I stare at his back until he disappears from view. This is the fight I’m looking for, everything I’ve ever wanted dropped directly into my lap. No way am I backing away from an opportunity to return to the octagon and prove I’m not a failure. I mean what’s the worst that could happen? One more punch to the head kills me, that’s what. Fuck. So what do I do?
As soon as the question filters through my brain, the fighter in me rages his answer.
I will fight Rusty Faulkner.
Seven
Eve
Mondays suck balls. If I ever become president, the first thing I’m going to do is make Monday illegal. Not really sure how I’d do that, which is probably why I’ll never become president, but I add it to my mental bucket list anyway.
I’m sitting in the tiny office that I share with three other managers. It always smells like dirty socks and farts. No matter how many cans of Febreze I spray in this place, the smell only seems to get worse.
“You want to grab a bite before the lunch rush?” Dion, the cook, who I swear is trying to poison me, pops his head into the office. He offers a plate piled high with pasta.
“Do I look stupid to you?” I do my best Joe Pesci impersonation from Goodfellas, but the effect is lost on Dion. “I’m not eating your poison pasta.” I shoo him away and catch his laughter as he heads back to the kitchen.
It’s no joke. One of the other managers wouldn’t give Dion the day off, and he ended up on the toilet all night. Dion won’t admit it, but rumors spread around the restaurant that massive amounts of laxatives were to blame.
I groan and push up to welcome the lunch rush. I’ve worked in this POS restaurant since I was sixteen, and the longer I work here, the more it feels like a black hole sucking my life away one year at a time. As pathetic as it is, feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to get me through my shift any faster.
By the time I make it to the hostess stand, people are already showing up for lunch.
“Eve, Cristof called in sick.” One of the waiters tosses me a note as he heads to his section to greet a new table.
I read the damn message and crumple it up. “Shit.” Guess that means I’ll be running food in a skirt. I hate this job.
After a quick trip to the back to tie on an apron, I take my place at the line and wait for orders to show up in the window. It’s not long before the kitchen is slammed with orders. Garlic, oregano, and fresh pizza dough swirl though the air as orders scream through the kitchen printer. I roll up the sleeves on my starched white shirt and wish I hadn’t worn my fitted BCBG button down, but rather my Target special. I’m so sick of all my nice clothes smelling like a damn Italian food festival.
“Order up!”
I nab the ticket from the line and layer plates on a large tray, hoping I’ll be able to bring this table their order in one trip. I dip low and hoist the massive platter on my shoulder then swerve around staff and negotiate my way through the tables. I grab a stand, bend at the knees to lower the tray, and peek up at the table of guests. “Hope you guys are hung—”
A dark scowl hits me right between the eyes.
Holy fucking shit.
He’s here.
Cameron is sitting at a table for four with Jonah and Owen.
I expect his eyes to widen with recognition, but instead they narrow in that signature glare that I feel between my legs.
The cool air burns my eyes. Blink, dammit! I do and then wave pathetically. “Hi, uh—”
“I was hoping you’d be working today.” Jonah stands and gives me a chaste side hug. “Any chance you could hook us up with that scampi on the dinner menu?”
“That shit’s the bomb.” Owen shoves a piece of French bread in his mouth.
“Uh—”
“You remember Cam?” Jonah sits down and nods to the gorgeous man I know all too well.
In the light of day, he’s even better looking than I remember—if that’s possible. He’s dressed in a similar shirt—rolled-up sleeves and open at the neck—but this one in a deep blue.
My gaze slides up his corded neck, traces the lines of his jaw, and settles on the fiercest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t tell in the dark, but here in the light, even through his glare, they’re almost the same color as his hair.
“Yeah, uh, hi again. Thanks again for the lift.”
He nods in greeting and then turns his attention to Jonah.
That’s it? I mean one night of meaningless sex surely deserves a little more than that?
The tension in the air is thick as a million things that could be said are not.
He engages in conversation with Owen. “Like I was saying, I’m hoping with the addition of these new fighters we’ll . . .”
Clearly he hasn’t lost his ability to speak in complete sentences since I last saw him. I tune out his voice and continue to stare stunned.
Is me giving up my body to him not worth a single-word reply? The whisper from my past says it’s worth less than that, but I ignore it and move straight to the tray.
Deliver their meals and then get the hell away. I refuse to check the ticket to see who ordered what and drop the plates on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Owen and Jonah exchanging uncomfortable looks, but Cam has his eyes dead set on me. I try to avoid him, but it’s hard as he’s pinning me with a scowl so intense that it charges the air.
With the last of the plates off my tray, I grab it and kick closed the stand to make a hasty exit. “If you need anything—”
“Could I get another tea, princess?” Owen reaches over the table for the linguine he must’ve ordered.
“No, but I’ll send over your server. I mean”—I fix my eyes on a scowling Cameron—“unless you’re opposed to communicating with a woman.”
He doesn’t even flinch but continues his death stare.
I swing my gaze to a very confused-looking Jonah. “Oh, I can’t get you any scampi.” I narrow my eyes at Cameron who still hasn’t taken his off me. “We’re out of garlic.”
Scooping up the tray, I stand and head back to the kitchen and into the stinky office. There’s no way in hell I’m going back out there. Not after the way he just brushed me off as if he didn’t have his dick in my body less than forty-eight hours ago.
I’m not asking for a damn marriage proposal, but a little common courtesy would be fucking appreciated.
And there I go with my inflated expectations. From now on, I should expect to be kicked in the gut by men, Then maybe I’ll start being thankful for the constant brush-offs.
~*~
Cameron
“There something you need to tell us, Cam?” Jonah pushes his food away, as if his plate is covered in dog shit, and turns toward me.
Fuck. I could’ve handled that better. That was awkward as hell. Seeing Eve again, her long hair pulled back off her pretty face and wearing a black tight skirt and white oxford, lookin’ like a Playboy centerfold, I was lost for words. Struggling between what I wanted to say and what I should say, nothing came out. Not even a hello or nice to see you again.
Eve—here, hot, and staring. Those big blue eyes looked through me, picking apart my soul, as if she knew the number of times her image has infiltrated my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” I force a bite of lasagna even though I’ve lost my appetite.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe like how you clearly fucked my wife’s best friend, and now you’re treating her like disposable pussy at her own restaurant.”
Well . . . shit.
“Cam, man.” Owen’s growl means business. “Please tell me he’s wrong.”
How did I not know how close Eve was to these guys? Slade’s wife’s friend, yeah, but best friend? Not good.
“She drank too much. I gave her a ride home.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” Jonah’s jaw ticks. “I’ve done it enough. I know the look on a woman’s face after she’s been fucked over.”
No one fucked anyone over. We’re consenting adu
lts, and these guys thinking they have some right to know what I do on my own time is pissin’ me off.
I drop my fork to my plate, and the clang of metal to ceramic gets the attention of the people at the table next to us. “You mind backin’ off my shit, Slade?”
“This isn’t business. It’s personal.” His eyes move to the door Eve disappeared behind then swing back to me. “You know nothing about her.”
“I know enough.” Not exactly true. I know she’s gorgeous, fucking crazy in bed, and she’s old enough to make her own damn decisions.
“I don’t believe this shit.” Jonah slams his clenched fist on the table and everything shakes.
Owen doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Easy, J. Making a scene will only make things worse for Eve.”
“No more.” Jonah leans toward me, and I can almost feel the rage coming off his body. “You stay the fuck away from Eve, or you and I are going to have problems.”
Is he threatening me?
“The fuck you say?” I turn toward him. “I don’t answer to you or anyone. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” And if that means another chance at Eve’s warm body, I’m taking it.
“I’m not messing around, man. I don’t want to, but if you hurt Eve, you and I are going to have issues.”
“Fine by me.” I have no intention to hurt the girl.
We’re staring each other down when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I grab it without looking and accept the call. “Yeah.”
“Cam?” A female whimpers and sobs.
I don’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is. “D’lilah, calm down. What’s going on?”
I’ve learned to speak softly to ’Li when she calls like this. If not, she really loses it. Jonah and Owen pin me with death stares.
“I need you come over?” She’s slurring.
“Shit, ’Li. Now?”
Another sob. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” I hit end and grab my wallet. “I’ve gotta run. Emergency.” I throw enough cash on the table to cover our lunch, the tip, and then some.
“Midday booty call.” Owen looks disgusted. “Classy.”
I don’t acknowledge his shitty conclusion or the fact that Slade looks halfway to beating my ass. I turn and head to my car while fighting the urge to look back and see if Eve is watching me walk away.
Eight
Cameron
I speed down the highway on a familiar route that takes me to my old house. After Rosie drowned, I wanted to sell it, but D’lilah refused to let it go. Said it had too many memories. For me, it only held one memory that I was more than happy to leave behind.
I couldn’t look at a single thing in that house that didn’t remind me of what I caused and all I lost. It’s one of the reasons that our marriage fell apart and D’lilah ended up a walking liquor bottle.
Fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into my old driveway. Pristine lawn, trimmed shrubs, and a wide concrete path lead to an atrium surrounding the front door. From the outside, no one would ever guess the devastation that lives within.
I slide my key in the door, and before it’s all the way open, I can hear her crying. Fuck, what’s it going to be this time. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s my fault.
“’Li?”
“I’m in here.” Sniffling and small whimpers come from the living room.
I round the corner to see her curled up on the couch. With the vaulted ceilings and overstuffed furniture, she looks tiny in this space. I cross to her and drop to the opposite end of the sofa. Her blond hair is piled high on her head, eyes puffy and bloodshot, and her lips are swollen from crying. Even now, after all the heartbreak combined with her unhealthy lifestyle, I can still see a sliver of the woman I married. She was so gorgeous, so full of life, and now . . . I look around the room, unable to stomach how broken she’s become.
“House looks good.” Pathetic, but I can’t think of what else to say. We both know why I’m here. She has no one, burned all her bridges and chased away every friend she ever made.
“Cleaning lady.” Her voice is small and fades with another sniff.
“You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah.” She pushes herself up a little and straightens her wrinkled tee. “Ryder doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“He’s a grown man, ’Li. Nothing I can do to help you there.” She can’t possibly be surprised that after fourteen years of being ignored by his mother he’d want nothing to do with her. I wish I could muster up some pity for the woman, but it’s as if there’s a sheet of glass between us. I can see her and hear her, but even with her pain so obvious, I can’t bring myself to console her.
“I think I’m sick.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She shrugs and wipes at her nose with her shirtsleeve. “I can’t eat, never sleep. I’m . . .” A sob rips from her chest. Her body shakes with each wave of sorrow, and the smell of hard liquor seeps from her body. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“You’re a drunk.”
A gasp cuts off her crying. “No—”
I hold up my hand. “Don’t waste your time. You’re not fooling me or anyone else.”
She blinks and drops her chin to her chest.
“Not tryin’ to hurt you, ’Li, but think of this from Ryder’s eyes. You’ve been choosing booze over our boy since . . .” The twinge of discomfort in my chest reminds me of how far I’ve come.
There isn’t much that causes me to cringe anymore. There was a time, back after I fell, that I could cry. I’d watch Ryder toddle around the house, calling out for his twin sister, who was never coming home. I’d hold D’lilah in my arms as she wept and cried out to God. The pain was so intense, like having my heart ripped from my chest on repeat.
Then one day I pulled myself up. It was time to stop rolling around playing victim, and I was ready to take back by force all I’d lost starting with the octagon. I stopped caring, refused to feel, and that shit worked wonders. So I don’t envy D’lilah and all she’s wrestling with. I gave all that up years ago.
After what seems like forever, her tears finally dry. “I’m sorry, Cam. I’m such a mess.”
“You think it might be time to get some help? Try rehab again?”
She pushes up; her blue eyes bore into mine. “You want to lock me up?”
“Your life. Your call. I’m thinking that if you want to know your son you need to show him you’re willing to put all this shit”—I motion to the empty wine glass on the table—“aside and put him first.”
“Ha!” Her eyes narrow. “Typical, Cam. That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? When people become a burden, you send them away.”
My jaw clenches. “Fuck you.” Too late to bite down on my impulse, I brace.
“Fuck me?” Her voice is loud, shrill. “It wasn’t my head that exploded and made me stupid was it, Cam? Fuck me? You walked away when the backdoor was wide open.” She coughs on a sob. “Our little girl . . .”
“I’m not doing this with you.” I push to stand and prepare to leave, unable to believe I actually left a business meeting for this shit. Not that I wasn’t more than happy to escape the Jonah-Owen standoff. “You think I don’t wake up every morning of my life aware of the mistakes I’ve made. I live with those regrets every hour of every fucking day.”
“You son of a bitch—”
“You wanna blame me, I get that. But don’t forget, ’Li, you’d be living on the streets, sucking booze out of half-empty beer bottles in trashcans if it weren’t for me.”
She crumbles in on herself, and I watch the fight drain out of her. “You’re right.”
Well, that’s something, I guess. “No shit.”
She cringes at my response, sighs, and drops her head back on the couch. “I miss my son.”
She needs comfort, but my anger for her abandoning Ryder when he was so young keeps me distant.
“I’ll quit.”
“You serious
?”
“I’ll try.” She shrugs. “But do you think you could get Ry over here maybe? Just for dinner?”
“’Li—”
“Please, Cam. He’ll do it for you.”
Shit. I stare at the broken woman before me and contemplate stomping out of the house and leaving her to her crap, but the backdoor catches my eye.
I scroll to Ryder’s number and hit send.
“Dad, what’s up?”
“I need you to come by your mom’s house.”
“Can’t. I’ve got plans.”
“They can wait.”
“No way. I’ve had plans with these guys for a week now.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray for calm. “It won’t be a late night. Push back your plans ’til nine.”
“Dad, this isn’t fair. I—”
“Ry, please.” Is it too much to ask for a little help?
Silence.
“Ry?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Stop by the grocery store on your way; put it on the card.”
“Fine.” A long sigh.
“We’re having dinner here tonight, so grab some steaks while you’re there.”
“Whatever.”
“Thanks, man. Later.”
He doesn’t say goodbye.
I hope this little family dinner doesn’t blow up in my face and make things worse for Ryder and his mom. Dinner. Just one dinner.
And suddenly I have a powerful urge to drown in warm sugar and cinnamon.
~*~
Eve
It’s late and I’m watching DVR episodes of “Say Yes to the Dress.” My eyes burn either from exhaustion or crying. Who knew watching women pick out their wedding dresses would be so emotional? I sniff and wipe my cheeks with my comforter that’s pulled up to my neck.
“I’m never getting married.” I sound like such a baby.
After seeing Cameron at work today, I’ve been in a funk. Another reminder of all the things I’ll never have. Sure, I could probably find a husband who’ll beat the shit out of me and call me names, but what’s the fun in that? I roll my eyes at the direction of my thoughts.
Fighting the Fall Page 6
