The Cocky Cage Fighter Six Book Box Set

by Lane Hart

  I lunge for him; but as soon as Abby steps in front of me, I lower my clenched fists and don’t move forward another inch. God forbid I hurt her or the baby.

  “I need to get you some ice,” Abby says when she sees the swelling on his face. She turns and walks back into the apartment with him on her heels. And since she didn’t dismiss me, I follow them and shut the door because I want answers. In the foyer, I pause a moment to acknowledge the dent in the wall that’s responsible for changing my life. If we’d made it to the bedroom and fucked missionary or doggy style, would Abby have gotten pregnant? Too late to change it now.

  Moving farther into the living room and little eating area, I sit the bag of crackers from the beach store on the table as I look around.

  “This place is too small for a baby,” I declare. My living room is bigger than the entire apartment. After growing up in a tin can, I bought the biggest, most spacious house I could comfortably afford several years ago. Do I need a big ass house? No, but I’ll be damned if I live in a cramped trailer again.

  “There’s plenty of room here,” Abby says without looking up from the sink where she’s filling a plastic sandwich bag with ice.

  “Have you bought any baby shit yet?” I ask since I’m surprised when I don’t see anything. Some sort of look passes between Abby over her shoulder and Luke on the sofa. I really don’t fucking like it.

  “Not yet. It’s bad luck to buy anything before the second trimester,” she eventually answers, like I know what the fuck a trimester is.

  Walking back through to the living room, Abby climbs up beside Luke, sitting on her knees to hold the bag over his cheek. She may have bitch tendencies, but I actually think she’ll be a pretty good mother. I mean, she can’t be worse than mine. No one can be that bad at caring, nurturing, or otherwise giving a shit about their child.

  Glancing around, I see a haphazardly tossed black tee on the floor that I know without looking has a red Havoc logo on it. The simple sight makes me want to go Hulk smash all over the fucking building. My home for the first time in my life, the place and people I love, and another one of the fuckers there is banging Abby. Hell, she might’ve fucked half of my teammates by now for all I know. She has been coming around the place a lot more lately. I thought it was to flirt with Linc, but now I know it was more than that.

  “Why are you still here?” Abby asks when I continue lingering with a death hold on my hair.

  Well, fuck if I know.

  “How are we gonna do this?” I ask after I chicken out on the question of her and the asshole’s relationship status.

  “Do what?” she replies, tending to Luke’s face while his amused eyes follow our conversation back and forth like a tennis match, the stupid smile still stretched across his face. I really want to try to knock that mocking smirk off again with my fist.

  “The, um, baby thing,” I tell her, not happy about having this conversation with an interloper. I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t know she’s pregnant. And he didn’t act surprised to find out it’s mine. What is his deal with her? How long have they been fucking or whatever they’re doing? Is he her boyfriend?

  “I-I just wanted you to know it’s yours,” she says on a sigh. “I never expected anything from you.”

  My chest constricts, and my throat starts to burn. What the fuck do I even say to that, and why do her words hurt so damn much?

  “Abby, I’ve got plenty of money,” I tell her, leaning my back against the foyer wall, also known as the scene of the crime, to try and look casual when inside I’m feeling anything but.

  “Good for you. I’ve got plenty of money, too,” she says right away without even sparing a glance in my direction. “I don’t want or need yours.”

  Why does a woman telling me she doesn’t want my money to raise our child piss me off? I mean, it seriously pisses me the fuck off. It’s the least I can do since this is half my fault. Probably more than half.

  So, if she doesn’t want or need anything from me, where exactly does that leave us? Shared custody? Weekend visits?

  Wait.

  “Are you even gonna let me see her?” I ask.

  “Why would you want to?” she says when she finally looks over her shoulder at me with a blank look on her face. A look that tells me that she honestly doesn’t think there’s a single reason for me to be around my own daughter. Like I’m such a piece of shit that she can’t comprehend why I would bother asking to be even a small part of her life.

  “Abby—” Luke says her name as an admonishment because apparently even he thinks that was a below the belt hit.

  Her words are so cold that the room momentarily blurs and I have to clench my teeth when I come real close to pussying out and actually shedding a tear in front of her and the boy she’s fucking. I could call her a bitch and explain what I want, not that I really know what the hell that is myself. Or I could do I what I do best, take the easy way out, jump ship from the escape hatch she’s offered and go right back to my bachelor life with zero accountability for anyone but myself.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” I throw out before I yank open the apartment door. “Otherwise, good luck.”

  I don’t wipe the wetness from my face until my truck drives out of the parking lot. For the first time in my life I try to man up, do the right thing, take responsibility and shit, only to be told I don’t have anything to offer. It’s the truth, which is maybe why it hurts so much. And what’s with the stupid waterworks? Why do I miss someone I haven’t even met? I never wanted to be a father, so she’ll probably be better off without me anyways.

  I can’t shake this nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something, like I left a part of myself back at Abby’s apartment. The most gut-wrenching, depressing part of that sensation is that I’m pretty sure that I’ll never get a chance to hold that little piece of me, but I’ll always remember the emptiness from where it’s missing.

  …

  Abby

  “What was that about, Abby?” Luke asks as soon as Senn walks out the door.

  “I changed my mind,” I tell him with a shrug, using the back of my hands to wipe away the tears. On the way home from the beach, I had a lot of time to think about the future and what I should do about the no-win situation that won’t be slowing down anytime soon. It was like the answer had been flashing in neon signs all weekend, and I had been too blinded by jealousy to see it. I should’ve known. It’s always been Linc.

  “You’re not gonna have the baby?” Luke asks. There’s no judgment in his question, only what sounds like a hint of relief.

  “No, I am definitely having the baby,” I clarify. There’s never been a doubt about that.

  “So, what do you mean?” he asks.

  “Can we not talk about this right now?” I reply, climbing on his lap to get back to where we left off before Senn interrupted. “Is your jaw okay?” I can’t help but wince just imagining how bad that hit must’ve felt.

  “I’m fine. You know I’m just worried about you, angel,” he replies, brushing the hair from my face. “I can’t imagine how tough this decision has been. You’re so damn brave.”

  “It hasn’t been tough,” I reply honestly. “Now I’m more certain than ever that I’m making the right decision. She’s gonna have a family who loves her, no matter what.”

  “Is your family still giving you the silent treatment?” he asks while kissing his way down my neck.

  “Yes, except for my sister, but they dumped a hundred thousand into my trust fund last Friday. Maybe that’s my father’s olive branch since money is the only form of communication he really knows.”

  “They’ll come around,” he says against my ear. “If not, you know you tried, and that they’ll always regret it.”

  I nod my agreement.

  “When’s your next doctor’s appointment?”

  “Two weeks from tomorrow at eleven. Another ultrasound,” I answer while reaching down to stroke his cock through his thin shorts to make him stop
talking about all this depressing shit. I feel his breath rush out of his lungs before he groans. Tonight won’t be his lucky night, but I’ll still make him feel good. It’s the least I can do after he took a punch to the face because of me and helped me keep my mind off the future for a few hours.

  Chapter Seven

  Senn

  Over the past several days, I’ve kept myself too busy to think about anything to do with Abby or being fatherhoodwinked. That’s a word, right? If not, it should be added to Urban Dictionary with my picture next to it. Fatherhoodwinked: adjective - To be told of an impending paternity, begin to get comfortable with it, only to have it yanked right the fuck out from underneath you.

  With angry rap music blaring in my ears, I’ve been spending my days grappling with Nate and giving Mace beatings while taking whatever he dishes out to help him prepare for his very first IFC fight. The kid is getting better. A lot better based on how fast he won last night’s fight.

  From his sullen, doomsday expression, it’s obvious now that we’re flying back from Vegas that he has a chip on his shoulder. If I had to guess, I would say his chip is named Hailey. After Abby pointed it out, I’m not sure how I didn’t notice that the two of them were together sooner. Now, I can’t say I was all that surprised to hear Mace and Hailey got hitched, or that Mace has already screwed up and is in the dog house.

  Sitting next to me in first class thanks to his new IFC contract, his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing and he hasn’t quit spinning the white gold wedding band around his finger since we boarded.

  “You’re not gonna try and jump out without a parachute, are you?” I ask him, only partially teasing.

  “If we go near New York, it’s a definite possibility,” he replies, deadpan. “We’re cool, right?” he asks, turning slightly in his seat to face me.

  “Yeah, we’re cool,” I assure him. Who am I to call foul for someone breaking the bro code? “As long as you don’t ever hurt Hailey again like you did when you made out with the ring girl,” I add.

  “Never,” he says. “Never intentionally.”

  “You two okay now?” I ask.

  “Not even close,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “But I’m not giving up on her. What about you and your baby daddy issues?”

  “Abby doesn’t want me in my daughter’s life,” I confess the shitty truth because I need to get it out of my system and I can’t tell my best friend. Linc is perfect daddy material in Abby’s eyes while I’m nothing but gutter trash.

  Mace actually smiles for the first time all day. “You’re having a little girl?” he asks, apparently missing the first part of my admission.

  “Yeah, pretty sure. Not that I’ll ever see her,” I answer, running my fingers through my hair to tug on a chunk in frustration. God, the shaggy locks are getting long. Maybe it’s time for a cut. For a change. Although, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna take more than a haircut to make Abby see that I can give up women and be a decent father.

  “Why won’t you see her?” Mace asks.

  I slouch a little lower into my seat, feeling the embarrassment of the past few years living as a don’t-give-a-shit-playboy catching up with me. “I guess she thinks I’ll be a shitty father.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to be a father,” he replies, not trying to be an asshole, I don’t think, just being honest based on the conversation we had the day Abby told me the news by phone.

  “I didn’t,” I admit since it’s true. Then I try to figure out the point where that changed. Seeing Abby’s baby bump at the wedding? No, now that I think about it, I know the exact moment when something inside me shifted. “She likes Lucky Charms.”

  “Who? Abby?” he asks with a confused crease between his dark eyebrows.

  “No, the baby.”

  “Okay, you lost me,” he says with a grumble and a shake of his head.

  “Abby’s been having these food cravings,” I explain. “The baby wants her to eat one of my favorite foods.” And my mom’s. I withhold that one though since my worthless parents are not something I ever want to bring up. Actually, I try to pretend they don’t exist, at least until my dad shows up on my doorstep wanting a handout. He’s never even been inside my house. It’s like a quick and dirty drug deal. He bangs on the door in the middle of the night, and I hand over the cash. Probably best that he doesn’t come inside since my belongings are all much safer if he doesn’t see them. Honestly, breaking and entering is likely more work than the man has ever done in his entire life.

  “So…” Mace says, still not getting what I’m trying to say about the significance of the kid’s cereal, one I didn’t have growing up because it was too expensive.

  “So,” I start to explain. “I realized that the baby is gonna be like a mini-me, which means she’ll probably be pretty damn awesome.”

  “And I’m sure she’ll be just as humble as you as well,” he snorts. “Have you talked to Abby?”

  I nod and swipe my palm down my face. “She pretty much shot me right down. Said she didn’t want my money either.”

  “Damn,” he says with a shake of his head. “But she can’t just cut you out. I mean, if it’s that important to you, you could go to court and ask for visitation, right? She can’t just make the decision to keep her from you.”

  “That would suck to have to go through attorneys and shit, but maybe…” I mutter.

  …

  Abby

  The sight of a pink Mommy’s Little Angel onesie has my sniffles escalating to a full blown sobfest. I quickly weave my way through the racks of tiny clothes in the huge department baby store to collect myself in the restroom. And pee. I do that a lot lately, the crying and peeing.

  My phone dings in my purse with a new text message right when I sit down on the toilet, so I pull it out to read it. My sister said she’s in the store and can’t find me. Well, obviously. I shoot her a quick response to tell her I’m in the bathroom.

  “Lucy, I’m home!” my sister, Whitney, says with a fake Cuban accent when she blows into the women’s restroom like a hurricane. “Tossing your cookies again this morning?”

  “Nah, just had to go. Be right out,” I assure her, using tissue to dry up my face before I flush and open the door to face her.

  “Nice,” she says. “I heard the raccoon look was coming back in style.”

  Glancing in the mirror, I see my mascara is smudged all up under both red-rimmed eyes. My braid looks slept in with pieces falling all around my face and the blue floral sundress that fit just last week is now practically indecent. “I’ve surpassed hot mess and entered a whole new level of fucked-up-ness,” I tell her while I wash my hands.

  “Aww, but you’re still cute. You look like a little farm girl who got knocked up on Little House on the Prairie.”

  “Not funny,” I say with a glare at my little sister. That’s when I notice Whitney’s wearing her big sunglasses inside and a huge pink, floppy hat over her long, chestnut hair. “What’s with the disguise?” I ask.

  “Oh. Well, you know that if Thomas and Vivian found out I was seen in public with you, they would cut me off. Since I’m hoping for a new Audi A5 convertible for my birthday, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  “Yeah, I mean, a new car is way more important than baby shopping with your knocked-up out-of-wedlock sister,” I tease, reaching next to her for a paper towel to dry my hands.

  “Easy for you to say. You have your own business and don’t depend on our parents for sustenance anymore.”

  “Yes, and yet they still keep putting money into my account. Even as recent as last week,” I tell her. Their money now goes straight into a trust fund for the baby, because I refuse to touch a penny of it. By spending enough money, my parents think they can buy anything, including my agreement to do whatever the hell they want me to do. Never again. It’s all about appearances with the two of them, which is the only reason they had me and Whitney. The social clubs would’ve looked down on them for not procreating, and they would’ve lost
out on all the “my kid is better than yours” competitions. Whitney still plays along, but I gave it up a long time ago.

  “Huh. Guess they’re softening up to everything after all,” she says. “So, you ready to shop?”

  “No!” I shake my head and tell her adamantly. There’s no way I want to repeat the prior episode over and over again. “I-I just can’t. This is so hard.” My voice cracks on the last word, and then I’m a blubbering mess. Whitney wraps me in her arms and lets me cry on her shoulder.

  When the bathroom door opens and a woman with her little girl comes in, I know it’s time to leave. “Have you had lunch?” I ask her as we walk toward the exit.

  “No,” she replies. “Why, are you a hungry, hungry hippo?”

  “Not funny,” I mutter.

  “Oh, hi.” A peppy young woman in a purple logo shirt stops us before we get to the sliding doors. “Have you started your registry with us yet?”

  “She’s not pregnant, just fat, so leave her alone, you nosy heifer!” my sister yells at the woman as she grabs my arm and pulls me away.

  “Whitney!” I exclaim. “I’m so sorry,” I tell the salesperson over my shoulder on the way out the door.

  “Whew! That was fun,” Whitney says, practically skipping through the parking lot until we approach our two red Beemers parked side-by-side.

  “Not fun,” I scoff. “That was mean.”

  “Hey, I was just trying to save you from another freak out,” she tells me. “So, where to, Triple H? Whatcha got a craving for?”

  Cock. Always cock. And enchiladas.

  “Triple H?” I ask in confusion with my hands on my hips.

  “Hungry, hungry hippo. I thought you would prefer Triple H to the actual phrase.”

  “I would prefer Abby, but whatever,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “How about Rio Grande?”

  “Mexican? Really, that’s what the little one wants? Or do you just want to be in the shopping center near Havoc on the off chance some of the fighters might come in?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “Either way is fine, because those boys are hot!”