by D. M. Davis
“Tomorrow, next week, next month—it’s all the same. Nothing will be different. The man I love is no longer in there, no longer in my life. He doesn’t want me for the long haul. And I’m in a long-haul kind of situation.” I hold my stomach, wondering if Gabriel gave me a girl or a boy. Either way, I hope he or she has his blue eyes. I’ll love this baby with all the love its father didn’t want from me. I have a new reality, and stepping through those doors cements its last pillar into place. Single momdom, here I come.
Rowdy pulls me in for a hug, careful of my healing ribs. “It’ll be okay, Frankie. I know it.”
I nod into his chest, my tears getting his t-shirt all wet. “I’m sorry I’m crying again.” He’s comforted me so many times over these past weeks. He has to be sick of it by now. I know I am. I’ve never cried so much in my entire life as I have since Gabriel broke my heart and left me a gift to remember him by.
“No apologizing.” He reaches in the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a travel pack of tissues. “Now, blow your nose, put on your big girl panties, and let’s go inside.”
I pull a tissue from the pack. “Since when do you carry Kleenex around?” His thoughtfulness nearly has me crying again.
“Since my roommate started crying pools of tears on a daily basis.”
“I’m pitiful.” I blow my nose and wipe my tears.
When I’m ready, he grabs my bag, rests his hand on my lower back and urges me forward. “Not pitiful. Just pregnant with a broken heart.”
“You’re gonna make me cry.” My voice cracks as my chin wobbles, and I blink rapidly trying to stop the waterworks.
“It’s okay, Frankie. You cry all you need to. I’ve got broad shoulders to comfort you and enough Kleenex to dry up those tears.” He kisses my head. “And extra t-shirts to catch the rest.”
I lean my head into the crook of his shoulder. “God, Darkboy, what would I do without you?”
He wraps his arm around me, his hand on my waist. “Lucky for both of us, we don’t have to find out.” He stops before the door, his head bent so I can see his full face. “It’s not a one-way street, Frankie. You give as good as you get.” He sighs into my hair and kisses my forehead. “Now, let’s go face that demon you’ve built up in your head.”
“How you doing, Frankie?” Cap enters my office as one of the new guys exits after I treated his pulled muscle.
“I’m good.” I wash my hands and dry them off, my back to him. I need to tell him my situation, but I haven’t cried a tear since I walked in with Rowdy this morning. I’d rather keep it that way. I turn and cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “I was afraid to come back,” my admission comes easier than I thought it would.
He shuts the door and moves farther inside. “I thought maybe that was the case when you didn’t come back after two weeks. I thought for sure you’d show up after week one.” He laughs and steps close enough to rub my arm. “I’m really sorry how things turned out. I never thought Austin was good enough for you, but I had high hopes for Gabriel. I still do.”
“He doesn’t—”
“He does,” Cap interrupts. “He just needs time to get out of his own way. Give him till after his fight to get his head clear.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
He continues, “He loves you, Frankie. I think he always has. Five years is a long time to want someone.”
“No—”
“Yes.” He draws me closer, holding my hand. “Listen to me. I’m not the only one who noticed the way he looked at you, the way he protected you. You have no idea the fear he put in every man who crossed your path. You got respect, not only because you deserve it, but because he demanded it. He wouldn’t let anyone look at you wrong much less say anything derogatory toward you. He loves you, Frankie. I think he has all this time. He just doesn’t know it. But he’s showing you by giving you his home and keeping an eye on you even from Vegas. He wouldn’t let me send Rowdy to spar with him. He insisted Rowdy stay here to keep you safe.”
“Gabriel asked Rowdy to stay with me?” He’s only my friend out of obligation to Gabriel?
“No. He didn’t have to. Rowdy is protective over you too. Gabriel sees that, and as much as it hurts him to send you into the arms of another man, he’d rather you be with Rowdy than be alone.”
“But I’m not with Rowdy.” I pull away and move toward the window. “You know that, right? I don’t have any intention of getting involved with anyone else for a long time.” Even if I was interested.
“Okay.” His tone is hesitant.
Scowling, I turn and face him. “You think I’m sleeping with Rowdy? It’s only been like a minute since Gabriel,”—my arms motion wildly—“and then the hospital. I… I can’t—”
“Hey.” Cap softly grips my shoulders. “Okay, I got it. You’re just friends. Which is good, because I still see you with Gabriel. He’s the horse I’m betting on.”
A humorless chuckle exits my mouth by its own volition. “Money’s too precious to waste. You should only bet on sure things.”
His grin is too big for such a stone-hard face that rarely smiles, much less grins. “My point exactly.” He tweaks my nose before departing with these closing words, “Trust me. He’ll be back.” He catches me over his shoulder before he’s out the door. “He’s a stubborn ass, but he’s no idiot. He’ll figure it out, and when he does, you better be ready.”
Leaving me stunned, I stare after him. What the hell just happened?
The new guy Cap sent can at least take a punch and challenge my takedowns. I haven’t knocked him out yet. Though, he’s earned my respect enough to actually spar with him instead of trying to kill him like the last handful of idiots Jonah put in the ring with me. Landry "Cowboy" Pierce is gonna be a title contender someday.
But not today. I’ve got him on the ground in a Kimura hold, his arm locked behind his head in position to break or dislocate if he doesn’t submit. “Come on, Cowboy. You know you’re done for.” A slight tug has him groaning in pain. “Give me what I want, then we can both take a shower and get those drinks Jonah has been holding over our heads.”
“Fuck. You suck,” he growls with his face smashed to the mat.
“Don’t break his arm, Gabriel. Cap will be pissed,” Jonah calls from outside the ring.
I’m not going to break his arm or dislocate it, but the boy needs to learn to submit so he can come back to fight another day.
Another tiny tug has his eyes watering. “Give me what I want,” I seethe in his ear.
“Landry, for God’s sake, tap out. He’s got you. You know it. He knows it.” Jonah motions to the room. “The whole damn place knows it. Tap the fuck out. Now!”
Tense seconds pass in strained silence until Cowboy’s other hand taps my leg. He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to verbalize his submission—his tap is concession enough. I release him slowly, helping his arm back into a normal position, and stand up, offering my hand. When he takes it, I pull him to his feet and pat his shoulder. “You did good.”
I swing out of the ring and take the water Jonah offers, catching the look of defeat on Landry’s face. “Hey.” I wait until his eyes meet mine. “Submission doesn’t mean you’re no good. It means you live to fight another day. Always choose submission over injury. A bruised ego heals faster than a broken arm.”
He nods, hardly convinced.
“We’ll work on techniques to get out of the Kimura hold next time.”
He lights up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t beat yourself up. I’m a tough motherfucker. You put up a good fight. I outmaneuvered you. Maybe next time you’ll outmaneuver me.”
That grants me a full smile. “Thanks, Gabriel.”
I don’t miss Jonah’s approving grin.
“Don’t mention it.” I swipe the sweat off my face with a towel and crush the bottle of water after downing it.
“Those drinks?” Jonah prompts as we head to the locker room.
“Food first.” I
pat my stomach. “I could eat an entire cow.”
Cowboy groans. “A steak sounds amazing.”
“Shower. I’ll meet y’all out front.” Jonah leaves us to talk to Warren, Cap’s Vegas manager.
A hand on Landry’s shoulder stops his progress. “Think about what I said. Keep things in perspective. You’ve got talent. You could go far, but don’t let your ego think you deserve more than your skills are capable of. Submission might mean defeat today, but it also means you get a chance to win tomorrow. Injury means your chance at winning is further down the road.” I release him and strip on my way to the shower. “It doesn’t mean you don’t fight like hell. It means when you get stuck, you need to be man enough to realize it. You feel me?”
“Yeah, I feel ya. Thanks for the advice. I really appreciate it.” He steps in the shower stall down from me.
“We all start somewhere. The key is to listen and learn.” I was him once. Thought I was tougher than every other fighter out there, and most times, I was. It took some hard knocks and guys better than me, willing to show me the ropes, to knock me down a peg or two. Submission is a hard lesson to learn for guys like us who believe we’re better than that. Learning to pick your battles is key to a successful career. Maybe even in life.
As I soap up, my mind wanders to Frankie. Did I give up too easily, or did I only submit to come back and fight another day?
“Have you heard from her?” Jonah leans in, his voice quiet so his question is only for my ears.
I shake my head and take a drink of the only beer I’m allowed to have tonight. When I’m in training, which is all the damn time, I don’t drink often, but this close to my match—three weeks away—I limit it to one beer a week and usually on Fridays, and never, never the hard stuff. I savor the cool ale as it slides down my throat like it’s my hand sliding down my Angel’s body to her sweet spot. My heaven on Earth.
“Have you reached out to her?”
His question receives the same negative reply. Nope. His disbelief is apparent. What he doesn’t get—what none of them get—is I’m an all-in or all-out kinda guy. Frankie told me I don’t know how to live in the gray spaces, and she’s right. I’m a black or white kind of guy. Gray is for pansies who don’t have the balls to stand up for what they want.
But after five weeks without my Frankie Angel, I can see the appeal gray holds. It allows for compromise. It allows you to keep what you cherish while giving up something that holds less meaning. The thing is, she deserves my all—my black or white—not my gray that can’t commit to the future she desires. She deserves a man who’s all in.
After what Austin said weeks ago, maybe it was always you, I keep seeing Frankie by my side, our children at our feet laughing and playing as I hold my Angel, my hand resting on her extended abdomen, full of another baby I put there. My vision of her and me together for the long run, all in, husband and wife—with children—doesn’t send me running like it did when Austin planted that seed. It warms my gut, makes my chest ache in the place only she has ever occupied, and stings my eyes like I might actually fucking cry.
Damn, I need to get drunk.
I break my rule. Finishing off my beer, I order another. “I’ll be back,” I tell the guys, stepping outside and punching a contact on my phone.
“Hey, asshole.” Rowdy can never just say hi. It might piss me off if it wasn’t so like me.
“How is she?” I pace the parking lot, keeping my eye out for anyone who might be listening, but the only people out here are arriving, leaving, or getting it on in the back of their cars. They couldn’t care less about a schmuck like me. I lean against the far brick wall, welcoming the cold stone against my back, reminding me to keep my emotions in check. I’m only calling to ensure she’s okay, she’s safe.
“She’s fine.” I hear noises in the background and then silence, assuming he stepped away from the crowd he was with. A long pause and a deep exhale have him admitting, “Still crying over you.”
Shit. Not the news I want to hear. “Still? Can’t you distract her? Make her forget?” I thought she’d have given up on me by now. She’s the one who pushed me away. Made me put up or shut up. We could’ve still been together if she hadn’t been so hardheaded about committing to a future I didn’t know if I could handle.
“Sounds like you’re either asking me to keep her in a state of inebriation or fuck her until she can’t remember her name, much less yours.” I don’t miss the edge in his voice. It only serves to piss me off nearly as much as his words.
“You better not lay a hand on her, or so help me God—”
“What are you gonna do, Gabriel? Fight for her?” He chuckles. “That’s rich coming from you. All she wants is for you to fight for her. Show her she’s…” He stops.
“What? Show her… What?” I need him to finish his thought. I need every morsel he can give me about my Angel.
“Show her she’s worth it. Prove you’re capable of doing something her own father wouldn’t do, and what Austin couldn’t do.”
“She’s worth everything.” Even breaking myself to stay away from her.
“Really? You’ve got a weird way of showing it.”
“I can’t—”
“Listen, Gabriel, I’m done playing your informant. You want to know how she’s doing, you need to call her. Or better yet, don’t, and let her move on.” He hangs up before I can get my brain around what he said.
Stuck in my head, I reenter the bar, grab my beer off the table and finish it off in one long pull.
Soft hands run up my sides to my pecs and still as hard tits press into me. “Buy me one of those, handsome?”
I eye the raven-haired beauty looking up at me. For a split second all I see is Frankie before I blink the vision away and stare into the green eyes of a dark-haired stranger. “Not interested.” I step out of her grasp and up to the bar. “Another beer.”
I down it in one gulp. “Another.”
“Whoa. Cancel that.” Jonah steps into my side. “Time to go, brother.”
“I want another beer,” I protest, trying to get the bartender’s attention.
Jonah pulls my arm down. “You know as well as I do what you want isn’t going to be found in the bottom of a beer or the pussy of some ring-chaser. What you want and need is back in Sunnyville, and as soon as you pull your head out of your ass, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
“What’s with everyone telling me what I need? Of course she’s what I need, but it’s not enough. I’m not what she needs.” I let him guide me out of the bar and to his truck.
“Then be what she needs.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then let her the fuck go.”
The last three weeks I’ve been back to work have gone relatively smoothly. Gabriel has been gone for six weeks, and I’m now twelve weeks pregnant. The end of the first trimester. My doctor swears I should stop puking any day now as the placenta starts to produce the hormones the baby needs instead of relying on my body for them—which means the nausea should dissipate.
Please, God, let it stop.
I’d like to say it’s getting easier to live without Gabriel in my life, but it would be a lie. I’m convinced the hole in my heart will never mend. I’ll need a transplant or the will to ignore the pain with each beat it takes without him by my side. I’m not sure I’d know how to even breathe without the tightness in my chest and the ache in my soul.
One step at a time, one moment, one breath, one day, one broken dream at a time my day passes into weeks, bringing us to two weeks from his big fight.
I know I have to tell him he’s going to be a father, even if he wants nothing to do with our baby. He deserves to know. This is too big of a decision for me to make for him. The burden too large. The stakes too high. The potential heartbreak for him, for me, for our child is immeasurable. I can’t take this decision out of his hands. I know that, and yet I can’t even think how to tell him. A letter? A text? A phone call?
What
is the appropriate medium to give him news he’d never hoped to hear?
A future he never intended to have?
A legacy that could break the mold of his past or shatter his future entirely?
Yeah, I don’t know either.
So, I wait.
I’ll defer the decision until after his fight. I can’t be the reason he doesn’t step into the octagon focused and ready to win. My future may have jumped the track, but I won’t purposely impact the course of his. He has tunnel vision when it comes to training for a title match. He’s destined to win, hands down. He’ll be the heavyweight champ. I’d bet my life on it.
On one of my many trips to the restroom, I stop by the private training room to say hi to the guys. I arrived earlier than they did and none of them needed me today, so I focused on catching up on paperwork with the intent of making my presence known at some point. I just finished lunch and figure it’s a good place to check in before starting something new.
I step inside and still when the smell of sweat and dirty socks inundates my nostrils. My stomach flips. I clasp my hand over my mouth when saliva starts to pool.
I cannot get sick, I chant as I scan the room looking for a safe haven from the noxious smell, or maybe backing out of the room before anyone notices I’m here is a better solution.
“Frankie!” Jess calls from the far end of the room with a smile and a wave.
Great, so much for a clean escape. I wave with my free hand, the other one still covering my mouth.
“What’s got you too busy to hang with us today?” Sloan drops his weights and moves closer. “You haven’t worked out with us in ages.”
I shrug and point to my ribs, not trusting my mouth to do anything but puke.
He scowls, eyeing my hand over my mouth. “I thought you were given the okay to start light workouts like the treadmill or light weights.”
Panic rises when I notice all of them have stopped what they’re doing and have moved toward me, nearly in slow motion, their faces full of concern and confusion.
