Fighting Love

by Marysol James

  Mitch reached out and took her small hand in his massive one. “Holy fuck, babe. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “It’s OK.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and his gut twisted at her hurt. “It was a long time ago.”

  He wanted to pull her to him right now, to offer her some comfort. But he resisted it; he knew that if he touched her like that just once, he’d never be able to stop himself from wanting more. Then more. He’d want everything, and she just wasn’t about to give that to someone like him. She had clearly known brutality and violence, and he was the kind of man who lived a brutal and violent life. The fact that she was even comfortable sitting here next him on the sofa totally amazed him.

  “Anyway,” she said, embarrassed at her display of emotion in front of him. “Let’s watch the movie, OK?”

  “You choose.”

  She looked at him. “No, it’s your turn.”

  “Forget it,” Mitch said. “I forfeit my turn tonight.”

  Those beautiful blue eyes searched his hard green ones and she knew exactly what he was doing. She smiled.

  “OK, but I can make you really sorry.”

  He groaned. “A chick-flick? Anything but ‘The Lucky One’. Please, I beg of you.”

  “Let’s compromise,” she said. “How about an action movie? Maybe ‘The Expendables’, part whatever-it-is-now?”

  “Sounds good.” Mitch relaxed as she started to look like herself again. “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter Four

  On the next Thursday night, Reena worked until almost 2 a.m. and was just settling in to bed when she heard something fall in the bathroom. Listening closely, she heard Mitch muttering, then something else hit the floor. It sounded like a plastic bottle, maybe.

  She got out of bed and opened her bedroom door. She saw the light was on under the bathroom door and she knocked. “Mitch? You OK?”

  She heard a curse. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  His voice sounded strange, like he was muffled.

  “Can you open the door for a sec?” she said.

  “Why? You have to use the bathroom?”

  “No. I just want to see if you’re OK.”

  “I am. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine. You sound weird. Let me see you.”

  “Reena, please. I’m fine. Go back to bed now.”

  “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re trapped in the bathroom and I’m standing right outside the door. I’m not moving and you have to come out sooner or later. So you might as well open the door.”

  “Fucking really, Reena?”

  “Yes. Fucking really, Mitch.”

  In the bathroom, he blinked at his own reflection in the mirror, astounded at how bizarre it was to hear Reena swear. He sighed. “OK. One minute.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  He quickly washed the worst of the blood off his face and neck, then scrubbed his hands. For no reason that made any sense, he smoothed down his hair and straightened his bloody t-shirt. He surveyed himself in the mirror and then yanked the shirt off.

  “OK,” he said as he opened the door. “Now, it looks way worse than it is.”

  Reena gasped when the light threw his damaged face in to relief. “Mitch? What happened to you?”

  “I had a fight tonight.”

  Her wide eyes took in the bruising along his ribs, the raised welts on his cheek, his wrecked, swollen hands. “Like – a pro fight? Or a fight in a bar with a motorcycle gang?”

  He laughed, then grimaced when his cheek throbbed. “A bit of both.”

  “OK, sit.” She shoved him back in to the bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub. He was so surprised at her physically pushing him around, he just went along with it. “Let me take a look at you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you say that one more time, I’m taping your mouth shut. You are not fine.”

  He sighed again and then closed his eyes when her cool, gentle hands touched his face. He bit back a groan as she leaned closer, her sweet scent infiltrating every pore in his body, her loose hair brushing his bare chest. She was standing between his legs and he opened his eyes just a bit; her breasts were right in front of him and the temptation to kiss them overwhelmed him. He squeezed his eyes closed again, clenched his busted hands to stop himself from reaching for her, from pulling her in and tight.

  Reena ran her fingers over his face, lifting his chin to the light so she could see better. It felt so incredible to touch him, to be so close to him, and her whole body ached to be held in those arms. “OK,” she said, trying to stay focused. “What happened?”

  “I told you. A fight.”

  She stepped back, her body protesting at the distance she created between them. “Where?”

  He opened his eyes again, relieved that those breasts were out of his direct line of sight. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She stood there, arms crossed, her eyes steady. She didn’t say a word, and he stared back at her, wondering at this side of Reena he’d never seen before.

  “Mitch, please. I know you didn’t have a fight tonight for The Rock, OK? And I don’t smell any alcohol on you at all, so you haven’t even been near a bar. But you’ve been hurt and you’re being cagey about it. So, what is it?”

  “I – you’re not going to like it, Reena.”

  “Probably not, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  “OK, OK.” He shook his head. “It was an underground fight.”

  Reena uncrossed her arms. “A what fight?”

  “Underground. Like, in an abandoned warehouse. Bookies, cash all over the fucking place, chalk on the floor. No rules, and most guys get taken out in dark SUVs and dumped near the E.R.”

  She looked horrified. “Why would you do this?”

  He shrugged. “The money’s amazing. If you win.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, I guess congratulations are in order.”

  He studied her. “Hey, Reena… come on. Everybody does a few of these fights, just to make ends meet, you know? It’s no big deal.”

  She gestured at his hands. “No big deal? You call this no big deal? Your hands are a mess, Mitch. I’m willing to bet that you can’t even open that bottle of ibuprofen over there, can you? Is that what I heard falling on the floor?”

  He looked away. “My hands are fine. I’m fine.”

  “Stop saying that you’re fine!”

  He got to his feet, angry now. “Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Huh? I needed a lot of money, and I needed it fast. This isn’t the easiest way, but it’s the fucking fastest. So this is what I had to do. Get over it.”

  “What did you need the money for?”

  “That’s none of your business.” He started to walk towards the door but she blocked him. “Get out of my way.”

  “No. Not until you tell me what you need the money for. I know you make more than enough from your Rock sponsorship to cover your whole life. Why did you have to put yourself through this?”

  “Stay out of it, Reena.” His eyes were cold, his massive body tight.

  “No.”

  “Reena.” The warning in his voice was clear.

  “No.”

  Mitch stared down at her, and honestly didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or shake her. Her face was set and determined, her blue eyes glittering with anger and something else – worry? No, tears. She was crying.

  What the fuck?

  “Hey,” he said reaching out to touch her arm. “Hey, why are you crying?’

  She shook her head, an impatient, annoyed movement. “Because I’m worried about you, you ridiculous huge fucking idiot.”

  Mitch laughed. He couldn’t believe that he did, but it just burst out of him. She blinked in surprise and then she smiled too. The tension in the air disappeared and they suddenly felt like they knew one another again.

  “OK, Reena. I’ll tell you everything.”

  She exhaled, relieved. “Sit d
own. I’ll clean your cuts while you talk.” She ran warm water in the sink, found a fresh face cloth and got a tube of antibiotic cream from the medicine cabinet.

  Mitch sat back on the edge of the tub and watched her, liking the way her hands moved. She gently cleaned his face with water and a bit of soap and he closed his eyes again, enjoying her touch, relaxing fully for the first time in what felt like years.

  “The truth is… I’m fighting to pay off a debt. A big one.”

  “Whose debt?”

  “My sister’s.”

  Her hands stilled. “Your sister’s?”

  “Yeah.” He opened his eyes again. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m serious.”

  She studied his green eyes and knew that he was at his limit in terms of sharing anything about that. She nodded.

  “It’s almost paid off, one or two more fights will hopefully take care of it. But they’re irregular, you know. Like, maybe a fight every six weeks or so. And in the meantime, the interest on the debt adds up. It’s like a hole that keeps getting deeper, and I’m finding it hard to dig my way out, even when I win big like tonight.”

  “Any other options?” Reena dried his face. “Maybe ask Nick and Adam for some help?”

  “Never.” Mitch was very quiet. “Not one word to them, Reena. Please.”

  She glanced at him.

  He grasped her wrist. His touch was gentle but she felt that incredible strength in his fingertips. “Please.”

  “OK. I won’t tell them.”

  He relaxed again, dropped her wrist. “Anyway, I’ve been job hunting for something part-time, so that I can make more regular, steady payments – even if they’re smaller, but I figure it’ll cover the interest between fights – but I haven’t found anything yet.”

  “What kind of job?” She dabbed the cream on his cheek and his lip with her baby finger.

  “I’m a professional tattoo artist.”

  That surprised her. “You are?”

  “Yep. But that whole scene is hard to get in to unless you know somebody, and I’m new to Denver. I’ll keep trying, of course, but it’ll take some time. It’s like… you need a magic key to get the door open. Honestly, it’s easier to get in to an underground fight than in to the tattoo parlours.”

  She seemed to be thinking hard. “You have any samples of your work? A portfolio?”

  He blinked. “Yeah. And you’ve seen my work already, lots of times.”

  “I have?”

  “Yeah. I did almost all of Adam’s tattoos.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She thought about the artwork on Adam’s body; more than once, she’d noticed the skill and confidence that had gone in to his tattoos. If Mitch had done them, then he was truly good at what he did.

  “You’re talented, Mitch.”

  “Thanks.”

  “OK.” She took a step back. “All done. How you feeling?”

  “Like I had my head pounded in to a cement floor,” he joked.

  She went pale. “You did?”

  “Hey, it’s OK.” He touched her hand. “I’m OK.”

  “I’m sorry I was so awful earlier,” she said. “I just – I was worried, and you scared me. I want to help you, if I can.”

  Mitch shook his head. “It’s OK. I shouldn’t have kept it from you… I should have just told you the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “Yeah. You should have. We live together now and we have friends in common, too. Our lives are connected in some ways, and so we need to tell each other the truth.” She paused. “That’s what friends do.”

  His dark gaze was steady. “Is that what we are, Reena? Friends?”

  “Yes.” Say you want more, Mitch. Please. “Or don’t you think so?”

  He almost sighed aloud at her words. Fuck. I’m in the friend zone. There goes any chance of anything more with her. Game over.

  “Sure we are.” He stood up. “Listen, I’m totally wiped out. I need to get some rest.”

  “OK.”

  “And before you go?”

  She turned back to him. “Yeah?”

  He handed her the bottle of ibuprofen with the goddamn impossible childproof cap. “Can you open this for me?”

  She grinned. “Of course, tough guy.”

  **

  The next afternoon, Mitch got out of bed at about two o’clock in the afternoon. Every inch of his body hurt, and as he stood in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew, he took stock of his injuries, holding an ice pack to his hands.

  Goddammit. Turning twenty-nine really was the turning-point, huh? How many more of those kinds of no-holds-barred fights have you got in you, man? Maybe twenty more? At most and if you’re fucking lucky? Thirty ain’t that far off, Corrigan – you think you’ll still be able to do this for much longer after that?

  His eye was caught by a yellow post-it on the fridge and he walked over to read it. Reena’s handwriting, as curved and graceful and feminine as she was. He sighed when he recalled those sweet hands on his face; sighed again when he remembered her calling him a friend.

  He looked down and read, ‘Mitch, here’s your magic key. Drop by and see Dean Jessop from Blackstar Ink… tell him that you’re the guy Reena told him about this morning. He’s there until eight tonight. Bring your portfolio and good luck. Reena.’ Underneath she’d written an address and a phone number.

  Puzzled, he went down the hallway. Her bedroom door was open but the studio door was closed, so he stood outside for a few seconds, listening. No movement, no music. She wasn’t home. He looked at the note in his hand again and his brow wrinkled.

  OK. Let’s go see Dean Jessop.

  **

  “Holy fuck. Reena wasn’t kidding.”

  “About what?” Mitch said.

  “About the damage to your face.” Dean Jessop shook his blond head. “She said that you don’t usually walk around like this, but I told her that in a place like this, guys wandering in after a fight weren’t such an unusual sight.”

  Mitch grinned. “Yeah, I guess not.”

  “How’s the other guy look?”

  Mitch turned to the man over in the corner who asked the question. Bright gold eyes, dark brown hair. “The other guy ended up in the E.R.”

  The guy shook his head. “Christ.”

  “Anyway,” Dean said. “Reena called me this morning, told me about you. Said you’re looking for part-time work?”

  “Yeah. I have to train almost every day, but some days are half-days. I have some free time, and I can work most evenings, no problem.”

  Dean nodded. “I can use someone like that. I’m looking to have some flexibility in my own schedule.”

  “OK.” He gestured to his backpack. “You want to see my portfolio?”

  “No need. Reena vouched for you.”

  Mitch paused. “She did?”

  “Yeah.”

  The guy in the corner came over now. “One hundred percent, and that girl’s never steered us wrong. She knows how to spot talent.”

  “She does?” Mitch asked.

  “Hell, yeah.” The guy extended his hand. “Jim Alden.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  “So – how do you guys know Reena?” Mitch said. They were both big guys, tattooed and muscular, quite obviously ex-military, ferocious and kind of intimidating. How the hell would sweet little Reena cross their paths?

  “We were at art college together,” Dean said. “She was just a kid then, but they let her in on pure talent and she did some night courses. It’s weird, but we became friends, then stayed in touch when I dropped out to start basic training and got shipped out to Afghanistan. When I came back to Denver, we met up for coffee and she helped me start this place. Found me this business location, sent me a truckload of customers, and she’s sketched about fifty of our tattoos.” He pointed up at the walls where hundreds of tattoos were framed and mounted. “Some of our most popular designs are hers.”
/>
  Mitch stared at Dean, then looked around the tattoo parlour. It was nice, as far as these places went, but it definitely had a rough vibe. The thought that Reena had ever set foot in here even once was – quite literally – unbelievable. Forget the notion that she’d actually helped this guy with the fierce green eyes start and build it up.

  “Yeah?” he managed to get out.

  “Yeah. The woman’s the real deal. You ever seen any of her paintings?”

  “Nope.”

  “How come?” Jim said.

  Mitch shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just figured that it would be all pastel landscapes and flowers and lighthouses next to the ocean.”

  They stared at him.

  “For real?” Dean said. “That’s what you think Reena paints?”

  Yeah. And sunsets and castles and trees in autumn. Dreamy, gentle, sweet. Like her.

  “Well, doesn’t she?” Mitch said.

  “Hell, no,” Dean said. “She paints some of the most fearless stuff I’ve ever seen.”

  Mitch blinked.

  “She did that incredible series about addiction – remember it, Jim?”

  Jim nodded. “Yeah. Wrecked people, all broken in to pieces… they looked like shattered glass. It was fucking amazing. And no pastels anywhere, man. Hot pinks and reds and yellows. Everything she does just screams at you.”

  “Reena?” Mitch said. “Little blonde thing, looks like she should be wearing a tiara and riding a unicorn over a rainbow?”

  They laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s her. But don’t be fooled by appearances, Mitch.” Dean looked him up and down. “So, what do you think? You want to come by this week, give it a try here? See how it works out?”

  “Absolutely.” Mitch extended his hand. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dean glanced down. “I hope your hands will heal up in time.”

  “Two days, max,” Mitch said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Dean nodded. “OK, perfect. Come back on Thursday then. Early afternoon good for you?”

  “Yep. I can be here by one, if that works.”

  “It does.” Dean grinned. “And ask Reena to show you some of her paintings, Mitch. You may not have gotten knocked out last night, but you will be if you see her work. Her stuff will punch you right in the face, I swear.”