by D. M. Davis
“I’m all for food right now.” I might become as big as a house, eating my hormones into silence. Is that even possible?
Maybe a toy is needed after all…
My training for the past four months culminates in tomorrow night’s fight. For the past week, besides training, I’ve done nothing but promotional crap. Cap arrived in Vegas a few days ago. He’s been acting off—more of an asshole than normal—especially to me. He’s still upset about me and Frankie not working out. I get it. I want to tell him to chill, that I’ve been having second thoughts, but honestly, I’m not sure.
Yes, I still want her.
Yes, I want to see her every fucking day.
And yes, the idea of committing to a future with her isn’t as scary as it was a couple months ago when I walked away, unable to tell her I wanted more than sex.
Even then I wanted more. I just couldn’t promise it. I couldn’t commit to it. My fears of being a fuck-up for a husband and father are real. But despite my past, after the fight, I’m heading back to Sunnyville to win her back.
Living without her is worse than the uncertainty of what our shared future could hold.
I don’t know what I’ll say. What I’ll promise. I’ll get on my knees and beg if need be.
Life has been hell without her, and I need my Angel to bring me back to heaven.
I had my weigh-in early this morning for a fight that doesn’t feel nearly as important as it did months ago. To continue my promotional hell, I’m currently at a breakfast held by WickedTuff, the promoter for tomorrow’s fight. I’ve done the rounds, shook the hand of the current heavyweight champion, Killer González, for the required photo op. I even let him think he had me with his tough-as-nails act and stone-crushing grip. I smiled, nodded and told him, “Enjoy your last night as champ. Tomorrow, your title is mine.”
“You son of a—” He didn’t care much for my conversational skills.
He actually tried to lure me into fighting him right here. I simply smiled, patted his arm as his guys held him back, and told him, “Save your energy for the octagon. You’re gonna need it.”
He left shortly after. I guess his team couldn’t calm him down enough to make staying worthwhile.
Biding my time till I can leave, I grab a handful of grapes off the buffet and scan the room for a friendly face who doesn’t want to fight me, sign me, or fuck me. Near the entrance I spot a frowning Cap and two unexpected faces: Grant and Emerson.
Shoving the last of the grapes in my mouth, I make a beeline for them. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you two until tomorrow.”
Grant shakes my hand with a half hug. “I decided to surprise Emmy with a few extra nights in Vegas.”
“Nice.” I hug Emerson. “It’s great to see some friendly faces amongst these sharks.”
“Hey.” Cap takes offense, giving me the evil eye.
I chuckle. “Cap, you barely tolerate me, much less feign friendliness.”
“Not true. I like you just fine. Might even like you as a son if you’d pull your head out of your ass.”
Whoa. Surprised by his admission—not the ass part but the son part—I actually stagger back a step, my hand rubbing the familiar ache in my chest. He had to go and remind me of her. My Angel. “I’m working on it.”
His brows meet in the middle, eyeing me skeptically. “Really? Leaving her high and dry for two months isn’t what I’d call working on it.”
“She said we were done. She dumped me,” I remind him.
He scoffs and snags a mimosa off a passing tray. “You’d better hurry the fuck up before you’re too late.”
Glowering, I notice the silent conversation shared between the three of them. “What’s going on?”
Emerson shakes her head, studying her feet intently.
Cap shakes his head, lips tightly closed.
Grant clears his throat, glances between Cap and Emerson before focusing on me. “Don’t wait too long.”
My skin prickles as alarm bells go off. “What the fuck does that mean?” I look between them. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on before I start ripping this place to shreds.”
Emerson stares daggers at Grant. “Don’t,” she whispers through clenched teeth.
Sighing, Grant squeezes her hand. “He has a right to know.”
“Oh, fuck, not good,” Cap murmurs to my right.
I’m done with this cat and mouse game. “Know what?” I step into Grant, apparently the weak link, or maybe just a better friend to me. “Grant.”
“Fuck.” He runs his palm down his face, lingering on his chin, his eyes pleading with Emerson, not wanting to betray her by revealing whatever secret they’re keeping. “He’s going to find out.”
“After the fight,” she says, not even moving her lips. Apparently, lockjaw is a real thing.
What she said and not how she said it hits me. “Wait. You’re not telling me something because of my fight?”
Emerson meets my eyes for the first time since this whole debacle started. “We love you, Gabriel. She lo—" Her hand smacks over her mouth, halting her words. Her eyes go round like saucers.
My anger fizzles, but my worry doesn’t. I touch her arm. “Please, tell me.”
Emerson looks at Cap and back to me. “She made us promise. She wanted to wait until after your fight to tell—”
“Tell me what?” I interrupt. Is something wrong with my Angel?
Her eyes water, and now I’m starting to really freak out.
“You can’t lose this fight because of her. She’ll hate me.” A tear slips down Emerson’s cheek.
Christ.
Grant pulls her into his arms, kissing her head. “Shh, no more.” His eyes lock with mine.
“My fight is not worth whatever secret you’re keeping for Frankie,” I implore him. “Please, tell me. Is she okay?”
He nods. “She’s fine. Or she will be. It’s just… Fuck—” He sighs like the weight of the world resides on his shoulders. “I hate to tell you this, man.”
I can tell by their reactions I’m going to hate hearing it.
“Rowdy—”
“Rowdy?” What the fuck does he have to do with anything? Then it dawns on me he’s the only one who didn’t come from Sunnyville with the rest of my Black Ops fight team. He and Frankie are the only ones.
A solemn mask transforms Grant’s face. “He asked her to marry him.”
“Marry him?” I grip my hair while my world crumbles around me. “I thought they were only friends.” My words are more an expression of disbelief than a query to them.
Grant just shrugs. He has no more words for me. What is there possibly left to say?
My Angel has moved on.
Found a man who could promise her forever.
Give her her happily ever after.
Fuck me.
I stumble out of the hotel ballroom, ignoring their calls, and punch the down arrow for the elevator. It dings, the doors opening nearly instantaneously as if it was waiting to whisk me away on an express ride to hell.
Maybe it is, but not before I make a crucial stop.
When I told Rowdy I couldn’t—wouldn’t—marry him, he took it like a man.
He didn’t cry, like I did.
He didn’t puke right afterwards, like I did.
And he sure as shit didn’t remain celibate, like I am.
It seems all the men in my life find it easy to move on. All except Cap.
He’s still pouting. It’s been two weeks since he found out I’m pregnant. He checks on me every day, offering me food, water, protein drinks, my own pack of peppermints. Yet he’s holding his forgiveness hostage. No matter how much I apologize, it doesn’t seem to be enough. I don’t have the right words, the acceptable amount of remorse, or the promises to warrant his mercy.
The sad part is, I love that he’s so upset. At least he cares enough to stick around and be mad with me. He still cares for me. It’s obvious by his daily check-ins. He’s just not ready to for
give me. And that’s okay. All I can do is ask for forgiveness. I can’t force it or expect to receive it. Some pains take time to heal. I know that all too well.
So, life goes on. Cap is mad. Rowdy is distant. And the guys at the gym treat me like a princess who can’t lift a finger without their help. That part I secretly love, though I’d never admit it to them.
Tomorrow is Gabriel’s big fight against Killer González in Las Vegas. He’s a big guy, originally from Brazil but trains in Florida. He’s evenly matched in weight and height, but the weight doesn’t sit the same on him as it does Gabriel—who’s all muscle. Killer looks more like he’s seventy-five percent fighter and twenty-five percent Pillsbury Doughboy. He didn’t always look like that. I think this past year as the reigning champ has gone to his waist. Except in the interview I saw earlier this week, he still thinks he’s hot shit and that taking down Gabriel will be a breeze.
He’s delusional. Gabriel will grind him up and eat him for a late-night snack. The guys will all be there to cheer him on too, even Cap. They’ve all gone to Vegas. I didn’t even go into work today. There’s no point. No one was even there except Rowdy, and he’s avoiding me. So, like I said—there’s no point.
Pounding on the front door has me setting down the knife I’m using to spread mayo on two slices of bread. The beginnings of a sandwich. It’s just after noon, and I’m starving. I check the living room to see where Rowdy disappeared to. He breezed in and out of the kitchen, looking for food a few minutes ago. I thought he might stick around to eat with me. Guess not.
The banging on the door begins again, and then the doorbell rings.
“Jeez, I’m comin’. Hold your horses.”
Rowdy appears at the top of the stairs, frowning at the door like that alone will make it stop.
More banging.
I reach for the deadbolt to unlock it.
“Check the peephole first,” Darkboy hisses from his roost.
When I see the meaty frame on the other side of the door, I nearly faint as my heart starts pounding like it’s responding directly to his banging on the door—like it’s a secret code only they know. My breath hitches when he lifts his oversized hand and bangs again, jolting me back a step. He doesn’t even look around. It’s like he knows we’re home.
Backing away slowly, I glance around, trying to figure out my escape route. I can’t bring myself to open the door. I haven’t seen or heard from him in two months—since I told him goodbye at the hospital. The day I found out I was pregnant. The day my life changed forever, heading down on a road he wasn’t willing to go, its destination nowhere on his life plan.
I yelp when Rowdy touches my arm. I didn’t even notice or hear him come down the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
Shaking my head, I back up to the wall. “I can’t.” I feel like I’ve finally started to get my feet under me in the last few days. Like I can live without him.
I don’t want to, but I can.
Him being here will only undermine any progress I’ve made. I know I said I was going to tell him about the baby after his fight, but I’d decided the best thing for me is to write him a letter—not tell him in person. Seeing him again, being rejected all over again, would be too painful, set me back too far. I have to be strong for our baby. I’m determined to set an example for our child, be good, be strong, be present. The cycle of shitty parenting stops here. The next generation will know they are loved, cherished, and most of all—wanted.
“Tell him I’m not here. Tell him I died.” I run for the living room. When I hear the click of the lock, I realize the living room is not a great hiding place. I should have gone for my room or—the garage!
I dart toward the kitchen, planning to grab my keys and make a dash for it when I hear Gabriel’s familiar voice.
“Where is she?” He’s not happy, but God, that voice. It calls to me like a homing beacon.
“She’s not here.” Rowdy sounds like he’s up for the confrontation I’m avoiding.
“No? Well, I’ll wait.” I hear movement, but I can’t tell where he’s heading, the living room or the kitchen.
I’m stuck in the doorway between the two. Nowhere to go without being seen.
“That’s not a good idea.” Rowdy’s voice meets my ears about the time I catch sight of Gabriel at the entryway across the room from me, on the threshold of stepping into the living room.
My heart soars, and my stomach plummets. I’d nearly forgotten how handsome he is, especially in all-alpha mode.
Gabriel turns, missing me in the process. “You forget who owns this house and lets you stay here rent-free.”
“I actually pay rent to Frankie. I don’t know what agreement you have with her. So, if it’s all the same, you should leave.”
My gasp at Rowdy’s boldfaced lie draws their eyes to me. Oh, shit.
Gabriel pins me with his laser focus and heated stare. “Not here, huh?”
Rowdy shakes his head and shrugs, letting me know I’m an idiot for giving myself away. Leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms and legs, getting ready for a show.
Gabriel moves into the room. I do the same but stay behind the couch, hoping to hide my growing middle section from his keen eye. At nearly four months, I’m not big by any means. But I have a definite baby bump, and my waist is thicker—not to mention my thighs and ass. What the couch won’t hide are my enlarged boobs. Yeah, I’m totally screwed.
“Angel.” His pet name for me has my knees about to buckle and a sob ready to take flight.
I swallow through the lump in my throat to ask the obvious, “Shouldn’t you be in Vegas?”
“No.” There’s no hesitation in his weighted response. “I’m right where I need to be.”
No? “What about your fight?” I grip the couch to not only keep me on my feet but to stop myself from crossing my arms over my chest as he studies my face before lowering his gaze to my breasts with a puzzled brow raise. Maybe he’ll think I got a boob job.
His confusion aside, he locks onto my face again. “I don’t give a fuck about the fight.”
What? I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
His eyes narrow, and he tilts his head one way and then the other before stepping closer.
Shit, he’s gonna figure it out before I know why he’s here.
“I needed to see you,” he offers before I can ask.
“Why?”
“You can’t marry Rowdy.”
I jerk back, not believing my ears. These past five minutes are confusing the hell out of me. I never in a million years expected to see Gabriel the day before his fight. Even to stop a marriage that is never going to happen.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I scowl right back at him and catch a glimpse of a smiling Rowdy over his shoulder. “And why not?” I can’t help myself. Gabriel has hurt me too deeply for me to let him off the hook that easily.
“Because I love you.”
“What—” My tough exterior crumbles as I collapse to my knees.
I barely make it to the floor before Gabriel is gripping my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Shaking my head to clear the fogginess, I need to be sure he said what I think he said. “Say it again.” I don’t even recognize the sound of my voice as mine.
He tips my trembling chin till his turbulent blue eyes lock on my stormy grays. “I love you, Angel.” He captures my cheek with his palm. “I think I always have.”
“What took you so long?” My voice wobbles to match my chin as I try to hold it together.
“I didn’t think I could be what you needed,” he admits.
I knew that. “And now?” I’m cautious. I can’t let hope spring free when I don’t know what he’s offering. For all I know he’s only here because he’s jealous.
He holds my hands, his thumbs rubbing across the tops. “I know I’m not good enough for you. But I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy—giving you want you want—what you need. I damn well know no one will
try harder than me to make you happy.”
Hope blossoms like a flower breaching a crack in the sidewalk. Leery, I ask, “What are you offering?”
He brings our joined hands to his mouth with a kiss. “Everything, Angel. Marriage. Kids. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” He pulls me closer, leaning in, forehead to forehead. “Only, don’t send me away again. It nearly killed me the last time. I won’t survive another minute without you.”
“So, you’re not here because Rowdy proposed?”
He glances at the entrance where Rowdy stood only a few minutes ago. He’s gone. “Oh, I’m here because of that. I’ve got tons of questions, but they’ll have to wait. Right now, I need to hear what you’re thinking.”
“I’m afraid you’re only here because you’re jealous.”
He’s shaking his head before I even finish. “I was coming to you as soon as I won my fight, but when I heard about the proposal… Nothing was more important than getting to you to show you I’m all in. Please, Angel. Say you love me too. Say you don’t love him. Tell me you’re still mine.”
“I’m not marrying Rowdy. I do love him. He’s been by my side since you left. I can’t ever repay his kindness or express how much his friendship means to me. But I’m not in love with him.” I catch his eyes. “You understand the difference?”
“I do, and I’m relieved as hell to hear it.”
“Good. But now I need you to tell me what you want. You said all the things you’d do for me. I can’t ask you to sacrifice your happiness, your dreams, for mine.”
“The hell you can’t.” His scowl creases his forehead, and I press my thumb to calm its edges. When he sees I’m still waiting for an answer, he concedes. “As you know, I never saw marriage and kids in my future.”
Yep, painfully aware.
“But you’ve always made me feel things I’ve never felt before. The world comes alive when you’re near, and it dies when you’re away. I don’t want to live in the land of the dead. I want to step into the light and live with you. Forever. I want to marry you so every motherfucker knows you’re mine. I want to put so many babies in you, you’ll be begging me to stop. I want it all a million times over, and then a million times more. But only with you, Angel. Only you. It’s always, ever, only been you.”
