When the morning of the fight dawned, we could feel the excitement of Timbercreek after winning the homecoming football game. The Jameson trio and I didn’t go to the game the night before. We went for a run and a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at Caruso’s just by Curly’s.
When I woke, I stared at the slightly cracked open window on the far side of Stryker’s room. He’d disappeared sometime during the night. I couldn’t take anything personally. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to go down that trail of thought. Not that I didn’t wonder why he’d left me, but at the same time, I needed space to myself as I faced a fight that may or may not save my friends and me.
I showered, twisted my thick, long hair into a loose braid and dressed in my pre-fight clothing which consisted of leggings, sweat pants, sports bra, tank top, t-shirt, and then a long-sleeve shirt with a hoodie over that.
Staying warm was the biggest preventer of injuries for most sports. My dad was mostly worthless but I’d learned a few things from him over the years.
I bounced down the stairs, searching the house for the guys. I’d heard some movement when I’d gotten out of the shower, but nothing much since.
Mild muttering led me into the kitchen and dining area. I stood at the doorway; my eyebrows knitted as I watched them huddled around the table. Gunner motioned with his hands; his expression serious as he tried to convince his cousins of something.
Stryker’s eyes flicked my direction and then awareness of my presence made him jerk his head tightly to the side and the other two went quiet. All three turned to stare at me.
I tilted my head forward and arched an eyebrow. “What’s going on?” Whatever it was, it had to do with me, that much was obvious.
Brock turned from the huddle and moved into the kitchen, he glanced at me over the door of the fridge as he opened it and half-shrugged. “I’m making a carb-riddled breakfast. Waffles or pancakes?” He ignored the other two still standing by the table as he waited for my answer.
What were they hiding? I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m too nervous to eat much. What are you guys talking about?” I moved carefully to stand at the table, shifting my gaze from Brock to Stryker who not only needed to tell me what he was hiding, but would eventually need to explain why he hadn’t touched me since that first night and why he’d left me alone. I could fill my life with reassurances and suppositions, but as long as I didn’t know, I would doubt the situation.
I hated doubting.
Gunner leaned forward on the table, bracing his arms on the surface as he pressed the point with Stryker. “She’s going to find out sooner or later. It’d be better if she found out now, so she can get prepared.”
“Find out what?” The challenge was there, hidden just below the curiosity in my tone.
Stryker folded his arms and studied me, dragging the moment out. After a second, he nodded as if to himself and answered. “We got word you’ll be fighting Letesha LaCroiz from Timbercreek. The fighters from Plummer backed out. You have no other female fighters on either tickets. That’s your only option.”
A chill covered my body in goosebumps. Letesha. She was a friend of sorts from Timbercreek. We were equally yoked in a lot of ways, but I was certain she fought featherweight while I fought lightweight.
I blinked, pursing my lips to the side. “Wait, isn’t she featherweight?”
“Yeah, but it sounds like she’s trying for bantam.” Brock’s answer came from behind me but I didn’t turn.
I blinked again, disbelief holding my shoulders in a half-cocked position. “What? Can’t she just file with me at lightweight so there’s no limit?”
The lightweight limit was 132.3 pounds which meant it was at the higher end of what was acceptable to weigh in at. Featherweight ran up to 125.7 pounds and I wasn’t comfortable in that class. I could fight in it, but usually I had to run it out in the steam room or sauna.
Bantam was an even 119 pounds and I worked out too much to hit that weight. Not to mention I loved food too much to lose that and lift like I did. Combine all that with the fact that I’d forced myself to eat a ton over the last week and I would never be qualified for bantam.
“Why didn’t they tell us earlier this week?” But I had a feeling I knew why. She had time to hit that goal by cutting the carbs and fasting at night. There were controlled steps she could take to lose five pounds in a week and not hurt her energy, muscle mass, or strength.
There wasn’t a lot I could do with only a few hours until weigh-in.
Gunner cleared his throat and shook his head. “They filed at bantamweight and said she’s not altering when Asher asked.”
Dad would have tried to change it. I shook my head and pressed my fingers to my temple. “No. She wouldn’t. Timbercreek is very…” I blinked at the impossibility of it. I wouldn’t be able to hit that weight. In the high schools, fights weren’t fought if weigh-in wasn’t made. Professional or even amateur levels had a little bit looser guidelines regarding weight limits in that fights could still go on, they just wouldn’t be considered official.
“What do I do?” In my best days, I’d been able to hit the featherweight class, but that was with weeks and months of preparation.
Hours… I wasn’t getting anywhere just standing there either. At least the weight issue distracted me from the mind-numbing thoughts about actually getting in the ring. During practices, sparring sessions, and bag work, I’d somehow convinced myself I wasn’t actually going to be fighting in an attempt to survive the upcoming mental battle.
The last time I’d gotten in the ring, my opponent had died.
I didn’t want to fight anymore, if that was a possibility. Yet, there I was, stressing out because I most likely wouldn’t get to fight.
“What happens if you don’t fight? This isn’t something you can control, so what’s the big deal?” Brock moved around the counter, coming to a stop on my left and leaning his hips against the counter.
I had somehow moved to stand at the doorway, staring out into the living room and beyond, through windows trapping me in that house. Turning my head, I scrunched my nose and shook my head. “If I don’t fight today, Sara doesn’t come back. I’ll get turned over to the Ivanovs or Romanovs – whoever it is that wants me – and you guys will die.”
“But this isn’t your fault. You aren’t the same weight as her. You can’t fight.” Brock folded his arms and watched me, like it was me making up the rules.
Before I could speak, Stryker answered, “A loss is a loss. If Gray weighs in above mark, she has to forfeit. There’s no one else for her to fight. All the cards are filled.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Let’s be clear, you guys. This reeks of Dominick’s influence. There are too many coincidences.”
I spun, slicing my hand through the air as I jutted my chin his direction. “I don’t care about why or who or how. None of that is going to help me. I need to make weight. I have a hard time getting below Featherweight, Stryker. No matter what, I have to hit that weight.”
What extremes was I going to have to hit in the next few hours?
Stryker studied me, taking in my desperation. He could see I wasn’t going to back down and that I had to fight. We all could see that. I held Stryker’s gaze as I mentally begged him to help me. If I had to fight that day, I couldn’t focus on every detail and decision. I had to get my head in the fight which was going to be harder than ever before since somewhere deep in my heart, I’d decided I would never fight again.
“Okay, we need a starting point. Gunner, find out exactly what time our fights are and who the cornerman is for the ring for Jameson and for Timbercreek. I’m not worried about Plummer. I heard they only have four fighters this time.” Stryker held my gaze, a soft smile curving just the corners of his lips. He would take control in an attempt to make things better for me. I could see his devotion even now as he took things in hand.
Stryker yanked his chin toward the stairs. “Let’s get a starting point, Gray, so we know how much work we
have ahead of us.”
I swallowed and Brock shook his head. He pushed off the counter and rounded the end, opening a cupboard. He pulled down an empty, clean peanut butter jar and untwisted the lid. Sliding it across the counter to me, he nodded. “No more swallowing. Spit.”
I slowly took the jar in my hand and nodded, lifting my gaze back to his. “Thanks.”
Following Stryker out of the room and up the stairs, I tried to focus on the immediate task ahead of me instead of the overwhelming battle I had to wage.
What had I gotten myself into? Each stair represented a reason I couldn’t fight and a reason I had to fight.
All I wanted to do was curl up in Stryker’s arms on the bed and enjoy his touch, not worrying if he was going to survive the day or myself either.
“I have a scale in my bathroom.” He led the way to his room, his back straight and his shoulders squared.
Did he worry that I wouldn’t be able to fight, too? Probably. We had a lot riding on whether we could deliver an event that was worth betting on and entertaining enough to provide people with the need for other things to carry on the partying atmosphere.
Stryker reached out a hand when I paused in the middle of his room. “You okay?”
I stared at the bathroom door, shaking my head. “No, honestly? I’m terrified. I haven’t been below 125 in a long time.” Not only would I need to be below 125, I’d need to be close enough to be able to lose pounds and ounces in just a few hours. I couldn’t express my hopelessness at the situation or anything else because I could barely define the emotions coursing through me.
Stryker studied me from his spot beside the bathroom door. After a minute, his gaze softened and he stepped toward me. “Gray, this is scary, I know. We can do this.”
His earnestness and strength convinced me that yeah, with his help, I could do this.
I nodded and pulled my hoodie over my head, tossing the warm weight on the bed. I slid off my sweatpants and then my long sleeve tee until I stood in front of him in my leggings and short sleeve shirts.
I hadn’t allowed myself to think too closely on why he hadn’t touched me with heat all week because I couldn’t face the possibility that he didn’t want me anymore. That I’d done something wrong when we’d been close or even that he might be the type of guy that lost interest after he screwed a girl and moved on.
All of that was a possibility and more.
He arched an eyebrow. “You want to try weighing in with all of that on?” He flipped on the light to the bathroom and led the way inside.
An analog style scale had its own place behind the door, probably why I never took much notice of it before.
I glanced at Stryker as he stepped to the side to let me on. I took a deep breath and then stepped barefoot onto the flat white surface.
The numbers spun past the needle, coming to settle on 127.2. I furrowed my brow and didn’t step off the scale.
Reaching up, I pulled my long sleeve off over my head, letting it drop behind me. I stared at the number. Okay, 124.8.
Next went the t-shirt and tank top at the same time. They fell to the linoleum with a soft plop. 123.2.
I lifted my gaze to Stryker’s. He watched me with a darkening expression I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. I stood in front of him with just my sports bra and leggings on. There wasn’t much left to the imagination with those two pieces of black material on.
A slow drawling smile curved his insanely hot lips as he seemed to challenge me with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you want to see how much you’ll lose once you take those off?”
The husky tone of his voice made me question the sanity of it as I slid my fingers into my waistband and drew my leggings down my thighs and then slid them from my feet. They landed beside my tops and the analog scale responded when I settled.
122.9.
I was closer. Taking a deep breath and not looking too closely at Stryker, I folded my arms and drew my sports bra off over my head, letting it fall as the final offering on the pile. The needle didn’t budge past 122.5.
That left me with only three and a half pounds to lose before weigh-in. I could do that. I could lose that.
Hope flooded me and I took a deep breath, turning my gaze toward Stryker who hadn’t stopped staring at me. His eyes shifted to my rising chest and his eyes darkened further.
What was I doing? How could I possibly be interested in being touched and touching him when so much was on the line and we had a fight to get ready for?
I licked my lips, standing there unashamed as he continued looking at me. “Is it bad that I want you to touch me?” My question fell into the softness of the moment and I worried it was too much, too soon, too fast.
He didn’t say anything as he reached out and caressed my face. “Only if it’s bad that I want to touch you.”
Something held him back. What was it? “Why, then, haven’t you? It’s been a week. I thought you were mad at me.” I stepped closer to him, pressing myself into his space and he didn’t wrap his arms around me.
Something wasn’t right, even as I could feel his desire for me straining against his pants.
Stryker cleared his throat. “I… I didn’t feel right, taking so much from you, when I know things… things that can change your mind about me, about us.” He looked down and then away as if he were ashamed to look at me.
I blinked, forcing myself not to pull away from him. “What things? Nothing can change how I feel about you.” Inside though, my heart ached. What was he hiding from me?
“Your mom was in the SUV that took me. You know that. But… I didn’t tell you that she didn’t try to stop us from getting out of the car. She didn’t do much of anything.” He blinked and looked down. He was lying. She’d done something.
“Tell me the truth, Stryker. What’d she do?” I couldn’t even imagine what things she’d done. She was the one that had captured him? I didn’t understand.
“She… Look, she called Dominick her master and she gave the driver a blow job while we drove down the road. I have no idea what game she’s playing, but I’m not completely convinced she’s on their side.” His words came at me like bullets I didn’t even try to dodge.
I set my jaw, pulling back a few inches and staring at him, defiance in the way I wore my nakedness and didn’t hide it. “She whored out, right? She’s Dominick’s whore. Got it.” That made sense. It wasn’t anything more than what I’d suspected, but to have it confirmed seemed like a slap to the face. “She left me to whore for some guy. That’s just… great.” I pushed away from Stryker, bending to scoop my clothes from the floor. I nodded toward the scale as I strode into the bedroom and started pulling on my clothes. “Thanks for your help. I’ll get rid of those extra pounds before the fight.” I’d dismissed him. I couldn’t get away from my shame, my embarrassment.
“Wait, Gray. I’m sorry. I should have told you.” His gentleness didn’t match his size and yet it did as he moved toward me from the bathroom. “I’m so sorry I kept that from you.”
I pulled on my shirt, then another, covering my skin as fast as I could. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. His mother wasn’t a whore – probably even a cracked-out whore which I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. I mean, wouldn’t it be more preferable to have a mom who couldn’t help what she did because she was addicted versus having a mother who gave up her family and everything for no reason at all?
Obviously, neither option was ideal, but I was at the point where grasping at straws was the only way I could function.
Stryker stared at me, waiting for my response to his apology. I shook my head and closed my eyes as I settled my hoodie around my waist. “Look, it’s not you. I’m not upset at you. I’m… There is a lot of pain surrounding the topic of my mom and I’m just not sure I can face it right now. You know?” I shook my head. “Let’s get through today and then we can…” I let my voice trail off. I wasn’t promising to sex or anything else. I just needed to get through the day. I doubted
I could fight Letesha LeCroiz and win when I couldn’t eat or drink or even when I had so much riding on the outcome of the fight.
Sure, I was a better fighter than she was – under ideal conditions. But with so much on the line, I had to admit that my shortcomings were going to be in play and I’d have to make up for them with my strengths. Which, at the moment, didn’t feel like much.
“Yeah, I understand.” He cleared his throat and lifted his hands, only to drop them back to his sides. “Brock said I shouldn’t tell you this, but… My card was drawn and my first fight today is against Blaze.”
I jerked my gaze to his face. “Blaze? He’s not your weight.” Blaze was about 20 pounds lighter than Stryker and he lacked the bulk to make his punches count.
Stryker shrugged, moving toward the door. “I thought he’d be fighting Brock, but apparently he’s weighing up so he can fight me. Conveniently, their fighter in that class has a sprained wrist so the spot is open. Don’t worry. Blaze is easy. Work on making weight and I’ll see you there. My first fight is in two hours.” He winked at me and closed the door behind him.
Two hours. I’d be on my own as I tried to lose the required weight. I could keep going here and then try for my final weigh in after I watched Stryker’s fight.
Because I was watching that fight, no matter how cocky Stryker was about it. Some things you just had to see for yourself.
I moved across the room to the thermostat and cranked up the heat. I had to start sweating and moving. Getting rid of those three and a half pounds was going to need consistency. I had to keep going. I had to believe I could do it.
Stryker would be with me, even if only in spirit as he headed for his own fight. I might be there on my own, but I wasn’t actually. Gunner, Brock, Sara, and Stryker were all with me, spurring me on, even if I couldn’t’ see them.
I had to do everything in my power to compete or I’d have to worry about my friends haunting me from the grave and truly only being there in spirit.
That was enough to get me started jumping in place right then.
Her Champions: A high school bully romance (Bad Boys of Jameson High Book 3) Page 10
