“I was moving some supplies in . . . and lost my footing . . . fell against the glass.” He cleared his throat. He’d never been successful lying to his father. Doing so, when honesty and integrity were two of his father’s most-preached-about attributes, made him ill. But there was no way he could tell his father about Connor.
Parker Hamilton was enough to try to explain.
Though it looked as though his father had forgotten all about her as he reached into the case to examine the trophies.
“They’re all fine,” Tyson said. “I’ll call the supplier and order a new wall unit today.” He had no idea where the money was going to come from since he’d spent the extra cash from Parker on Connor’s debts, but hopefully by the time a new case arrived, he’d be able to pay for it. He’d tell them not to rush order it.
His father nodded. “Okay.” His expression softened just a little as he added. “It was probably time for a new one anyway. We’ll need more space for your belt in eight weeks.” The pride and support in his father’s tone made him feel even worse for hiding the fact that his brother was back. And it made him even more determined not to let Parker or Connor mess up his chance of making his father proud.
This gym was all he had. Fighting was all he had.
And he refused to let anyone steal his focus and let him lose sight of what mattered—seeing his light heavyweight championship belt in the display case next to his father’s achievements after the final bell rang.
* * *
What was she still doing here? “Hey! The gym’s closed.”
Parker stopped her rain of tiny jabs and hooks—which had zero effect on the heavy bag—and wiped sweat from her forehead as she turned to face him. “You were still in your office, so I figured it was okay to stick around.” Her chest heaved as she caught her breath.
Damn. Even the sight of her breathing annoyed him. The soft swell of her chest rising and falling . . . he wanted to give her a different reason for breathing heavy. He shook his head. “It’s not okay. The gym closes at nine. Everyone leaves at nine.” That’s when his own workouts and training started. Not that evening, though. That week, with the stress of Connor detoxing in his apartment, keeping him hidden from the guys, and dealing with the unhealthy impact Parker was having on his gym, he was mentally exhausted. A workout was probably exactly what he needed, but he wasn’t sure he could keep his eyes open long enough.
“The audition is just a few days away, and I’m really not feeling ready for it. I’d like to stay a bit longer . . . You live upstairs anyway, right?”
“Yes, but I’m going to bed now . . .” His gaze drifted over her against his will and an image of her in his bed flashed in his mind. He really must be stressed. That certainly wasn’t the answer to his problems. “You need to leave.”
“I promise to be quiet and I can lock up when I’m done.”
“You’ve never heard the word no before, have you?”
She placed her hands on her hips and surprised him by smiling. “Not so often from one person, that’s for sure.”
He laughed, surprising himself . . . and her, by the flicker of shock that crossed her face.
“I didn’t know your mouth could actually twist that way,” she said.
Oh, his mouth could twist a lot of ways . . . up and down her body repeatedly. His smile faded as he once again had to rein in his thoughts. He grabbed an extra set of gym keys from the hook near his office door and tossed them toward her.
She caught them, a look of surprise in her eyes.
“Don’t forget to lock the deadbolt.”
* * *
Parker watched Tyson as he walked away. His smile seconds before had almost knocked her on her ass. For five days, the only expressions she’d seen on his face were annoyance and stress.
She couldn’t help but wonder about him. She knew from her brief discussions with Dane that Tyson had his own fight coming up, defending his championship title, yet he was so focused and dedicated to helping the other guys train, she wondered when he really had time to focus on his own training. Besides that, he was meeting with new fighters wanting to train there, stocking the gym with gear, and she’d even seen him cleaning . . . a lot. The only real training she’d seen him do that week was spar and grapple with the other guys. A sight that had induced the most intense feelings of attraction she’d ever experienced. Watching him pick up his opponent and toss him to the mat effortlessly was . . . hot.
Guess humans hadn’t evolved that much from their primitive, animalistic instincts, she mused.
But it was more than his incredible body and ability to dominate that intrigued her. He was so intense and he didn’t talk much, other than to instruct his fighters. He rarely joked with the other coaches or ate lunch with anyone. He was so private and closed off, it only made her want to get closer, peel back the layers . . . and the clothing.
She wondered if he was always this way or how much of his attitude had to do with her being there. He was certainly avoiding her, as he’d promised he would. Yet, she’d caught him watching more than once in the last few days and just now, his eyes had reflected an interest as he’d skimmed her body.
To be fair, she’d checked him out more than once. The man was gorgeous. Even his tattoos and the slightly misshapen nose that obviously had suffered more than one break suited him and added character to his features. His squared jaw was always covered in just the right amount of sexy stubble, except over a long, thin scar that disappeared over the curve of his chin toward his neck. His eyes were obviously blue, but they looked clear—see-through, almost—and they had a way of penetrating straight to her core when she caught him staring at her.
He wasn’t her usual type. Her dating history would suggest she preferred the tall, dark, and handsome stereotype. Though, that stereotype usually went hand in hand with the arrogant, self-centered asshole personality, she thought, an image of Brantley Cruise flashing in her mind. She couldn’t believe how quickly she’d fallen for his charm and good looks. Admittedly, she’d fallen even harder for the idea of the Hollywood power couple they represented. Walking on the red carpet with Brantley—not his kiss, not his touch—had been the thrill. What they’d had hadn’t been real. Never had he evoked the same urges in her that Tyson did by completely ignoring her.
As he disappeared from view, she pushed all thoughts of him and her past mistakes aside as she raised her fists, planted her right foot slightly in front of the other, rounded her shoulders, and positioned herself toward the heavy bag the way Dane had taught her.
She needed to get this part and she was determined to work her ass off that week to get it. She’d learned a lot and had come a long way already, but she knew it was only the beginning. The sound of the back door closing as Tyson left brought his smile back to the forefront of her mind as she threw an awkward combination at the bag.
She also wasn’t ready to quit training at Punisher Athletics yet and she refused to question the motivation behind that.
Chapter 4
Parker glanced at the address she’d typed into her calendar on her phone, then the numbers on the building in front of her. “Excuse me, are you sure we are on Caly Way?” she asked the taxi driver.
He shot her a look in the rearview mirror. “I drive all over this city for a living.”
“Okay . . .” This was the right place. Wow, Ian hadn’t been kidding about the auditions being held at a community center. Located right in the middle of a residential neighborhood, across the street from a junior high school, it was the last place anyone would expect movie auditions take place. Probably a good thing, she thought. She hadn’t told anyone other than her grandmother and the guys at the gym about the role and in case she didn’t get the part, she was keeping her audition to herself.
How embarrassing would it be if her fellow costars knew she hadn’t even been able to secure a role in an indie film?
She took a deep breath as she paid the taxi driver and stepped out into the warm October air.
The sun was blazing overhead and a mild southern breeze made the palm trees lining the street sway back and forth. She closed her eyes, enjoying the humidity on her skin—Vegas’s dry heat couldn’t compare. Overall, she felt better just being back on the coast. And she was ready for this audition.
She knew the script by heart and she was ready to embody the complexity of Jessica “The Crusher” Carlisle. In a week, she’d learned more than she’d ever thought possible from Dane about fighter stance and moves, and she’d noticed muscles forming in her arms and legs—if she looked hard enough. Not a great improvement, but it was a start. If she could do that in a week, she could easily look the part before they started filming, she reassured herself.
Now, she just had to convince the director.
Opening the door labeled with a handwritten sign that read AUDITIONS THIS WAY, she went inside and followed more signs to the back of the community center. The place was empty except for a group of teenage boys in the main gymnasium playing basketball and they didn’t even notice as she passed. She scanned the hallways for a restroom, but didn’t see one, so she continued following the signs. She stopped when she reached a group of women waiting outside the closed door of what she assumed was the audition room.
About eight of them—all younger than her—were busy reading the script. She could quickly see that Ian had been right about the lack of big names at the audition—there was no one she recognized. They all flipped to various scenes, closing their eyes and mumbling and mouthing the lines and no one looked at her, which gave her time to study them . . . and get nervous. Really nervous. All of the women had athletic builds—strong-looking arms and shoulders, thick thighs, and well-defined calves. There wasn’t a B cup or bigger among the group and flat, tight asses leaned against the walls.
She looked nothing like them. No wonder they hadn’t even glanced her way. They probably thought she was lost. She studied their choices of audition clothes. Capri workout leggings, shorts, racerback tank tops, and runners . . . They looked the part.
She’d worn a slim-fitting suit. Her lucky suit—the one she always wore to auditions, but she was starting to question her wardrobe choice. Maybe she should remove the jacket at least, she thought, biting her lip . . . but it hid her unathletic build.
The audition room door opened; another woman, plain and muscular, left the room, and the next one went in. This had to be the most relaxed casting call she’d ever attended and she was the only big-name actress there . . . yet she was sweating and pacing nervously.
She couldn’t remember ever being so anxious about an audition or wanting a role so badly. Then again, she’d rarely had to work as hard to get one. Her career had benefited from her grandmother’s legacy on film and then most recently from her involvement with Brantley. This time she really was completely on her own.
That’s a good thing, she reminded herself, reaching into her Gucci bag for her copy of the script . . . Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure . . .
Too soon, the hallway had cleared out and, as the last woman exited the audition room, Parker took several deep breaths. She could do this. She’d been auditioning for movies since she was nine years old.
None had ever felt so important.
“They are ready for you,” the young woman said as she passed, giving her an odd look—one part recognition, one part disbelief.
Parker recognized her as a woman she’d seen training at Cage Masters the week before . . . Damn. Real fighters were auditioning. She moved past her quickly before the look destroyed any confidence she had. “Thanks,” she mumbled, going into the room.
Two men in their late twenties sat behind a long, fold-out plastic table. Casting call sheets and actor photos were laid in front of them. They took her in as she entered, their expressions unreadable.
She swallowed hard, her hands pressed against her thighs to keep them from shaking. “Hi. I’m Parker Hamilton.” Her attempt to sound confident failed as her voice creaked out barely above a whisper.
The first man nodded and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You made it. Great.”
Really? Didn’t sound great. Had they been hoping she wouldn’t actually show up? Her spine stiffened and she stood taller. Well, she was here and she was going to give them the audition of the day.
“I’m the director, Kilroy Clarke, and this is the film’s screenwriter, Dale.” He gestured to the man beside him, who nodded briefly at her. “You can pick a scene and start whenever you’re ready. Dale will read with you. Just let him know which page to start,” Kilroy told her, looking through the lens of the video camera on his cell phone they were using to record the auditions.
They were using a cell phone to record the auditions and she was nervous? All of a sudden, her professionalism and years of experience in the business took over and her self-doubt vanished, taking the pesky nerves with it.
She was Parker freaking Hamilton. She had this.
* * *
The sweat pouring off Connor as he lay shaking on the couch was more than Tyson had ever experienced wearing a sweat suit in a hundred-degree sauna. The puke bucket next to him had already been emptied several times in the last twenty-four hours and he was amazed there was anything left to the man withering away to nothing as he suffered through the most intense withdrawal symptoms. The first four or five days had been minor in comparison. He’d have thought the reverse would be true, but he suspected the extra stash of cocaine Connor had had on him had finally disappeared and now the real detoxing had started.
Tyson watched from the kitchen, where he drank a protein shake, feeling an odd mixture of hope and hopelessness as his brother made it through this tough time. He’d kept his word for the past week. He hadn’t left the apartment, all of his paraphernalia he’d been using to prepare and inject his heroin were gone . . . Now, they just had to ride out the storm.
He shook his head. No. Connor had to ride out the storm.
So far, his brother had been doing this on his own. True to his word, Tyson wasn’t getting involved. Other than paying down his brother’s debt to keep the wolves at bay for another few weeks, this was all on Connor.
He had to focus on training. Too much of that week had been wasted on things that didn’t concern him. First his brother’s issues . . . and then Parker.
His thoughts went to the blonde, whose audition was scheduled for that day.
He had to admit, she’d surprised him with her dedication to the grueling workouts Dane had put her through. He was reluctantly impressed, which didn’t happen often.
He wondered if she’d get the part. And whether or not he’d see her back in his gym . . .
He hoped not. She was proving even more distracting than he’d thought she’d be. Even when she wasn’t there, she was on his mind and that needed to stop. Fast.
Connor coughed and his eyes opened. He offered a weak smile as their eyes met. “How’s the training going?” he asked, his voice rough.
“It’s fine.” It would be better if he could push all of this to the back of his mind and actually start giving it 100 percent again. He grabbed his gear and headed toward the door then stopped. “If you want to go lay on my bed . . .”
His brother shook his head. “Nah, the couch is fine. Thanks, man.”
Tyson simply nodded as he left the apartment.
* * *
Boarding the plane back to Vegas the next morning, Parker wasn’t sure how to feel. She’d thought the audition had gone well, but the director had given her little to go on. Both men had been polite. They’d watched her scene with interest and let her stop on her own, instead of cutting her short, but who knew what they were thinking? She sighed as she readjusted her overnight carry-on bag on her shoulder, clutching her cell phone in her hand as she walked the ramp toward the plane. Kilroy Clarke had said they would have a decision that day, and she’d never been so nervous waiting for a call from Ian.
In five minutes, she’d have to turn off the phone while in flight and it would b
e the longest hour and a half of her life. Cell phone signals really didn’t interfere with flight instrumentation, did they? She took her window seat in first class and tucked her bag under the seat in front of her. Sitting on the edge of the chair, she stared out the window, replaying the audition in her mind.
She’d done well. She’d delivered her lines with ease and she’d felt a connection to the character. Nerves may have gotten to her a little, but it was just because she wanted this part. Though Ian hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the film was low-budget. Kilroy had told her they were hoping to come in under five hundred thousand, which normally wouldn’t even cover her salary. He said once filming started, they were hoping to shoot the whole thing in five weeks and to keep the set locations to a minimum. There wasn’t money allocated in the budget to pay for her accommodations and transportation back to LA, should she get the part. She would be out of pocket for all of that. And the salary they were offering the actors was . . . not what she was used to. But none of it mattered.
She knew in her gut this film was going to be great.
The sound of a cell ringing made her heart race, but a quick glance revealed it wasn’t hers. The ringing came from economy seating, just behind the first-class curtain divider.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered immediately after the first ring. “I’m boarding the flight now . . . yeah . . . okay . . .” Her tone went from excitement to disappointed so quickly, Parker couldn’t resist turning and leaning slightly to see the woman. The fighter from Cage Masters who’d been auditioning that day as well.
The look on her face said it all. She hadn’t gotten the part. Despite the fact this girl was her competition, Parker felt bad for her. She’d been in her shoes more than once. It sucked.
Though it did mean the directors were calling agents now . . .
Her knees bounced in the space between the seats as she willed her own phone to ring. Come on. The last of the passengers had boarded and the crew was walking the aisles, closing the overhead bins.
Fighting the Fall Page 5
