Fight for Her

by Kelly Favor

  He poured her a Diet Coke and then handed her the cold glass. “I noticed you were hanging out with Gunner this morning.” His voice was offhand, but she sensed a deeper curiosity in the statement.

  She looked at him, trying to determine why he was mentioning it, but Cole’s eyes didn’t give anything away. He could have just been making small talk after all, she decided.

  “Yeah. I was going to do an article about him,” she said.

  Cole’s eyebrows shot up. “Really.”

  “Is that so strange?”

  Cole laughed, grabbing a rag and wiping down the counter, not because it needed it—almost like it was just habit. “The Gunner I know is not a fan of talking to the media—especially not lately.”

  “Well, the interview didn’t turn out so great,” she admitted. “He got mad and left.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Cole glanced at her again. “What’s your plan now?”

  “I’m honestly not sure.” She took a sip from her Diet Coke. It tasted cold and good and soothed her a little. “Do you know him well?”

  “Is this off the record?”

  “Yes,” she said. In fact, she thought, you have no idea just how off the record this is, given that I’m not even a journalist.

  “I’ve known Gunner for a bit. He’s originally from Massachusetts, and he has relatives in the area. When things started getting crazy for him with all the fame, he bought a place here in Middle River so he could occasionally get away from the madness.”

  “So he would come here periodically?”

  “Yeah, he would come in between fights or when he wasn’t training in Vegas.

  Seemed like he came here less and less the last couple years, though. And when I did see him, he was different.”

  “Different how?” she asked, feeling like Cole was onto something important.

  Cole glanced up at her uneasily. “I’m not sure I should really be talking about this sort of stuff to you. Sorry. I guess I was just thinking out loud.”

  Caden hit a tiny bell with his palm. “One grilled cheese, ready to pick up!” he yelled.

  Cole’s expression betrayed annoyance. “I don’t think that’s really necessary right now, do you?” he said to his brother. “We’re the only people in here.”

  “Got to be professional, bro.” Caden looked at Krista and winked, grinning. She could tell that the brothers liked giving each other a hard time.

  Cole delivered the sandwich right to her and watched as she had her first bite.

  The bread was buttery and the cheese was gooey and delicious. “Mmm…” she had to wipe her mouth with a napkin before she spoke again. “That is honestly the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”

  “You hear that?” Caden called from the kitchen. “Best she ever had, bro!”

  Cole rolled his eyes. “Glad you like it,” he told her, then lowered his voice again.

  “Just don’t compliment him too much, it really goes to his head.”

  Krista finished eating her meal, while still chit chatting a little bit with Cole. But there’d been nothing more about Gunner, although she’d been hoping the conversation might circle back around that way.

  Eventually, more people filtered into the restaurant, which made it even harder to talk about anything important. She gave up on digging for information on Gunner and left the restaurant, choosing to walk down Main Street for a bit instead of just going back to her room.

  The smell of fall was in the air, and Krista was enjoying the cool breeze as she walked down the street, watching the occasional car pass by, or smiling as a family walked past her.

  It really was a nice town, she thought, even if the pace was a bit slower than she was accustomed to. In some ways, now that she was detoxing from the constant rush and flash of Las Vegas, she was beginning to appreciate the quiet and calm of Middle River.

  She could see why Gunner liked it here so much.

  After a nice long walk, she returned to her room and spent some time online dealing with work email. Then she went back on the message boards and read the things people were writing about Gunner.

  It was all brutal stuff—just hate and derision and scorn.

  Every new message, each new insult hurt her as if they were attacking her personally.

  She couldn’t seem to stop herself from reading and obsessing about it. She couldn’t stop feeling that if she could only just talk to Gunner with his guard down, she could help him to realize what a bad path he was on.

  Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll give it one more chance. One more chance to try and save his career and mine along with it.

  ***

  Krista was driving back to Gunner’s cabin.

  It was late morning, and she’d checked out of her room at the Middle River Inn.

  Her bags were in the back of the car, and she’d booked a flight for later that day out of Boston.

  She’d even booked two tickets, just in case.

  As she drove up the road toward his house, she tried to remain focused and calm.

  It was almost as though she was getting ready to step into the cage for a fight. Her adrenaline was pumping, but she was trying to stay positive and visualize a good outcome.

  Is it really a good idea to think of this as a fight? She wondered. Especially when the person you’re fighting is one of the best heavyweights to ever walk the planet?

  Maybe not—maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea. So far, there wasn’t much to give her any encouragement. However, she still felt a strong conviction that there was a connection between her and Gunner. And Krista was certain that she had his best interests at heart.

  What’s best for Gunner is to take this fight with Zane Davis. If he doesn’t do it, he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life. It’s really that simple.

  Finally, she made it to the turn off onto the narrow trail that led to his cabin. Her heart was beating fast from anticipation and nervousness.

  As it had been the first time she’d made the drive, the maneuvering was once again difficult and there were a few times that she feared she was going to accidentally go off the road and get stuck in the dirt and mud.

  But eventually she made it through to the clearing where Gunner’s cabin was located. As before, she saw his battered blue pickup truck, the cords of freshly cut wood.

  Only this time, Gunner was standing next to the stacks. He was naked from the waist up, and his muscular body was glistening with sweat as he swung the hatchet and split a piece of wood in two.

  He bent down, picked up the pieces and tossed them onto the pile.

  Then he turned and squinted at Krista as she drove up to within a few feet of where he stood.

  She stopped the car and parked, then turned the ignition off. The car’s engine died and she sat for a moment, watching Gunner’s reaction to seeing her show up like this.

  His expression was unreadable. He grabbed his t-shirt from nearby, and at first, Krista thought he was going to put it back on. Instead, though, he just used it to wipe some of the sweat off his chest.

  She couldn’t help but stare. Gunner King was sex personified. His intricate tribal tattoos spiraled up both biceps and over his sinewy shoulders. He had ripped and sculpted abs, and his jeans were hanging low enough to see the notches of his hips.

  Don’t just sit and stare like a groupie, Krista, she admonished herself. Get out and do what you came here to do.

  So Krista opened the door to her car and forced herself to get out and confront the most dangerous man on the planet.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, as she got out.

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to spike up, but somehow look that much more alluring. His eyes were wary and mistrusting. For a split second she was sure that he knew the truth. “I don’t see what there is to say,” Gunner told her. He took the hatchet and chopped it into one of the thick hunks of wood next to him, and the hatchet blade stuck the
re.

  Then Gunner moved away from the wood, walking confidently across the driveway.

  “I wanted to apologize for the interview yesterday,” Krista said.

  “No need to apologize,” Gunner replied, not really looking at her. He grabbed a wheelbarrow and walked it over to the woodpile. “You were doing your job. It is what it is.”

  “But that’s not really true,” Krista said, her hands twisting against one another as she tried to get his attention. “I wasn’t just doing my job.”

  Gunner started tossing pieces of chopped wood into the wheelbarrow, still refusing to look at Krista as they conversed. “Then what were you doing?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that I wasn’t being myself.”

  Finally he glanced up at her. “How so?”

  Just tell him the truth, she thought. Tell him everything. That’s the only way this can ever work.

  But the thought of it was horrifying. She knew he’d send her away, never want to talk to her again. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet.

  “I wasn’t being completely honest when I told you that I approved of your decision,” she said.

  “Yeah, I figured as much, remember?”

  “But as you were talking yesterday, I started to understand a little bit. I started to get it.”

  Gunner threw another piece of wood into the wheelbarrow. His biceps flexed as he effortlessly worked. “What do you get, Krista?” He looked at her again, challenging her with his eyes.

  It was like another electric shock when her eyes met his. She looked quickly away, unable to make eye contact with him and still speak coherently. “I got that this whole thing must be a nightmare for you,” she said. “I realized that everyone just sits around making assumptions about who you are and why you do what you do.”

  “Yeah, it comes with the territory.”

  “But that’s part of why you want to escape from it, right?”

  “No, it’s not.” He chucked another piece of wood into the wheelbarrow. Then he started to walk towards her a few steps. “Why are you really here, Krista? Huh?”

  She couldn’t look away from him as he moved in her direction. She was so desperately attracted to him on so many levels. Physically, she wanted to touch him and be touched by him. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. Emotionally, she sensed something in him that needed to be heard and understood—something she felt she could understand, if only he’d let her.

  But she was also afraid of him, of his anger, his judgment. Afraid that he would expose her for the liar she’d become.

  “I told you why I’m here,” she said, trying to stand her ground as he came towards her. “I’m here because I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “Fine, you said it.” He stopped a couple of feet away from her, close enough that she could see his chest rising and falling, the veins running up his forearms and over his biceps. “Why are you still here?” he asked.

  “Because,” she said. “I want to continue our interview, Gunner.”

  He shook his head slowly no. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Give me another chance to prove to you that I can be…”

  “Be what?”

  “Sympathetic. I can listen to your story. I can help—“

  “I don’t need your help,” he said, and his eyes blazed at her, his voice rasped as the intensity of his anger came out. “I never asked for help. I’m not some charity case.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  He stepped another foot closer to her, and she shrank back slightly. The intensity of his presence was something she couldn’t seem to get used to.

  “How did you mean it, Krista? Why do you always seem to say something and then try and take it back a second later?”

  “You’re confusing me. I’m nervous.”

  “If I make you so nervous then maybe you should just go.”

  “I care about you, Gunner.” As the words came out, she immediately regretted them. Not just because of the look of disbelief on his face, but because it was the truth—

  and it was humiliating.

  “You care about me?” he scoffed. “You don’t even know me. You’re high on the idea of me, of my fame, of what I represent to you. Do you honestly think I haven’t met a million girls just like you, Krista?”

  Something about the derision in his voice and the contempt in his eyes made her run. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the hate that she felt coming from him.

  All Krista wanted to do was get away from him.

  She didn’t care about her job, or Drew Ellis, or Las Vegas or any of it. At that moment, all she could do was run.

  She ran to her car and got inside, crying and shaking. The keys were still in the ignition, so it was easy to turn it on and the engine rumbled to life.

  His words were echoing in her ears as she stepped on the gas and started to drive away from the cabin.

  Do you honestly think I haven’t met a million girls just like you, Krista?

  Of course he had, she thought, as her vision blurred, doubling and tripling through her tears. He’d met so many women who wanted something from him, who thought that they had a connection with him, were special in some way.

  She’d been a fool, an idiot, and a liar.

  She was driving too fast, but she just had to get away from this place, try her best to wipe it from her memory. Krista was horrified that she’d become so obsessed with Gunner King that she’d allowed herself to try and turn fantasy into reality—worse, that she’d become confused between the two.

  She drove faster, swerving to avoid a sharp turn in the path and then suddenly smashed headlong into a tree. She heard the crashing of the front headlight as her body was thrown violently forward. Her seatbelt snapped into action, preventing her from going anywhere.

  Luckily, she hadn’t been able to drive fast enough to really hurt herself. She was more shaken up than anything.

  Looking out the front windshield, she saw that the front of the car had been caved in.

  Her head had snapped forward quickly during impact, and she could already feel her left shoulder and neck muscles tightening as the shock began to wear off.

  Krista put the car in reverse and tried to back away from the tree, but the car wasn’t moving. It sounded like the front of the car might have been pushed into the wheel well.

  “Dammit!” She shrieked, smacking her palms on the steering wheel five or six times. “What the hell is wrong with me?” She was crying harder now. It was all self-pity, and shameful, and it made everything worse.

  Why couldn’t she have driven carefully and started speeding once she’d gotten to the main road? Why did she have to crash here of all places?

  Moments later, her worst fears were realized, as Gunner came running down the narrow road, looking anxiously at her car. She could see him in her rearview mirror, but she didn’t get out.

  He approached the driver’s side door. “Krista, are you okay?” he called out.

  She didn’t answer. She was still crying and she didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want him to yell at her and call her an idiot, a reckless driver. Whatever other things he was going to say—she didn’t want to hear them.

  “Krista, open up.” He tried the door but it was locked. “Krista, open this car or I’m going to break a window and come in.”

  She rolled her window down. “Just call the police,” she said. “I’ll wait here until they come.”

  “The police? In this town?” he said. “It’s one guy, Denny Harbacker. They call him Dumbass Denny behind his back and sometimes to his face.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, not looking at him.

  “Listen, I need to know if you’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Please, just leave me alone. I’ll walk down the hill. I don’t care.”

  “I’m not letting you walk down the mountain by yourself. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Leave me alone, Gu
nner!” she shouted.

  She fully expected him to say screw it and walk away. But he didn’t. When she looked up again, Gunner was still standing there by her door. His eyes weren’t angry or harsh or judgmental, just concerned.

  “Come on,” he said softly. “Get out of this car and let me bring you inside.”

  Krista realized that Gunner was right. It was ridiculous for her to sit inside a car that wasn’t capable of being driven anywhere, acting like baby. So she opened her door and got slowly out of the car, grabbing her purse, wincing a little as she did so.

  “What is it?” he asked, alarm in his voice. “What hurts?”

  “It’s nothing,” she told him, shaking her head. “My neck’s a little bit stiff. It’s fine, though.”

  “Come on, we need to get some ice on it right away.” He put one hand on her lower back and the other around her shoulder, slowly guiding her away from the car. She was surprised at the gentleness of his touch.

  For a man as big and powerful as he was, Gunner’s hands were sensitive, holding her just tightly enough, but not exerting undue pressure.

  Her body was tingling and warm as she realized how close they were, and Gunner still didn’t have his shirt on. She glanced to the side, as his chest and ribcage brushed against her back while they walked together.

  They walked in silence for a bit. “You were flying down that road like a bat out of hell,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “I know I shouldn’t have driven so fast,” she admitted, “but I was upset.”

  They got to the clearing by the cabin, and he finally released her, and as his hands withdrew, Krista felt a sense of loss. She wished he would touch her like that again. It was as though she could still feel the heat from his hands on her body, the safety of it, the caring way he’d held her.

  Gunner opened the door to the cabin. “Come inside and sit down. I’m going to get an ice pack together and then call my buddy to come and tow your car.”

  “You think it needs to be towed?” she asked.

  He laughed. “I’m pretty sure of it,” he said.

  “It’s a rental,” she told him.

  “Don’t worry about that now. Just come inside.”

  The cabin was small, but homier than she expected. There was a wood burning stove, a medium sized dinner table with three chairs, a couch with an afghan thrown across it, and what looked like a bedroom, with the door partially open. She could just make out a bed inside the room as they walked to the couch.