Heat

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  “Mallory, don’t. I know my body. I’ve been worse. Save the ambulance and the medical staff for someone who really needs it. The last thing I want to do is spend all night in an emergency room.”

  Mallory couldn’t blame him for that. She looked into his eyes. They were clear and he was speaking better. She sighed. “All right, have it your way.” She turned to the EMTs. “I’ll take care of him. Colleen probably needs you on standby anyway.”

  “Let’s hope not,” the other EMT said. They left the locker room to rendezvous with whatever medical staff was left.

  “Brain hemorrhage.” Mallory started counting on her fingers. “Seizure, fatal brain swelling …”

  “These are a few of my favorite things,” Max warbled, singing in a falsetto. “Can I lie down?” he asked in his normal voice, putting the ice bag on his head.

  “You could have lain down on the stretcher,” Mallory said, but she helped him lie down on the padded table. “Where exactly did he hit you?”

  “Cheek, nose, chin. Gut. I held my own. I took a series of bad hits. I didn’t expect him to come at me like it was the championship on the line. I figured we would put on a good show and have a good time. I didn’t go down easy.”

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  He grunted as she took off the ice bag and got a better look at his injuries.

  “I just don’t want you to think I got my ass handed to me. I didn’t hold back. I just didn’t want it as much as he did.”

  “Want what?” Mallory peeled back the butterfly bandage. “Yeah, that’s going to require stitches—otherwise you’ll get a bad scar.”

  “The win. Prize fighting isn’t my thing. I’m not in the martial arts for the trophies. Or the glory.” He tested his cheek with his fingers. “Anyway, chicks dig scars.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re in bed for two weeks if you don’t get it stitched up.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Max said, and dropped his hand off the table to feel the curve of her hip. “Weren’t we doing this a few hours ago? You were wearing less clothes then.”

  “I think you’re fine.” Mallory twitched her hip to dislodge his hand.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “Did you lose consciousness?”

  “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Oh, you mean in the ring.”

  “Max, please. I’m worried.”

  He reached out and held her hand. “I’m a tough guy.”

  “Answer the question.”

  He sighed. “I blacked out for a moment.”

  “You have a concussion.” She lay her palm on his chest.

  “Does this mean you are going to spend the night with me and wake me up to ask me who and where I am?”

  “You’ve done this before? The concussions stack, you know. It gets worse if you’ve had more than one.”

  “I’m sensing a crimp in our evening plans.”

  “Try for the next week at least.”

  Max groaned, but Mallory didn’t think it was from the injuries.

  “If you’re not going to the hospital, I’m going to have to stitch you up. I don’t have any local anesthesia.”

  “Doc Parks should have some. You can send him in or see if Istvahn will clear you and then get it from him.”

  “Thank you for not telling me you’ll tough it out.”

  “I don’t enjoy pain. Besides, the EMTs probably have some supplies. I’m not an idiot.”

  Mallory made a noncommittal grunt. “You stay here. Don’t move off this table. I’ll be right back.”

  “I don’t think I’m up for the Hot Spot tonight,” he mumbled. “Can you shut the lights off when you leave?”

  “It’ll be too dark in here.”

  “No such thing.” He threw an arm over his eyes. “Ow.”

  “I really think you should have an overnight stay in the hospital.”

  “Hate those places.”

  “Why?”

  “Germ factories.”

  “When was the last time this place was hosed down with disinfectants?”

  He put the ice bag over his face and hooked his arm over it.

  “If I don’t like what I see tonight, you’re going into the hospital,” she warned him.

  “Be fine,” he mumbled.

  “I don’t like this,” Mallory sighed and stuck her head out the door. The paparazzi, or whatever they were, were gone and two of Istvahn’s men remained. She couldn’t tell if they were the same guys that had come in with them.

  “Excuse me?” she asked the one on the left. “Would you stay with Max while I go find Dr. Parks?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “I don’t need a babysitter. I just need the damn lights off.”

  Mallory rolled her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  She followed the noise of the crowd to the arena and was outraged that there was still a match going on. Walking up to the ring, she was blocked by another two of Istvahn’s men.

  Did they all shop at the same tailor or did Couture sew their own uniforms?

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. You can’t get any closer.”

  “I need to find Dr. Parks.”

  “He’s in the back.”

  “I was just in the locker room with Max. Parks isn’t there. Where are the EMTs?”

  “They’re with Parks. They’ll get to Max soon,” the security guard said.

  “I’m a doctor. I can do the stitches. I just need the equipment. I’m Colleen’s sister, if you want to check me out.”

  One of the guards looked up and to his right. Mallory followed his gaze and saw Colleen, looking stressed, pacing the box she was in and having an angry conversation on her cell phone.

  “I’m not disturbing her,” the guard said.

  “Don’t blame you.”

  Colleen looked down and saw her. She crooked her finger at her in a “come here” gesture.

  Mallory shook her head and mouthed “later.”

  Colleen mouthed back “please.”

  “Shit, let’s make this quick,” the guard said. “The natives are restless tonight. I don’t trust this crowd.”

  Mallory was escorted up to the box seat area.

  “This is a clusterfuck,” Colleen said. “Torres broke his orbital bone.”

  Mallory winced.

  “He could have lost his sight. He could have died. What was I thinking? I don’t know anything about sports. I thought it would be like putting on a fashion show, only with punching. Hell!” Colleen downed a shot of whiskey and poured herself another one. “Frank’s leg is broken. I heard the snap from up here. It sounded like a gunshot.”

  Mallory looked down at the ring. She doubted Colleen would have heard anything but the roar of the crowd. “You should break this up. Send the people home. Keep the fighters safe.”

  “This is the main event going on now. It’s the last match. I was afraid the crowd was going to riot. I spoke to both fighters before their match. No blood and I would double their purses.”

  “Do you have that much money to burn?”

  “It’s not how I wanted to spend the money, but in the end, if I run short I’ll rob Peter to pay Paul.”

  “What about Mary?”

  “She earns her own keep. And thank God for that bitch. She keeps us afloat most months.” Colleen winked at Mallory.

  “I hope you’re not Mary.”

  “I’m getting too old for that shit,” Colleen said and poured herself another drink. “Want one? I’d kill for a cigarette.”

  “No, I’m going to stitch up Max. And you’re not going to ruin ten years of hard work over a minor catastrophe, are you?”

  “It’s tempting,” Colleen said. “At least Kimura is happy with the advertising.” She tilted her head back and moaned at the ceiling, “I can’t believe I was so stupid as to trust Trent.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “You know, I should have known he was in the casino’s back pocket. Damn
it!” She slammed her hand on the table. “You’d think with my Vegas experience I would have been more careful.”

  “Trent was a special kind of asshole. Istvahn tossed him out.”

  “Good.” Colleen rubbed the bridge of her nose. “He said he ‘used to work’ for the Indian casinos. His references checked out.”

  “You think he fired up the fighters and the crowd deliberately.”

  “I know he did. This wasn’t what I wanted.” She threw her arm out to encompass the arena. “I don’t like seeing people hurt. Even the ring girls had to duck flying bottles. My security staff is going to kill me for this. And Torres and Lewis … those poor boys.” Colleen looked up at Mallory, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Colleen, these guys are professional fighters. They knew the risks.”

  “And Max—he was totally unprepared for this. I should have known. But this was for charity!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Trent was trying to ruin me. And if I didn’t have other irons in the fire, this just might have been the end of Couture.”

  There was a quick rap on the door and Istvahn poked his head in. “Chase Fairwood wants to see you.”

  “Chase?” Mallory and Colleen screeched.

  “What does that asshole want?” Mallory said.

  Colleen shrugged, looking like she just got the air knocked out of her.

  “I take it that’s a no?” Istvahn asked.

  “Is he here tonight? I didn’t see his name on the VIP list.” Colleen swiped the back of her hand under her eyes to clear out any tears.

  “You aren’t seriously considering talking to that jerk, are you?” Mallory asked.

  “Istvahn, did he say why?”

  “He’s downstairs,” Istvahn said. “He said he wanted to check that you were all right.”

  “Tell him to pound sand. Or better yet, let me,” Mallory said.

  “Mallory, don’t! I can fight my own battles,” Colleen said.

  Istvahn moved out of Mallory’s way within scant seconds of her bull-rushing toward him.

  Back when Chase was still playing professional football, he and Colleen were the “it” couple. Like Gisele and Tom. Actually, more like Jessica and Tony. Then Colleen caught him in bed with a few groupies. It broke her heart. Mallory was never going to forgive him for that.

  She saw Chase as she jumped off the last stair. He had two other guys with him that looked big enough to be football players, and they were surrounded by women. She elbowed her way to get to the front, vaguely aware that Istvahn was right behind her.

  Chase blinked and did a double take. “Little Mallory?”

  “You cheating bastard.” Mallory balled up her fist and punched Chase right in the nose.

  Istvahn grabbed her and bodily lifted her off the ground. Mallory’s feet wheeled in the air as Chase recovered.

  “It wasn’t what you think,” he said. “What did Colleen tell you? Look, I just want to talk to her.”

  “Break someone else’s heart. Leave my sister alone!” she yelled over her shoulder as Istvahn carried her back up to Colleen’s box.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You know, my first impression of you was this scared little waif in need of protection,” Max said. “Now, you scare the shit out of me.” He was sitting up in his bed, pillows propped against the headboard. He pointed to the laptop where TMZ had a spectacular photo essay of the whole Chase fiasco.

  Mallory sighed and closed the door behind her. What a night! At least Max looked better than he had the last time she’d seen him. His eye was no longer swollen shut, though he had the makings of a killer shiner.

  “You’re not supposed to be on the computer. It’s bad for your headache.” She shut the laptop with a snap.

  “I thought you were a pacifist. You said you didn’t want to watch the fights because of all the blood and violence. Is it different when you’re the one bringing the pain?”

  “It wasn’t my finest hour.” She shook out two tablets and handed him a glass of water. “Colleen held me on lockdown until after the event and everyone went home. She’s getting some serious heat from all over about last night’s fiasco. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you.”

  “No problem. I wasn’t good company anyway. Keith—that’s the guard’s name—kept me company for a bit and then Clint stopped by.” He took the acetaminophen. “He had to go teach his pole-dancing class.”

  “I was thinking of taking that.” She wasn’t going to go to it alone, though. She was going to drag Anya to it.

  “I’d like to watch. I missed you.” He patted the bed and she sat down next to him.

  “They said you were resting; otherwise I would have been here sooner. How’s your head?”

  He shrugged. “Like a bunch of monkeys are playing the cymbals inside it. Good punch on Chase, by the way. But you should have used your palm instead of your knuckles.”

  “I wasn’t really thinking clearly.”

  “I can’t believe you decked Chase Fairwood.” He took her hand and looked at her knuckles, turning it this way and that.

  “Neither could he.”

  “I saw him play once. I think I even got his autograph on his card somewhere.”

  “He’s a douche bag.”

  “What did he do to you, shoot your dog?” He kissed her knuckles one by one.

  Mallory flushed at the tingling sensations. “He cheated on Colleen.”

  “I read that. So you’re her champion now? She can take care of herself. In fact, if she was so heartbroken, why did she marry Alfred Granger a few months later?”

  “It wasn’t for the money,” Mallory said quickly, jerking her hand away.

  “Not even a little bit?” Max raised an eyebrow and then winced in pain.

  “You want a little of what I gave Fairwood?”

  “Peace.” He held up his hands in defeat. “So what the hell got into you?”

  “I just had enough of being a scared little mouse. I probably shouldn’t have hit him. I suppose I’ll apologize the next time I see him. But damn, it felt good to not take any bullshit anymore.”

  “I’m glad. Now come over here and give me a kiss.”

  “About that …”

  “Mallory, I’ve got a mild concussion and my face hurts. That’s it. I was one of the lucky ones.”

  “Colleen warned me off you.”

  “Colleen isn’t here.”

  Mallory was glad he wasn’t afraid of going against her sister. “Unfortunately, no hanky-panky or other strenuous activities for a week. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Do I get time off for good behavior?”

  “We’ll see.” Mallory smiled.

  “I’m not used to staying still for that long.”

  “You’ll survive.” Mallory looked around Max’s room. His resembled more of a suite than a hotel room. “This is a nice place.”

  In the living room area there was a wide-screen television and some comfy chairs, but there was also a drafting table set up by the window, a clothes-maker’s dummy, and two sewing machines.

  “I teach some extra classes and take on odd jobs to get the bigger room. I hope that’s not going to be a problem, since I’m out of commission for a week.”

  “Since one of those ‘odd jobs’ got you into this mess, I think Colleen will give you a break. That is, as long as being with me won’t cost you your job.”

  “If no one complained, then we can just be discreet. We’ve got the perfect excuse for being alone together. You’re tending my wounds. If I show you where it hurts, will you kiss it better?” He pulled back the sheet and waggled his eyebrows.

  “Not until you’re better.”

  “I am sick of lying around.”

  Mallory looked at her watch. “What’s it been, all of twelve hours?”

  “Fourteen, but who’s counting?” He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. When he swayed, she was there to support him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. I’ve got you r
ight where I want you.” He hooked an arm around her waist and gave her a kiss that still zinged down to her toes even though he was being careful.

  “There. Was that so hard?” he asked, brushing his lips over hers again.

  “I don’t want to break you,” she said.

  “I’d die happy.”

  “What’s with the sewing machines? Are you running a sweatshop?”

  He winced. “Oh, I didn’t really want you to see that.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, my macho image has taken enough of a beating lately.”

  “Rosie Greer used to knit.”

  “I’m not as tough as he was.”

  “You’re plenty tough, Max Spencer. So what are you working on?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you my etchings.” He held her by the hand as they walked into the living room area. He moved slowly and carefully, and his eyes reflected pain.

  The drafting table had some sketches of sportswear for women and men on it. He sat down gingerly and steadied himself before giving her a grin. Flipping through the sketch pad, he showed her his designs.

  “Hey, I know that outfit. I wore it.” Mallory pointed to the blue and green workout outfit that Anya had given her.

  “You didn’t know it was mine?” He looked at her in disbelief.

  “No, Anya gave it to me to wear. She said it would wick away the sweat and make me look fabulous.”

  “It worked.” He tugged her down so she was perched on his lap.

  “You drew all of these? You are so talented.”

  Max ducked his head. “I know it’s not the greatest, but it gets the point across.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t use a tablet, like they do on TV.”

  “I like the feel of the paper and the colored pencils. Blame my sister. She had fashion plates when we were kids. I let her play with my army guys and she let me design clothes for her Barbies.” He stopped and looked at her in surprise. Closing his eyes, a red flush crept over his cheeks. “I can’t believe I just told you that. I also had a Mighty Men and Monster Maker and I ran track. Does that help?”

  “I’m not judging. I think it’s great. I was more culinary inclined. I had a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine and an Easy Bake Oven.”

  “So you can cook?”

  Mallory shrugged. “I make a mean mac and cheese, but that’s about it. You parlayed your early childhood play into a better career, it seems.”