Beautiful Mistakes: Contemporary Romance Boxset Books 1-4

by Victoria Snow

  That thought made me shiver, and the anticipation only rose, and the announcer introduced the fighters.

  The promos they had for the two of them were ridiculously over the top, all masculine and brawny and full of aggression. While the opponent was loud mouthed and spitting threats every other second in his little video, Mickey’s was something else entirely.

  He was like stone, impenetrable and unmovable. His face was pulled into an icy glower that was so different from how I knew he actually was that I couldn’t help but whistle in appreciation. He really was quite the actor, and nobody had any idea.

  It felt a bit like a secret just between the two of us -despite the fact that everyone who had worked with us on the commercial also knew- and I let that feeling warm my stomach.

  Eventually their promos ended, and it cut to commercial once more. I chewed my lips, knowing they were front-loading all the breaks so they wouldn’t have to take any during the fight. When it finally came back on, the opponent was walking down a ramp to the ring.

  It was a long, drawn out stroll with plenty of posturing, stink eye and all the showboating that had always turned me off to the sport before. I appreciated the athleticism of it, and the sheer amount of skill, the strategy. But too often the hulking fighters reminded me of all the douche-bros and dickheads that I spent a lot of time avoiding or competing with during the early days of my career.

  Just when I rolled my eyes for about the dozenth time, I saw Mickey come out on his own ramp.

  He stood there a moment, the lights sweeping up to him, and my breath died right there in my lungs.

  His face was that same mask he wore in his promo, intense and fearless, eyes sparking like he dared anyone to challenge him. His eyes flashed with all that power I knew seethed just below his skin, and my hand snaked into my pants without my notice.

  Every step he took down the ramp was so deliberate, so assured that I didn’t realize what I was doing until my finger slipped over my opening, already sloppy wet.

  “Fuck,” I murmured to myself, snatching my hand away. It was not the time for that.

  No, I was just supporting a friend.

  But still, I couldn’t help but sigh in relief when he reached the ring and the two of them faced off.

  There was more posturing, more ramping up by the announcer, and I felt the anticipation rise higher and higher within me. No wonder people got so excited about these things.

  And then, without warning, the ref was moving away, a bell rang, and the match started.

  It had been a while since I’d watched any fights that weren’t scripted or choreographed by myself. The other fighter came out swinging and they really started to brawl. I stared with bated breath as they moved in an always changing rhythm. Block, dodge, counter, they all meshed together in quick flurries before the two forced themselves apart. It wasn’t until near the end of the first round that the opponent landed his first blow.

  Shit.

  It was quite the blow, and Mickey stumbled backwards. His opponent pressed him, trying to work his advantage, but Mickey seemed to anticipate that because suddenly he had the man falling to the ground in a take down.

  Unfortunately, his opponent definitely knew what he was doing. He managed to half-subvert the hold Mickey tried to get on him, raining down blows against his ribs.

  My heart jolted with worry every time Mickey was hit. I could only imagine the bruises he’d get after, black, blue and green. In the back of my head I had always known that his job was dangerous, violent, but it was one thing to academically know that, and another thing to see it happen in real time in front of me. In fact, there was one particular hit to his face that made me audibly gasp, my stomach twisting violently. It looked as if it could have knocked out a tooth, especially with all the blood dribbling down his chin, but he kept right on going as if nothing was the matter.

  He gripped the man below him and righted himself, trying to pull his leg into a hold. I leaned closer to the screen, my wine glass and everything else forgotten.

  I was completely caught up in it, so much so that when the bell suddenly rang and they were separated, I was physically jarred.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered to myself, quickly downing my drink and refilling my glass. I was full of so many feelings that I had to get up and pace, hoping that would help me manage my scattered thoughts.

  Seeing Mickey absolutely unleashed, powerful and intelligent, using strategy against his opponent and also manhandling him, turned me on like I couldn’t believe. But more importantly than that was the burning, all consuming feeling of concern I had every time he was hit.

  I was worried. I didn’t like seeing him hurt. I wanted to bundle him up in blankets, kiss all his wounds, and tell him how mighty he was. Did he have anyone to do that for him? Or would he go home all alone and just sit in his house with no one to appreciate him?

  I didn’t like that idea at all, and when the next round started up, my enjoyment started to go down as my anxiety went up.

  It turned into an unpleasant sort of torture as I watched them exchange blows. Mickey was really good at keeping his guard up, but his opponent still got some good jabs in. When they both went to the mats again, it seemed like a pretty even fight.

  I chewed my lip, my heart pounded against my rib cage as Mickey took a sharp elbow to his temple, then another to one of his oh-so-pretty cheekbones. I could see blood well up from one of his eyebrows almost instantly and I knew that he was going to have a wicked black eye. I was on my feet in a moment, walking over to the screen like I could actually comfort him through it.

  I had no idea what I thought I was doing, but my fingers reached out to him, willing him to be okay. I was fairly certain that the fight was over, and he was about to lose, but then something flashed across his face I couldn’t describe.

  He rushed forward, finishing pinning his opponent to the mat and managing to get his arms around him in a hold. One second, two seconds, three seconds later the man tapped out and the ref was sweeping Mickey off him.

  I jumped up again, clapping my hands over my mouth. I was so full of relief, nearly wanting to sob with it while the announcer began to announce Mickey’s triumph. But there was also concern about his wellbeing pouring through me. It would be easy to get a concussion from a fight like that, and although I knew Mickey had a whole staff to take care of him, none of them were me.

  I wanted to reach out. I… I felt like I had to. I just needed to make sure he was alright. Safe. Make sure he didn’t have to go to the hospital. I knew it was definitely pretty ballsy to walk out on him after having wild sex in his car, but before I could even debate it, my fingers were flying across my keyboard, typing him a message to him that I had no right to send. But what else was new?

  Hey, Are you alright? I saw your fight; you took quite the beating.

  I looked at the text and decided that might be a bit harsh. Like I was judging him for letting a few blows in which definitely wasn’t the case. I was in awe of his talent.

  Hey, I watched your fight. Are you doing alright?

  There, that would have to do it. I sent the text before I could chicken out and sat back down. I didn’t expect him to answer right away so I was surprised when I heard my phone notification go off.

  I looked at the notification and my face fell when I saw that it was Michelle that messaged me, not her brother. The timing of that was… not great.

  Well, good thing I had my big girl underwear on. I swallowed hard, then opened the text.

  Mickey’s alright. He’s just been really down lately. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?

  Guilt shot through my chest like a bullet. Through everything that happened, I just assumed that the hulking man wouldn’t care, or would recover quickly with any of the many groupies he was sure to have. I didn’t like hearing that that wasn’t the case at all.

  Then again, was it really all that surprising?

  I knew that he had liked me when we were yo
unger. I also knew, no matter how much I tried to sweep it under the rug, that he acted kind of like he was still interested even now. I knew all that and yet I had still acted like a jerk. I was grateful that at least Michelle was there to keep Mickey company while I overworked myself to death, but that didn’t really ease the guilt bubbling up within me.

  I had to fix this. I had to make it right. Between watching the snot getting beaten out of Mickey and hearing that he had been upset ever since our last kinda date, I was itching to do something. I reread Michelle’s message three or four times, trying to think of what to say, how to explain it all, until I realized it wasn’t exactly something that could be done via text. After several minutes, I finally typed a response.

  Hey Michelle, you free at all? I think we should talk.

  16

  Amber

  I bounced my leg anxiously, looking intently at the door of the small café where Michelle and I had agreed to meet.

  It wasn’t exactly close to home, but it was at a midpoint between both of our places. I would have been fine with meeting closer to her apartment, after all, the less she had to travel the less time she spent away from her brother who might need her, but she insisted that halfway was fine.

  She stepped into the door and I waved, trying to flash her a smile just like old times but feeling rusty and a bit foolish. Geez, I really had let things slip in my personal life, hadn’t I? Once Michelle and I had been inseparable, but as she sat across the table from me, I realized that we were indeed entirely separated.

  For the first time in a long while, I began to wonder if I had sacrificed too much for my business and lost sight of what was important.

  “How do you want to start?” Michelle asked. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and looked at me with the same intense gaze as her brother had. It came back to me how often her and I would intimidate bullies and assholes with simple stares.

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead. Suddenly I was so tired, so exhausted. Would it be wrong to pretend that this was just like old times, and that we were out to breakfast as a couple of gal pals and not a sister interceding for her miserable brother.

  “Can I order some food first?”

  “Honestly, that sounds like a good idea. Who wants drama on an empty stomach?”

  “Ugh, not me,” I confirmed, picking up the menu from where the waitress had placed it at the end of the table.

  I looked it over for a few moments, most of the words blurring in front of my face. When I could finally concentrate enough to make them out, I decided on a turkey club and promptly ordered my food with a glass of water. I could feel nerves begin to bubble in my chest, making me nauseous. I knew that I had to explain everything to Michelle, but I had no idea how to. There were so many words, so many ideas, but I had no idea what order to put them in or even how to express them.

  Ugh.

  What a mess.

  Our food came and we dug in, chatting idly about work and life and traffic. It was nice but it was also… fake. Not like us. It was like neither of us wanted to do exactly what we came there to do, but I knew I had to if I wanted to get to Mickey.

  And I oh-so-desperately wanted to get to Mickey. I wanted to put ice on his cheek and tut at him when he winced and take care of him as he had taken care of me so many times. Funny how certain things could trigger memories, but I could clearly remember a time where Aunt Trisha and I had both been down with the flu and he had stayed home from his senior trip to help take care of us.

  He was a good friend, and I had taken that far too much for granted.

  But that was going to change.

  “You should start talking,” Michelle said finally, pushing her plate away from her when she was finished and giving me that look.

  It jarred me to see Michelle so serious. She usually was the bubbly cheerleader type who hid her intimidating side in her back pocket to surprise people with. I guessed that she really was concerned about her brother. If there was ever a single thing that could break up our friendship, it would be if I hurt him.

  I didn’t want to lose our friendship. Well, at least more than we already had through all of my neglect.

  “Okay,” I took a deep breath and laced my finger together. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

  “That would be ideal.”

  “Okay. So, this all started at the wedding-”

  “Annika’s wedding?”

  “That’s the only one I’ve been to in a while.” The waitress came back and set a new glass of water on the table, which I hastily chugged. The few seconds gave me extra time to think of what I wanted to say and how.

  “Alright. So yeah, this all started at Annika’s wedding. Mickey came to talk to me early in the party and we parted ways for a bit. I was a bit tipsy and I made a dumb bet with Shelly. She was being a jerk and basically insulted every plus size girl on earth. I said that I could get any guy I wanted, and I may have used the fact that I knew Mickey had a crush on me when he was younger to my advantage. I’m not proud of it, but the look on Shelly’s face was so satisfying.”

  Michelle didn’t look too impressed, so I chugged along with the story. She had never been one for revenge anyways. Not like I was.

  “So yeah, we started to dance together and we both got pretty drunk. In all honesty, I don’t remember much of what happened. One minute I was on the dance floor with Mickey and then the next I’m waking up back in his hotel room with a big stone on my finger.”

  “Wait...” realization struck Michelle and her jaw dropped, “You and Mickey?”

  “Got hitched in Vegas… Neither of us remembers much of the night. We met after and decided to get an annulment for the marriage. He sent me the papers, but even after I sign them and we’re officially separated, it’s going to take a whole year to go into effect. Can you believe that? An entire year for something that happened between two drunk people in a shoddy chapel somewhere on the strip.”

  Michelle swallowed hard, as if she was trying not to freak out. I couldn’t blame her. Goodness knows I had done plenty of my own freaking out when it had initially gone down.

  “Shortly after that, I was working on a commercial and Mickey happened to be the male lead for it. We ended up working together and tension kinda grew between us. I don’t want to get to R rated because you are his sister. But let's just say we both had a pretty good time together.”

  “Then what happened between you?”

  “He asked if I was just using him for sex.” I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “I wasn’t. I honestly started to feel something for Mickey. It wasn’t just lust or passion making everything rose-tinted. I was shocked and insulted that he would even think that of me. But also…” I looked at her guiltily, licking my lips as I tended to do when I was nervous. “I can’t really blame him if that’s the impression he got? You know how I am, Michelle. I can be a little, uh…”

  “Cold? Closed off? So, blinded by your ambition that there’s nothing else for you.”

  I winced. “Yeah, all of that sounds pretty accurate.”

  She smiled ever so slightly. “You’ve always been that way. I don’t know why he was especially surprised. You’re a good person, and you love deep, but in your own way. I’ve always understood that.”

  I flushed at her kind words and reached out across the table. To my great relief, she reached for me too and our fingers interlaced. “Thank you. I’m sorry I let things come in the way of our friendship.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing came in the way of us. I have long since accepted that you’re frontloading all of your work now so we can spend the rest of our thirties and forties being crazy and going on wild adventures.”

  “I’d like that very much,” I said, voice cracking.

  “Good. But first, finish the story.”

  “Right.” I composed myself before I found where I had trailed off. “I left pissed as hell, telling him I wouldn’t even honor that question with a response, and we haven’t
spoken since. I’ve checked up on him through social media and I saw his fight last night. I saw how he was beat up and I was worried. I’ve seen people go down for weeks from less severe injuries. He got hit in the head a couple of time...”

  Michelle sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. “Oh boy.”

  I immediately stiffened up and waited for her to elaborate. It took her a good couple of minutes, but eventually she filled me in.

  “So, I’m taking this all in. I’m gonna try and be a good friend, but my main focus is on my brother’s wellbeing. So,” She clapped her hands together and stared me down. “I want to answer this honestly. Did you know that Mickey has been in love with you since like the first time he laid eyes on you?”

  “What?” My voice broke, “I - I mean, I knew he had a crush when we were younger, but I thought for sure he was over it-”

  “He’s not.” Michelle’s tone was firm. I hated that she was confirming everything my subconscious had been whispering to me. All those little looks, the little jokes about not needing to divorce, the way he held me when we made love. I knew, in the back of my head I had always known, but I had never wanted to believe it. “He’s still in love with you, Amber. He probably thought you were just toying with him. Or after him for his looks. You have always been his dream girl, but you never paid him any attention. Now you’re both grown up and you’re suddenly ‘having a good time together’? Not to mention you left in a fit after he asked if you were just there for the sex -which I assumed right after you actually had sex.”

  I buried my face in my hands and let out a groan.

  “He must hate me!”

  “No… He misses you. Amber, he’s been in love with you for over a decade. And I’m not saying that in a creepy, he’s been pining over you way. He’s dated, he’s moved on. But now you had to come swinging into his life like a wrecking team and dangle the fantasy of everything that could have been right in front of him. You’ve rekindled that old flame. I’m sorry, but you don’t get to walk away without making amends. You either need to break things off with him officially, put out that fire and never open that door again so I can have my brother back. Or…”