Until We're More

by Cindi Madsen

  “I’ve wanted to, but I’ve been really bus—”

  “Chelsea Jessop!” Brooklyn pushed through the front door of the gym. “Oh my gosh, is it actually you?” my sister asked, and then she and Chelsea crashed into a hug.

  They both started talking over each other, their words blending together, and I grinned and soaked in the happy chatter. For a while, life had been a monotonous loop of training other fighters and training for my fights and getting the new classes up and running, and I almost forgot what it was to smile. Something Brooklyn and my brother, Finn, accused me of not doing enough. Now that my sister was living here again, working full-time at an art gallery, she swung by whenever she could to pick up the slack and convince us to take a break. She didn’t always succeed on the latter, but things felt less overwhelming with our family all together and mostly in harmony again. With Chelsea also here, it was like the old days, back when I experienced things besides stress and too many ticking clocks.

  That reminds me, I need to get someone to look at the clock in the corner. The lights are going out, and it probably needs to be replaced. And the budget will no doubt inform me it’ll have to wait, along with a dozen other more pressing repairs.

  Shane Knox, one of our newer, most-promising additions to Team Domination, came over, wrapped his arm around Brooklyn, and kissed her. Although the guy occasionally got too handsy for my tastes, I’d come to terms with him and my sister as a couple. As soon as they finished up the PDA, Brooklyn introduced him to Chelsea.

  “Ah.” Shane glanced at me and then back at the girls. “So this is the famous Chelsea.”

  He was going to give her the wrong idea. Yes, I’d missed her, but we’d always been friends and nothing more. Sure, there’d been a handful of times through the years I’d had to work to keep it that way, but there were certain lines you didn’t cross, and since I wasn’t a relationship guy, I wasn’t about to ruin things with my best friend. Especially since she always had more than enough people tugging her in opposite directions, taking advantage of how damn sweet she was—seriously, the girl had empathy for those obnoxious seagulls who dive-bombed you to get your food. From the moment she strolled right up to me and basically gave me her life story in a matter of minutes, she’d reminded me of a Disney princess. The red hair and her affection for sea creatures leaned toward Ariel, but she’d fit right in to any of those fairy tales. One day she’d find her prince, and I tried to tell myself I wanted that for her, even though I would have no problem kicking the guy’s ass if he didn’t treat her right. Admittedly, I kind of wanted to kick his ass for simply existing.

  But for the here and now, I was going to take advantage of whatever time I could get with her.

  I put my hand on her back—still here, still real. Long-distance friendship had been harder than I expected. Talking to her always reminded me of how much I missed her and made it that much harder to be supportive of what Chelsea needed, when I’d sometimes rather be selfish. Things had felt a bit strained between us since shortly before she’d moved, and the distance only amplified it. I hoped now that we had the chance to catch up in person, we could fix it and return things back to normal. “I’ve gotta teach a class, but if you stick around, we can grab dinner after.”

  An honest-to-God sparkle lit her eyes. “If I stick around, do I get to see your teaching skills in action?”

  “He’s actually amazing at the self-defense lessons,” Brooklyn said. “When he covers the other classes, I often have to remind him that the goal isn’t to give people heart attacks with his barked orders and crazy-fast pace, but all it takes for him to be patient and softer-spoken is a group of girls wanting to learn how to kick ass.”

  Chelsea’s lips curved into a smile that had a hint of teasing to it. “Why am I not surprised? Put him in front of a bunch of girls and suddenly he’s Mr. Congeniality.”

  “Hey, now. I’m gonna go back to grunting here pretty quick.”

  Chelsea laughed and snuggled a little closer, her hand wrapping around my arm. “Can I crash the class? Do you think anyone would mind?”

  “Anyone who minds can take it up with me, so I don’t see that happening.”

  “Still humble as ever, I see.”

  “Humility is overrated. Come on.”

  Chelsea told Brooklyn she’d catch up with her later, and I guided her over to where women were lining up for class.

  For years I’d trained in the cage, my eyes occasionally straying to the red bun or ponytail on the sidelines. I’d worried Chelsea would grow bored of waiting for me, but she’d always said that without her family constantly pestering her, she could more easily escape into whatever book she was reading, and I knew she needed the escape. After my training sessions, we’d grab food or head home, and she’d go on and on about her fictional characters while I tried to keep up.

  Happily reading for hours on end was hard for me to comprehend, and she didn’t get why I subjected myself to physical pain in the cage, but the nice thing was, even when we didn’t understand each other, we understood each other’s passions. That kind of unconditional support was why we worked so well.

  Which was why I shouldn’t be accidentally looking her up and down, admiring the way her yoga pants and tank top showed off her curves. Not like it was a newsflash she was pretty, but usually I did a better job of repressing it. Must be the months apart—I was out of practice.

  I started class, quickly recapping what we’d learned last session and reminding them all to assess the intention of a potential attacker, set boundaries, and make as much noise as possible. The goal was to avoid a physical confrontation but teach them how to deal with one if it came to that.

  Finn came over to act as “attacker,” and he did a double take when he saw Chelsea. “Holy shit, am I seeing things, or is my favorite ginger in the gym?”

  “Oh, please make my day and say I get to practice defense moves on you,” Chelsea said with a megawatt smile, and a scowl automatically twisted my features. “I’ve always wanted an excuse to maim you.”

  Finn laughed and hugged her, and I exhaled through my nostrils and reminded myself they were friends, too. But if he didn’t cut the hug off now, I might be the one maiming him. His eyes went wide when they finally swung my way, so my inflict-damage thoughts were obviously clear.

  Instead of appearing afraid, like he should, his grin widened into the smug range. Asshole.

  “I’m sure Liam’s super happy to have you back,” Finn said, and the eyebrow he raised made it clear he wanted me to jump in and say he was right.

  “Well, I’m not exactly back,” she said before I could decide whether to take my brother’s suggestion, “but thanks.”

  A lump formed in my gut. Something to remember. She’d left, she’d leave again, and since it placed her out of her manipulative family’s grasp, I had to act cool with it. Her gaze moved to me, and I propped my mouth into a smile. “I’m always happy to see her. Now stop being a slacker, Finn, and get to demonstrating.” I grabbed Chelsea’s hand and tugged her to me. “I’ll take point with Chelsea.”

  We set up the front choke attack I’d just detailed how to break.

  “Okay, arms up,” I said, and she did as I instructed. “Rotate and drop your elbows, and then strike.”

  She brought her arms down and rotated, following up with the weakest elbow hit ever.

  I wrapped my hand around her upper arm. “You’ve got to really throw it.” I tugged back on it, quick and sharp, showing her the motion. “Don’t be afraid to hurt someone if they attack you.”

  “But it’s not someone. It’s you, and I’d feel bad if I hurt you.”

  As ridiculous as her statement was, a thread of happiness stitched its way through me. “Don’t worry. You won’t hurt me. But knowing you, you’ll try to bat your big eyes and hope that being nice to your attacker will change his mind.”

  She batted her eyes and added a pout. “And that would be wrong?”

  “Don’t hold back, Chels. Don’t thin
k you can nice your way out of it—I’m serious.” I didn’t mention it would totally work on me, because I wanted her to learn to defend herself.

  Why haven’t I taught her self-defense moves already? Just the thought of her being assaulted made me see red, and then I started thinking about how far away she lived, and if I went down that path much longer, I would need another sparring session. Either a fast opponent or a bag I could beat the shit out of.

  With her here, close enough to touch—to feel the heat radiating off her—every emotion was suddenly heightened. They’d been dull for so long my body didn’t seem to know how to handle the rush.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay, try it again. Don’t hold back.”

  She sucked in one of those centering breaths she always took before doing something that required courage or extra effort, then she swung back that elbow, throwing her entire body into it.

  The smack and accompanying bloom of pain sent satisfaction through me. While I’d always experienced a buzz over a perfectly placed hit, whether from one of my fighters or one I landed myself, this was a different kind of high. Teaching women how to defend themselves came more naturally than I’d expected, and the pride I usually experienced was even stronger with Chelsea as my student.

  “That’s my girl,” I said, and she glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide.

  “Um, thanks.” She reached up and twisted the end of her ponytail. “I take back my incredulousness. You’re a really good teacher.”

  “I have my days.” For a few seconds, I forgot we weren’t alone and couldn’t continue catching up. Since I wanted to get to that point in the evening, I instructed everyone to switch partners and practice a couple more times before we moved on.

  We finished up the class, and I asked Chelsea to give me five to shower and change. By the time I came out of the locker room, most everyone had cleared out. But just like back in the day, Chelsea sat on one of the chairs along the wall, legs crossed underneath her and her nose in a book.

  Don’t get me started on the number of movie adaptations she’d dragged me along to. For weeks she’d count down to the premiere, then we’d watch the movie and she’d spend the rest of the night dissecting every single aspect and talking about her disappointment over everything they’d left out. I once asked her why she didn’t just skip the movie, and she’d sighed and told me if I’d read the novel I would understand.

  During the past several months, those were the kinds of things I’d missed most—all her idiosyncrasies that baffled yet amused me.

  I dropped onto the seat next to her and flicked the edge of the page she was reading. “Glad to see nothing’s changed. Can’t sit for five minutes without digging out your book.”

  “Why would I want to?” Her voice had that half-distracted tone to it, but then she shifted her bookmark and let the book fall closed. “Plus, it was eight minutes, and I’ll have you know, I have changed.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve gone all corporate monkey on me.”

  She tilted her head. “Do I look like a monkey?”

  “I know better than to answer that.”

  She smacked my arm, much harder than she’d hit during defense training, too. “Wrong. The answer is no.”

  “I’m a little rusty. Usually you’re here to prep me, but since you’ve been MIA for months, I need retrained.”

  “You look well trained to me.” Was it my imagination, or did she just give me the once-over and linger on my arms? Not that it mattered—Chelsea had never been very impressed with things like muscles or physical strength. She preferred guys closer to the fictional ones in her books: rich, smart guys who talked about their feelings. So not that I was in the running or wanted to be, but that’d be strikes one through three for me.

  I patted her knee. “So? How long do I have you for?”

  Her mouth opened, and then she snapped it closed. Her forehead crinkled, and her lips pursed.

  “I didn’t realize it was a hard question. A few days? A week?” I couldn’t help but hope it was more than the weekend, but hope led to disappointment, and if a couple days was all I could get, I’d make the most of it.

  “Not sure this will help my claim that I’m not a corporate monkey, but I’m on a team that’s been sent here to open a new branch. I’d like to say it’s because my boss sees my potential, but it’s more like I asked, and he figured I already knew the town and maybe that’d end up being beneficial.”

  Everything inside me froze for a couple seconds. If she moved back, it would be amazing, but it also meant she’d have to deal with her family, as well as other complications, and I’d never wanted to celebrate and scream no so much at the same time.

  “I wanted to surprise you. So”—she made a swiping motion with her arms, hands spread as wide as the toothy grin she pulled—“surprise!” Again, she studied me, and I had a feeling I was failing the Right Reaction Test, something I often failed no matter who I was talking to. Although Chelsea used to be the exception.

  Her attention dropped to her lap, and she picked at a spot of sugary glaze on her yoga pants. “Anyway, we have six weeks to get things up and running. Not long enough to find a place of my own and a bit long and expensive for a hotel. I figured I’d save some money and stay with my mom and Jesse.”

  My fingers curled around her knee as I bit back the harsh words I wanted to say about her so-called family. Family took care of one another, and hers was more of a one-way street where they ran Chelsea into the ground. I’d made my opinion on the matter clear many times before, but it always caused a fight, so I had to tread carefully. “Won’t that cause you extra stress?”

  She shrugged. “I can deal.”

  I didn’t want her to have to deal. Getting her away from her family was the entire reason I’d pushed her to go for that job. The fact that it fit so well with her career goals and that she hadn’t received the offers she’d hoped for here added to it, but I knew she couldn’t stay at that house without getting sucked into the destructive cycle that always left her questioning her strength and self-worth.

  “Or you could stay with me.” It came out before I fully thought it through, but the more I considered it, the more the idea appealed to me. Sure, I was beyond busy running the gym, coaching, and keeping up with my own training, but that was only more reason for her to crash at my place. Otherwise I’d hardly get the chance to see her, and being around her calmed me in a way nothing else did. Plus, it’d help us get things back to normal faster, and I wanted that. Needed it, really. And she could use someone looking out for her instead of looking for ways to use her. “I have an extra room.”

  She bit her lip, and I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or attraction that quickened my pulse. “What about George?”

  Who the fuck is George? Even more troubling, why did I want to kill him for simply existing? “George?” Let it be a testament to my iron control that I managed to sound so civil when I said the guy’s name.

  “My cat. Don’t you remember? I got him from the shelter a couple months ago?”

  The storm brewing inside me calmed. Her cat. “Right.” I did remember she’d adopted a cat but hadn’t recalled the name, just that it wasn’t your typical pet name. I should probably examine why I was so relieved it belonged to a feline and not a dude, but I’d rather ignore that and do whatever it took to convince her to stay with me instead. “Mi casa is George’s casa.”

  She wrapped her arm around the back of my chair and twisted to fully face me. “You say that, but I don’t think you understand how literally George will take your offer. He thinks everything is his. He’s…persnickety.”

  “I don’t mind persnickety,” I said. “Anyway, I don’t think I do. I might need a dictionary first.” I ran my gaze over her. “Where do I type in words to get a definition again?” I placed them over her thigh like it was a keyboard. In high school, I’d often called her my walking dictionary. She’d saved my ass in my English and literature classes—math, where the answer was always
the answer and not open to interpretation, was more my thing. “P-E-R-snickety.”

  Her lips quivered as she fought back a smile. “Fussy, particular. Often grumpy. Basically, George is the cat version of you.”

  My jaw dropped, and I gave her knee a light shove. “I don’t remember asking for sass with my definition.” Her smug smile only made me want to wrap my arms around her. I’d hit my hug quota for the year today, and yet I wanted more. This felt like us, the effortless friendship that’d gotten me through a lot of ups and downs through the years, and I liked to think I’d done the same for her. “I can deal with a grumpy cat if it means more time with you.”

  “You’re saying it could be like that one weekend both of our parents were out of town and we watched movies and ate junk food for two days straight, but for, like, six whole weeks?”

  I’d forgotten about that, but memories of eating more candy than I’d ever consumed—and more girlie movies than I ever wanted to watch—came back to me. “I can’t get away with that much junk food thanks to my job, but I’ll provide you with as much as you want. I just moved to a place a few blocks from the beach, too.”

  Her eyes lit up, the way I knew they would. She loved the beach. Loved making sand castles and reading under an umbrella and feeding her lunch to those damn seagulls that would then attack me for my food.

  “So?” I nudged her with my elbow. “What do you say?”

  Chapter Three

  Chelsea

  Stay overnight with Liam for six weeks straight? In an apartment where he’d probably walk around shirtless, smelling like that intoxicating Prada cologne I’d talked him into during a super-rare trip to the mall, or all soapy fresh like right now? Where he’d constantly be looking at me with the same blue eyes that were currently pinning me in place, unraveling me in the best possible way?