Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)

by J. B. Salsbury

  I pop in my earbuds, hit “play” on my high-energy workout playlist, and then open the new text while moving through the training center to the weight room.

  We need to talk. Call me.

  Then another one two minutes later.

  I’m sorry. Please, call me.

  And thirty minutes later.

  Can we get together? I need to see you.

  And finally.

  I talked to Ryder.

  My feet become cemented to the floor. “Shit.” Ryder must’ve told him about Clifford. Heat rises to my cheeks.

  I’ve been told a bazillion times that it’s not my fault, that I have nothing to be embarrassed for, but it’s all bullshit. I made horrible choices and faced the consequences. I’ve paid for my sins and pulled myself up to start fresh. I’m sure Killian is looking for answers, but I’ve put the past behind me.

  I take a fortifying breath and continue on to the weight room. When I shove through the weight room doors, I find the object of my thoughts rooted to a weight bench. His hair and skin are damp with sweat, and his eyes firmly fix on me.

  “What are you doing here?” The question comes out like an accusation.

  He slides his gaze slowly from my shoes, up my legs, lingering on my shorts before moving to my chest, neck, more lingering at my lips, and finally settling on my eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?” His voice is husky and a shadow of anger tinges his face.

  “Oh my God, are you waiting for me?”

  He chuckles and drops his chin to stare at the floor. “Don’t do that.”

  I step further into the room as the heat of frustration spreads through me. “Do what? Call you out? First, you sit outside my door, staring, no, glaring at me between clients, and now you’re here after hours and alone, waiting for me like some kind of stalker—”

  “Don’t!” He shoots to his feet, wearing a sleeveless shirt. I can see the muscles of his arms flex. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him.” He spits out the three-letter word like it’s a four-letter one, and I cringe, not needing clarification to know who he’s referring to. “You should’ve told me!”

  My face burns and tears sting the backs of my eyes.

  His fists flex and un-flex as if he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “I’ve been in here for hours, trying to work this off, and—fuck!” He tosses his sweaty towel so hard it makes a whipping sound through the air. His stony expression softens, and the sorrow in his eyes breaks me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was afraid—”

  “Of what?” He tosses an arm out. “Of him?” He beats on his chest with a closed fist. “I never would’ve let him hurt you. Never!”

  “No, not him, I was afraid that if I told you how bad things were you’d come home.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Of course I’d come home. You were always mine to protect, you know that.” His shoulders slump as if all the fight has been knocked out of him. “He knew that I left, that you were vulnerable, and he attacked.” He reaches under a bench and flips it upside down. “Fuck!”

  I jump back, startled by his anger. “That’s just it. You would’ve walked away from your dreams to clean up my mess. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “That’s not your decision to make, Axelle. You took my choices away from me where we were concerned.” He closes the space between us and cups my face in his hands, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “I love you, don’t you see that? I’ve spent my entire adult life loving you.” His hands gentle. “Nothing has changed.”

  My eyes slide closed at the beauty and pain of his words. “Everything has changed, Kill.”

  He shakes me gently. “No. Don’t say that. How can you say that?”

  “We’re not the same people we were a year ago.”

  He swipes my cheekbone with his thumb. “Maybe we’re better.”

  “I live with my parents, Kill. You’re an international celebrity, and I’m twenty-one years old and working at my very first job, ever.”

  “You had a rough year; that’s understandable.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “So you, did you…?” He licks his lips. “You lost the baby?”

  “Yeah.” My heart still aches when I think about it; my mind often drifts to all the unanswerable what-ifs.

  His arms wrap around me, my cheek presses against his sweaty shirt, and as much as I should be a little grossed out by it, I’m not. I wrap my arms around his middle and allow him to hold me close because, for those few seconds our bodies are pressed together, it feels like he’s right. That nothing has changed between us.

  “You never should’ve gone through that alone,” he whispers against the top of my head, pulling me from the place we were just a couple of nights before he left for London.

  I step back and out of his arms, needing the space to think straight. “I didn’t. Mom and Blake were there.” I lean back on the weight rack, but Killian rights the weight bench he tossed and offers it to me. I sit on it, and he takes the one just a couple of feet away. “I thought that was it, ya know? That I’d lost the only connection I had to Clifford and he’d leave me alone. The only problem was he didn’t believe I was really pregnant to begin with.”

  Killian’s brows drop low and anger boils behind his eyes.

  “When I told him, he accused me of lying, like I was trying to sucker him into a relationship.” I laugh at the absurdity of it now. “I lost the baby before I really started showing, so naturally it seemed to confirm his assumptions and the harassment got worse.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the cops?”

  “Because I was sick of being everyone else’s problem. I got myself into the mess. I wanted to get myself out. I was also humiliated. Half my professors now know what I look like naked, thanks to the photos Clifford posted all over campus.

  “I didn’t tell anyone, not even my mom. Then one night when I was babysitting Jack and Mindy was out, someone broke into our apartment. He cut up my bed, my clothes, broke everything, didn’t steal anything though. I called the cops, and they didn’t find any suspicious fingerprints. But he left one of those pictures on my nightstand. I told the cops about it, which was”—my entire body blushes with the memory—“so embarrassing.”

  “Did they lock the fucker up?”

  “I couldn’t prove that the photo came from him rather than from one of the many I found and picked up at school. I told them I didn’t keep the ones I found at school. I destroyed them as soon as I’d found them. They said they believed me but they couldn’t prove it and suggested I get a restraining order.” I shrug. “Once Blake found out…” I cringe, remembering his fit of rage. “You can imagine.”

  “How is this asshole still breathing?”

  “Get this…” I lean forward, elbows to my knees. “You can’t kill someone for harassment. Go figure.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches.

  “There he is…” I point to his mouth. “I see you in there, Killian McCreery.”

  He covers his face with one hand, peeking through his fingers. “Oh no…is my nerd showing?”

  “A little.” I giggle.

  “That’s not good. Ya know I have a rather studly reputation.”

  “Oh, don’t think I missed it. Your”—I do air quotes—“reputation takes up half the state of Nevada.”

  “Aww, Ax, baby.” He grins all crooked and cocky and breathtaking. “Jealousy isn’t your color.”

  I fake pout. “That’s not the color of jealousy, Kill. That’s disgust.”

  His jaw drops in mock offense. “Oh yeah?” He holds both arms up and flexes. “How’s this for disgust.”

  I lean back and yawn, exaggerating by patting my hand to my mouth. “Excuse me, whew. I just suddenly got so bored.”

  He coughs out a laugh, and I grin at how good it feels to have him back like this, realizing now how much I missed it.

  His smile falls, and his amber eyes become thoughtful. “I want to see you again. What are your plans tomorrow?”


  “I’m booked tomorrow from ten to four.”

  He frowns. “All day, huh?”

  “We can meet for breakfast.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t. I promised Fleur I’d take her to hike Red Rock Canyon, and I have to be back in time for a nine o’clock meeting with my publicist.”

  Yep, I was right; everything has changed.

  And his girlfriend. God, Axelle.

  I jump up from the bench and press my fingertips to my forehead. “I’m so stupid.”

  He must sense my change in demeanor and stands up too. “Hey, maybe we can get together after you’re done? You said four, right? I can—crap. I have a meeting at three-thirty. Who knows how long that’ll last?”

  I wave him off, backing toward the door. “Don’t worry. We’ll, uh… We’ll figure it—oh!” I scream when the door behind me opens and slams into my back.

  “Fuckin’ hell, Axelle.” Cameron grabs me by my shoulders to steady me. “Are you okay?”

  I rub the ache in my back, my eyes darting between the worried eyes of the two men before me. “Fine. I’m fine. Perfect timing though, I was just coming to get you.”

  “Already?” Cam’s glare tightens. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Killian’s gaze tangles with mine for a few seconds, confusion working behind his eyes.

  “Of course. I’m great.”

  And then, as if I’m being chased by zombies, I run to the locker room, grab my shit, and meet Cameron in the lobby.

  I’m looking over my shoulder to see if Killian is still here, when Cam’s phone rings.

  “What?” He opens the door for me to walk through it. “Yeah, I just talked to him.” I point to where my car is parked, and he nods for me to lead the way. “I agree. I think it’s a smart move.” He stands there while I throw my bag into the back, and I wave him off as I climb into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t leave though; they never do, insisting on standing guard until I’m safely out of the lot. “I just signed an indefinite lease on the penthouse in London.” I freeze, eavesdropping on the conversation. “Yep. Killer’s meeting with his publicist tomorrow to handle the announcement. He’ll head back next week.”

  It isn’t until Cam mouths you okay? that I realize I’m staring blankly at him. I force a smile and slam my door.

  Killian’s going back to London.

  I’m losing him again.

  Thirty-two

  Killian

  I have a headache from bouncing my eyes between my phone and the plate of Asian fusion food in front of me. It’s been over twenty-four hours—forty-two to be exact—since Axelle and I had our face-to-face in the gym. I went back to my hotel that night and texted her that I appreciate her filling me in on the last horrible year of her life and that I was sorry for blowing up. I also said I looked forward to seeing her again. And either she never received that text or she flat out fucking forgot because I haven’t heard from her or seen her since.

  I took Fleur, Liam, and Jay hiking at Red Rock the next morning, got back in time to meet with my publicist at the hotel, and raced to the training center to catch Axelle. She wasn’t lying when she said she was booked all day with massages, but this time she never came out of her little room. From what I could tell, she was ordering the last client to issue in the next. I had my late afternoon meeting at the training center, and by the time I was finished, she was gone.

  “Figure if you stare at it long enough it’ll grow wings?” Liam lifts his brows, his eyes dancing between mine and my phone, which is face up just inches from my plate.

  Fleur flicks her water straw at him. “Mind your own business, Liam.”

  “No.” I pick up my phone and shove it into my pocket. “He’s right.” She’s obviously ignoring me, and she’s nuts if she thinks she can avoid me forever.

  Fleur leans in to me. “She’ll call; just give her some space.”

  I don’t understand. I thought Axelle and I had a pretty good talk, but she’s not giving me even a hint of how she’s feeling. Unless you count her ignoring me, then I’d say she’s sending a pretty clear message.

  “What time is the press conference?” Liam shoves a bite of food in his mouth.

  I throw my napkin on the table and lean back. “Tomorrow at four thirty.”

  “Four thirty?” He looks disappointed. “But it’s Saint Valentine’s Day, and rumor has it American girls are horny and willing on this day.” He shoves out his lower lip. “I was hoping to be drunk and the meat in a girl sandwich by then.” He tilts his head. “Any chance they can reschedule it?”

  Valentine’s Day. Fuck. “No, dumb ass.”

  “It’s the big announcement, yeah?” Disappointment etches Fleur’s voice. “Any chance you want to let us in on what you’ll be announcing?”

  “They swore me to secrecy.” I hook my hands behind my neck and lean back, staring between my loud-mouthed friends. “Didn’t want it to leak to the press before the conference.”

  “Oh come on, we’re mates.” Liam grins. “I won’t say a word.”

  “So when you’re covered in naked strippers and drunk on scotch, you won’t slip and give away the secret?”

  “What exactly do you think I’m gonna say? ‘Take my boxers off and oh, by the way, Quick Kill’s going back to London to fight with me because I’m the best middleweight on this side of the equator?’” He purses his lips. “I see your point. That could definitely help me pull a bird, but I guess I’m stuck relying on my accent. Did you know I say one word and American girls drop their knickers and fall on their backs?”

  Fleur laughs. “That’s what happens when you follow them to the toilet and watch them pass out.”

  “You’re such a fucking comedian.”

  “I’m just saying how do you know it’s your accent?”

  “Well, it’s not his face,” I mumble.

  “Fuck off.” He checks his phone. “Speaking of… I gotta run. I’m meeting the boys at some place called Zeus’s.” He slams back the rest of his drink.

  “You’re going to a strip club? It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “So.” Liam stares at me and then at Fleur. “You want to come with?”

  She gazes up at me, reads something on my face, and then nods. “Gah…fine.”

  Liam lifts his chin toward me. “You got this?”

  “I got it.” Cameron gave me a company credit card for entertaining my London brethren.

  Fleur squeezes my shoulder as she leaves. “Hang in there, okay?”

  “Will do, boss.”

  She smiles sadly, and as soon as they’re far enough away, I check my phone.

  Still nothing.

  Dammit, Axelle! I didn’t want to do this, but she’s given me no choice.

  I search my contacts and hit “send.”

  “UFL, this is Vanessa.”

  “Hey, Vanessa, it’s Killian. Listen. I need to ask you for a favor…”

  ~*~

  Axelle

  I went a year without speaking to Killian, and those three-hundred sixty-five days were nothing compared to the two days I’ve gone ignoring him. I wish I could say I was doing it because I’m immature and selfish. That would be the easiest way to explain away how I’m feeling.

  Unfortunately, it’s much more complicated than that. My heart and mind are all mucked up together, and I can’t make sense of any of it.

  On the one hand, I want to spend every single second with Killian before he goes back to London. I’d ignore sleep if it meant I could stay up with him all night, laughing at his stupid jokes and watching the way his face lights up when he talks about his fighting.

  But then there’s the other hand: The one that rises up without fail to protect me from getting hurt. The one that pushes people away before they can leave. The hand that tells me I’ve lived without him before and I can do it again. This is the same hand that holds me back from returning his texts and his calls.

  How do I explain that I can’t get close to him only to l
ose him again?

  “…Tatyana sneaks in his bed at night.” Mason, the fighter currently on my table, face up, grimaces while I work a tight muscle in his arm. “We don’t mind, but I think Felix was excited about finally having his own space.”

  Every time he gets a chance to talk about his two adopted kids, he does. His face even lights up when he tells stories about how they misbehave, which is beautiful to witness.

  I move up his bicep to his shoulder. “She’s probably so used to her brother being there it’ll take some time for her to feel safe without him. Eventually, I’m sure she’ll grow out of it.”

  “Part of me hopes she doesn’t.” He hisses as I rub deep into a knot. “I like that they’re so close.”

  He falls silent as I work the kinks from his muscles, having to occasionally remind him to breathe. When I sense the he’s nice and loose, I check the time. “That muscle in your shoulder took longer than I thought.” I move to the sink and wipe my hands on a clean towel.

  “Mmm…feels one hundred percent better. Thank you.”

  I get so much satisfaction from knowing I’m able to help these guys out. They put their bodies through all kinds of torture during training, and it’s nice to feel needed.

  I shrug, turn around, and smile. “Just doing my job.”

  He sits up, and I fight the urge to laugh at his hair, which is sticking out all over. I contemplate sending him behind the shoji screen to get changed as I did with all my clients yesterday to avoid seeing Killian, but I could use a little break from being holed up in this room.

  “I’ll step out while you get dressed.”

  He nods, his face still a little groggy.

  Stepping out, I close the door quietly and blink while my eyes focus to the bright light of the training center. I jerk in surprise when I see Killian standing there in nothing but a pair of workout shorts and flip-flops.

  I stare wide-eyed at his impressive build and remember the way each muscle felt against my body. I shake off the ghost of lust that rushes through me. “What are you doing?”