Her mouth gaped. They certainly did. Obviously, for some reason, they’d kept Consuelos’s previous condition unrevealed. Making the cause of death the kick. Dane’s fault. She clamped her lips together as she shut off the recorder. “Thank you. This helps a lot,” she said, even though the talk with her friend had only raised more questions than it had answered.
Kate nodded. “No problem. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.” She paused. “Eva has been through so much. First, her son needing heart surgery, then losing her husband . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know how she stays so strong.”
Colby nodded. “How is the little boy now?” If Marco had technically lost the fight that night, the family would have only received the minimum payout for his sacrifice. Had that been enough to help pay the boy’s medical bills?
But Kate was smiling for the first time. “He’s doing great. He had surgery three weeks after Marco’s death. It was a miracle that Eva had been able to afford the surgery, but somehow she did. I guess a mother would do anything to protect or save her child.”
“Yeah. No doubt they would,” she mumbled, her mind reeling. How had Eva afforded the surgery?
Kate picked up her coffee and sat back in the chair. “All I know is I’m grateful that somehow it worked out for her little boy, Josh, at least. I don’t think she would have survived losing her husband and her son.”
* * *
Colby double-checked the address before knocking on Eva Consuelos’s door the next day. Her heart raced as she waited, but Dane’s revelation about the fight and her talk with Kate propelled her actions. Since her husband’s last fight, Eva and her Fighting Kills organization had been vocal about the dangers of MMA. She’d publicly claimed she could never forgive Dane for killing her husband, and Colby needed to talk to the woman. She had to have known about her husband’s condition, and yet she continued a crusade against the sport.
Colby didn’t disagree that the sport could be dangerous. Nor did she disagree that the unsanctioned, illegal, underground fights needed to be stopped. But she did need to find out if Eva knew about her husband’s preexisting condition, and the fact that his condition when he’d knowingly stepped into the cage that night was more likely what had ended his life.
She leaned closer and glanced through the frosted window of the door, then, hearing footsteps, she stood back and straightened her suit jacket.
The inside door opened, but the screen door stayed shut. “Can I help you?” Eva asked, looking as though she’d just woken up.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon, but she had wanted to make sure not to wake her in case she’d worked the night shift. “Um, hi . . . Mrs. Consuelos? My name is Colby Edwards. I’m a reporter from Knock Out Sports.”
The woman folded her arms across her chest, keeping the screen door closed. “What do you want?”
“I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions . . .” She hesitated. “About the fight on November twentieth.” She couldn’t bring herself to reference the fight any other way.
Eva’s eyes clouded as she shook her head and reached for the door. “I already gave more than enough interviews last year.”
“Please wait!”
The woman paused.
“I’m actually writing a story that might interest your cause. It’s about the dangers of some of these fighting organizations.”
“You mean all fighting organizations,” she said.
She wasn’t prepared to go that far with her statement. The MFL protected their athletes better than a lot of other professional sport organizations, but she desperately wanted a few minutes of the woman’s time, so she simply nodded and continued quickly. “I have reason to suspect some organizations are allowing fighters to compete injured, against doctor’s notes, and in some cases are pushing the fighters to fulfill their contract obligations with no regard for their safety.”
She frowned, but she did open the door a little wider. “So your goal is to try to shut down these organizations?”
“Not all. As you know, that would be almost impossible, and I do feel there are legitimate organizations out there . . .”
The door started to close again.
“But,” she said quickly, “organizations such as Xtreme Fight? Definitely. The public needs to be aware of what they are doing, the rules they’re breaking. I’m hoping to shed light on that organization in particular.”
Eva hesitated. “Fine. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
“Thank you.”
As the woman moved away from the door and Colby entered, she saw that she was wearing her nurse’s uniform under her cardigan.
“All I have is coffee,” Eva said, leading the way into the living room.
“No, thank you, I’m okay.” She’d already consumed a pot and a half trying to summon the courage to visit the woman. She was once again starting to appreciate the on-air position she’d held in Seattle.
“Well, I’m dead on my feet, so I need some. Give me a sec.”
“Take your time,” Colby said, scanning the home. Small but cozy and warm with maple-colored hardwood flooring throughout and rounded archways leading into the living room and the kitchen a few feet down the hall. From where she stood, she could see two bedrooms and a bathroom, and with the doors open, it was easy to spot which room must belong to her son. It was painted a dark royal blue with Avenger and Ninja Turtle posters visible on the wall, a ball and baseball bat spilling out into the hallway.
She walked into the living room and scanned the family pictures on the wall. Images of the three of them at the park, on vacation in Disneyland, the Grand Canyon. She leaned closer, studying a picture of Marco. He had such a nice smile. It was almost as though she could feel his warmth coming through the photo.
A shiver ran through her and she turned away.
A cell phone rang in the kitchen, and Eva popped her head in. “That’s the hospital. I have to answer it. Just another minute,” she said.
“Of course,” Colby said, sitting on the sofa to wait. Noticing a stack of mail on the table next to her, she bit her lip, resisting the urge to look.
She didn’t have to. Sitting right on top was a life insurance claim letter, and her eyes scanned it too quickly before she could look away.
Marco’s life insurance policy. They were paying Eva the full amount of the claim. She frowned. Obviously, the company hadn’t been updated about Marco’s cancer diagnosis.
And he’d died so soon after the tumor was discovered he wouldn’t have had time to have a new medical exam. She suspected the family had already been paying high premiums for the coverage, given his chosen profession, so she was happy the claim hadn’t been denied, but it also explained a lot.
Of course Eva was going to continue to blame the fight and Dane. She couldn’t tell the truth—that her husband’s preexisting condition had caused his death—or else the payouts from the insurance company would stop.
Hearing her on the phone, Colby stood and paced the living room. She’d already gotten the answers she’d come in search of.
An envelope with a familiar logo on the corner caught her eye under the stack of mail and she moved closer. She’d recognize her father’s company logo anywhere. Sliding it carefully out of the pile, she saw that there was no mailing info on the envelope. Not even a name . . . just hundreds of dollars in cash inside.
The floor felt a little unsteady under her feet. Dane. He was giving the family money.
Hearing Eva’s slippers approaching on the hardwood floor, she quickly tucked the envelope back as the woman entered, coffee in hand. “Sorry about that,” Eva said.
“Oh, it’s fine. Um . . . Actually, you know, I know you’re busy and I don’t think any of my questions are anything you haven’t answered before, so I should go.”
Eva frowned, casting a quick glance toward the mail on the table and
then back at her. Her expression changed and her shoulders slumped. “I begged Marco not to take the fight,” she said softly. “We fought about it for a week, every day. Josh was so upset hearing us fight all the time. He didn’t know . . .” She paused. “He didn’t know that Marco had been diagnosed with the tumor. All he knew was that I didn’t want him to fight.”
“Mrs. Consuelos . . .”
She shook her head. “Please let me finish.” She took a breath, clutching her coffee cup with both hands. “We needed the money for Josh’s surgery, and he did what any desperate father or mother would do,” she said pointedly, her gaze landing on the insurance papers.
“I understand . . . And believe me, I sympathize with you and your family. You’ve been through a lot,” Colby said. “But if you know your husband’s death was only partially the organization’s fault, why are you advocating so hard for all organizations to be shut down? And why continue to blame Dane Hardy?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No matter what other circumstances were at play, that kick killed him.”
Colby sighed. “And that’s the story you need to stick to for your insurance claim,” she said.
She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s the truth.”
Colby glanced at the envelope of money again and resisted the urge to say any more. If this woman continued to blame Dane despite knowing the truth, despite the fact that he was providing additional financial support to the family, there was nothing she could say to change that. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Consuelos. I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, moving past her and not stopping until she’d reached her vehicle.
Inside the car, she rested her head against the steering wheel.
What the hell did she do now?
* * *
“Statewide Claims, how may I help you today?”
Colby glanced around the office. Everyone had already called it a day. She was alone in her cubicle. “Hi. I have a question about your life insurance policies.”
“I can help you with that. Do you have an existing policy with us?”
“No.”
“Can I start with your name, please?”
She hesitated. “Actually, I just have a couple of questions for now.”
“Okay. I’ll try to help.”
“I noticed online that your policies don’t cover anyone with preexisting medical conditions.”
“Unfortunately, no. There are policies available, but the coverage is not as extensive and the premiums are quite high. Not everyone qualifies.”
“What if the person already had coverage and later found out they had a life-threatening illness?”
“The premiums go up and usually the amount of coverage reduces each year as well. Sometimes continued coverage is denied, I’m afraid.”
“What happens if the person dies of something else, say a car accident that had nothing to do with their condition?” she asked.
“Full coverage would be paid.”
She swallowed hard before asking the question she knew in her gut the answer to already. “And what if it was later discovered the illness had actually been the cause of death?”
“The paid-out premium amounts would be required by law to be paid back to Statewide Claims.”
Right.
Shit.
* * *
Hearing the door unlock, Colby ran a hand through her hair and leaned against the counter in Dane’s kitchen.
He smiled when he saw her and her apprehension increased. He was happy to see her. Which should have made her feel better. Instead, she felt even more anxiety creeping into her chest.
“I assume Mrs. Everwood let you in?” he asked, dropping his training bag.
She nodded. “I hope that’s okay. I wanted to see you.” The last few days had been torture as she’d struggled to resolve her conflicted thoughts. Between work and training, she’d barely seen him the last few weeks. Her memory of his gorgeous face failed to do it justice. His easy, tired smile as he walked toward her made her whole body tingle. How on earth was she supposed to do the right thing—tell him the truth—when he looked so damn hot?
Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, she quickly turned away and opened the oven door, where Mrs. Everwood’s leftovers were waiting for him. “Mrs. Everwood was awesome enough to feed me . . .” She started, but as she set the tray of lasagna on the stove, he grabbed her waist and, lifting her, he set her onto the counter. Kissing her hard, he wedged himself between her legs.
Oven-mitted hands went around his neck as she returned the kiss, savoring the taste of his lips as his aftershave filled her senses. God, he looked amazing, smelled amazing, tasted amazing. She willed time to stop, so she could stay right there in that moment with this amazing, selfless man who was far too good for her, who deserved so much better than the way she was deceiving him. Her throat grew thick and she was grateful for his lips pressed firmly against hers, preventing the slight quiver.
Cupping her face with his hands, he broke away with a satisfied sigh. “I wanted to see you too,” he said, his intense gaze making her even more desperate for him than the kiss had.
She cleared her throat. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.” The slow smile that spread across his face made her heart thunder in her chest.
“Thank God,” she said, freeing her hands from the oven mitts and, fisting her hands in the fabric of his shirt, she dragged him closer. A confession would have to wait. She couldn’t even think straight around him, especially when he looked at her that way. Desire and lust were in his expression, but also something else—dare she hope it was love?
“Can I take you right here?” he asked, already unzipping his jeans.
She nodded, moving to the edge of the counter and lifting her skirt up over her hips.
“Easy access, I like it,” he whispered into her ear as he dropped his pants and yanked his underwear down past his thighs.
His cock was already standing erect and she swallowed hard, ready for him as well. So much so that she reached into her pocket and handed him a condom. Her shy grin met his surprised look. “Wow, you really thought this through. Good thing I didn’t say I was hungry.”
She laughed as the first real sensation of happiness she’d had in days filled her. For right now, it was the only emotion she would allow herself to feel.
Dane tore the wrapper and slid the condom over himself, moaning at his own touch. “I warn you, this will be quick,” he said, his voice husky.
“I’ve been thinking about it all day. Believe me, I won’t last long either,” she said, moving her underwear to the side to allow him access.
“Damn, Colby, you’re so fucking hot,” he said, moving between her legs. A second later, he thrust forward, entering her, and a cry escaped her lips. “Did I hurt you?” he murmured in her ear as he gripped her ass and pulled her even closer, pushing himself even deeper.
“No,” she panted. “Harder, deeper, faster . . .” she said, her fingernails biting into the flesh at his shoulders.
He thrust over and over, his cock reaching depths that she hadn’t known were possible and sliding almost all the way back out before thrusting in again. Her breathing was hard and fast as she rocked her hips in rhythm with his body and his tongue trailed along her neck and collarbone. “I’m getting close,” he said, slowing down a little.
“Me too, don’t stop,” she said, clinging to him. She’d never needed anyone the way she needed him at that moment. Needed his body tight with hers, needed the feel of his lips against her bare neck, and needed this moment to last. To help her forget everything else that would come later and give her something she could hold on to.
Her body tightened around him, and a final thrust later, his head collapsed against her shoulder and he groaned.
Her own body spasmed at the sound of his r
elease and she trembled as ripples of delight shot through her. She fought to steady her breath as he kissed her gently—a stark contrast to the way he’d taken her roughly, desperately, passionately, on his kitchen counter.
“I could come home to that every day,” he whispered.
And she kissed him again to stop the truth from escaping her lips and destroying everything.
Chapter 12
The neighborhood hadn’t changed at all since he was a kid and every time he went back there, he felt like he’d stepped through time. However, if time travel were possible, there were a million other places he’d choose to go rather than his past . . . or this neighborhood.
Driving down the familiar streets, Dane shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel of the truck. Passing the old playground should have brought back happy childhood memories. Instead, the peeling paint, exposed, rusting metal, netless basketball hoops that were bent and twisted, and the court covered in graffiti made his stomach turn. The memory of the other boys’ relentless bullying echoed in his mind. They were all poor, but his family was the poorest, making him the obvious outsider, and the fact that he was tall and gangly made him an easy target. His gaze settled on the spot behind the back fence where every day one of them would decide to beat on him, and it brought back the feeling of weakness that had accompanied each undefended shot to his face and stomach.
He looked away and stared straight ahead as he passed the grocery store, the high school, and the medical clinic . . . All exactly the same. All with their own troublesome memories attached.
Getting out of this place had been his only goal for as long as he could remember. And fighting had been his way out. He pulled the truck to the curb as the only gym within twenty miles came into view. Frank’s Gym had closed ten years before and the boards covering the busted-out windows and the graffiti-covered walls confirmed that even the greatest of places hadn’t been able to compete with the harsh reality of life in the eastern valley neighborhood.
Pushing the Limits Page 16
