Below the Belt

by Sidney Halston

  He toed his shoes off. Her eyes were the size of saucers, and she looked scared. As she should, because he was royally pissed off. “You’re the tough girl, right?” He leaned over the bed, grabbed both of her ankles, and pulled her to the end of the bed. “You’re fearless. No one fucks with you. You don’t love anyone.”

  “Damn right.” She was out of breath. “I don’t have to put up with your shit.”

  “No. Of course not, sweetheart, ’cause you can kick most men’s asses and break their hearts, right?”

  “Right,” she said, swallowing hard. “And their stupid muscle cars.”

  “You forgot one thing, Francesca.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you’re fucking lying. You’re a fraud.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He leaned down, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her waist, trapping her and forcing her to look at him.

  “Most men see this fearless, voluptuous knockout.” He lifted a strand of her hair, then touched her lips. “But see, I got you pegged. You’re a fraud. You’re a sweet little pussycat.”

  “Oh, please.” She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

  “The real Francesca sings sappy love songs to herself, even though she can’t sing for shit. She wears sweatpants, walks barefoot, leaves her crap on the floor, eats cookies in bed—which, I might as well tell you right now, pisses me the fuck off, because I end up with crumbs up my ass.”

  “Just brush them off!”

  “They never come off. Just stop eating cookies in bed!”

  “Why are we talking about cookies?” she yelled.

  “I was saying…what was I saying? Oh, yeah. The real Francesca can’t cook for shit, can’t drive worth a fucking damn, and looks amazing without any makeup. She can actually kick some real ass but chooses not to tell a single soul. The real Francesca is insecure.”

  She moved her head from side to side. “Fuck you, Tony.” She tried to fight it, but tears welled up in her eyes. Tony caught the tears with his thumb. “Please. Just let me go,” she said quietly.

  “No.” He pressed his body against hers, so she had to stay still. “I won’t lie. I like both Francescas—even the perfect, hard-assed one. But I love that I’m the only one who gets to see the real one. I’m sad you’d think I’d hurt you. I know I don’t have the best reputation, but you have to trust me. You can’t go trying to destroy my car without so much as listening to me.”

  “I saw you on television with those two girls. I heard you were in a fight. You didn’t tell me when we spoke earlier. You lied to me.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Honestly, do you think I would cheat on you, especially knowing that there are reporters everywhere?” She opened her mouth to say something, but he continued. “And no. I am not saying I’d do it behind your back either. What I’m saying is that I wouldn’t disrespect you that way. Those two women were my sisters. We were at the beach, with their husbands. Then I met my buddies at the beach; old family friends. Some fans asked for pictures, which apparently were leaked to the media. The guys drank too much and there was a fight, but I was long gone by then. Reporters love to spin shit; most of the time it’s not even remotely true.”

  She nodded, another tear escaping her eye. He bent forward and kissed the tear away.

  “So the lesson we’ve learned today is that you’re a terrible drunk. Mean as fuck. Big-time overreacter.”

  She didn’t disagree; instead, she tilted her head as if she was embarrassed.

  “That’s cool. Now I know. I love you anyway.”

  At his words, she pushed away from him. “Tony, I can’t do this. The way I feel right now…I can’t feel like this again. I feel completely out of control. My emotions are everywhere. This is the second huge fight we’ve had in what…a week?”

  “It’s just growing pains. You’re used to putting on that armor of yours and blocking out emotions.”

  “Maybe, but still, I fell into a huge deep depression after Rodrigo, the kind that I barely survived. I don’t know what I feel about you exactly, but I think it’s more than what I felt for him, so if you hurt me…seriously, I wouldn’t be able to survive. I know it. I don’t know what’s true and what’s not, but I know that I can’t do this anymore.” She let out a single sob, then pulled herself together. “I can’t see you anymore. I just…I just can’t.”

  He looked at her, completely shocked, as a tear ran down her face. Another tear followed it, and then another, and suddenly she was crying. She couldn’t believe it. Tony moved her to his lap and held her as she sobbed ugly fat tears into his chest. He rocked her and told her how much he loved her as he caressed her back. When she had run out of tears and her head throbbed, he lifted the covers, snuggled her into bed, and held her close as she slowly fell asleep.

  —

  A lump in Tony’s throat threatened to choke him. Watching the most fearless woman he’d ever known break down the way she just did almost broke him too. She had been so afraid of crying or showing any emotion for fear of falling into a depression that she’d suppressed her emotions for far too long. She might not understand that just yet, even though it was obvious to anyone who knew her. But she was strong, so much stronger than she knew. Whether she woke up and left him or decided to stay, he was glad that tonight had been cathartic for her. It was a release she had needed. He just hoped she’d finally understand she was in love with him too.

  Before going for an early morning jog, he left her some toast and coffee and an old T-shirt and sweatpants that he knew would be too big, but he hoped she’d be able to make do. When he returned, his beautiful Francesca was sitting in a corner of his bed, eating her toast, getting crumbs all over his new sheets, looking tiny, almost frail. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I have a headache, but I’ll live.” Her shoulders were hunched forward.

  He sat next to her on the bed. “What are you going to do, Francesca?”

  She turned those big hazel eyes on him. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  He nodded and stood up. His chest hurt, but he couldn’t force her to love him. He’d already tried that, and clearly it had backfired. “I love you, Francesca.” He struggled to get the words out because he knew he was going to have to let her go and hope she’d be back. “I just want you to be happy. I think I can make you happy, but I understand I need to give you space so you can heal and figure things out on your own. Maybe my approach made it worse. I can’t force you to love me.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to stay here until the fight. Send Cain down if you want. He can train me; he can live here in the guesthouse out back. Your keys are on the nightstand and your car’s parked outside. Stay as long as you want.”

  Tears streamed down her face, and all he wanted to do was wipe them away and make the world right for her. But he’d done everything he could, and it was up to her now.

  “Where are you going?” she asked in between sobs.

  “I don’t want to be here when you leave. It’s too hard. I’ll be at my sister’s or something.” He turned and looked at her one last time before shutting the bedroom door.

  For the next hour, Francesca lay curled up in the bed and cried. When she finally got up, she noticed three little pink pillows on the floor by the landing of the staircase that she hadn’t noticed before. As she gathered her clothes, she saw first one kitten rise from a pillow and walk up to her, and then a second, and finally a third. Tony had kittens?

  She sat on the floor, and they scurried toward her, purring and rubbing against her, making her feel oddly better. She’d never had a pet before, and honestly, Tony didn’t seem like a pet kind of guy. It surprised her to see them; he’d never mentioned it to her before. She reached for the tiny little collars and read their name tags: Ariel, Bella, Cinderella. She couldn’t help but smile—the thought of her big macho Cuban with three kittens named after Disney princ
esses warmed her heart. As she held the rambunctious kittens, tears began to stream down her face again.

  She took a long, hot shower and put on the clothes she’d worn the previous night. Before she left, she made his bed, making sure that all the crumbs were out.

  —

  The gym was relatively empty, and Tony pounded the speed bag while Cain held a stopwatch and yelled, “Faster.” Tony was going as fast as he could. It had been a little over a month since Francesca left, and he’d spent most days moping around his house, eating food his mother had brought over and going out to parties. The regret from letting Francesca go was eating away at him, but he also understood that she needed to make some decisions on her own. He pounded harder and harder, until he heard familiar voices coming from behind.

  “Mi hijo!” It was his mother, Annie. “Son,” she repeated in English.

  He stopped and watched as she approached them with a small tray. “I brought ju some guava pastelitos, your favorite. Dis make ju feel strong.” She practically shoved the flaky fried guava pastry into his mouth. “Here, ju have one too.” She thrust one at Cain. “Ju very eskinny,” she said to the tall man. While he was the leanest of all the fighters, skinny he was not. Cain politely took the treat and ate it.

  Annie, who had been the picture of a doting mother as she handed them fried pastries and told Tony how much she missed him and how proud she was of him, abruptly changed into Momzilla and began to reprimand him for partying too much and for not eating properly. When she was satisfied, she hugged him, doted some more, and left the pastries, promising to stop by the house with some more home-cooked food during the week.

  “I guess we’re done for today,” Cain said as he took another bite of flaky deliciousness. “You need to tell your mother to stop with the food. You’re not going to make weight.”

  —

  Cain stood in the kitchen of Tony’s house the next day waiting for Tony, who wasn’t home. About to dial his number, he heard the door opening and closing, and then Tony stumbled in.

  “Fuck. You’re drunk,” Cain said. It had been the first time Tony had gotten drunk since Francesca left, and obviously he’d overdone it.

  “I’m not fucking drunk and I’m no fucking idiot.” His voice was hoarse and he looked green.

  “Who said anything about an idiot?” Cain asked as he filled a large glass with water and handed it to Tony with some aspirin. “Be ready in ten minutes,” he said with a scowl.

  “Ready? I can’t train like this.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Fuck you. I’m not training.”

  “Don’t forget, no one wanted to train you. You’ve been doing pretty well even though this last month hasn’t been your best. You could still win. This better be the last time you’re drunk or hungover for training, or I won’t train you. You have ten minutes and then we leave for the gym.” He took a step toward Tony; any other man would be intimidated by the Cuban, but obviously Cain was not. “Ten minutes.”

  Less than twenty minutes later, Cain and Tony were at the gym. Tony still looked green, but Cain had made his point. Drunk or not, Tony wasn’t getting off the hook.

  —

  She’d left Miami almost five hellacious weeks ago, and Francesca knew she was taking out her misery on everyone. The only thing that had changed was that within a few days of moving back, she’d gone to the local animal shelter and adopted a cat. She was lonely in her house all by herself, and she remembered that the few minutes she’d spent with Tony’s kittens had made her feel all warm and fuzzy—new emotions she was testing out. So now she was the proud owner of a big fat brown cat she named Winston.

  But still, she missed Tony no end, not that she’d admit it to anyone. Hell, she was having trouble admitting it to herself. She had cried that day when she arrived home, but then she had changed into her armor and gone to work. She would never again be the same weak girl she’d been at twenty.

  She understood that now; Tony had taught her that. The pain she felt at losing Tony was greater than what she’d felt at losing Rodrigo. Much more so. But he’d taught her to be strong, really strong. She’d been living in a fake world where she’d been pretending to be strong but all she was really doing was pushing everyone away. That wasn’t really strength; it was avoidance.

  She was jogging, as she did almost every morning. Her mind was unable to put thoughts of Tony aside—all that he had said and the many times he had said it. Somehow the Frankie who could kick some serious ass was actually the docile, sweet side of her. And the Frances who didn’t fight anymore and wore the fancy clothes…that had somehow become the hardened, pain-in-the-ass side of her. It seemed totally backward, but the truth of the matter was that both Frankie and Frances were sides of her. Why did she continue to fight herself? Tony didn’t care. He liked all those sides of her. No, not liked—loved. She was both women, and she needed to stop fighting it. She needed to let Frankie back in.

  As soon as she walked into her house, she heard her phone ring. She ran to it but missed the call. She looked at her screen and saw three missed calls from Slade and two from Cain. She also noticed that she had a number of voicemails. She clicked on the first voicemail. “It’s Cain. Tony’s fuckin’ up big-time. Thought you’d wanna know.” She wondered if it physically hurt the man to say words. She wanted—no, needed—more details. How was Tony fucking up? She clicked on the next voicemail and immediately recognized the voice as Slade’s. “Frances, call me. I spoke to Cain. Tony’s fucking up. You know Cain doesn’t do much talking, so I’m not exactly sure what ‘fucking up’ is supposed to mean, but since the man wouldn’t call and use his weekly allotted words unless he thought it was important, it must be bad. I think I gotta go down to Miami and check it out. Call me.”

  Francesca slumped down into her couch. “Fuck,” she said to herself, and put her elbows on her knees and her head against her palms. She couldn’t have Slade go to Miami when the real reason for Tony’s fucking up, whatever that meant, was likely her leaving him. Plus she was the one who’d brought Tony to WtF; she needed to be the one to deal with him. Every time she thought of Tony she felt an emptiness in her chest that physically hurt. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing him, but what choice did she have? She groaned before calling Slade. After a twenty-minute conversation, they decided she would go to Miami and stay until the fight, which was about two months away.

  Chapter 11

  It was early the next morning when Francesca arrived in Miami. She drove directly to Tony’s house and called Cain as soon as she arrived, knowing he was staying in Tony’s guest house. Cain opened the door, kissed Francesca’s cheek, and let her inside.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  Cain grabbed Francesca’s portable kennel from her and looked inside as he spoke. “He’s not up yet. We were supposed to be at the gym an hour ago.” His brow furrowed, and he looked back at his boss.

  She took the kennel from his hands and set it down. “I got a cat.” Cain still didn’t speak. “His name’s Winston.” Still nothing from Cain, so she continued to talk. “He’s very sweet. You want to pet him?” She was about to open the latch, but Cain held her wrist.

  “No,” was all he said.

  “Ooo-kayyyy,” she drawled. “Anyway, so what’s going on, exactly?” she asked, suddenly hoping the man wasn’t upstairs with a woman. She wasn’t sure she could handle him stumbling downstairs with some woman he’d spent the night with.

  “Some partying. Goes out to clubs and comes back late or drunk and then doesn’t want to train. He’s put on some weight. He’s not sticking to his diet. Won’t make weight if he keeps on.”

  “Does he know I was coming?”

  “I didn’t tell him.”

  She stood by the staircase and yelled up, “Tony, come down here.”

  Moments later, looking half asleep, his hair sticking up all over the place, wearing only gym shorts and scratching his chest absentmindedly, he looked down from the landing. “What the
hell?” he said, obviously completely surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Get dressed and come down.”

  He groaned and went back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Cain shrugged and went to the kitchen, Francesca following. He poured himself a cup of coffee, put cereal into a bowl, and sat down. Ten minutes later, Tony walked down the steps in his workout clothes, his hair slicked back, still wet from his shower, wearing a neatly trimmed full beard that framed his face nicely. “Why are you here?” he asked, his tone neutral. Probably he was trying to determine whether she was back for business or pleasure—if pleasure was still even an option.

  “Cain’s been waiting.” She handed him some coffee “Are you always late to train?”

  He made a noise that sounded like “hmph” and said, “Oh, so you’re here to babysit.” He turned his attention to Cain. “You call her?”

  “Ass outta your head, bro,” was all Cain said before returning to his cereal.

  “Any other reason you’re here?” Tony asked.

  She swallowed hard. Nothing had really changed, and telling him that she’d missed him, which was true, would only confuse things. She couldn’t love him, she didn’t know how to, and he was a jealous, temperamental womanizer. It would never work. When she didn’t answer, he said, “I see. Well, this little intervention has been fun. I’m outta here.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “None of your business,” he said, turning and walking out of the house.

  “Shit,” she said. “That didn’t go well.”

  Cain shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and mumbled, “Nope.”

  —

  “Mami!” Tony walked into his mother’s house twenty minutes after storming out of his own place. “Mami! Where are you?” he yelled.

  “In da keetchen,” she yelled back. His mother’s voice had only two volumes: loud and super-fucking-loud. He walked into the kitchen to see his mother stirring a big pot of something that smelled delicious and two brown-haired little girls sitting in high chairs nearby.