by Ann Garner
I snatch my phone up, thumbing through my contacts to find Robby’s name as I head across the field to the back door. There is a group of about four guys standing in my path. The stale scent of cigarettes surrounds them like a cloud. They are each holding a can of beer in their hands, and laughing loudly as I walk by.
I can feel their eyes following me as I make my way to the door. One of them whistles loudly just as I pull on the handle. I ignore them as I move through the door, my phone up to my ear as I wait for Robby to answer. When a hand closes around my upper arm, I can’t stop the alarmed cry that bubbles up.
“You were supposed to call Robby the moment you got here.”
“Jacob?” I look behind me, surprised to see Jacob standing there with a frown on his face. “What are you doing here?”
He glances down at me, our eyes meeting for just a brief moment, before he looks back up. He pulls me down a long hallway, past several doors. “Lincoln called me.”
I frown. “Why?”
We round a corner, and I can hear the sounds of a crowd of people cheering loudly, along with the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh. Jacob pulls me past a door where the sounds briefly become louder before fading out again as we keep walking.
“This isn’t the place for you, Grace.”
“I’m just here to get…” I trail off at the look that crosses over his face. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex briefly on my arm.
“Yeah, I know why you’re here.” We round another corner. “How long have you known what he’s up to?”
I wince at the question. Something else I kept from him in regards to Grant. “It doesn’t matter.”
Jacob jerks to a stop, swinging me around to stand in front of him. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter. None of this should fucking matter.”
“Then why are you here?”
I keep my eyes locked on his while I wait for the answer. He still has a grip on my upper arm, and I can’t stop the part of me that revels in his touch, no matter how slight. When he doesn’t answer I ask him again. “Why are you here, Jacob?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He tosses my words back to me, the frown pulling even deeper on his face. “This way.” He starts walking again, pulling me along behind him. He finally pushes open one of the many doors along the hallway, tugging me in behind him. I take in the scene quickly. Robby is standing in the far corner, dressed in just a pair of black athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt, obviously ready for his upcoming fight. Lincoln is leaned up against a wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Grant is sitting on the ground, his back up against the wall, holding a towel against his forehead that is covered in blood. One eye is swollen almost completely closed, his nose looks broken, and his lip is split open. His entire torso looks red; like he’s taken a large number of hits.
Tension in the room is high, and it takes me only a second to realize it’s because of the man sitting on the lone chair in the room and the behemoth of a man standing right behind him. The man sitting in the chair is older, and not at all what I would picture a loan shark to look like as I’m assuming this is the infamous Ira Manizel. Dressed in dark gray slacks and a white button down shirt, he looks like he should be sitting behind a desk at a bank.
Jacob pulls me behind him. “What is he doing here?”
Ira glances up from his cell phone, his eyes moving over Jacob and then settling on me. I shiver under his gaze, instinctively moving closer to Jacob.
“Mr. Michaels is scheduled to fight for me this evening.”
Lincoln pushes off the wall. “Your buddy here didn’t leave him in prime fighting shape. He’ll get his ass kicked.” He glances over to Grant. “Worse than he already has.”
“That isn’t my problem,” Ira says. “He knew the terms of our agreement when he accepted the money. He fights. I don’t care what shape he’s in.”
Frowning, Robby steps forward. “You won’t make any money off of him. The shape he’s in, he’ll be done in the first round.”
“I’ll bet against him.” Ira leans back in the chair. “One way or the other, I’ll get my money’s worth out of Mr. Michaels.”
“You’ll kill him.” I mutter, stepping around Jacob and heading over to Grant. I crouch down next to him, pulling the towel away from his head. The cut over his eye doesn’t look too bad, but it’s still bleeding so I push the towel back against it. I look over my shoulder, my eyes narrowing on Ira Manizel. “You make him go out there and fight for you, and they’ll kill him.”
He smirks. “Nothing so dramatic, my dear.”
Grant shifts, groaning as he moves. I keep my gaze on Ira. “I’ll pay you. Whatever it was, I’ll cut you a check tonight.”
His smile is maniacal, and fear causes a shiver to run down my spine as he says, “That’s a very generous offer. I’m sure Mr. Michaels is delighted to know he has the love of such a woman. However, I don’t take checks.”
“Cash then.” I snap, turning back to Grant and helping him apply pressure on the cut on his head. “How much?”
“The terms of our agreement was for him to fight. I make more money this way. So while that is a lovely offer, I’m afraid I will have to decline.”
My gaze moves to Robby trying to will him to say or do something to get Grant out of this situation. But before Robby can say anything I hear Jacob speak up from behind me. “I’ll take his place.”
My head whips around, eyes landing on Jacob. “No,” I whisper, but I can see the interest brightening Ira’s eyes as his gaze moves over Jacob.
“Now that is an offer worth considering.” He studies Jacob carefully. “Have you fought before?”
Jacob nods his head. “Yeah, I have.”
“He never lost.” Lincoln inserts, apparently on board with this asinine idea. “I’ve seen the line-up for tonight; Jake should have no problem with any of them.”
I turn my glare on him. “Jacob isn’t fighting in Grant’s place,” I say firmly. “It’s not happening.”
Like I haven’t even spoken, I hear Jacob say to Lincoln, “Can you help Grace get Grant out of here?”
I move across the room to stand in front of Jacob as he talks to Lincoln. “Absolutely not.” I tell him. “You are absolutely not fighting in his place. That’s ridiculous.”
For a second, it’s like we’re the only two in the room, and I feel like nothing has changed between us. His pale blue eyes are warm as they meet mine. “Grace,” he says softly. “You said it yourself. Grant can’t go out there. This is the only way.”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes the sentence. “We’ll think of something. I’m not going to let you do this.”
A small smile pulls on his lips as Jacob reaches up and brushes a finger across my cheek. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t have to ask for permission then.”
“Why would you do this?” I whisper the question.
“Because he’s important to you, and you’re important to me.”
Before I can respond Ira interrupts. “As touching as this is, I don’t care why. The fights start in ten minutes.” He flicks his hand toward the giant man behind him. “Max will stay to make sure you aren’t late.”
Ira heads out of the room and seconds later Lincoln and Robby follow behind him, helping Grant. Ignoring Max, I focus solely on Jacob. “Please don’t do this.”
“It’s already done, Grace.” Jacob yanks his sweatshirt over his head, pulling the shirt underneath along with it. He lays both on the chair that Ira had vacated, watching me as he toes off his shoes. “You need to go. I won’t be able to concentrate until I know you’re out of here.”
“If I’m so important to you, then why did you walk away without letting me explain?”
I watch Jacob roll his head from side to side, rolling his shoulders at the same time. “Grace, now isn’t the time.”
“Now is the perfect time.”
Jacob glances over at Max and then back to me. “I can put up with a lot of shit, Grace. A lo
t.” He shakes his head. “But I need you to be honest with me. You weren’t.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t lie. You just didn’t think enough about me or our relationship to tell me what happened.”
“Because I didn’t want this to happen!” I cry, spreading my hands wide. “I was fucking terrified that you would break up with me. And guess what? You did!”
There’s a knock on the door and Lincoln sticks his head in. “You’re up.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Jacob looks back to me. “You need to go now, Grace.”
I can’t stop myself from lifting up on my tip toes and brushing a kiss across his lips. “This,” I tell him, “is why we never would have worked. You’re too good for me, Jacob. Entirely too good.” I pause on my way out the door. “Please be careful.”
Lincoln is waiting for me right outside the door to walk me out. He pushes off the wall and leads me back through the maze of hallways. “Cole finally called Robby back so he’s on his way over to get Grant.” Lincoln pushes open the back door, nodding his head at the same group of guys from earlier. “Jacob will be fine.”
“Yeah. Can you just let me know when it’s over?”
“Of course.”
Cole has arrived by the time we make it to my car, and between him and Robby they have Grant settled in the backseat of Cole’s car. “What the fuck are you doing here, Grace?” Cole asks after closing the back door on the car.
“I came to get Grant.”
“Next time, don’t.” He snaps. “This business he has himself all tangled up in, isn’t something you need to be involved with.”
“Relax, Cole. Let’s just get the idiot home. It’s over.”
Glancing back to the building behind me, I think back to my brief conversation with Jacob. It really is over.
At 2:38 AM I finally get a text from Robby letting me know the fights are over and Jacob is okay. I type out a quick response before rolling over in my bed, hugging my pillow against my chest.
Chapter Thirty
Three weeks later my phone rings in the middle of the night again. I was already in bed this time and where the soft chimes of the ringtone typically wouldn’t wake me up, since I hadn’t had a real night sleep in weeks, the sound easily penetrated. Sighing, I reach over to the nightstand where my phone is plugged into the charger, scowling at the unfamiliar number that flashes over the screen. I’m pretty sure I know where this phone call is heading, and it ends with my dumbass crawling out of bed to go pick another dumbass up from the bar.
I swipe my finger across the screen before lifting the phone up to my ear. “What?”
The pulsing beat of music reverberates through the phone, nearly drowning out the soft voice of Collins Riley. I manage to make out her calling my name, “Grace? It’s Collins.”
“I figured.”
“I’m sorry to call.” I can actually hear the apology in her words. “Grant is in no shape to drive.”
I rub my hand over my eyes. I want to tell her that I don’t fucking care that Grant is in no shape to drive. That I don’t care if he has a bar bill that he can’t cover, and no money for a fucking cab. I want to tell her that his sorry drunk ass can walk home, and that I hope he gets lost on the way.
I want to tell her all of that, but instead I say, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Dropping my phone back on the nightstand I scrub my hands over my face, trying to rub away the weariness that clouds my head. “I need to start fucking going home on the weekends like everyone else.” I mutter to myself before I roll out of bed.
There’s no rush as I move to the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair on the way. I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a long time, unaccustomed to the person I see staring back at me. I remember my mother telling me that she had done nothing but cry when she had broken up with my father.
I had no tears, no wetness making my eyes shine as they stare back at me. There is just nothing but the achy weariness.
I run a toothbrush over my teeth, not concerned about my breath smelling, so much as some small part of me takes joy in picturing Grant sitting there slumped on the bar, wondering if I’ll show up to get him. I shuffle slowly back into my room, pulling a sweatshirt off my dresser on my way past. I yank it down over my tank top, tugging it into place as I pull out a pair of socks.
A few minutes later I run out of ways to stall and I throw a baseball cap down over my curls before I head out the door.
Even though I know spring is approaching, the biting wind that whips through the ink black night doesn’t make it seem like winter is on its way out, but just settling in for an extended stay. I pick up my pace, tucking my hands under my armpits to keep them warm as I hurry to my car.
The ride to the bar is blissfully short and easy. I’m yawning when I walk inside, noting there are still a few other patrons slumped over a table in the far corner of the bar. Collins is behind the bar, wiping down the bar top while trying, unsuccessfully, not to watch Lincoln who is stacking chairs on tables. Grant is on the same stool where he was last time.
“Does it have his name on it?” I ask, sliding on the stool next to him.
“What?” Collins turns away from ogling Lincoln. “Oh, hey, Grace. I didn’t see you come in.”
A brief smile flirts with the corners of my mouth. “Hard to blame you. He makes stacking chairs look sexy, which should sound ridiculous.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” A pretty pink blush stains that tops of her cheeks. I lift an eyebrow “Uh-huh, sure.” I look back over my shoulder at the table of other passed out patrons. “I’m only taking the one.”
“Those belong to Lincoln.” She smiles, “They’re his brothers. He’s almost done with the chairs, then I can get him to help you with Grant. Want something while you wait?”
“Tequila sounds great.”
Her smile falters. “Um,”
“Tequila sounds great,” I repeat. “But I’ll take a diet coke.”
The relief that swamps her face is almost laughable. I have a hard time picturing Collins as a bartender. I’m sure she’s drowning in tips from drunk, horny guys thinking they can buy themselves a chance into her pants. She just seems too sweet to be standing behind the bar dealing with drunks. She pulls a glass off a shelf, dropping ice inside before filling it up with diet coke and setting it in front of me.
“How high is his tab?” I ask after taking a quick drink.
“I’ll settle it up with him later.” Lincoln says, coming up behind me. He slips on the stool next to mine, reaching over to grab my drink and take a long drink. “Fuck, how do you drink that?”
“I just remind myself that I’m going to have to go bathing suit shopping soon. “
His eyes skim down my body, then he huffs out a laugh. “I doubt you have to worry about looking good in a bikini.”
My eyes flick over to Collins, noting the look of defeat in her eyes only seconds before she reins it back in. She gives me a weak smile before moving down to the other end of the bar, wiping down the bar top as she goes.
I give Lincoln a dirty look. “You are such an ass,” I hiss.
“I know exactly what I am,” he says to me, but his eyes are on Collins when he speaks. Finally his gaze drops to mine. “You doing all right?”
“I’m perfect. Don’t I look perfect?”
He nods his head, watching me intently. I want to squirm under his scrutinizing gaze, but manage to keep still. I wrap both my hands around my glass, taking a drink even though I’m not thirsty.
“He’s getting a walk on tryout with his old man’s old team.”
I blink, sure I didn’t hear him correctly. “Really?”
Lincoln nods, and I feel a little bit of the pain around my heart smooth out. Jacob was going to be okay. Even without me. “That’s good.” I whisper. “I’m happy for him.”
Lincoln chuckles. “You look thrilled.” Nodding towards Grant he adds
, “And this one stopped fighting for Ira. You got all the boys doing what you want, sweetheart.”
“If that was the truth I wouldn’t be sitting here with you, now would I?” I drain the last of my drink before sliding off the stool. “Can you load him up for me?”
I can feel Lincoln’s gaze on me for several long moments. I make a big production of digging into my pocket for my keys, turning just as I hear him say, “Yeah, sure.”
I’m in my car with the motor running when Lincoln walks out with Grant stumbling along next to him. I keep my gaze straight ahead while Lincoln opens the back door, all but shoving Grant inside. He closes the door, tapping his hand on top of the car then stepping back. I don’t look back as I pull away.
Grant shifts in the back seat, his head lolling against the window, a groan escaping as he moves. I look at him in the review mirror, wondering why I hadn’t just hung up when Collins had called earlier. Now it’s creeping toward dawn and I’m roaming the streets with my drunk ex in the backseat silently hoping he doesn’t throw up in my car.
The last time I had done this, I’d ended up in my first argument with Jacob. I’d made a promise to Jacob, swearing Grant was nothing to me. Yet here I sit, in the exact same spot I had that very night. My shitty little love life coming full circle.
On that cheerful thought, I pull up silently in front of his place, leaning my forehead against the steering wheel for a brief moment before turning in my seat. I jerk in surprise when I find Grant watching me carefully through wide brown eyes.
I swear you can hear the alcohol in his voice when he roughly whispers, “I’m sorry, Grace.”
Here we are again. Grant is back to apologizing, not that it makes a difference or really means anything to me anymore. Shaking my head I ask, “For what?”
“For all of it. I’m so sorry for all of it.”