The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances

by Tia Louise

  “I know Patrick. What do you want?”

  “May I speak with you in private? It’s about your son, my nephew.” He never once lost his imposing posture, but he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, revealing the slightest crack in the armor along with some pretty impressive ink hiding under his long sleeve.

  I took a breath and exchanged a glance with Mariska. Patrick’s brother or not, I wasn’t comfortable being alone with this guy. “Mariska’s my friend. We can talk here.”

  He glanced at her, and for a moment, his eyes got caught. It was like he saw her for the first time, and even I could feel the unexpected charge that passed in the air between them.

  His voice changed, sternness gone. “Hello.”

  Mariska’s cheeks warmed along with her voice. “Hi—it’s Stuart? Would you like a smoothie? I make them myself… right over there.” She pointed across the bar. “It’ll give you a little privacy. While you talk.”

  Watching the two of them, I almost suggested I make the smoothie and leave them alone together, but he grabbed the reins.

  “Thank you,” he said, breaking their moment. Still, his gaze drifted to her ass when my friend sashayed across the bar. I resisted rolling my eyes at her obvious hip swish.

  The deep voice was back on me, sternness restored. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I have something for Lane. I’d like you to keep it for him until he’s old enough to have it.”

  I watched him dig in his pocket and pull out a small bundle wrapped in a black cloth. It fit in his palm, and as he unwrapped it, I ducked under the counter to stand in front of him. “What is it?”

  Opening his hand, light glinted off the shiny bronze. It was a medal on a navy ribbon with red stripes. “It’s my father’s distinguished service award. It was given to me when he died. I need you to give it to Lane as the first grandson when he’s older.”

  Concern flooded my chest. “Why are you giving this to me now? You can give it to him yourself. Later.”

  He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the memento in his hand as if he saw something more than just a piece of metal. “That might not be possible, and I need to pass it down. It’s important I do this.”

  Flying through the millions of possibilities, I studied his face. “Are you ill? Do you want me to call Patrick?”

  That broke whatever reverie he was in. “No,” he ordered. “This is just between us. I don’t want my brother involved.”

  “But he has Lane…”

  Stuart nodded. “That’s why I’m asking you for this favor.”

  I shook my head. None of it made sense. Heirlooms were handed down when someone died. Stuart appeared healthy, shit he appeared freakin’ hot as hell, but I could tell something was off with him. Chewing my lip, I wondered if I should press the issue.

  I was about to speak, but Mariska slid the smoothie she’d just made across the counter to him. “On the house. It’s full of lavender and blueberry. It’ll help you relax.”

  He looked at her, and that charge was back. Perhaps it was because physically he was so much like his brother, I felt like I could read his body language. Their eyes met and mingled, and Mariska’s cheeks flushed. Still, he resisted.

  “I have to go.” His voice was quiet—as if he were speaking only to her.

  My friend wasn’t the least bit discouraged. She reached forward, touching his hand. “Where are you going?”

  Even though I could tell he wanted to pull away, he seemed hypnotized by her. “My uncle has a place out west where… where I can breathe. Maybe I can find some peace.”

  The muscle in his jaw moved, and he stepped away from the counter, away from her. He’d done what he came to do, and I could tell Mariska was more than he expected from this errand.

  “Please,” I stepped toward him. “Let me call Patrick. I’m sure he’d want to know—”

  “No.” His eyes flashed, and a charge of fear radiated in my chest. Clearly, Stuart Knight was not someone to cross. “Do not call my brother. I don’t want to see him.”

  He turned and headed for the door, but Mariska grabbed the smoothie he’d left behind and ducked under the counter. Stuart might scare me, but she wasn’t letting whatever had passed between them get away so easily.

  “Wait! You forgot something!” She caught his hand, and he paused. He turned back to her, and his expression softened.

  For a moment, he stood there. She held his hand as well as his gaze. “Thanks,” he said, taking the beverage she held. Their eyes met again, but he let her go, pushing through the glass doors.

  I went back inside the bar, shoving the bundle in my bag and fishing around for my phone. Badass or not, something was seriously wrong, and I needed to call Patrick. His brother was proud and clearly strong, but the guy who just handed me his father’s medal of honor was contemplating some serious shit.

  “Oh my god, Kenny.” Mariska collapsed against the bar. “I’m in love.”

  My lips pressed together as I touched my recent calls and then Patrick’s number. “I saw that. What the hell was going on with you two?”

  “That mountain of honey brown, hazelnut deliciousness just left here with my heart.”

  I moved around the small space, waiting for the call to connect. “Gorgeous genes clearly run in their family.”

  Patrick’s phone kept ringing until finally it went to voicemail. Hearing his greeting, I thought about it. I wasn’t exactly sure what to say—and even if I were, it probably wasn’t the type of thing to leave in a message. I hit disconnect and shoved my phone in my purse.

  Mariska was still leaning against the wall, one hand on her heart, when she turned back to me. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling Patrick, what does it look like? That mountain of hazelnut… whatever you called him is not in a good place, and he just gave me their father’s heirloom.”

  “You can’t call Patrick!” She stood up quickly. “He asked you not to. Twice!”

  “Stuart Knight is in a dark place. I’ve got to tell Patrick.”

  “He said he needs to breathe. Don’t break his trust.”

  “And what if… what if he hurts himself?” I hated to imply something like that, but all the signs were there.

  She looked back at the glass doors, her voice growing softer. “He won’t. My soul called out to his, and I felt him calling back. He needs space to sort this out.”

  “I’m pretty sure that was your ovaries calling out for his babies.” My jaw tightened as conflict swirled in my chest. “Did he say he was going to stay with their uncle? That could be good…”

  “He said their uncle had a place out west.” She was still dreamy.

  I took a deep breath, uncertainty making my head hurt. “Make me one of those blueberry-lavender things.”

  She ducked under the bar and started adding ingredients to the blender. We were quiet a few seconds then her nose wrinkled, and she laughed. “I totally want to sleep with him. Is that nuts or what?”

  “No. He’s sexy as hell.” I waited as she finished my supposedly relaxing concoction. “If Stuart’s anything like Patrick in the sack…”

  “Don’t be cruel.” She cut her eyes at me. “The chances I’ll see that gorgeous thing again are slim to none.”

  “But I thought your souls were calling to each other or whatever.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’ll listen.” Her voice was a little sad, and my eye caught the other hot guy in her life, working with an elderly client in the weight room.

  “What’s wrong with Pete? He’s totally smitten with you.”

  She sighed, leaning against the bar. “He just doesn’t do it for me. I don’t know why. I’m not blind—he’s a great looking guy. It’s just not there. And believe me. I’ve tried. Several times.”

  “Well, I’m headed out.” Kissing her cheek, I picked up my drink. “Thanks for this. I’ll give the elder Mr. Knight a few days, but it’s against my better judgment. I think Patrick needs to know now.”

  She smiled and l
ooked down. “That was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had. I’m sure I’ll see him again. Don’t worry.”

  Walking out, I shook my head thinking how much I adored that nutty girl.

  Stuart Knight’s unexpected visit was forgotten when I opened my door. The delicious smell of grilled steak met my nose, and I quickly moved through my apartment, dropping all my bags, to find the gorgeous man who had my heart on the patio looking out at the horizon. The small, charcoal grill at his feet apparently held our dinner.

  “Hey,” I said, sliding the glass door open. The way his brow relaxed when he saw me sent a happy tingle through my middle. “Are you making me steak?”

  “You’re not going to believe what I found in your freezer.” He walked to where I leaned on the doorjamb.

  “Have I ever told you I could watch that sexy swagger all day long?”

  “Do I swagger?” He laughed, seeming surprised.

  “Yes. Now kiss me.”

  He leaned down and covered my lips with his. I released the glass doors and slid my fingers into his dark hair. He lifted me like always—and I loved it like always—kissing him harder as I held him in my hands.

  Pulling back, I kissed the corner of his mouth before asking. “What did you find in my freezer?”

  He lowered me slowly before sliding a purple lock off my cheek. “You had six steaks in there. What’s that about?”

  My brow lined as I thought. “Oh, shit. I think Patrick did that!”

  “Patrick again.” His mouth made that tight line, and while I knew he had absolutely zero reason to be jealous, something wicked inside me loved that he was.

  “He used to hassle me about being too thin all the time.” I rubbed my hands up Slayde’s lined arms. “Strike that. He still hassles me about being too thin all the time. But he actually used to send me meat every month. Can you believe?”

  Slayde couldn’t stop the sexy grin crossing his lips, but he looked up and over my shoulder. “You are pretty thin, but I know you eat.”

  “He’s such a pain. Remember when I said he was my big brother?” Slayde looked back down at me. “It was the closest thing I could get to saying he’s like my dad without being gross.”

  “Because of the whole having a baby together thing?”

  “Exactly, but damn is he a pain in my ass sometimes.” I exhaled going back to the kitchen. “Do you mind if I have a glass of wine?”

  “Of course not.” He went back to check the grill before joining me in the kitchen. “You still care about him. No matter what you say.”

  “Oh, sure.” I said, going over to hold his hand. I turned it over and traced my finger over the bold green 21 inked above his thumb. I noticed him flinch, but I played it off. “We’re like family now, I guess. You know I can fix tattoos?”

  I wasn’t sure why I said it. Probably because it was how Patrick and I met—with me changing one of his least-favorite tattoos into something he could live with.

  “Did you have something in mind?” he smiled, sliding my hair off my cheek. I looked up and scooted around the bar, catching his sexy jawline.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Pulling him gently, he readily leaned forward to catch my lips with his. “It’s a surprise.”

  The owner of the White Lotus tattoo shop in Toms River was a new client, Wren. She was a tall woman with short black hair and sleeves of ink down both her arms. One was a green-and-red rose vine with enormous thorns and the words Love Hurts. The other was several blue-and-green Hokusai-style waves with the words Love Heals.

  As I’d helped her with form and increasing her strength, I’d admired the artistry, which led to talk about my past experience. I told her I wished I had access to a gun to touch up some of my own ink, and she only asked me to bring my license. She was more than happy to let me use her equipment—once I’d completed the necessary paperwork, of course.

  After I finished my touch-up at Wren’s, I went to the small gift shop off the boardwalk. I’d seen a trinket weeks ago I’d forgotten until last night. I was kissing Slayde’s back, tracing my fingertips down the lines of the wings inked there, when the memory floated through my brain.

  The cashier was kind enough to wrap it for me, and I headed home, stopping off to grab some take-out Thai food before driving to his studio apartment.

  “You’re killing me with all the takeout,” he said, meeting me at the door with a kiss.

  “It’s impossible to remember what you say when you kiss me like that,” I teased.

  The bandage on my hand couldn’t be hidden, and he lifted my wrist before I’d finished unloading the bags.

  “What happened?” He pulled it toward his chest, carefully lifting the gauze from my palm. When he saw what was underneath, he didn’t speak.

  His face grew unbearably serious as he studied my palm. I felt like my chest was about to burst open.

  “Please say something.”

  He blinked up at me, his clear blue eyes fathomless. “What have you done?”

  Feeling self-conscious, I tried to explain. “Tattoos are supposed to commemorate things, right?” Taking a quick breath, I continued. “When my husband died, I put the tear in my hand for all the tears I cried. Because I believed I’d never love again, and I didn’t want to forget.”

  Blinking up at him, he watched me, that intense expression sending shimmers through my chest. “You’ve shown me that part of me isn’t dead.”

  I waited, unsure if I was ready to say it. Inhaling a deep breath, I swallowed my nerves and just told him. “I know I can love again, because of you. I know… because I love you.”

  He held my hand and when I said the last words, I felt his grip tighten ever so slightly. Blinking up at him, he stared at my palm with an expression I’d never seen before. It was something like wonder.

  Then he lifted my palm to his lips and kissed it.

  He studied it a moment longer before speaking. “Kenny,” he stopped and seemed so torn. I felt guilty for showing him. It was like I was rushing him again, pushing him into something he wasn’t ready for.

  He caught my cheeks, and lifted my face. “Kenny,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you so much.”

  My insides melted at his words. “Slayde…” I couldn’t finish.

  It didn’t matter because he wasn’t finished. “All this time, I fought. I fought myself wanting you. I fought myself believing I was good enough for you. I’m not. I’m not any of those things. I don’t deserve you. But dammit, Kenny, I love you.”

  I was laughing and holding his face. Kissing him, and smiling. His hands were finding their way under my shirt, and I remembered his gift.

  “Oh, wait! Hold that thought.” I danced around the bar to the brown bag I’d left on the counter. My shirt was loose and open, and I saw his darkened eyes watching me. “I got you something.”

  Reaching into the bag, I pulled out the small box. He took it from me with a confused face.

  “Don’t buy me any more gifts.” His voice was stern, but I just leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  “Don’t be like that. I buy you gifts because I love you.”

  His eyes blinked to mine then back to the box. After a brief pause, he lifted the lid and immediately, he lowered it. His brow lined and he stared at me so hard.

  “What will I do with you?” So much emotion was in that whispered question.

  I caught his cheeks and kissed him. “Make love to me again and again.”

  That made him smile, and he lifted the gift out of the box. It was a small copper bird, weathered and vintage, and in the center was etched the word Free.

  “You’re free from the pain you try to hold onto.” I took the necklace from him and put it over his head. It fell down to the center of his chest, just above his heart, and it seemed right to me. “Be free, my love.”

  25

  “Nothing is promised.”

  Slayde

  I couldn’t calm the tornado of emotions wracking my insides. The last
time I’d experienced such an onslaught, it had been heartbreak, destruction, the end of me. Now Kenny was holding my hands and saying she loved me, giving me a bird with the word Free engraved in the center.

  She was at my apartment bringing me food. I was complaining about takeout, telling her not to give me gifts like a fucking asshole, and she blew it all away. Holding her face in my hands, I could only look into her eyes. I was lost in them. I didn’t deserve this.

  “Kenny…” I tried, but all I could do was kiss her.

  I could only take her sweet lips with mine, find her tongue with mine, slide my worthless hands down her beautiful body in a prayer of thanks to all of the gods who might give a shit about a loser like me. Second-chance gods who believed a killer could be worth saving. How could they send this amazing creature into my life?

  In her hand, the teardrop tattoo was transformed. She’d added another teardrop inverted, making it a heart.

  What she couldn’t know was the heart in her hand was mine.

  She’d hold it forever. I never wanted it back.

  The next day at lunch, I made an excuse and slipped away down to the boardwalk. Pulling out my cheap phone, I dialed the familiar number. The voice on the other end told me to wait, and I sat, holding the copper charm in my hand, reading it again.

  “Doc here.” I couldn’t help but smile at the familiar voice.

  “It’s me Slayde.”

  “Slayde! It’s been a long time. What’s going on?”

  “Not much. Too much.” Looking down at my hands, I thought about what I wanted to say. He didn’t have a lot of time, I knew. “I guess I need your advice. Again.”

  “You know I’m here for you, kid.” He waited, but I could hear voices in the background. I had to make this quick.

  “Remember that girl?”