by L. S. Scott
“Car wreck, about four years ago,” Blaine answered leaning back in his chair crossing his arms over his chest.
Nick had so many more questions he wanted to ask, but didn’t want pick at old wounds.
“So, you ready for tomorrow,” Nick asked.
“I guess so. What’s the plan?”
“Gym, bright and early. You’ll meet your trainers, maybe do a little sparring; let them get a feel for your fighting style, what areas you need to work on.” Nick paused for a contemplative minute. “I was going to help you look for a place, but I’ve been thinking about it. Why don’t you just stay here? It’s mostly just me here. My sister comes and goes some, but the guest house is always empty. It’s yours if you want it.” Nick offered.
Blaine clasped his hands behind his head and surveyed his surroundings. He liked the privacy; the sprawling acreage the ranch offered. If he wanted to run screaming through the back forty he could without anyone hearing him.
“Yeah,” he finally nodded. “Thanks.”
Day one in the gym wasn’t as bad as Nick thought it would be. It was worse. Blaine couldn’t grasp the concept of sparring and instinctually tried to destroy anyone who came at him. When trainers and sparring partners had all they could take for the day, Nick urged Blaine to shower up, offering to take him for a drink. He already knew what was coming when Damon entered his office and closed the door.
“This guy Nick, I don’t see it. I mean, he’s tough and he’s got heart, but he’s not coachable,” Damon opined.
“He’s just got some issues. It’s his first day man, give him a break.”
“The tournament is weeks away. We don’t have time for issues,” Damon said, pacing worriedly.
“The heart, the toughness, those are the building blocks of a champ. You can’t teach those in a gym Damon.”
Damon stopped and looked at his friend and partner. “You really believe in this guy?”
“Yeah, I do. Look, I’ll talk to him. Tomorrow will be better. He’s gonna make it to Vegas Damon, I know it. Blaine Black is going to win the whole damn thing.”
Nick gave Blaine time to relax and get a few drinks in him before starting the serious conversation of his future as a fighter.
“So, Blaine, how do you like the gym?”
“It’s alright,” Blaine answered.
Not exactly an enthusiastic response, but Nick would take.
“Look, I know it’s all foreign to you. But you have some really good trainers at your disposal. They can teach you a lot; take down defense, submissions, refine your boxing. But,” he paused wanting to tread lightly. “You gotta go easy on them. Let them show you without you trying to hurt them.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt em,” Blaine said.
Nick took a deep breath and a draw from the long neck in his hand.
“There’s an eight man, one day tournament that starts in three weeks. It’s sanctioned. It has weight classes. It’s not the free for all that you’re used to. The winner gets $75,000 and the opportunity to fight in Vegas. I think you can win it.”
“Vegas.” Blaine spoke the word with curious contempt.
“Yeah, you ever been to Vegas,” Nick questioned.
“No.”
“You’ll love it,” Nick assured. “So, you in?”
Blaine scrubbed his hand back and forth across his beard. “Yeah, why not,” he answered.
Nick let out a held breath and lifted his drink. “To Vegas,” he smiled.
Chapter Four
“Hey,” Natalie flinched at the sound of Connor’s voice. She quickly closed the box of painful memories and slid it behind some shoe boxes.
“Hey,” she said forcing a smile.
Connor searched her face knowingly before folding his arms around her. “Everything is unpacked and put away. We are officially moved in.”
“Mmmm,” she sighed into his chest. “Home sweet home.”
“Yep, but you know what this means? No more room service. We’re going to have to go grocery shopping,” he chuckled. “And someone’s going have to learn to cook.”
“This is true. Room service will be sorely missed.” She leaned back in his arms and looked up at him with a speculative grin. “Are you trying to domesticate me Connor Flynn, turn me into a housewife?”
Connor’s heart swelled at the thought, but only when he was sure Natalie was ready. “I would love to make you a wife,” he paused, noting the deer in headlights look that shadowed her face at the realization of what she had said. “But, there’s no rush,” he said kissing her on her precious turned up nose. He felt the tension leave her body and hid his disappointment with another kiss.
“So, what are we gonna do for dinner tonight?” She asked.
“Well, we aren’t so far in the sticks we can’t have pizza delivered. And we do have a well-stocked wine room,” he smiled.
“This is hilarious.” Natalie smiled from ear to ear as she sat chewing on the end of her ink pen, her feet in Connor’s lap, his hand lazily kneading her sole. “All this time together and we have never really been grocery shopping. Milk, bread and eggs; it looks like we’re preparing for an ice storm,” she said looking at the short grocery list.
“What does that mean,” Connor asked amused.
“Back home, anytime the weather man said it was gonna snow or God forbid, sleet, everyone ran to the grocery store and bought out milk, bread and eggs,” she explained.
Connor crinkled his brow, not sure how to respond.
“It’s a southern thing, I guess,” she said rolling her eyes. “And what about laundry?”
“Forget the list.” Connor said, sliding the notebook and pen out of her hands. “We’ll go down every isle and get whatever strikes our fancy.”
“Strikes our fancy,” Natalie picked at his suddenly southern grammar.
“Yes,” Connor said rising up on his knees between her legs. “Like this,” he said sliding his hands down her thighs and pulling her shorts up and over her knees, “really strikes my fancy.”
“Good morning,” Natalie said, stretching as she entered the kitchen.
“Good morning baby,” Connor replied, looking up from the morning paper.
“You didn’t wake me up,” she said questioningly as she poured a cup of coffee.
“We had a late night,” he winked and grinned roguishly. “I thought I’d let you sleep in.”
She rounded the table and leaned on the edge, looking down at him, sipping her coffee. He laid the paper aside and leaned back in his chair, gazing adoringly up at her. His eyes skimmed her body, lingering on breasts, barely concealed beneath her thin gown. She looked like an angel to him, her long brown hair draped over her shoulders, her white cotton gown clinging to her silky, tan skin, the morning sun reflecting gold in her hazel eyes.
“How are you feeling this morning,” he asked sincerely reaching out to gently massage her hip.
“I’m fine dear.”
“You’re not sore at all,” he pressed.
“No, not there,” she answered placing her hand over his and pressing his palm to her hip. “Or here,” she whispered as she slid his hand down, under the hem of her gown and up her thigh.
He sucked in a quick, ragged breath as his palm cupped the mound between her legs. She sucked in a quick ragged breath when he pressed a finger between the tender folds of dampening skin. He pulled the coffee cup from her hand without removing his probing digit.
“You’re going to be late,” she said in a breathless voice her fingers tightening in the back of his hair.
He didn’t respond except to reach up and jerk her gown open, sending buttons flying through the air and bouncing across the floor. She closed her eyes and whimpered, leaning back on her hands. Connor’s eyes caressed every curve, the slope of her chin into her neck, the valley between her round, natural tits, the concave of her tight stomach, the groove where her thighs met her body and the soft, pink skin wrapped around his fingers. He stood, covering her pebbled nipp
le with his mouth, suckling as if he were starving and fingering her as if he couldn’t take another breath until she came.
Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him into her. “Now Connor, please,” she begged, arching to press into him.
His fingers left her, his pants dropped and his rock hard length entered her as did his tongue as he pressed his lips to hers. He lifted her from the table and sat in the chair. Her legs spread wide and he seated deep, inside her. Natalie pushed her tip toes against the floor; Connor gripped her hips gently, rocking them back and forth.
“Oh my God, Natalie,” he moaned into her breasts.
Her arms wrapped around his head and squeezed him tight against her. The feeling of him deep inside her and the friction of his body against hers had her insides coiled and shaking, aching for release. Her body tightened and closed all around him, convulsing in long orgasmic waves, the contractions pulling Connor over the edge as well. He held her body up as he pulled in and out of her in long strokes, draining every drop.
He lifted his head and held her face in his hands. “I love you Natalie,” he declared, his sky blue eyes searching her hazel ones as they always did.
She pressed her forehead to his. “I love you too,” she answered.
He pulled back to search her eyes again. The sound of his phone vibrating under the forgotten newspaper interrupted the moment.
“It’s my father, I better take it,” he said regretfully.
Natalie kissed him with an exaggerated, Muah. “I’m gonna shower,” she said easing off his lap. Connor watched her walk away as he answered the call.
Freshly showered and dressed to ride, Natalie returned to the kitchen to take another swing at that cup of coffee, while Connor showered and dressed for work.
“So everything okay with your dad,” she asked when he emerged looking hot as hell with his damp hair, white shirt open at the collar and tie hanging loosely around his neck.
“Yeah, I guess so. He’s coming in for a visit.”
“That’s good. It’s been a while,” she said.
“You free for dinner with dear old dad April 25th?” He chuckled at the preciseness of his father’s dinner request, penciling his son in on his calendar like a business meeting.
“Of course, where else would I be?”
“Thank you,” he kissed her and wrapped her up.
“You better get going,” she said, swatting him on the butt.
Connor glanced at his watch. “Yeah, are you coming in later?”
“Maybe. I want to work with Ghost for a while this morning.”
“Ok, but be extra careful please. You know it makes me nervous, you riding alone. If something happened…”
“Connor,” she cut him off. “I will be fine. Go!” She pushed him playfully.
“Alright! Bye, I love you,” his voice echoed as he walked toward the door.
“Love ya back!”
Chapter Five
By his forth match, Blaine was a crowd favorite. The song Back in Black would start playing and the crowd would go wild as Blaine walked stoically to the cage. The cheering horde applauded every stuffed take down attempt, shouted for every jab and hay maker Blaine ate and then walked right through and absolutely erupted when he landed the blow that took his opponent to the ground and pounced on them, delivering fast, brutal strikes until the referee decided his opponent was done and mercifully stopped the fight.
Blaine would stand in the center of the cage long enough to be declared the winner and have his hand raised, then quickly exit and disappear into the locker room until it was his turn to fight again. He would sit passively listening to his coaches instruct him to move his head, stay on his toes, protect his body. With the brutal scars across his abdomen, it seemed to be a target as adversaries looked for a weak spot, a chink in his armor. They found none. After a grueling day filled with eight bouts against trained martial artists, the dark horse, Blaine Black, stood in the middle of the cage one last time to be declared light heavyweight champion.
“I knew it. I never doubted you for a second,” Nick said excitedly, as he gave Blaine a congratulatory hug inside the ring. Blaine only nodded and grimaced.
The room was full of desperately dressed women and testosterone. Blaine sat in a chair in the middle of the room, nursing a cold Bud Light with a blonde draped across his lap. She rubbed her long legs together like a cricket and annoyingly fingered his hair. He stared into space as if she weren’t even there as she continued to work hard for his attention. He remained completely disinterested in the entire scene, until he saw a pretty girl with big brown eyes and long brown hair enter the room. She was wearing a vintage concert t-shirt, faded blue jeans and boots and was on the arm of Jock; the hot headed, ill-mannered heavyweight from his gym that he couldn’t stand.
Blaine watched the pair for a few minutes. He noticed how out of place she looked surrounded by bubble headed bimbos and brutes. She was young and wholesome and would have fit in better at a pep rally. Jock pawed and kissed on her and the more he drank the worse he got. Blaine watched as she rejected his advances and at one point tried to leave, only to be stopped and pulled toward a hall of closed doors.
“Get up,” Blaine growled to the woman on his lap.
“What,” she said confused.
“Get your ass off me,” he repeated pushing her into the floor to land on her boney butt, wide-eyed.
She looked up at him, scoffing in disbelief, unaccustomed to rejection.
“Don’t worry. This room is full of dicks. I’m sure you’ll find one to ride tonight,” he sneered down at her before walking away in pursuit of Jock and his reluctant date.
He had lost sight of them while trying to free his self from the bleach blonde leach. He began opening doors; empty room, threesome, empty room, locked door. He debated on whether to kick it down but thought better of it. Just as he stepped away, he heard a pitiful cry and the sound of skin slapping skin. Without hesitation he leaned back and planted his boot in the door, nearly ripping it off the hinges as it swung open. He assessed the situation quickly. The girl was huddled, crying, blood trickling from her lip, hugging her knees against the headboard of the king sized bed while Jock stood grinning sadistically down at her; pulling his belt from around his waist.
“What the fuck man,” he sneered, snapping his head around to glare at Blaine.
Blaine gave no warning. He took two steps then extended a powerful right leg, landing a kick, flush on Jock’s ribcage, connected his left knee to Jock’s nose and finished with an elbow to the back of the head. When Jock laid still and bleeding on the floor, he turned his attention to the terrified girl.
“Are you ok,” he asked gruffly.
He found himself strangely irritated by the carelessness of the girl for putting herself in the precarious situation. When he was met with tears and a quivering lip, he immediately softened, lifting her from the bed and carrying her out of the room and out of harm’s way.
He found a bathroom in the huge house that was host to the gym’s after party. He closed and locked the door and sat the sniffling girl on the counter between the double sinks. With a finger under her chin, he lifted her eyes to meet his and examined her busted lip.
“What are you doing here,” he asked as he wet two wash cloths. “What in the hell are you doing with someone like Jock?” His voice was scolding and big brotherly.
She breathed in tiny little gasping breaths. “He was really nice three hours ago when he asked me out,” she explained with a pout.
“Well, he’s not nice.” He handed her a wet cloth for her lip and placed one cool rag on the back of her neck.
He leaned on the counter beside her while she washed away the blood and the tears. When she finished and looked at him, he saw the twinkle in her eye; the spark of infatuation, the glimmer of a blossoming crush.
“You need to go home,” he said flatly, standing to face her.
She swallowed hard, her lashes fluttering over her doe eyes.
“Sarah,” she answered in a tiny voice.
“Well Sarah, there’s no one here that’s good enough for you. Come on,” he said lifting her off the counter and placing her on her feet, “I’ll walk you out and call you a cab.”
Blaine waited with Sarah, put her in the cab and paid the driver. He turned at the sound of his name being called from the house.
“Blaine, what the hell man? You fucked Jock up,” Nick said exasperatedly.
“He deserved it,” Blaine said, feeling no real obligation to elaborate.
“It’s a good damn thing he didn’t win tonight. There’s no way he would be able to fight in Vegas next month.”
“Yep, it’s a good thing,” Blaine agreed, walking toward his truck and digging keys from his pocket.
“You’re not leaving already are you,” Nick asked.
“Yeah, I’m tired. My head hurts; my body hurts; my hands hurt and everything and everyone here’s getting on my nerves.”
“Alright,” Nick said smiling amusedly. “Go home. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Blaine nodded and turned to open the door of his truck.
“Hey Blaine,” Nick called from the door of the house.
“Yeah.”
“You really were amazing today. You should be happy.”
“Yeah, I should,” Blaine answered, looking at his bruised knuckles before climbing into his truck and driving away.
Blaine showered and sat down with his feet propped up and an icepack in his knee. He retrieved the brown, leather bound journal given to him by his therapist to help him organize and make sense of the craziness in his head. He scanned through page after page of confusing dreams, scattered thoughts and mixed emotions, stopping on the last entry that detailed a sunny day riding horses with a faceless female; the same faceless female that haunted him nearly every time he closed his eyes.
“Who are you,” he whispered. “And who the hell am I?”
The month of training flew by. Nick, Blaine, Damon and a small group of trainers boarded a flight to Las Vegas. All the men were talking and smiling, so excited to be making the trip, to be part of the event, to have the gym logo be front and center at an important fight. Blaine wouldn’t be fighting for a belt, but just to be on the card of a televised event put him and the gym on the map.