Fighting to Forget

by Jenika Snow

  Her heart pounded hard at the sight. Blood rushed through her veins, and she held her breath. There was something exciting and dangerous watching Larson take down a guy, throwing a punch to their face and body, and seeing blood explode outward from the violence. Tasha didn’t feel this adrenaline force when watching the other fighters. No, it was only with Larson, the man so much older than she was.

  “Hello?”

  The deeply masculine voice came from behind her, and she turned her head and looked over her shoulder at the man who stood on the other side of the desk.

  “I’m Brandon. I was told by Harlond to come here and start my training.”

  She smiled, composed herself, and pushed the thoughts of Larson out of her head. “Of course. Let me get your paperwork that will need to be filled out.” She grabbed the manila folder that all new members had to complete, handed it over to him, and smiled again. “I’ll let Harlond know you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” he said and went over to the table and chairs off to the side. She stared at him as he started filling out the forms. He was a big guy, like everyone that came through the doors to train here. She didn’t know much about him aside from what Harlond had told her. He was twenty-eight years old, and had been fighting in the MMA for the last five years. His dark hair was buzzed close to his head. The gauge in his left ear was big and black, and like all the guys here he had sleeves of tattoos. The ink could also be seen through his faded t-shirt.

  She looked over at the ring again, saw Larson and Brody clapping each other on the back once, then watched Larson head toward the shower room. But he stopped right before he entered, turned slowly, and for a second just stared right at her. She was frozen, unable to move as his gaze held hers. Even from the distance she could see the way his dark, almost emotionless, eyes calculated what was happening.

  Did he know she was watching him, that she had been watching him? God, now she felt humiliated, so embarrassed she felt her face turn red and her body heat. She turned away quickly, sat down, and when she looked at Brandon she saw that he watched her with this knowing look on his face.

  Yeah, she wished right then and there that the world would just open up and swallow her whole.

  ****

  Larson pushed the doors open to the locker room, tossed his bag onto the bench, and tried to get his thoughts in order. He was confused, wondering what it was about the receptionist at Harlond’s that had him interested in knowing more about her. In the last decade he’d never felt more for a woman than wanting to have sex with them, use them the same way they used him for a few hours of mindless pleasure.

  He went over to the showers, turned one of them on, and then got undressed. He stepped into the water, and closed his eyes. Bracing a forearm on the tiled wall, he focused on the steam surrounding him, the heat and droplets of the water pounding on his back and neck, and didn’t allow thoughts of the receptionist invade his mind. She’d been working at the gym for the last year, that much he knew. He also knew her name was Tasha. He saw her watching him every time they were at the gym at the same time, and he wondered if she was interested in him as a person or in him as the fighter.

  The women that he’d been with sexually had only been after him for one thing. They’d wanted sex, wanted to sleep with a fighter, an MMA champion even if that title had been earned a long time ago. And that had been fine for Larson, all he wanted from them.

  But there was something definitely enticing about Tasha, something that had his interest piqued, his desires coming forward. He didn’t fuck women that worked or trained at the gym, didn’t even think about it. But with her, for some reason, whatever reason, he did think about it, about her.

  After grabbing the soap, he scrubbed it over his chest and hair, and rinsed off. She was too sweet for him, and looking at her, seeing the way she stared at him, told Larson the girl didn’t know half of the person he was, of the dead monster he really was inside. Maybe she saw his scar and wondered what his story was. Some people asked him, if they weren’t intimidated by his size or tattoos, and if they hadn’t been around a decade ago and read the paper. His life had been shit for so long, so volatile, and she was young as hell, and far too innocent and vulnerable compared to him.

  Yeah, settling down was not something he’d ever do again, or not something he’d let himself consider. That was a gift, an honor to have a woman in his life that would be his other half. He’d already lost that chance once, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

  Now, if she wanted to fuck, even if she did work at Harlond’s, he was interested in her immensely, and could probably break his rule to enjoy her for a night’s time. Even thinking that, thinking about Tasha in that filthy fucking way, made him feel like a bastard.

  Chapter Three

  He felt something being tugged and pulled on him, heard the distinct sound of people talking, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. Opening his eyes, or trying to at first, Larson blinked, the light so bright it was nothing but this intense whiteness surrounding him. He tried to move, tried to get off the hardness that was beneath him. He thought he spoke, felt his mouth move, but he couldn’t hear himself saying anything, and had yet to see anything aside from the whiteness that blinded him.

  Melanie.

  He remembered what had happened, the blood, the life he saw gone when he looked at her. Clearing his throat and licking his lips, he tried to rise, but something strong, heavy, pushed him back down.

  “Don’t move,” said the distorted voice.

  “Where…” He couldn’t form any words. His throat was dry, tight, his lips chapped. He felt weak as hell, like the life had been sucked right out of him. “My wife,” he gasped out. “Where is my wife?” But he knew in his heart she was gone, knew that he’d never hold his sweet Melanie again.

  “Don’t move, and just relax,” the voice said again, a little clearer this time. Something went into the crook of his arm, painful, sharp. The sensation of coldness washing through him had him struggling, trying to rise, not knowing what in the hell was going on. And then everything faded and he just let it take him away.

  Darkness was better than what he’d face in reality.

  ****

  Larson slowly opened his eyes, stared at the darkened shadows that covered the walls and ceilings, and watched as a car’s headlights flashed along the room. He breathed out slowly. He hated this, hated that all these years later he was still having the dreams about when he’d woken up … when he’d realized he hadn’t died with Melanie.

  Getting up, he rested his feet on the cold, hardwood floor beneath him, braced his hands on his knees, and leaned forward. He hung his head between his shoulders, closed his eyes, and waited for his heart to slow down.

  “Fuck,” he cursed out low.

  Standing, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the light. The harsh florescent bulb above him made this humming noise, but after a few seconds finally shut the hell up. Bracing his hands on the counter of the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. His dark eyes had circles under them, and his short hair was in need of another shave. He kept it short nowadays, didn’t want the hassle of tending to it.

  Placing a hand on the puckered, nasty looking scar on his neck, he moved his fingers down the length of it and stopped at his chest. Even all these years later he hadn’t gotten used to the ugly sight of it.

  “Damn.” He breathed out, turned the faucet on, and splashed his face with water. After drying off he left the bathroom and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was only three in the morning, but he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He’d just go to the gym, or maybe run until he couldn’t stand up any longer. He needed something to get the anxiousness and energy out of him. Fighting or working out were his options, but a good fight sounded a hell of a lot better to let the steam off.

  ****

  Sometimes Tasha thought about the baby she had given up, what that little boy was doing all these years later, and if the
people that had adopted him were being good to him. She had only seen him once, right after she’d delivered him, but she couldn’t bear to hold him. So, she’d sent him away and never saw him again, but remembered every detail on his little face, even all these years later.

  What was his name? What did he look like now? He’d had a tuft of light blond hair on his head and this birthmark on his little arm. But she’d never see him again. The adoption was closed, sealed, and she had no clue who had him. Even if she had the means to take care of him now, she wouldn’t know where to find him.

  But it was better this way, better because she’d been so young, didn’t have the means or support of her family to raise a child, and she knew giving him up would provide a better life for him.

  It had broken her heart, but she’d moved on, or at least tried to, and only when she was sitting in the park, like she was right now, and seeing the children running around, did she wonder about it all.

  The playground was off to the left about twenty yards away. A family was walking their dog to her right, and joggers were running around the lake. It was a nice day, early still, but she didn’t have to go into work until later, and eating breakfast in a shaded spot at the park helped to clear her head.

  She tossed her trash away in the bin beside her and leaned back on the bench, seeing a man in a hoodie and sweatpants running faster than any of the other people. His body was big, and it was clear under the sweat-dampened outfit he wore that he was heavily muscled. But she couldn’t see his face because of the hood.

  What was he thinking about? Was he running to keep in shape, or to get away from something that haunted him? She’d done the latter on several occasions, and assumed others had the same problems, the same worries and bad decisions that clung to them like a second skin.

  He came closer. His feet ate up the pavement, and she sat up straighter. There was something about him, something that had her interested and curious as to who this man was. The closer he got, the more she tried to look at his face. But the hood he wore was on the longer side, and all she saw was part of his mouth.

  He stood a few feet from her, now braced his hands on his thighs, and breathed in and out heavily. He stood to his full, impressive height, pushed his hoodie back, and she parted her mouth slightly. It was Larson, in all his big, muscular, and sweaty glory. He hadn’t noticed her, didn’t even look her way. He started stretching, and she watched the way his muscles flexed and contracted under his clothes.

  Tasha started bouncing her leg up and down, thinking she should go up and talk to him. Heck, they’d seen each other at the gym enough times that she should just go up and strike a conversation. And then he turned and looked at her, stared right into her eyes with his deep, dark gaze, and she was at a loss for what to do.

  He took a step toward her, stopped, and shook his head. When he looked to the side she caught a flash of his scar, but the darkened expression on his face had her stalling and not moving toward him. She wanted to, wanted to introduce herself finally, but she was feeling this cement sensation fill her, this hardness that told her now was probably not the right time. Hell, maybe never was the right time.

  But she grew a set of balls, and stepped toward him. They stood there for a moment, but when she opened her mouth to say something, she saw him take a step back, and she snapped her lips together.

  “Hi,” she forced out.

  He scrubbed a hand over his hair, but didn’t say anything. She felt like an ass, especially when they stood there for several moments, neither speaking again. He shook his head and turned to leave.

  Tasha stood there, not sure what in the hell just happened, but feeling humiliated.

  She turned and looked around, seeing a young couple sitting on the bench a few feet away. They smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that was pleasant, but one that said they’d seen the awkward as hell encounter. God, she just needed to either forget about this, about Larson, or garner some strength and go after what she wanted.

  Chapter Four

  It felt weird being here, seeing all these people going into this disgusting, dilapidated building, but she’d wanted to come, had to see this for herself. When she’d overheard Larson speaking with one of the fighters about doing an underground match, she’d felt like a fool for eavesdropping and deciding to do this.

  She still hadn’t really spoken to Larson, not even after they’d seen each other at the park, yet he hadn’t said a word. But she’d seen him watching her, like he was curious as to what the deal with her was. Hell, maybe he thought she was a creep because she watched him all the time? She couldn’t help it though.

  Tasha had never felt this kind of connection or draw to someone. Well, she had felt something, or thought she had with her chemistry teacher, but that had been different. That had been along the lines of she hadn’t known any better, fell for his charm and sweetly spoken words, and thought she was in love. She knew better now that she was older, knew that it hadn’t been love at all.

  She looked around the cracked, uneven, and uprooted parking lot. The building that the fight was currently at was in the crappy part of town, right at the edge of the city limits, and where the drug deals, prostitution, and even where some murders had gone down. She grabbed her purse, had her pepper spray in her hand and ready to go, and got out of her car.

  This part of town was scary, and she was stupid for coming here alone, but she really didn’t have any friends, and although she knew Sunny, the other woman wasn’t close enough that Tasha would have asked her to come, or felt okay with explaining why she wanted to come here.

  But as the shadows crept up around her, the sound of the lone car passing by on occasion, and the knowledge that blood and gore would happen within this building, had fear and anxiety creeping up on Tasha.

  The only saving grace was the fact other people were going in, too. There were younger guys with tattoos and piercings, but there were also preppy looking guys, probably from the local college. The women were scantily dressed, showing a lot of skin, and she’d heard the guys at the gym talk about certain girls like that, ones that they called Chasers because they wanted to sleep with the fighters.

  The door she now stood in front of was tattered and scarred steel, with chipped red paint, a handle that was rusted and looked to be falling off the hinges, and it looked downright nasty. She pulled open the heavy metal and stepped through. There was a long hallway, and the scent of decay, mold, and dirt filled her nose. There were people walking in front of her, some behind her as well, their voices loud, echoing off the high ceiling and walls.

  A scary looking man stood in front of another door, this one at the end of the hallway. She saw some of the people in front of her giving the bouncer tickets, and she cursed. Of course she would have had to pay to see the fight. She felt even more foolish that she hadn’t even contemplated that she’d have to have some form of proof to get into the match. She only knew about this place because she’d heard the guys at the gym talking about the location and who was fighting tonight, and how it was in the seedy part of town.

  She looked at the guy guarding the door again. There was no way she would be able to get by that bouncer. Hell, he looked like he was itching to beat someone’s ass, and she wasn’t going to be that someone. She also couldn’t try to squeeze her way in on her looks. Tasha knew she was on the overweight side, was a “Plain Jane” compared to a lot of women, and she wasn’t even wearing anything revealing that would have accented her large breasts. Just as she turned around to go back out the door she came through, male voices coming from behind her stopped Tasha.

  “Fight. Fight. Fight.” The words came through from a group of three men standing behind her. The one in front, a guy that looked like he should be playing golf instead of seeing bare-knuckle fighting, grinned at her.

  “You here for the show?”

  “Um.” She didn’t know how to respond. Licking her lips, she nodded. “I was, but forgot my ticket,” she lied, finding it pretty easy.
These guys seemed drunk, or maybe they were high, or maybe they were just pumped about the fight? Maybe she could get one of them to take her in? It was a total off the wall thought, but she’d give it a try. It was like she had this wish to see a bunch of guys knocking each other around, beating the shit out of the other for the sole purpose of getting a wad of cash, which was presented to the winner along with the recognition of being victorious.

  “It’s your lucky day, sweetheart.” He grabbed her hand before she could agree to go with him or protest. “I happen to have an extra ticket,” he said, flashed two tickets in front of her face, then turned and looked over his shoulder at the other guys he’d come in with. “My date bitched out, so you’re the lucky one I get to watch the fight with.”

  She opened her mouth, about to tell him she wasn’t his date, but she also wanted to see the fight. She felt bad for thinking about ditching him once they got inside, but he was wasted, the scent of beer on his breath nauseating, and she was here for Larson.

  “You’ll hang out with me, right? Have a drink with me?” he asked, his words slurred.

  “Yeah, sure.” A drink and standing by him wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, he’d probably forget about her once the fight started.

  “Come on, we don’t want to miss it.” He held her hand tightly in his, gave the bouncer the tickets, and then they were making their way down the long flight of steps that would take them to the bowels of the building. The farther they descended the louder the noise became. When they reached the bottom, the guy turned to her.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready? For what?” she asked. The bass and thumping noise were ear-shattering. She should just run back up the stairs.