by Leigh, Ember
There it was. The stall. The brief moment in which she held all the power in the world. A woman’s most victorious moment, where everything hung on her next words. Her decision. Her desires.
She steeled herself. Her desires had no place in this conversation.
“Bye, Levi.”
He pushed out of the studio, and it might have been her imagination, but she thought she sensed a cloud of disappointment behind him.
She could only see it because it clung to her, too.
Chapter 6
It wasn’t often that rejection found Levi.
But when it did, it came crashing through the wall like a demonic Kool-Aid Man. The type of surprise punch to the gut that left Levi reeling and grasping for his tried and true fallback.
Going out and getting into trouble.
He’d done it a thousand times before. This coping mechanism was nothing new. Forged from heartbroken necessity after both his parents had died on the same stupid-ass night, in the same stupid-ass wreck caused by a tipping semi and a too-tight curve, he didn’t have a lot of options as a young, single guardian looking after his disabled brother.
His life was taking care of Gage, and letting off steam the only ways he knew how: fighting or fucking.
Except when he’d gone out the night after Riley made it more than clear she could give a shit about him. Even that steam wasn’t enough. He’d fucked up a dude’s face in an alley behind a shithole bar in downtown LA and told anybody who would listen that he was a professional MMA fighter who was gunning for a title. Zero women were involved, which shocked him maybe more than anything else.
Fucking was his go-to. But for some reason, only his fists wanted to fly. Not his cock.
And he worried it was because he thought he still had a chance with Riley. Like an idiot.
A few cameras came out to catch his spectacle. That, at least, he could remember through the drunk haze.
But he’d really expected there to be some sort of paparazzi following him by now. He was good at making a scene. Hell, it was the only reputation he had anymore. That and stupid dad jokes. Levi in a nutshell. He was fine with it. That’s all people needed to know about him.
Any more and he’d start to get uncomfortable.
The days leading up to the first match were predictably intense. Riley came around for pictures and disappeared as soon as possible. Within a week of a fight, Levi’s personal rule, backed up by Travis, was no alcohol and no sex. So that ruled out his tried and true methods of stress relief.
Which meant he turned into a raging bull by the morning of the fight. He rocketed around his apartment like pinball let loose in an eighties sci-fi-wonderland pinball machine. Gage shook his head and continued playing Call of Duty. At sixteen years old, Gage found pretty much anything Levi did anymore embarrassing somehow.
That’s what made the fine line between guardian and brother even thinner. As Gage’s brother, he should be allowed to act out and go get drunk and get arrested a time or two. Whatever. But as Gage’s guardian and stand-in father, he needed to set a good example.
Not like Gage would be standing up and heading to a bar on his own anytime soon because of Levi’s actions…but still. Levi needed to be the good guy in Gage’s eyes. Which meant that he didn’t tell Gage about what he got up to. No girls came around the house.
Once Levi became famous and the news started slipping out of its own accord…well, Levi would handle that when he got there. For now, he needed to continue the balancing act.
“Can you stop hopping around like a demented rabbit?” Gage snarked. “I can’t focus.”
“Sorry, bro.” Levi took to pacing the width of the apartment, flipping the back of Gage’s hair each time he passed. Gage grunted, jerking the controller along with his head as he tried to dodge Levi’s reach. “You coming to this match or what?”
Gage sighed, not bothering to rip his eyes off the screen. He’d been going through a thing the past several months—basically since they’d gotten to California. He didn’t want to go outside; he didn’t want people to see him; he didn’t want the home health nurse to accompany him anywhere. Their outing last week had been the first in a while, beyond the required daily trek to school during the week days. Levi figured it was part acclimating to a new home, part teenage angst.
But to be sure, Levi had scouted a psychologist for him. Their first session was later that month.
“Nobody gives a shit about your chair,” Levi said. He’d said these words a thousand times already.
“Easy for you to say,” Gage muttered.
Levi huffed. “You want me to get a chair too? I swear to God, I will.”
Gage smirked but didn’t say anything.
“I’ll fight from the chair, too,” Levi said, swooping in to make eye contact with Gage. His brother was fighting a grin now. “Instead of a cage fighter, I’ll be a chair fighter.”
Gage snorted, leaning to the side to see the huge flat-screen TV. He’d gotten a tiny laugh out of him. That was good, for now.
“I gotta go to the gym, bro.” Levi hopped from side to side as he made his way to the kitchen, where his packed bag awaited him. Street clothes, fight clothes, and a shit ton of first aid. “If you change your mind, you call Tammy, okay?”
Tammy was the home health nurse. She’d been coming over to help out since they moved to LA. Gage liked her all right but resented needing her help in a way that he never had with his nurse in Chicago. The move had to be hitting him hard. On his down days, Levi thought that maybe the move wasn’t worth it. Maybe he should have stayed back in Chicago, found some lesser trainer on the West Loop, and gotten a full-time job doing internet installation or some shit to make ends meet.
Maybe following his dreams wasn’t worth the toll it took on Gage.
It was times like these that his heart crumbled with wanting his mom and dad. Even for a day, to look at the state of things and tell him it was going to be okay. If he could just get some damn advice.
Levi ruffled Gage’s hair before he let himself out of the apartment. Tammy would be on her way soon anyway to help Gage with dinner and a shower before bed. Gage made himself damn useful, though—that was the Swain in him. Too proud to accept much help, even when he’d become wheelchair bound at the ripe old age of ten.
The trip to Holt Body Fitness went slower than normal, or maybe he was so amped up that time slowed to a crawl. He was still getting used to LA traffic after a few months living here. He might never adjust. Seriously, so much time in traffic. He’d thought Chicago was bad, especially with the parking tickets, but this shit? His first purchase, once he was a financially stable billionaire, would be a helicopter.
The thought made him laugh out loud. A passenger in a nearby car turned to look as he laughed, so Levi amped it up. He loved attention—there was no denying it. As he trudged through traffic, he played games with the passing cars. With some people, he waved until they finally noticed him, which led to some awkward wait times. With others, he struck up a conversation—always about the fact that he was about to whoop some guy’s ass in an MMA fight. A few people promised to tune in. One guy had actually heard of his fight card already.
And that is marketing, folks. Levi smiled to himself as he eased into the parking lot of Holt Body Fitness. He’d conquer Los Angeles one traffic jam at a time.
Once he swept into Holt, things started getting real. He and Travis and Lex met for a briefing in the back gym. Protocol was that Levi didn’t fight the day before or the day of a fight, to reserve all his energy for the big event. Melanie came by to tug his hair into tight cornrows—another fight protocol—and once his scalp smarted from the tight braids, Levi took to some light stretches in his HOLT track suit.
Riley came sauntering in, fishnets tights under short denim shorts, those black combat boots back out to play. His gut twisted—half excitement, half dread.
He wanted to see her. A little too much.
But she’d made it damn clear to him the o
ther night that she didn’t want an ounce of what he had to offer. Unless it was money.
“Wow.” She cocked a hip, a genuine smile gracing those plump lips. “Never thought I’d catch you doing yoga.”
He sent her his best dazzling grin as he held a warrior pose. “What’s this one called?”
“Warrior B.”
“Wrong. It’s Warrior L.” He winked. “Get it? L for Levi.”
“Man, you start with the jokes quick,” Riley mused, snapping a picture.
Travis and Lex came back, greeting Riley with quick hugs. “We all set to go?”
“What’s going on?” Levi asked, feigning ignorance. “Some sort of big event today?”
Travis hefted with a laugh. “Good one.”
“Just the ass kicking of Myrtle’s life,” Lex said, squeezing the tops of Levi’s shoulders. Myrtle was the “affectionate” nickname for Levi’s opponent today, Michael Murtson. With how trained Levi was—and how ready he was to pummel anything in his path—this would be an easy win.
The four of them piled into the official Holtmobile, as Levi liked to call it. A celebrity-grade, brand new SUV, shiny black with blacked out rims. Every time Levi rode in it, always in the backseat, he felt like a star trying to escape the paparazzi.
And if his career took off like he hoped, that reality might not be too far out.
“So how many more faces do I have to break until I get my first multimillion-dollar sponsor?” Levi asked, tugging forward the hood of his HOLT hoodie. It helped block Riley at his side. If she wanted him to back the fuck off her, then he needed to reiterate this to himself every way possible.
It would be hard, but he could do it. He wasn’t a savage.
Travis snorted as he headed onto the freeway. Rap music hummed from the speakers. Travis knew that’s what pumped him up most on fight days, even though it wasn’t his favorite music. It was shit like this that made Travis the best trainer in the world. The little details.
“At least fifteen,” Travis said.
“Nah, that’s too many.” Levi inspected his knuckles, trying to visualize the numbers on the check that would come from this eventual sponsorship. How many zeroes there might be. It was the only way to really get there. “I’m thinking…just a few more.”
“Good luck, buddy. If anyone can get there, it’s you.” Travis’s voice didn’t hold any sarcasm. He really did believe in him.
“You can really get a multimillion-dollar sponsorship?” Riley asked a moment later.
“Easily.”
“Well, not easily,” Travis corrected.
“It’ll be easy for me,” Levi said. He made the mistake of glancing over at Riley. She watched him with a dark curiosity that made his thighs tense.
Those looks were dangerous on days like these. When he hadn’t gotten off in days and she was the only person to fill his mind anyway. That was the masochistic part about it. The one girl who didn’t want him, possibly in all of history, was the one girl he couldn’t stop thinking about. Figured.
Riley watched him for a moment too long, then finally yanked her gaze back toward the window. Except now, he was stuck on her, his eyes roaming the funky skull pattern of her T-shirt, the knowing lilt of her lips that told him she could feel his gaze cutting through her.
He could admire in silence. That could be enough for him.
Riley crossed her legs, the fishnet stretching tight against her creamy thigh.
Yeah. Admiring in silence.
Enough for today, maybe.
“All right, guys,” Levi said, burying his fists in the pockets of his hoodie. “Time for the good luck joke.” This was a tradition he’d instituted since arriving at Holt Body Fitness. Sort of a one last joke for the road sort of thing.
Lex groaned. “Let’s hear it.”
“If athletes get athlete’s foot, what do elves get?”
Silence thudded through the car. Levi lifted a brow at Riley, who had pinched her lips into a curious smile.
“Acid reflux,” Travis said, like he wasn’t even trying to get the answer right.
“Syphillis,” Lex offered.
Levi snorted. “You guys could not be more wrong. Riley?”
“Ummm…I don’t know. Elf-itis?”
“Wrong. Mistletoes.”
Riley burst into laughter, and Levi gobbled it up—the dimple flashing in her right cheek, the way she pressed her knuckles against her nose. Her laugh thrummed through him, and there was something different about it. Something that made him desperate to inspire it in her as often as humanly possible.
Levi loved making people feel good about themselves, about life in general. But with Riley, he wanted more than that.
He wanted her to feel good about the possibility of Levi and Riley.
Chapter 7
The arena thundered with noise when Levi started his strut toward the octagon. Cheers mixed with anticipation and enough testosterone to kill a woodland animal. The second he stepped across the threshold into the arena to begin his prefight strut toward the cage, his fists rocketed into the air of their own volition.
The adrenaline of this shit lit him up. It was why on his down days he watched old fights, to get a taste through the TV screen of this mind-altering madness. This many people and this much noise would drive some people into a hole.
But not Levi. He fucking ate this shit for breakfast.
He hopped and skipped down the tight aisle as photographers snapped pictures and fans cheered him on. They weren’t here for him, necessarily, but rather the start of this new league, the Western Fighters Conference. It was something to rival the UFC, with a faster-paced fight schedule and an instant-gratification approach to defending the title. This was the first day of fights for a whole slew of brackets, and Levi’s match was the very last of the day. The whole West Coast was paying attention.
And Levi wouldn’t accept anything less than winning the WFC title.
Once he hit the cage, he went into autopilot. Travis and Lex lingered on the sidelines; he was distantly aware that Riley had secured her spot down on the photographers’ edge. Then everything but the fight fell away. All he could see was the bloated scowl of Michael Murtson as he came into the ring. The distant echo of the announcer as he introduced the fighters. The thick wrist of the referee as he grabbed the fighters by the shoulders to recite the standard rules of the fight.
Levi entered into a dream space. Caught between the sharp sting of reality and the gauzy clouds of a dream. He bit into the foam of his mouthguard, the only thing grounding him to the moment.
The fight bell rang.
Levi’s thoughts ceased; everything became a fluid string of reactions. Dodging Murty’s low kick, delivering the uppercut, spinning him into a rear naked choke.
The only thing that coursed through Levi’s mind as he fought was, You got this. You got this.
Levi secured the advantage on Murty early in the first round. He had him grappling and reactionary, trying to dodge Levi’s firm blows and catlike defenses. When the bell rang for the end of the first round, Travis was ready at his side.
“You’re fucking killing him,” he said as Lex squirted water into Levi’s mouth. “You can knock him out. It’s coming. Just keep him off balance.”
Levi rolled his shoulders in circles as he assessed Murty from across the octagon. Lex dabbed at a cut on his forehead.
“I’m so fucking ready for this,” Levi mumbled around the mouthguard.
Break time ended. The fighters met in the middle, and the bell rang again. Levi didn’t hold back. He funneled every ounce of disappointment and worry and sexual frustration and money anxiety into his opponent. His punches rained down, and they weren’t into minute two when the referees hauled him off of Murty. He’d won the round by technical knockout. Murty was unable to fight back.
Levi was distantly aware of the swell of cheers. He pumped his fist in the air and did a victory lap around the cage, going as far as scaling a side of the octagon to pump his fists
into the air. He caught the wild eyes and victorious cheers of nearby fans. They ate this shit up. And so did he.
It wasn’t until Travis herded him back into the dressing room that the spell broke. Levi collapsed into a chair in front of the mirror while Travis and Lex assembled around him.
The joy was unmistakable.
“Now they fuckin’ know,” Lex affirmed as he pointed at Levi through the mirror. “They fuckin’ know who our boy Levi is.”
Travis laughed, grabbing Levi by his arms. “You fucking killed it.”
A knock on the door a moment later was the league doctor, making his rounds to check on the fighters, post fight. He was a short and serious man who looked like he came from 1940 instead of modern days.
Levi tilted his head as the doctor examined a cut on his upper cheek. Riley popped into the dressing room a moment later, pressing her back to the door. She was out of breath.
Her eyes were wide. Like she’d just seen her first real MMA match.
“So what’d you think, Riley?”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “Uhhh…no big deal.” She shrugged, but he could practically see the pulse throbbing at her wrists. “Just a regular evening, doing work stuff.” She tripped over the carpet as she approached, and a laugh escaped her. “Holy shit.”
Levi grinned, which made the doctor tut as he tried to dab at his face. “Stop smiling.”
“Can’t when she’s around,” he said. Her reaction meant more to him than he wanted to admit.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lex murmured. Riley lifted her camera, snapping a few shots in the dressing room.
“How’d your pictures come out?” Levi asked.
“Fucking fire,” she said, checking the digital screen of her camera. “Oh my god.” She fanned herself a little. “I don’t think my heart has stopped racing yet.”
