Grace for Drowning

by Maya Cross

  My next opponent was a guy named Billy — another Final Blow regular I'd fought before. Despite the fact that he was really just another average competitor, I was excited to get back in the ring. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

  Charlie called me into his office the morning of the fight.

  "We've got a problem."

  "What?"

  "Billy just pulled out of tonight."

  I grimaced. "Injured?"

  "No." He seemed almost morbidly amused. "Apparently he's now contracted to a rival organization."

  That was odd. Billy was good, by Final Blow standards, but between his job and his family, he trained even less than I did. He was a mid-tier beater. He didn't have anything the other leagues would be desperate for. "Which organization?"

  "TPW."

  It only took a few seconds for things to click into place. My fists bunched. "That fucking bastard." I'd told Charlie about Task's visit. He'd laughed and shrugged and seemed to take it in stride, but I knew him to well enough not to miss the concern in his eyes. Concern that was apparently well founded.

  Charlie gave a weary nod. Apparently he'd already made the connection. "It looks like he didn't take your rejection very well."

  "There's no way it's just a coincidence, right?"

  "At first, I hoped maybe it was, but then an hour ago Johnny told me they'd signed him, too."

  I blinked in disbelief. "Seriously?" Johnny was my next fight, the one scheduled a few weeks from now.

  I threw myself down in one of the guest chairs and tried to remain calm, which is pretty hard to do when you're picturing all the different ways you can make a man bleed. "Can we get anyone else?"

  "For tonight? No way. Not on six hours' notice. For next time, sure, but I don't think it will do much good. This is Task sending a message, and I don't think it ends here."

  "He can't buy everyone," I said, but I didn't really believe it. When he'd approached me, I got the sense he wasn't someone to mess with, and apparently my instincts were spot on. This was him saying, "if you won't fight for me, you won't fight at all."

  "TPW may not be the UFC, but they don't have to be, to afford our guys," said Charlie, "and from what I've heard, Task is ruthless. If he wants you as badly as you implied, then I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what he did."

  Tension was building like a rock in my chest, causing my breath to come in fits and starts. Fucking business intrigue. It was so goddamn petty, and I wasn't equipped to deal with it. I solved problems with my fists. I didn't know the first thing about waging war with contracts and checkbooks. All I wanted was for the world to leave me alone and let me do my thing. Was that really too much to ask?

  "So, what do we do?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Well, no sense in panicking until we know there's a problem. I'll line up someone else for next month. Make Task work for his dinner. My gut says it probably won't do much good, but maybe he's had his fun. In the meantime, keep thinking. Maybe we can reason with him."

  I grunted in reply. I felt an overpowering urge to hit something.

  As I reached the door, Charlie spoke again. "Logan, don't do anything stupid."

  I nodded, more because I couldn't come up with anything stupid to do than because of any sort of self-restraint.

  I worked the bags in the gym for a solid twenty minutes without a break. A torrent of rage and fire poured out of me through my limbs, but it didn't help. The supply seemed endless.

  Finally, I collapsed on the mats. Everything burned. I was going to be stiff as hell the next day.

  "Fuck!" I screamed to the empty room, because what else was I going to do? The situation made me feel so powerless. Fighting was all I had. It was my passion, my crutch, my life. And now, because some company I didn't care about in some city I'd never been to needed to pad its bank account, they were trying to take that away from me?

  It was bullshit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Grace

  That night at Logan's house changed things. The sex had been like nothing I'd ever experienced before, but it was our talk after that really drove home how fast I was falling for him. That conversation had been so intimate, so raw. Logan had bared his soul to me, and it was as wonderful as it was frightening.

  I couldn't believe one man could carry so much pain. That story he'd told me about Ace was just the tip of the iceberg. I was quite certain if the roles were reversed, I'd have buckled under the weight of it all a long time ago, but Logan was a rock. Obviously it left its scars, but it didn't break him. I had so much admiration for that strength.

  For a little while afterward, he was in great spirits. We were spending all the time we could with one another. Charlie had even altered our shifts to give us as many nights off together as possible.

  But then Logan's fight was mysteriously canceled, and most of those good vibes evaporated. He made an effort to act unperturbed, but I could read him now. I could see the extra tension he carried in his muscles, feel the extra weight in his silences.

  For a few days, I left it alone, figuring maybe it was just garden variety annoyance. Fighting was important to him. It was more than just a hobby, it was a kind of therapy, and so it made sense that he'd be a little off after missing out. But when days turned into a week and his mood continued to decline, I began to realize there was something more at stake.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked one night when we were alone in the bar.

  He shrugged. "Fine."

  A few weeks ago, I'd have gotten some quip about how of course he was, because wiping down benches was one of his lifelong dreams, but now he just went monosyllabic. Everything we had was founded on communication but now, all of a sudden, he'd decided to close up.

  "We both know that's bullshit. You haven't been the same since your fight was canceled."

  He stared into space for several seconds. "I'm sorry," he said eventually.

  "It's okay. I just don't like seeing you like this. Did something else happen?"

  He sighed. It looked all wrong on him, a gesture of defeat from a man who seemed indestructible. "You know how I told you about that guy, Task? The one that offered me a contract?" I nodded. "Well, he's the one who poached Billy."

  "What, as revenge for you saying no or something?"

  He shook his head. "Revenge I could have dealt with. This is worse. The same day, he contracted Johnny, as well. The guy I was supposed to fight next month."

  It took a few seconds for me to process what he was saying. "He's trying to bully you into joining?"

  "It looks that way." Logan reached into his pocket and handed me a slip of paper. "We weren't sure, but I found this taped to the door of the gym when I rocked up today."

  The note was plain and concise.

  There are plenty of people who'd love to fight you in TPW.

  It had no signature, just a phone number underneath, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to identify the author.

  "Jesus, what an asshole," I said. I couldn't believe someone would go to those lengths to get their way. "How long do you think he'll keep it up?"

  "As long as it takes, probably. Charlie says he's as stubborn as they come. We won't know for sure until we book someone else."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Another sigh, deeper than the last one. "I don't know. Charlie doesn't use contracts, too small time for that, so it's not like we have any claim over these guys. They can sign if they want to." His nostrils flared and he slammed a fist down on the bar. "It's such a fucking joke. Task doesn't care about them. He's just using them. I doubt they even get one shot on a big card."

  "Would it do any harm to at least look at the contract then? Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

  He shook his head vehemently. "And abandon Charlie? No. No fucking way."

  "I know it sounds like a scummy move, but think about it. If this guy really is willing to stop you fighting for as long as it takes, from Charlie's point of view, it's basically like you're already
gone. At least if you do sign, he'd stop having his other fighters poached for no good reason."

  The way he averted his eyes told me that deep down he'd already realized the same thing. Which meant there was more to it than simple loyalty.

  I slid up onto the bar next to him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Would it really be so bad, fighting somewhere else?" I asked, as gently as possible.

  "It's not the fighting that's the problem," he replied. "It's everything else. Photographers, journalists, fans, airports. I can't deal with any of that shit. I mean, can you honestly see me trapped in a tube in the sky with five hundred other people? It'd be murder at thirty five thousand feet."

  I managed a half smile. "So, maybe you sit down with him and talk it over. Maybe there's a compromise in there somewhere."

  His jaw clenched. "I don't want a compromise. I just want him to leave me the fuck alone."

  "At dinner you mentioned the fact that you wished Charlie could find more opponents like Caesar. And now you've got a guy with a whole league of people that good. You can't have it both ways. Things can't change while also staying exactly the same."

  "If those are my two options, then I'll pick staying exactly the same every single time."

  It seemed like that was going to be the end of the conversation but, after a few seconds, his expression softened and he pulled my head in against his chest. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a dick. This is just stressing me out. Getting in that ring each month is what keeps me going. It's all I've got. If I lose that, I don't know what I'll do."

  "It's not all you've got. You've got me," I replied.

  There was a long pause. I looked up to find him staring down at me with an odd expression, like he was seeing me for the first time. Some of the tension had leaked from his muscles. He actually managed a hint of a smile.

  "I do, don't I?" he said.

  "I know how important this is to you," I replied. "We'll come up with something. It'll all work out. You'll see."

  "I hope you're right."

  We stood like that for a minute or so. "What you said before, is that really what you want?" I asked. "For nothing to ever change?"

  He didn't seem sure how to answer. "It took me so long to put all my pieces back together into something that vaguely resembles a life," he said eventually, "and I know it's only going to take the tiniest gust of wind to make it all collapse again. I can't take that risk. What I want doesn't even factor into it."

  It felt like an impossibly sad thing to say, but I didn't know how to argue with that. Logan had his problems but, considering the life he'd led and the things he'd seen, it was remarkable he was here at all. Who was I to question his methods?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grace

  Logan's tension eased a little in the coming days, but I knew the TPW stuff was still weighing heavily on him. I wracked my brain trying to come up with a solution. It was a world I knew so little about, but there had to be a way. Things were finally starting to look up, and I refused to let some greedy businessman ruin that for either of us.

  In the meantime, I set about doing my best to cheer Logan up. I'd had a seed of an idea in my head for a while, ever since our failed attempt at going to dinner, and now seemed like the perfect time to put it into action.

  After a few days of preparation, everything was ready. I had Logan meet me at an unobtrusive street corner on the outskirts of Henderson. He'd seemed quite bemused when I insisted that we each show up separately, but he went along with it.

  He rocked up right on time wearing a pair of faded black chinos and a navy tee. I appreciated the effort he'd gone to with the collared shirt, and it definitely looked good on him, but the truth was I liked him looking a little rougher, and I'd told him as much. There was something masculine about it that just looked right on him.

  Even in the simple act of walking along the street, he looked dangerous, like a lion on the prowl. I still couldn't believe he was mine. That chiseled face and those powerful muscles never failed to set my heart racing.

  He had a curious smile on his face as he approached. "Well, as far as I can see, there's nothing to do for miles around here. What the hell are you planning?"

  "That is top secret information, soldier," I said in my best "military superior" voice.

  He grinned. "Is that right? Well then." Wrapping his hands around my waist, he leaned close so his lips could brush my neck. "Is there anything I could do to improve my security clearance?"

  With his body pressed against mine, a whole lot of things came to mind, but I was enjoying the element of mystery too much to give the game away just yet. With more than a little regret, I replied, "Unfortunately, it's out of my hands."

  His mouth lingered on my skin for several seconds, before saying, "That's disappointing, although that does mean your hands are free to do other things."

  I laughed. "Pervert." He seemed in a good mood tonight, which made me happy. I just hoped he liked what I had in store.

  Peeling myself from his grip, I nodded down the nearby street. "Come on, it's this way."

  It didn't take long for us to hit the edge of town. He raised an eyebrow when I continued across the road and up a narrow dirt trail.

  "Planning to murder me and bury my corpse in the wilderness?"

  "I wasn't, but if you don't stop asking questions that might change. Trust me."

  The trail wound through a group of low hills. It was rocky, but the sky was clear and the moonlight helped us keep our footing. It would have been a little creepy under other circumstances, all shadows and silence, but it was impossible to feel frightened with Logan two steps behind me. The man was a force of nature. I couldn't think of a threat that could topple him.

  About two minutes later, we rounded a corner and arrived at a clearing.

  "Holy shit," he said. The smile on his face was worth every ounce of preparation I'd put in today.

  "Welcome to The Little Desert Cafe," I said.

  The area in front of us was set up like a restaurant, complete with a table, two chairs, cutlery, napkins, candles and all the other trimmings. It was a beautiful spot, with a wide uninterrupted view of the Vegas dunes. It had taken me days of hunting to find the right place. Out of the way, small enough to be empty at a time like this, but large and flat enough to hold everything for our little sojourn.

  "How did you get all this stuff here?"

  "We spent the afternoon lugging it up here, obviously. Joy has a friend with a pickup, which made it easier."

  He shook his head in disbelief. "Well, shit. This is amazing."

  "I'm glad you like it, sir. Now, shall I show you to your table? We've saved the best seat in the house for you tonight."

  He laughed. "You don't say."

  I led him over to the table.

  "Would you care for something to drink?" I asked, pulling a cooler from under the table and popping the top to reveal a stack of icy bottles. "Sparkling water? Juice? Soda?"

  "You actually bought all of those?"

  "Of course, sir. This is a real restaurant with a real drinks menu."

  "I'll have sparkling water then, I guess." I couldn't help but grin at the way he was looking at me: complete and total awe. "Seriously, this is insane. You didn't have to do all this."

  I shrugged, dropping character for a moment. "You wanted us to be able to have dinner out together, well this is about as out as it gets. Besides, I know you like it here."

  "I've never liked it as much as I do right now."

  I felt a burst of pride. It had hurt to see him struggle so hard to impress me, and I loved that I could return the favor. As excited as I was when I came up with the idea, part of me had been worried he might take it the wrong way.

  "Well, I hope you brought an appetite, because there's a mountain of food to get through."

  "I eat mountains for breakfast," he deadpanned, drawing a laugh from both of us.

  I set about laying out our makeshift meal. I'd made food for Logan before, but
this was the first time I'd really put on my cheffing hat and cooked for him. I'd spent the better part of two days in the kitchen; Greek salad, Moroccan cous cous with chickpeas and raisins, chili garlic shrimp, lemon chicken — it was a feast fit for a king. Keeping food hot under those circumstances was not an option, so everything was served cold, but Logan didn't seem to mind.

  "You're some kind of food witch," he said, shoveling a spoonful of cous cous into his mouth.

  "It's the eye of newt that does it. Really brings out the flavor."

  He grinned. "Hell, if this is what eye of newt tastes like, sign me up. Seriously, I may be forced to kidnap you and chain you up in my kitchen."

  "So I can fry chicken breast three times a day?"

  "Fuck the chicken breast. I've seen the light!"

  "What about 'the diet,'" I said, making air quotes. "Won't Tony kick up a fuss?"

  "We'll bribe him with some of these shrimp. Nobody could say no to these bad boys. He might even smile, for once."

  That was a hilarious image. I struggled to imagine anyone bribing Tony with anything. The man was harder than an oak tree.

  "Well, I'm glad you like it. I'll cook a proper meal for you at home some time, you know, with food that actually comes out hot."

  "This is most definitely a proper meal, but still, I'm holding you to that," he replied, spearing another piece of chicken on his fork and attacking it. "You know, with food like this, you could be running your own restaurant."

  "That's the dream," I replied, feeling a twinge of sadness.

  "So what's stopping you?"

  "Oh, I don't know, how about everything? You need money and connections and experience, none of which I have. I'm not even a working chef, right now."

  "So maybe it's time to get back in the game? In the least sexist way possible, this meal basically convinces me that you belong in the kitchen."