriously interfering with my professional career? Your behavior was totally unacceptable. Why shouldn’t I sign with them? They’re almost as big as MEFC.”

  “Because they’re a shit promotion,” he barks. “They aren’t going to look after you. They’ll throw you into the lion pit, and if you survive, they’ll throw you in again and again until you’re broken.”

  I fold my arms and glare. “I don’t hear you making an offer.”

  His lips press tight together, and he swallows hard. “Because you’re not good enough. I don’t know why he wants you up against Gordon, but guaranteed it’s not to help your career. He’s a snake, and he’s much, much better at playing this game than you.”

  “He seems like a decent guy, and unlike you, he has faith in my ability.” I can feel my face heat with anger. Who is he to tell me what I can or can’t do when it comes to my career?

  “Christ, Shay.” He scrapes his hand through his hair. “You’ve always been too trusting. Reg Knight is as far from a decent guy as you can get. He’s a piece of scum who plans to use you personally and professionally, and I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “It’s my choice. My choice.” I thump my chest, looking away so he doesn’t see how close his comment about being too trusting hit to home. He needs to understand that it’s a decision I have to make, and the price will be mine to pay. “If I want to go out for a drink with him, I will. If I want to fight Gordon, I will. If I want to accept an offer from Radical Power, then I’ll accept the offer, and I’ll be the best damn fighter they’ve ever had.”

  “No, you won’t.” He thuds his fist on the low stone wall surrounding the courtyard. “I won’t let him do to you what I’ve seen him do to other female fighters.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me.” I struggle to keep my voice low so the people in the courtyard don’t overhear. “I’m not the teenage girl who knew nothing of the world except what you showed her. I don’t even understand what’s going on with you. We’re professional, and then we’re not professional. We’re friends, and then we’re not friends. You’re my coach, and then we have sex, and you run away to Seattle and leave me thinking I’m back to training with Torment and Fuzzy for three whole days.”

  “I needed some time to get my head around the fact that all you ever wanted from me was physical.”

  My hands curl into fists so tight, my nails bite into my palms. “That’s not fair.”

  “That’s what you told me the other night.”

  “Right now, I don’t want to get involved. Back then, I wanted everything. I was devastated when you left. I felt like a huge piece of me was missing. I was a young girl in a new city I never wanted to live in, with a new ballet company I didn’t want to dance for, and I’d never been alone before. I always had you.”

  “And then you traded me in for him.” His voice rises in pitch. “What were you thinking? I left you so you could have a career, so you could go out and live your life, not tie yourself down to some…what? What did he do? What was so compelling about him that you would get married at fucking nineteen years old?”

  Bristling, I throw caution to the wind, giving him information I know I should keep to myself. “He was the company’s artistic director.”

  “Jesus Christ.” He groans and tips his head back. “He was your boss.”

  “It doesn’t work like that in a ballet c
ompany, and you know it.”

  I hate this. Zack and I never fought when we were together. We disagreed about things like sports teams, how long I spent at the studio, or whether my plans to run/jump/ride/dive were too dangerous—yes, they were, and I always did them with Zack by my side.

  “I know the artistic director has a lot of power,” Zack says. “I know you don’t get the job in a world-famous ballet company without a shitload of experience and a lot of years behind you. And I know you don’t sleep with a much younger, innocent corps dancer unless you’re a fucking bastard who has no morals and who misuses his power to get what he wants.”

  Anger surges inside me. Not because he’s wrong, but because these were the questions I should have asked myself, the red flags I shouldn’t have ignored.

  “You didn’t want me,” I shout, the words I have never been able to say ripping from my throat. “What was I supposed to do? It never got better for me. Every day without you was like dying all over again. Even after a year, the pain didn’t fade. I was empty inside, and there was nothing to fill that space, because it was meant for you. Damian was kind to me. He cared. He looked after me, and he helped my career. He wasn’t my soul mate, and he never pretended to be, but in the beginning, we both got something out of that relationship that made us happy.”

  If the words that spill from my heart have any effect on him, he doesn’t let me know. Instead, his eyes narrow, and he deepens his tone.

  “Do you think I felt any different? Do you think I didn’t feel your loss every fucking day? But I didn’t give up on you. I didn’t throw away a ten-year relationship on the first woman who crossed my path. I still felt you, Shay.” He thuds his fist on his chest above his heart. “Right here. And when I knew I could do right by you, when I could give you everything you deserved, I came for you, and you were gone.”

  If I had just waited, I might still be dancing. But I was looking for someone to fill the hole inside me that my father had left when he died. I’m not looking to fill that hole anymore. I’ve learned how to take care of myself.