Love Hurts

by Mandi Beck

  Head down, I listen as Sonny storms out, shaking because I’m so pissed at myself, at Veronica, at Sonny for being so fucking right. Veronica did fuck me, but I fucked myself by letting it happen. I wanted to deserve Frankie, but maybe Sonny was right about that too. Just because I love her doesn’t mean I’m man enough to not hurt her.

  I don’t look up when Mav walks over and squeezes my shoulder.

  “Don’t let him shake you, bro, he doesn’t believe half the shit that comes out of his own mouth,” he says, chuckling a little.

  In a more serious tone he goes on, “He is right about one thing though, and that’s that we won’t let you hurt her. You’re the fighter in the family, but there’s two of us besides, yeah? Just keep it in your pants, baby brother, and we might let you live.”

  Slapping me on the back, he walks out after Sonny leaving me wondering if my two older brothers can actually still take me, because that was one thing my punk ass really does deserve.

  I’m not sure who is avoiding who, but I haven’t seen the Princess in days. It’s killing me. I’ve seen the shit out of that fucker Cristiano though. Always in her studio whether she’s here or not. I cannot wait for his ass to go back to Spain. He’s gotten a little too comfortable here though. If they’re together now, heads are gonna roll.

  A shooting pain down my arm and across my shoulder brings me back to the present and the fucking armbar I’ve just allowed my sparring partner to put me in.

  “Let him go before he lets you break it, Jax. His head is obviously up his ass. Again,” I hear Sonny call out.

  Fuck! I have a fight in less than a week and I just got laid out by Jax for the third time this morning. I can’t get Frankie out of my mind. I still feel guilty as hell over the goddamn Veronica thing, and she’s not making it easy on me either, calling all the damn time and shit. Jax releases his hold and I jump up slapping him on the back, walking toward Sonny and my dad standing off to the side, identical scowls on their faces, arms crossed over their barrel chests.

  “He’s getting better with that damn arm bar,” I try to joke but neither of them is amused.

  “What the hell has you losing focus before such an important fight, son?” my dad asks. “You’ve got to be all in or you’re going to get yourself hurt. Get your head on straight or sit the fuck out, Deacon. Those are your only two options.”

  “I’m in it, Pop. Just have some shit on my mind, but I’m in it,” I reassure him, not quite believing it myself.

  “There’s no time to fuck around, brother. I won’t take it easy on you so that you can shake your shitty ass mood. It’s go time,” Sonny says, the smirk on his face letting me know that shit just got real and the rest of the day is going to be torture. He is still punishing me on behalf of the Princess, and I’m pretty sure he’s getting off on it, the fucker.

  Sighing, I turn toward the showers and throw over my shoulder, “I hear you guys. Just let me rinse off and clear my head and then you can use and abuse me.”

  I hear Sonny yell out, “Me love you long time!” and him and my father laughing their asses off as I walk into the locker room.

  Yep, I am officially fucked.

  After six hours of hitting it hard, my sadistic fuck of a brother finally calls it a day.

  “That’s it, Deac. We’re done for now. Tomorrow we need to take it to the mats again though. Maybe you’ll be able to figure out how to get out of Jax’s armbar,” he says, his eyebrows raised, taunting me.

  “Fuck off, Sonny,” I laugh, catching the towel and the bottle of Gatorade he tosses my way.

  “I forgot to tell you, you’re on your own for the game tonight. Pop and I need to watch some tape of Tamasino. Your fight is coming up quick, and we need to be better prepared than we are. I need you to get focused—this is no joke. Tam is big time; you lose and it’s all over. You were undefeated before everything went down with the Princess, so the two fights you forfeited didn’t hurt you too badly, but if you want the title match, then you have to win the next three fights.”

  Swallowing the last of the Gatorade, he hands me another. “I know it, Sonny. I won’t lose. I can’t lose—it’s not an option. Get off my ass, yeah?” Rubbing at the sweat running down my torso, I shake my head in apology.

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m being a dick. Do you and Pop want me to watch with you?”

  “Nah, let us work it out tonight and then we can break it down for you in the morning.”

  “Okay. So just me and Mav for the game then?”

  “Mav isn’t going. He’s got an out of town ‘date,’” he says, air quoting “date.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean?” I ask him, confused.

  “Dude, I have no fucking idea. That’s how the dumbass said it, so either it’s a real date or he’s going out for a piece,” he says to me as he heads toward the stairs leading to our dad’s place.

  “Without a wingman? No way. It must be serious if he’s flying solo and leaving town for it.”

  Shrugging he just says, “Maybe,” as he disappears into the stairwell.

  Wow, Mav with a chick? He’s as bad as me when it comes to relationships, though he’s a lot more selective about who he hooks up with. I can’t wait to bust his balls about it when he gets back.

  Chuckling to myself, I glance into Frankie’s dance studio as I walk by, but don’t see anyone except Cristiano pacing while he talks on the phone. Opening the door to ask what he’s doing here, I hear him in his rapid-fire Spanish telling whoever is on the other end of the line that he isn’t coming back to Spain. I’m not able to understand anything more than that though. Before he can see me, I close the door, going to my locker for my phone. Fuck, he’s staying? I’m thinking it’s time for Frankie and me to stop avoiding each other. I can only hope she’d love to catch the Hawks game with me.

  Phone in hand, I grab the jersey I brought with me today and dial her number.

  Finally on the fourth ring, she picks up sounding out of breath.

  “Hey, Deac, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. What’s going on?” Her enthusiasm sounds a little forced, but I’m not going to let it deter me.

  “Hey, Princess. Yeah, sorry, I’ve been training hard with the Tamasino match coming up.”

  It’s true, but I know it’s not really why I’ve been out of touch.

  “Tam’s a beast—you ready?” she asks, real interest evident in her tone.

  “Worried about me?” I ask, smiling at the thought.

  She’s always been worried about me when I fight, but for whatever reason, the thought of her being worried now, after everything that’s happened between us, has me grinning like a teenage girl at a One Direction concert.

  Sighing she says, “Of course I am, Deac. You lock yourself in a cage with big ass men who want to kill you. Somebody has to worry about you.”

  “I guess somebody does.”

  Smiling wider now, I crank the cold water in the shower—all of this worrying is making me hard.

  “So the boys and my pop have ditched me for the game tonight. You wanna go? I can scoop you from Indie’s place in about an hour?”

  Radio silence.

  “Princess? You there?” I laugh.

  “Umm, just us, huh?” she asks warily.

  “Uh, yeah, just us, Frankie. Just like a million times before. So get dressed. I’ll be there in a few, woman.” I end the call before she can say anything else.

  Forty-five minutes later, I’m double parked in front of Indie’s Bucktown brownstone. Putting the flashers on, I get out and jog up to the door, rapping it with my knuckles. Stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep them warm and from fidgeting too much, I wait for one of the girls to answer. I’m about to knock again when the door is thrown open by Indie.

  “What’s up, asshat? Haven’t seen you in a hot minute. Who you been hidin’ in?” she cracks, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Yo mama! Now let me the fuck in – it’s cold out here, Jones!”

  Pushing
past her, I notice a rolling carryon bag in the foyer.

  “You going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, I have a wedding that I got roped into planning for a friend. I’ll only be gone over night though,” she says, leading me into her kitchen.

  “So that means Frankie will be here alone?” I hate the idea of her here by herself with Andrew still off the grid.

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t like it either. What are you guys doing tonight? Just the game? Can you take her home with you?” Indie asks, handing me a beer.

  “I’m going to have to—there’s no way I’m letting her stay here on her own.”

  “That’s what I was banking on. I was going to call you to figure it out, but she said you were picking her up, so I figured we could work it out then.”

  “Work what out?” Frankie walks in and I stop, bottle halfway to my mouth and stare.

  How the fuck did I forget how beautiful my girl is in the few days that I haven’t seen her? She’s got her hair pulled back in a ponytail, what I call her hooker hoop earrings in, and the new necklace I got her for her birthday. Her jeans—fuck me—her jeans, they’re soft and worn looking, nearly white in places and I’m pretty sure they were painted on. As if her jeans aren’t hard on inducing enough, she has on black and red stilettos that have these corset-looking laces tied into a bow up the back.

  They are probably the hottest fucking things I’ve ever seen in my life—ever.

  Placing the bottle down on the island, I adjust my now-hard cock behind my zipper before I walk over to where she’s standing next to Indie sharing a beer. Her question forgotten in her quest for a drink, thank fuck.

  “Nice shirt there, Tits McGee,” I say, gesturing with my chin at her jersey-style Blackhawks shirt and impressive cleavage.

  Taking her hand and flipping it palm side up so that I can kiss my spot, I can’t help but inhale her scent and smile against the delicate skin of her wrist when her breath catches.

  Pulling her hand out of mine, she reaches for Indie’s beer and takes a sip, licking a lingering drop from her bottom lip, causing my already rigid cock to harden further.

  “Shut up, Deac, you know I hate when you call me that.” Laughing, she turns her attention to Indie. “Don’t worry about waiting up. It’s going to be a late night and I know you’re on deadline.”

  “Doll, I’m leaving for the night, remember?” Indie reminds, pulling the ends tight on the purple bandana holding her hair in place and adjusting her glasses.

  With a small frown, Frankie nods. “That’s right, Cara’s wedding, I forgot. Okay, well, then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  She gives her a hug and says goodbye. Over Indie’s shoulder, I see Frankie biting the inside of her lip, her mind clearly working, and decide that instead of hashing this out with her here and now, I’ll just take her to my place after the game and deal then.

  “All right, Jones, we’re outta here. Have fun and drive safe, yeah?” I wink and give her a small nod.

  “Have a good time, you crazy kids. Take care of our girl, Deacon,” Indie says as we head for the door.

  Helping Frankie on with her coat, I nod and wave one more time as I usher her out the door and into my illegally parked and thankfully not towed Range Rover. Closing her door, I make it around to my side and slide in.

  “You ready for some hockey, Princess?”

  “Hell, yes, and some nachos.”

  Shaking my head and laughing at her, I put the truck in gear and head to the UC.

  “That’s my girl.”

  We make it through the throngs of people to our level with about thirty minutes to spare. I hand the two tickets my brothers or dad won’t be using over to Frankie once they’ve been scanned.

  “You heading to standing room only with these?”

  “Yep. You going to grab beer?” she asks, walking backwards toward the stairs that will take her up to the third level.

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t forget my nachos. Jalapenos and extra, extra cheese. Oh, and popcorn!” Frankie yells over the crowd.

  “I know what to get.” Smiling at her, I turn to get into one of the long ass lines when a thought occurs to me.

  “Frankie!”

  I whistle loudly, getting her attention and that of a few dozen other people. Smooth move, dumbass. Leaving the line, I jog over to where she’s waiting on the stairs.

  “You shouldn’t go up there alone. I’ll go with you and we can grab our food when you’re done doing your thing.”

  “Deacon, it’s fine. You would never let anything happen to me and there are over twenty thousand people here. I’ll be okay. Andrew hates hockey anyway,” she tells me, trying to lighten things up, even though I can see a trace of worry in her eyes. “I’ll probably beat you to our seat. I promise to stay put.”

  I nod my head in agreement, even though I don’t like it. “All right, just be careful, yeah? I’ll see you in a few.”

  Blowing me a kiss, she goes on her usual mission of giving away two seats on the first level against the glass to someone up in the nosebleed section. She does it every time we have extra tickets. I usually just hand them off to the first dad I see with his kid or a couple of hot chicks. That little move has gotten me more ass than I care to admit. Not my girl though—she likes to go search someone out.

  About a minute before the anthem starts, which is just as big a deal as the actual game in the Mad House, I make my way to our seats loaded down with all of our shit. Lifting my chin in greeting to the other season ticket holders that sit around us, I can’t help but laugh at who Frankie is sitting with. She managed to find a couple decked out in head to toe Hawks gear. I mean, Head. To. Toe. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were wearing matching underwear. The man even has his face painted black and red.

  We have prime seats—center ice on the glass and the first four seats in the row, which means I can sit on the aisle and not worry about my long ass legs being too cramped.

  “Hey, Princess, who’re your friends?” I ask, handing her the nachos and popcorn so that I can sit down without spilling our beers and other goodies.

  “Deacon, this is Paula and her husband, Steven. They’ve never been to a game before,” she says, beaming at me.

  She loves this and I love her for it.

  Reaching out my hand, I shake theirs in turn. That’s all we have time for before Jim Cornelison is being announced to begin singing and the roar of the crowd drowns out everything else.

  Two periods fly by. The game is fast paced, straight up “old school” hockey. Seconds before intermission, the Hawks score, and “Chelsea Dagger” fills the arena, bringing everyone to their feet, high fives all around. Paula and Steven are jumping up and down, making Frankie smile even brighter. Turning my way, she gives me a wink, and just that has me fighting the urge to scoop her up and kiss the hell out of my girl right here in front of the whole damn place.

  After turning down the offer to “shoot the puck,” a little intermission time killer they do with local celebrities and athletes, I settle in next to Frankie and throw my arm over the back of her chair, leaning in to talk to her.

  “I missed this,” I tell her, my lips against her ear so that I can be heard over the crowd.

  Frankie dips her head slightly, her hair falling over one shoulder, nodding before looking at me.

  I can see that she is going to say something, so I lean down, tucking my loose hair behind my ear, putting her mouth only inches from the side of my face.

  “Me too, Deac. I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all lately.” Her warm breath fans over my face.

  I’m just about to say something in return, when I feel someone nudging me in the back and pointing over my shoulder toward the ceiling, yelling something that I can’t make out. Looking to where he is pointing, I see that Frankie and I have been captured by the Kiss Cam and we’re on the Jumbotron. I bump her leg with mine to bring her attention to the screen and raise my eyebrows at her suggestively,
a smirk lifting my lip waiting for her answer to my silent invitation. She shakes her head no, laughing the whole while, but when the crowd starts to chant “KISS HIM! KISS HIM!” she has no choice but to kiss me. I turn my face offering her my cheek, tapping the stubble roughened area right above my jaw, then at the very last second I pull the man move and turn my head quickly, catching her lips with mine in what starts out as a very innocent kiss. The moment our mouths meet, I know I’ve fucked up. There is no way this little peck will be enough and without a moment’s hesitation I deepen the kiss, slanting my mouth over hers, my hand fisting in her ponytail, using it to guide her. I lick at her bottom lip tasting the salt from the popcorn, begging for entrance, and I would’ve gotten it too, had the twenty-two thousand other people in the room not exploded into loud catcalls and whistles. Cockblocks, all of them. I allow her to pull back and hide her face, while I throw my head back, laughing at her embarrassment, adjusting in my seat to try and alleviate the rock solid hard on one kiss has caused.

  Midway through the third period as she’s explaining a penalty to Paula, I take hold of her hand, placing a kiss to my spot and then settling it on my thigh. I can feel her eyes on me, but I never take my gaze from the game. If it makes her uncomfortable, she doesn’t say and doesn’t remove her hand until the Hawks score again and we all jump to our feet in excitement. Steven leans over, raising his hand for a high-five over Frankie’s head. She smiles up at me and throws me a little hip bump, mouthing thank you. I bend down and cover her lips briefly with mine, startling her with the quick kiss. I feel the need to throw her off balance, just as she’s done to me without even trying.