A lot of things aren't what you think they'll be. I land my first punch of the round and hit Rage's inner groin with a knee strike that's close enough to his balls to make him pay attention. But when he meets my eyes, there's no fear there, only the rage that he's known for. His gaze is distant, cold and calculating, and I'm suddenly transported back in time to the days when I had to fight bigger guys like him. Rage is a powerhouse for a welterweight, and I'm betting he struggled like hell to lose pounds for his weigh-in, but it paid off. It occurs to me that he's bigger than I am, even though he's not supposed to be.
I keep delivering strikes, seemingly at random. But I have a method. I hit sensitive spots that a fighter thinks he can manage—but together, they'll wear a fighter down, string him out so that he's an easy target.
Rage responds like I want him to. Dizzy and sore, he stumbles around the cage, falling to the ground for a moment. Right before the ref is about to call the third round in my favor, Rage shakes off the dizziness.
Was he faking it? Was I hallucinating?
He lunges at me, and that cold look takes over his face again. He shuffles in front of me and starts landing punch after punch, putting me in a position I don't want to fucking be in. Rage has his gloved hand pressing down on both of my shoulders, and there's a cracking pain through my left side as he knees me repeatedly in the ribs, landing strike after strike.
This is what Frank paid for. The asshole knows exactly where to—
My thought doesn't form, not fully. Instead, Rage grabs my right glove and yanks it off, twisting my ring and pinky fingers hard, right where they were fractured when I beat Frank down. I cry out in pain, and Rage knocks me to the ground. The ref is yelling now, trying to get us to stop. I hear Ash's voice in the distance, steps coming into the cage. But it's too late.
I'm down, and Rage has his knee in the middle of my back. He hits my left shoulder over and over again, and I scream with anger. Bright bursts of light flash in front of my eyes. The pressure on my back lessens, and I know Ash must be pulling him off. The moment I feel Rage’s body leave mine, I’m up. His body is still thrashing, and he’s still lashing out at me.
“I should feel sorry for you, you piece of shit,” I say. I spit in his face and it turns bright red. My voice is so loud that everyone in the arena can hear my own rage, pulsing through my very words. “How’d he get you to do it? Forfeiting a fight in front of everyone—missing your chance to go pro after an undefeated season.”
Rage is silent, still struggling against Ash. But Ash is a heavyweight from way back. I know from experience that Ash’s grip is like steel, and Rage won’t be moving any time soon. My hands curl into fists, but I don’t notice the pain anymore.
I want justice. I want victory. But more than that, I want to go back in time and have a clean fight. But I can’t have any of that shit, and bashing this guy’s face in just because I can—because Ash would let me—it won’t accomplish a fucking thing.
I glance over at Frank. His round face is pale, like all the blood’s been drained from it. Beside him the trainer sits frozen, stilled in time. Behind me, the ref is talking to Ash and then to Rage, but I raise my hand to stop him. The pain is coming to me now, thick and heavy, but Natalie’s out there in the audience, and the shit I’ve got to say is important. More important than all the planning, all the hours spent working, the time spent training. There’s an eerie hush in the arena. They’re waiting for me to speak.
“You wanna know what’s going on?” My words are thick. There are bruises forming on my face just like there are after every fight. But this time, it feels a fuck of a lot worse.
But I came here for a fight. And I’m not leaving without winning.
There are murmurs from the audience.
“This man had this fight rigged, probably weeks ago.” I raise my damaged left arm and point it at Frank. Despite the pain, my hand is steady, and all eyes land on Frank and the trainer next to him. “This man—Frank Martinelli—knew where I was injured. Why’d he do it? Because I tried to walk away, and because I tried to take the young fighters he abuses every goddamn day along with me. He’s spiteful and fucking petty—and he’s a washed up, worthless sack of shit that couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.”
Frank’s face has gone from pale to bright red. But I’m here inside the cage, and the audience knows exactly where I’m pointing. There’s movement in the audience across from me, and I look to see Natalie running into the lobby. If she’s doing what I think she’s doing, she’s read my thoughts exactly as they are. She’s ready for a win too.
All along, she’s made me stronger. Me and her, we’ve changed each other. Six weeks ago, I might have made it to this fight. I might have called Frank out. But I wouldn’t see it as a victory, not like I do right now.
I lower my arm, but my feet are planted firm.
“This man runs fights with underage runaways. He gets them hooked on drugs, and he threatens their families if they try to leave.” The volume of the audience rises as I speak my last words, and all eyes are on Frank. The crowd came for a fight, and what they got was a charade. I fall to the floor and sit my ass against the back of the cage. Rage’s trainer is dragging him away now, and the ref makes an announcement about a rematch as I fall back into a daze of pain. Just as the audience starts to move, Frank makes a beeline for the lobby.
Good. He hasn’t even paused to consider we might have that shit from the gym. Sometime last night, Katy went in and placed a set of copies back inside that damn lock box, so when the police go to raid his gym, Frank won’t be able to deny that every bit of it is his.
The doors of the lobby swing wide open, and Natalie greets him, smiling wide. I can’t hear what she’s saying, because the audience is moving and talking again, some voices angry, others just in a rush to get away from the theatrics. A police officer steps out from behind Natalie and takes Frank by the arm, saying something to him that may or may not be his rights.
The whole thing is silent, almost anticlimactic. But I watch Frank walk away, hands cuffed behind him, head hung low. There’s a swell of pride inside of me as Ash helps me up and leads me down the steps, straight into Natalie’s arms.
“It’ll work out next time, Joshie,” Ash says. But for the first time after losing a fight, I smile. I take Natalie in my arms and kiss her, claiming her lips with mine, running my hands down over her beautiful body, cupping her breasts briefly, gently.
“Not here,” she whispers.
“Fuck everyone else, Nat. I’d lift you over my arm like a caveman if I could. But I sure can’t right now.”
She throws her arms around my neck and rests her head against my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t win.”
“Close enough,” she says and shrugs. “Works for me. Now, you’re not going to be an idiot and not let me take you to the hospital this time, right?”
“I don’t need to—”
“Well, I cain’t take you to that clinic. And I’m the one who’s driving. So I guess you’d just better let me take care of you.”
“All right. You got it.” Ash waves awkwardly and heads in Summer’s direction. She must have been here with Nat, but I never did see her. I guess this was Ash’s fight too, and he’ll need some tending to now that it’s all done—and he won’t be getting that purse any time soon.
I’ll get it the next time I fight. As Natalie leads me out to her beat-up Civic, I feel lighter than I ever have after a fight, like there are big possibilities out in the world. She helps me in the car and pulls out of the lot.
I don’t care much about the pain, because I see it all clearly now. Nat was always the reason, and in her book, I won. It doesn’t get much simpler than that.
I lean back and close my eyes for a minute. All victories come in their own packages, and this victory seems to be mine.
Hopefully, the first of many.
EPILOGUE
“You got a shift today babe?” Josh draw
s me into him and whispers in my ear. The sky is still dark outside—somehow that happens so quickly in the fall—but the day should be unseasonably warm and breezy. If I close my eyes, I think I can hear the gentle waves of the Roanoke Sound washing up on the shore of our island. “Nat… did you hear me? You got a shift?”
“Mmm, yeah. Later. Like an hour or so. You—you’ve got to train, don’t you?” I yawn and sink deep down into the sheets. If I open my eyes, I’ll see all the moving boxes and trails of stuff that we’ve left all over the place. And it just might drive me over the edge into insanity. But still, it’s a good feeling. It’s better than being back at the old bungalow, where there are so many memories, so few of them good ones.
No, this is a good place. It’s the place we rented together with the bit of money we scraped together while we’re getting the old place ready to sell. It’s the living room where we sat when one of the recruiters called. He’d seen the fight, he’d said. Josh had heart and ambition, and the recruiter would promote Josh and his gym.
Fighting ain’t all about winning. That’s what the guy had said when he offered Josh an advance, a sponsorship at his gym, and five fights on the professional circuit for the East Coast. Fighting’s about confidence, about verve, about honesty. And son, you got that in spades.
We didn’t get the purse, but we won the prize anyway. There was no meltdown, no drama when Josh had to forfeit the fight. We just picked up and moved on, brushed the past off and let it fall behind us. I guess sometimes doing the most reasonable thing pays off.
Who knew? Welcome to adulthood, population Josh and Natalie.
Josh doesn’t respond. I can feel him looking at me, and a hot blush rises to my cheeks.
“Don’t you have to train--and then that meeting with Ash and the new sponsor?”
“Yeah, but not yet, babe,” he says. I snicker, my eyes still closed. Josh has taken to calling me “babe” just like we’re an ordinary couple who got together in an ordinary way.
“What? What are you laughing at?”
“You,” I say. “You in bed, with me. Calling me babe.”
“Why’s that so funny?” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me hard, tangling his fingers through my hair. I sink into his warmth and realize that my body is already starting to respond to his. “You weren’t laughing last night after dinner.”
No, I wasn’t laughing. I was begging for him, desperate for this man who rolled into my life like a hurricane. The exhaustion had hit me hard after yesterday’s shift, and I had wanted him--needed him--to take me, to make me submit to him. Something about this man speaks to my body in a way it’s never heard before. Now he knows the depth of my desire, all the dark things I kept hidden so deep, for so long.
My lips melt against his, my body responding with that same need, but less urgent now. He bites my lower lip gently, and the heat stirs inside as he pulls my naked body flush with his. I trace my fingers over the muscles in his arms and nuzzle against his neck. The ink that adorns his body used to scare me because it represented a life outside of us, a life I knew nothing about. But now, he’s finally let me in, and I understand all of the space between us, all of the years.
“You want to get up... or?” His words are raspy in my ear, and I feel his cock growing hard against my thigh. Now there’s no space between us at all. The pain has finally been erased, and here we are, skin to skin, body to body. I shake my head no and drape my leg over his.
“Again,” I say. He guides my body on top of his and grabs my waist, the tip of his cock pressed against my cleft. Pulsing need sweeps through my body, and I try to struggle, try to push down onto him. But he resists and holds me still--and that cocky, lopsided grin appears over his face. A small, throaty moan escapes my lips. “Come on, Josh. This isn’t funny.” I try to move again, but he holds me in place.
“Say please, Nat.” His voice comes out in a throaty growl, and he pulls my hair, tilting my head back and trailing his lips down over my neck. “I want to hear you say please, Natty.” I bite my lip, trying to keep quiet. I still don’t quite want to give in to Josh McRae, not every time he demands it. He likes it too much, and he notices it every time that shattering desire rises in my body. I groan again, but his hands grip my waist tighter.
“Please,” I moan. “Come on. Please.” I look down at his hazel eyes, and they flash green for a moment. He lowers me down onto his cock, and inch by inch, I take him in.
When we're finished, she falls against me, far more comfortable than she was that first time she rode me. There's something far more relaxed about this woman. It strikes me as I watch her shake out her hair, as she pulls into me and kisses me again, that there are pieces of this Natalie that I don't know.
I've only seen the Natalie who cut school just to go to the library, who skipped homecoming to go on a trip with the debate team. This Natalie, the wild one, is one I'm just starting to learn about. In all the years I've known her, I've never seen her so bright, so vibrant, like she's lighting up the whole room.
I might say that I have something to do with that, but she'd tell me I'm an arrogant asshole. And she's probably right—no, she definitely is. But secretly, when I think about that thing that connects us, I can tell it's something different, something special. It's changed both of us, and it's allowed us to be here, in this moment.
I watch Natalie as she stands and starts to get ready for her day. I know she doesn't think her body is beautiful, but she holds her body with more confidence now, moves somehow in a different way.
“I’m heading out. Gotta get some coffee and then get to the hospital.” She leans in to kiss me and I sit up, pulling her in close for just a moment before letting her go.
“What’s all this about?” She laughs and tilts her head back. The sound is melodic, almost hypnotizing. I catch her hand before she pulls away.
“It’s not like we’re keeping it casual anymore, Nat. We moved in together last week. Can’t I just look at you for a second before you run off to work?”
“Oh we aren’t keeping it casual?” She laughs again. “Color me surprised. I never would have guessed with the moving in and all that.”
“I mean, can you come sit down for just a second?”
“What? You wanna go steady? I think we already are. You even told me you love me.” She smirks and then tilts her head back and laughs out loud. The sound is intoxicating to me, just like it always has been. That laugh has brought me this far, and I hope it’ll carry me on all the days of my life. That’s what I want to tell her. I just don’t know how. I take a deep breath and let it out. “Hey, I don’t mean to tease,” she says. “I mean, I do, but I know all this shit is weird sometimes. It’s a different life for both of us.” She sits down next to me on the bed and runs her fingers through my hair. It’s growing out a little now, maybe longer than an inch. Hasn’t been that long in years. Man, a lot of things are changing.
“You can tease all you want, Nat.” I take another deep breath, and I know I look like a total idiot. I laugh and bite my own lip, just like Natty. Out with it. “In fact, Nat. You can tease me any time, all our lives.”
Her amber eyes meet mine, the perfect arches of her eyebrows raised and pert. “Uh, Josh?”
“Maybe we could make this situation… permanent. That’s what I mean.” I pause and lift my hand to her cheek, touching its sweet softness. She just stares at me. Her expression hasn’t changed, and I’m beginning to sweat, like I did when I met with that recruiter from the big fight. Maybe more than that. That was just my career. This is my life, my everything. I start again. “Nat, you know I’m not the best at being eloquent or anything. I don’t have a ring because you know we can’t afford it.”
The smile starts to form on her face, and I wonder if she’s going to laugh at me or if she’s pleased. She’s fooled me before. There’s no telling with Natalie. “Nope, we certainly couldn’t afford it.” She’s keeping her face blank, but those amber eyes are dancing. There’s nothing I can do but go in
for the kill. I’ve already started the conversation, and there ain’t no getting out of it.
Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 23
