by Izzy Sweet
This sucks.
The bed is just as messed up as it was when we left. Reluctantly, I put new sheets on. Fuck, I’m being a pussy. Just because they smell like her doesn’t mean I have to get all mopey. I do leave on the pillow case she laid on briefly though. Yeah, I’m hooked.
* * *
Getting up early in the morning isn’t fun whatsoever. Fuck, my head is reeling from the fact that I fucked her last night without a condom.
I’m positive I’m clean and so is she, but still.
I fucked a woman I barely know without a rubber. She could have easily been knocked up because of me. I wouldn’t mind that one fucking bit, but I don’t know what it would do to us to have something like that happen so quickly.
I go for a run around the lake to clear my head, needing to get my shit together. I have a fight soon and then another one right after that. I don’t have time to fuck myself up mentally or physically.
I run longer and harder than normal and have to push myself to do it. Maybe I’m punishing myself as well because I could have fucked things up royally for her and myself. I can’t have that happen.
No, I cannot allow bad shit to come between us. I want her, and I swear she is mine now. Not going to fuck around about that.
She is mine.
I marked her fair and square. If someone else would have been lucky enough to capture her then they should have made sure she was marked.
I can barely breathe as I get to the back door of my house. The door leads into the kitchen and I have to lean a long time against the counter, drinking a cold bottle of water. I pushed my running out there but maybe it’s also all the fucking I got to do with Grace. I just feel so full of energy. It’s like I’m now filled with lightning, I need to release the building up pressure.
Shit, I want her home right now, right where she and Hope should be. In my house, making noises and bringing life to it.
I glance at the time on the stove and head to my bedroom so I can get ready for the gym. I need to keep working out today.
If the pressure I’ve been feeling continues to grow as much as it has been these last few weeks, the fight against Wade is going to be a bloody mess.
I don’t hate Wade, not really, but right now he is standing between me and the next fight. He is standing in my way of getting my fucking belt. Standing there talking shit—telling everyone that I have a weak fucking jaw.
Fuck that. I ain’t been knocked out once. Not one fucking time.
That ball of fury is forming in my stomach again. It’s rolling around, moving itself into uncomfortable positions. It’s making me want to rage, to shift into Bear mode. I want to fuck shit up.
Fuck, I have seen myself when I get into the cage. I have watched the videos. I get in there and fucking roar like a fucking animal. I take the punch and I hit right back as hard as I can. I don’t take shit in the ring.
I hurt people in there and right now I fucking love it. I can feel the blood quickly pumping in my body, the adrenaline rushing into me. Thank fuck I’m on my way to the gym. I need to punish something or someone.
Fuck!
I want to see Grace right now. I want to stop by her house and see how she and Hope are doing. I don’t though because right now I’m the fucking alpha fucking bear and I want to tear the shit out of something.
I focus that rage and anger. I put it in the little cage I have built inside myself. It’s too small, way too small to contain all that red boiling mess of rage, but it will hold up for a while. Long enough to make it to the gym and then the dojo. Maybe it’s time to spar with Reaper and Brett again.
I step out of my shower and dry myself. Looking down at the floor beside my bed, I laugh out loud, realizing that she didn’t get fully dressed after all. Her panties are lying right there next to my discarded underwear.
Yep, she won’t be getting those back.
Chapter Seven
Grace
“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” my best friend, Mandy, gasps into the phone after I get done telling her about my night with Max.
It’s early afternoon and Hope is out with grandma, shopping. I have to work this evening so after putting away laundry and picking up around the house I’m resting up. After the workout Max gave me last night, if I don’t nap or save up my energy, I’m going to be dead on my feet tonight during rush.
There’s a long, quiet pause as Mandy digests all that I told her.
It’s been three days since I’ve talked to Mandy. I haven’t seen or heard from her since our night at the club. But it seems like we’ve both had a crazy weekend full of hot sex and pregnancy scares.
After listening to her spill her guts about getting back together with her ex-boyfriend, Brett—who’s also her sweetheart from high school and Max’s best friend—I spilled it all. I just had to get it out and tell someone.
I told her about waking up and not remembering how I got into Max’s bed. I told her about Carson and the crap he tried to pull, and my fear that he ruined what small chance I had with Max.
Then I gushed about how amazing Max is, and how much I like him.
Seriously, I really, really fucking like him.
And I told her how close Max and I came to screwing without protection. I think that last bit is what stunned her speechless.
“Mandy?” I prod and she starts laughing.
“So he’s hung like a horse, eh?” she asks, voice bubbly with her laughter.
And it’s my turn to gasp. “Seriously? After all of that that’s what you really want to know?”
Mandy laughs again and it sounds like she’s busting a gut over there. “Yeah, especially because I remember how much you used to complain about Carson’s cocktail weenie back in high school.”
“I did not!” I immediately and vehemently deny. I so wouldn’t do that… but after thinking about it for a moment I’m not so certain. “Did I?”
I vaguely recall complaining about Carson back then, definitely remember not being able to reach an orgasm with him because he was so quick…
Mandy squeals. “You so did. Remember, we used to say he puts the wee in weenie.”
“Oh my god, we did,” I groan with realization. “We were such immature bitches.”
Seriously, this is the father of my daughter we’re talking about here, but back then I guess I was bitter about how things were playing out. Making fun of Carson was just a way of letting out some steam.
“Were?” Mandy snorts. “More like we still are.”
“Only when I’m talking to you.”
“That’s right,” she says and I just know she’s smirking into her phone. “I bring out the best in you.”
I can’t argue with her there so I just sigh into the phone.
I’ve known Mandy since preschool and she’s always been more like a sister to me than a best friend. Even when she moved out to California we talked on the phone every day without fail. And when she moved back, we didn’t have to waste any time catching up. Between Skype, texts, and phone calls it was almost like she was never gone.
Almost.
“So, are you and Max dating or just fuck buddies?”
“Um,” I reply, a little stumped on that one. “I’m not sure if we’re anything.”
“You mean after all of that you don’t know?”
I stare into my bedroom mirror and lift my shirt. The hickey he left on my breast is still there, a dark splotch beside my nipple. He said he was marking what was his. Yet, I don’t know where I stand with him. Does he want to see me again? Right after our amazing sex I would have said yes.
But, “He was really quiet when he dropped me off. I think having to drive me home so early irritated him or something.”
Probably made him realize how inconvenient hooking up with a single mom can be.
Now that I’ve slept on it, and thought about it all morning, plus the fact I’ve yet to hear from him—no phones calls, no texts, no nothing—I’m thinking everything Max said and did was just in the heat of the moment.
“Oh, screw that. If he doesn’t call you soon I’m going to kick his ass.”
I laugh, remembering I told her the very same thing in regards to Brett not too long ago.
“Or… I can always ask Brett if he wants to go on a double date with you two.”
I groan and ask her to, “Please don’t do that, please.”
“Why not?” she asks trying but failing to sound innocent.
“Because I don’t want you or Brett trying to pressure him to date me. I want him to date me because he wants to date me.”
“Pfft, how could he not want to? You’re like the hottest bitch I know. If I were into girls I’d so date you.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, swallowing back all the valid reasons for Max not wanting to date me. Like all the responsibilities and inconveniences that come with me—such as ending the night early and having my ex forever in the picture. And just say, “I’d date me too.”
“That’s right,” Mandy says, sounding pleased with my answer. “So does Friday night work for you?”
“No, dammit.”
“Saturday?”
“Mandy, please don’t do that to me,” I beg. “Please.”
“Argh,” Mandy says and I can just picture her throwing her hands up in the air. But she’s stubborn dammit, always has been. Once she gets something in her head it can be hard for her to let it go. “How about we just get together and hang out, do something casual? ”
Now I’m the one saying, “Argh,” and throwing my hands in the air.
“I really want to hang with you,” she whines and I feel a little guilty for shooting her down. “I can invite a bunch of other people if you want me to so it’s not a double date.”
“Like the other ring girls?” I ask and immediately want to kick myself. Yeah, that sounds like fun, inviting along all the hot girls so Max can compare them to me side by side.
“Yeah… Though I don’t want to go clubbing, and I probably shouldn’t be drinking alcohol…”
“Oh, well, in that case—“ I start to say but she interrupts me.
“Let me talk to Brett, I’m sure he’ll know of something.”
Argh. I really don’t feel like arguing with her until I’m blue in the face so I give up and sigh, “Okay,” in defeat.
Mandy squeals with happiness. Girl loves getting her way.
Before she can get too excited, I remind her, “But I still gotta ask my mom and dad to babysit. They might have plans.”
It’s not likely though. My parents rarely turn down a chance to have Hope all to themselves. They take immense joy in being the “fun” kind of grandparents. They’ll probably take her to the park and load her up on sugar.
“Okay,” Mandy says happily, knowing just as well as I do that it’s pretty much a done deal. “I’ll call you later with more details. Right now, though, I gotta run.”
“Okay, later… bitch,” I smirk. Hope isn’t around so I can be immature-high-school-Grace for another minute without having to stuff money into the swear jar.
“Later, bitch,” Mandy laughs and hangs up.
It’s just something silly from high school we like to do. For whatever reason calling each other bitches was just fun, like we were owning the word.
Walking over to my closet, I start to riffle through my wardrobe, already thinking about what I want to wear. If the other ring girls do show up, should I even try to compete? Maybe I should just dress down so I don’t look desperate…
My phone rings and I answer it without looking, thinking it’s Mandy calling me back. She probably forgot something.
“What do you want now, bitch?” I ask, putting extra emphasis on the bitch part.
“What the fuck, Grace?” Carson snaps and I drop my phone in shock.
“Fuck! I’m sorry!” I yell, hoping he can hear me over himself. He’s cursing up a storm as I bend down to pick my phone off the floor. “Seriously, I thought you were Mandy,” I explain.
Straightening, I hold my phone away from my ear and keep apologizing, insisting that I don’t think he’s a bitch until his loud, angry cursing calms down.
“I hope you don’t talk about me like that in front of our daughter,” Carson says angrily but calmer.
On the verge of tears after all the venom he just spewed at me, I reassure him, “No, never. I would never talk like that in front of her.”
“I’ve heard her say that word before and I was wondering where she learned it…”
I want to deny it and say she didn’t learn it from me, but I can’t be entirely sure. After she repeated it once after listening in on Mandy and me Skyping just before she turned two years old, we’ve been very, very careful. But maybe after these couple of years she remembers.
Fuck, between accidentally calling Carson a bitch and knowing he’s heard Hope use the word, I seriously feel like a horrible mother.
I don’t know what to say. I can neither deny nor accept responsibility for Hope’s cussing so there’s this long, awkward pause.
“Are you still there?” he asks, probably thinking I hung up.
“Yes,” I sigh and slump down on the edge of my bed, waiting for him to bring up the reason for his call.
I don’t know how to talk to him. I have so much anger when it comes to him. Not just for the way he’s hurt me but for the shitty way he’s treated her since she’s been born. But I’ve tried to let it go for her sake. We all make mistakes. We all do dumb shit when we’re younger. Lord knows I’ve done more than my share.
I just don’t understand how he could walk away from her.
I don’t understand how he could convince himself she was better off with me struggling to provide for her on my own while he went off to better himself—for her. Like hell did he go to college and party it up for her. He bettered himself for himself. And now that he’s back and I took him to court for child support, he’s forcing his way into her life for… what?
That’s what I can’t figure out.
The only reason I can think of is that he’s had a change of heart. Perhaps there’s remorse on his part. Regret.
So I go out of my way to be nice. I go out of my way to be agreeable and flexible. He tells me he needs me to pick her up without giving me notice, I pick her up. He tells me he needs me to drop her off at an earlier time, I drop her off. He needs to switch weekends; I switch the weekends. I won’t be what keeps him from her, even if it’s not fair to me. Even if I have to cancel every plan I make and just sit by the phone waiting for the call. If he can’t step in and be a father, that’s all on him. I’m giving him every chance possible.
So I wait for him to tell me when and how he wants his next visit, and I sure as hell don’t expect him to ask me, “Are you busy this weekend?”
Huh? That’s a first. And this weekend isn’t his weekend either.
“I’m going out Friday night, and Saturday I have to work,” I answer, wondering—and worrying—why he cares.
“So you’re free Sunday?”
“Yes. Do you want me to drop Hope off Sunday? I can always drop her off Friday before I go out, or Saturday before work.”
“No, this isn’t my weekend. You can drop her off at our usual time. Can I swing by Sunday and pick you up?”
“Uh…” I draw out, dumbfounded. “Why do you want to pick me up?”
“I want to take you out.”
“Why?!” I ask a little too incredulously and slap my hand over my mouth. Holding the phone away from my ear, I take a deep breath in and out of my nose, trying not to freak out.
What does he want now? How does he plan to fuck up my life now?
Carson clears his throat and then says slowly, too carefully. “I would like to apologize for my behavior Saturday. It was unacceptable.”
Did I really just hear that? Or am I just imagining what I want to hear?
“Grace?” he asks when I don’t respond.
&n
bsp; “I accept your apology,” I blurt out. “No need to pick me up.” I’ll forgive him for what he did, for the sake of Hope, but I won’t forget it.
“I would still like to take you out. I’d like to talk about Hope.”
“Um…”
I really don’t want to go out with him, it’s already a strain trying to be civil with him when I drop Hope off or when we’re talking on the phone. I can’t imagine trying to keep it up for an hour or more.
“I have a lot to apologize for, Grace.”
Dammit. There he goes getting my hopes up. Has he had an epiphany? Is this the first step of him getting his shit together and being a better father for her?
“Okay,” I agree my shoulders slumping as I drop down to my bed. I didn’t realize I had stood up was pacing and I’m pretty sure I almost wore a hole into my floor. “What time do you want to pick me up?” I ask, already feeling a knot of uneasiness forming in the pit of my stomach.
“How about sevenish?”
“Okay,” I agree tentatively. It’s kind of late for a school night but hopefully whatever he wants to talk about won’t take long.
“I’ll make a reservation at Donasto’s.”
Oh joy, going out to eat at a restaurant is my favorite thing to do on my nights off. Not.
“Okay,” I agree again. I suppose it’s better to have a table between us than nothing at all.
“Sunday, at seven. I’ll pick you up at your parent’s house?”
I can’t quite bring myself to say sounds good because, fuck, it so doesn’t sound good. Instead I just say, “Yep,” for confirmation.
“Have a good night, Grace,” he says but the way he says it I get the feeling there’s more going on here.
“Bye Carson,” I quickly say and hang up before he can say more.
Fuck, that was awkward.
I’m half tempted to ring Mandy up and tell her what just happened but I’ve got to start getting ready for work. Flipping the ringer off my phone, I set it down on the bed and walk over to my closet. Pulling down my uniform, I pause for a moment. I don’t know how it happened but after years of spending my nights at home, it seems within the space of an hour my entire weekend is full.
