by A. S. Teague
“No, no,” she protests. “Just have Barney pick up some Alka-Seltzer for me on the way home.”
After I insist that she just let me take her for another minute, she finally relents and agrees to make an appointment right away.
After disconnecting the call, I grab my purse from my desk drawer and call out to the guys. “Hey, I’ve gotta go take care of some stuff. Be back in a bit.”
Concern blooms on Ryker’s face, and he asks, “Everything all right, doll?”
I nod and reassure him by saying, “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll check in later, all right?”
He lifts his chin, and I hustle out the door, my mind on getting to Gram as quickly as possible.
***
Three hours later, I’m sitting on the couch at Ryker’s while Gram rests in her recliner, covered in two afghans.
“Are you warm enough, Gram?” I ask.
She smiles weakly. “Yes, dear. I’m finally warming up. It seems like once these old bones catch a chill, they have a hard time letting go of it.”
Relieved that her teeth have finally stopped chattering, I smile. “Let me get you some more tea. You want more mint?”
I shuffle over to her cup on the table beside her and reach for it. With a speed I don’t expect, she grasps my hand in both of hers. I squat so that I’m at eye level as she begins to talk.
“You’ve been such a sweetheart today,” she tells me, giving my hand a light squeeze. “But I suppose I should expect nothing less from you. Thanks for seeing about me today, honey. But you don’t have to stay. I’ll be all right.”
I give her a light kiss on her cheek and, releasing her hands, stand to grab her teacup. “I’m gonna stay till Ryker gets here, if that’s okay?”
She gives me a small nod. Then she rests her head back and closes her eyes.
When I arrived at the tiny apartment she and Ryker share, she looked near death. With a temperature of over one hundred and three, she couldn’t stop shivering. Her lips were blue, and her eyes were glassy.
There was only one other time in my life that I’d been more scared than I was as I practically carried her to my car in a rush to get her to the doctor. My fears had been validated then, and it had been the worst day of my entire life. I couldn’t bear the thought of going through something like that ever again.
After an hour of exams, blood work, and an x-ray, the doctor announced that Gram had a serious case of pneumonia and, if she hadn’t come in when she did, she may not have survived it.
Gram was sent home with a strong dose of antibiotics after being given a shot at the office, a nebulizer machine to help with her breathing, and strict instructions that she is not to be left alone for the next forty-eight hours and should call should she get any worse.
As I make Gram’s third cup of tea since we got home, I let my mind run wild with the what-ifs of if I hadn’t listened to my gut when Gram called and said that she was fine to wait.
I’m filling the kettle with tap water when the front door swings open. Peeking around the corner, I watch as Ryker comes into the room and then stops in his tracks when he spots Gram. He drops his gym bag and rushes to her side, panicked.
“Gram? Gram!” he says, shaking her shoulder.
After another moment of his attempt to rouse her, she cracks an eye open and snaps.
“Jesus, Barnabus. You tryin’ to dislocate my shoulder?” Using her other arm, she slaps at his hand. “For God’s sake. I’d just drifted off.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning, but relief overwhelms me as she gives him shit.
Coming around the corner, I tell Ryker, “The Tylenol’s finally kicked in, I see.”
His head snaps up, and he springs from his crouch. “Bedroom. Now,” he orders, jabbing his finger in the direction of his room.
I ignore Ryker and tell Gram, “Your tea’s almost ready. We’ll be right back.” Once I’m satisfied that she’s comfortable again, I walk to the bedroom.
Ryker follows me in and closes the door behind him. “Rebecca,” he growls.
Holding a hand up, I tell him, “Before you go all caveman on me, let me explain.”
He leans a shoulder against the wall and crosses his arms, and I take that as my cue to start talking.
“Gram called the gym while you were sparring. She sounded terrible, but when I told her you were in the middle of a workout, she insisted I not bother you. Ryker, she wanted you to just pick her up some antacid on the way home.”
He shakes his head. “Gram and her damn Alka-Seltzer,” he mumbles to himself.
“Yes!” I reply. “Anyway, I finally convinced her to let me come take her to the doctor. And thank God that I did. She’s got pneumonia. The doctor said that it is pretty bad.” I decide to leave out the part about how bad it could have been. “I stopped at the pharmacy and got all of her medicine and got her home and settled. She already seems much better than she did when I got here.”
Relief floods his face. “When you sent me that text, it scared the shit out of me.” He’s looking down at his hands.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so vague,” I tell him.
He looks up at me. “You should have told me as soon as she called.”
“You were in the middle of training.”
“Yeah, but training isn’t nearly as important as Gram,” he replies, his expression full of fear.
My heart squeezes at the sight of my fearless fighter worried about the woman who raised him.
Softening my voice, I agree. “No, it’s not.”
“Maybe I’ve been putting too much into my comeback. Maybe I need to back off a little,” he says.
“Absolutely not!” I admonish. “Gram would have your ass if she knew that you quit to take care of her! Ryker, I was sitting at my desk, filing my nails, when she called. I was happy to be able to help. I know she’s your grandmother, but, honey, I love her, too. You know I’ll do anything I can for her.”
Ryker straightens and stalks over to me. I back away from him until I’m flush with the wall. He places his hands flat against the wall, caging me in, and then leans in toward my face.
“I fucking love you so much.” He smashes his lips against mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth.
The kiss is raw and desperate, and I loop my arms around his waist and hold on tight. Far too soon, he pulls away. When I open my eyes, the look on his face is primal.
“That day in the president’s office, my life unraveled. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to put it back together. It’s always just been Gram and me. I’d convinced myself that we didn’t need anyone else. That I could take care of us both. Even after my suspension, I maintained that I had everything under control. But, deep down, in a part of me I’d locked away and refused to acknowledge existed, I was scared shitless. I was failing her, and I knew it. She knew it, too, even if she’d never dare say it.”
He pushes off the wall and turns away from me. He takes a step away and then spins back around. “And then I met you. And I knew. From the second I saw you through the glass door of the gym, I knew that you were going to be the biggest fight of my life.”
The blood is roaring in my ears as he speaks, the words tumbling from his lips hitting me square in the chest.
He closes the distance between us and runs his nose along the side of mine. “I just had no fucking clue that you would be the one to win the fight. Or that I would fucking love being the loser.”
He kisses along my jaw, his stubble tickling my face. “Rebecca, I love the way you love those boys from summer camp.” He reaches around and pulls the rubber band from my hair, letting my locks tumble down. After running his fingers through my waves, he grabs a handful and anchors my head in place. “I love the way your crazy personality causes me to be spontaneous and forces me out of my comfort zone. I love you for pushing me to fight again because you saw that I wasn’t ready to give it up. Even though I didn’t even see that in myself. But non
e of that is why I love you most of all.”
Using the leverage his grip on my hair affords him, he gently tips my head to the side and licks his way up my neck. “I love you more than I even thought possible because you love my gram.”
For the first time in my life, I find myself speechless.
Unable to form coherent thoughts, I just nod at him, my eyes filling with tears.
There was never any doubt in my mind that he loves me.
I knew it by the way I would catch him gazing at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, a small smile always on his face.
And he showed me how much he cared about me by finding ways to give me things. Even if it meant he went without.
Over the last few months, he continued bringing me silk flowers, one at a time, until I eventually had to buy a bigger vase to house them all. It started out as a joke, but now, I wouldn’t trade that bouquet of cheap, fake flowers for the biggest diamond in the world.
He’s come to all of my family gatherings, laughed at all of my dad’s terrible jokes, repeatedly told my mother how beautiful he thought she was, and formed a friendship with my brother that I didn’t think could ever be broken.
But none of those things hit me the way the words he just spoke did.
Unable to stop them, I let the tears fall down my face. Ryker kisses each one away, not stopping until the tears do.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I clear my throat. “For what?”
“For knowing how to take care of me better than I do. For always knowing exactly what I need and not giving in when I give you a hard time. For taking care of my gram today when she needed you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
His lips curve up before he repeats my question. “For what?”
Leaning in, I kiss him lightly and then tell him, “For giving me what I needed. Even though I didn’t know it.”
His eyebrows wrinkle. “What’s that?”
I smile at him. “A purpose.”
“Rebecca?” he says, his voice as serious as a heart attack.
My stomach begins to flutter, and for a split second, I swear he’s about to drop to one knee. The butterflies of excitement turn to panic, and I rack my brain to think of what I’ll say if he does in fact pop the question.
It’s not that I don’t imagine our future together. It’s just that I’m not sure we need to start planning it now.
“Yes?” I squeak.
He doesn’t drop to one knee, thankfully, but he cups my cheek with one hand and tells me, “I’d spend my very last dime, you know.”
Confused by the riddle he’s speaking, I ask “What?”
“If you wanted me to, I’d sleep in the rain.”
“Ryker, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ll give you everything I got to hold onto your love.”
Suddenly, he starts humming a tune I recognize.
I slap him on the arm. “Are those Michael Bolton lyrics?”
He throws his head back and howls with laughter, clutching at his side.
“Jesus, Ryker. How much cheesier can you get?” I giggle
When he finally catches his breath, he says, “Let’s go check on Gram.”
My suspension is set to end in two days, and Tripp scheduled a meeting with the president of the league to discuss getting a fight booked as soon as possible.
Rebecca and I took last week off and went to Indianapolis so I could train at one of the best boxing gyms in the country. Former world champion boxer Slate Andrews trained me himself, and I came back the following week stronger, faster, better. I was right, Indiana was miserable in the winter, so on our down time, Rebecca and I stayed shut away in the swanky hotel suite she booked for us.
Despite all of the hard work I’ve put in, I am nervous. Brown is the one who orchestrated my fall from grace, whether he actually did the dirty work himself or not. The meeting will be unpleasant, and it will take all of my restraint to sit quietly and let Tripp do the negotiating.
But I have confidence in Tripp and know he has only my best interests in mind.
Over the last six months, we’ve become close friends, something I never would have thought when I was forced to beg him for a job. But, once I’d proven myself to him, he showed me he is a fair man and an even better friend.
I’m in the locker room of the gym, tying my tie in the tiny mirror when the door opens. Tripp strides inside, coming over to clap me on the shoulder.
“You just about ready to go, man?” he asks.
I nod and finish with the knot of my tie. “Yep. Just let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready.”
He lifts his chin and says, “Okay. Meet me out front.”
He’s almost to the door when I call out to him.
“Yo, Tripp?”
He stops and turns toward me. “Yeah?”
“Thanks,” I tell him.
He waves a hand in my direction and says, “Don’t thank me yet.”
I shake my head. “No. Thanks for everything. For giving me a job. For letting me date your sister. For believing me when I told you I didn’t do the drugs. For agreeing to represent me. For being my friend.”
He comes back to where I’m standing and wraps his arms around me, patting me hard on the back.
I return the gesture, my throat thick with emotion.
“You’re welcome, man,” he says and then turns away from me. He’s walking through the door when he shouts over his shoulder, “For the record, no one lets Rebecca do anything!”
Isn’t that the damn truth.
As if her ears were burning, Rebecca comes waltzing into the locker room.
“Why, hello, handsome,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Oops,” she says to herself before licking her thumb and rubbing my face.
“Jesus, Rebecca,” I say, pushing her hand away and looking back at the mirror. There’s a faint outline of pink lips on my cheek, and I begin rubbing at it so hard that it makes my face hurt.
She sits on one of the benches and crosses her ankles before looking back in my direction. “So, you ready for this?”
Satisfied that I’ve gotten all of the lipstick off, I give my tie one last look. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She rests a palm beside her and leans to one side. “Listen. Let Tripp do the talking. No matter what that asshole says to you to bait you, just let Tripp handle it.”
“I know, I know. We’ve had this conversation already,” I tell her, frustrated. Not because she’s wrong, but because, even though it’s his job, I still feel like a child sitting idly by while Tripp negotiates my fate.
“Honey,” she says, standing. “Look at me.”
I oblige her.
“I can’t possibly know the way you’re feeling right now. I won’t even pretend that I do. But I promise you’re in the best hands with Tripp.” She laces her slender fingers through mine, and I stare at our joined hands.
In the past, I would have thought that leaning on a woman made you weak. When fighters would give up their careers for a woman, I’d laugh at them.
But that was before I met a woman who would never ask me to choose between the job I love and her. Leaning on Rebecca doesn’t make me weak. Leaning on her makes me stronger than I’ve ever been.
“You’re right, doll.”
She squeezes my fingers and then releases my hand. “I’m always right.” She smirks. “Now, go! Tripp’s waiting on you. And I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”
***
I watch the scene in front of me play out like one of those bad dreams when you yell at the top of your lungs but no sound comes out. The louder I yell, the worse things get.
Except I’m not the one yelling. Tripp is.
“You’re being unreasonable!” he says, his teeth clenched so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked one.
Mr. Brown leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head as tho
ugh he were enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon of watching football with his buddies. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Mr. Toler. But I’ve already told you. Ryker Hawke is not welcome back in our organization.”
Tripp slaps a hand on the table, causing me to flinch. Brown doesn’t move a muscle. The only indication that he noticed the action at all is a small smirk that crosses his face for an instant before it’s gone, replaced with a blank mask.
“You did not ban him from the league, Brown. You suspended him. Suspensions end,” Tripp barks. “And his suspension ends in two days.” He pulls several papers out of his briefcase and throws them across the large conference table. “There. A signed and notarized letter of consent from Dax Prescott, stating that he wants to fight Ryker. Beneath it are several sponsorship contracts, including one from Ryker’s previous sponsor. A sponsor I’m sure you don’t want to lose.”
Brown doesn’t make a move to look at the papers, only glances down at where they’ve scattered and then pins Tripp with a stare. “The sponsors mean nothing to me. There are millions of products in the world. If one company chooses to part ways, it will be no problem to replace them within the hour.”
Tripp’s holding onto the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles are ghostly white. His chest moves up and down rapidly. Worried that he’s going to have a stroke trying to negotiate on my behalf, I speak.
“Mr. Brown.”
Tripp’s head whips toward me, and he shakes it once, forcing me to close my mouth.
“Ah. So Ryker can still speak.” Brown sneers. “Please, continue.” He waves at me.
Ignoring the condescending tone, Tripp asks, “What about Prescott’s statement refusing to fight anyone else but Ryker?”
Brown waves again. “Prescott is nothing more than a puppet on a string in this league. He doesn’t want to fight anyone else? He doesn’t have to. He can leave from the same door he entered in.”
Tripp sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring, and then he snatches the papers from the table. “We’re done here. But this is not the last you’ve heard from us, Brown. Believe me when I say that Ryker Hawke is not done fighting in this league.”
