Fighting for Everything: A Warrior Fight Club Novel

by Laura Kaye

  “Look who’s on time for once,” Dani said, looking at Sean.

  The guy shook his head. “Not in the mood, Daniela.”

  She glared. “Aw, poor boy.”

  He nailed her with a stare. “You’re going down tonight.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Dream on.”

  “Wait for it,” he said.

  Mo sat down beside him, wearing that big open grin Noah already associated with the guy. “Hey, man. Missed you on Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Noah said. “I couldn’t get in for a physical until today.”

  Mo’s dark eyes narrowed. “You look like you’ve been under the weather.”

  Given Noah’s habit of not paying attention to his own reflection, he wasn’t sure what exactly might be giving Mo that impression. The beard that was coming in, maybe? Given the last few days, though, Noah supposed he wasn’t too surprised. “That a nice way of saying I look like shit?”

  Chuckling, Mo shook his head. “No, man. Just checking in.”

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Mack called from the front of the room.

  For the next hour, they worked through their yoga warm-up, striking-pattern exercises, and kicking forms. And then came the sparring matches and tag-team grappling match drills that Noah had been forced to sit out the last time. Adrenaline already flowing, Noah was freaking ready to mix it up and work out some of the bullshit in his head.

  He started out in the grappling match, on a team with Mo, Sean, Tara, and some others he hadn’t yet met.

  “Same rules as always,” Mack said. “We’re practicing groundwork here. Your turn ends either when you’ve been finished and tap out or you can get close enough to the edge of the mat for one of your teammates to touch you and tag you out. We’ll do a five-second change over, and during that time and that time only it’s okay for the tagging team to have two fighters on the mat both attacking their opponent. This is just about groundwork, no striking. Mo, Billy, you’re up first.”

  The two men knelt facing one another about ten feet in from the corner of the mat. Big as Billy was, Mo looked a mountain beside him, and Noah was almost glad he wouldn’t have to face off with the guy. When Mack gave the signal, they tapped gloves and then grabbed each other around the backs of the head and shoulders, both of them throwing themselves into gaining advantage over the other.

  Mo got into the mounting position pretty quickly, managing to get a hold on Billy around his chest and flip him over. But Billy demonstrated his agility, rolling his hips up so that he got close to a neck lock before their positions shifted again. They grappled for maybe another forty seconds until Mo rolled Billy close to their team’s edge, close enough for Noah to reach Mo’s foot.

  Noah tapped Mo out and Mack started counting down from five.

  Not wasting a second, Noah sprung out onto the mat, piling on top of Billy, who was face down. Then Mo was out and it was all Noah and Billy.

  Eight years of wrestling training held Noah in good stead as he used every muscle group to dominate his opponent. He grabbed hold with his arms, worked to gain leverage with his legs, fought against getting pinned with his stomach and back. From the corner of the mat, Mack called out guidance and encouragements.

  And though it felt good to exert himself, just as it had the other night, Noah couldn’t ignore that he didn’t feel anywhere near as strong as he had at Saturday’s class. The energy it took to compete effectively against a much more practiced opponent was more than he had after nearly a week of neglecting himself, which was why within about a minute, Billy had them close enough to his team’s sideline to get tapped out.

  For a few seconds, his two opponents double teamed him, and then it was just Noah and a guy whose name he didn’t know. The man was also skilled, though Noah fared better against him and ultimately gained the advantage, catching him in a half-nelson hold around his neck.

  His opponent struggled against it, but Noah kept squeezing until the guy tapped out, his hand smacking against the mat.

  One of his teammates joined him as Mack counted down from five, and then Noah’s turn was over. Way too fucking fast. Because the adrenaline from competing for just those few minutes was a rush. And Noah wanted more of it.

  Not to mention, those few minutes in the match were the first all week when something successfully distracted him from thinking about Kristina.

  Kneeling on the sidelines again, Noah watched Sean take on one of their opponents, who managed to gain the advantage. Dani tagged her teammate, and then it was Sean and Dani on the mats.

  “This ought to be interesting,” Billy said from next to Noah.

  And it was. Though Sean probably had a good fifty pounds on Dani, she was fast and held her own against him as they grappled and fought for domination. Sean managed to pin her, his knees between her legs, his arms winding around her neck and going for a D’Arce choke. But somehow Dani got one of her arms inside his and was able to break the choke, roll her hips, and lock her legs around his neck. She reached out a hand…and one of her teammates was just able to reach her. They tagged her out.

  “What was that about going down?” she said as her teammate joined in against Sean.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Sean said. “Revenge is going to be so sweet.”

  New competitors subbed in as fighters were called into the practice cages to spar, and Noah got another turn on the ground a few minutes later. He once again found himself immersed in the thrill of the fight, the distraction of exertion, the rush of competition.

  He was up against Billy again, and this time he had no intentions of letting the guy best him, no matter how fatigued he was. They went at it hard, rolling and pushing and clutching, their efforts to grab hold becoming harder, more aggressive. Grunts and curses ripped into the air, and competitiveness gave way to anger and frustration in Noah’s belly when Billy’s glove caught him in the jaw.

  “No striking in this drill,” Mack called from the corner.

  Reining himself in, Noah focused on working them closer and closer to his team’s side. He was almost close enough to reach out a leg to get tagged when Billy flipped out around him and managed to pin Noah face down, arms around Noah’s neck applying pressure against Noah’s windpipe.

  He struggled against the hold, twisting and pushing, but Billy just squeezed harder, and then the other man managed to get a leg over Noah’s thighs, pinning them too.

  Noah was done. Fuck. Fuck. He had no choice. He tapped out.

  It was possible he’d never felt more angry to lose a match in his life. Because, damnit, he needed a fucking win.

  “All right, good round. Noah, Billy, head over to Colby’s cage,” Mack said.

  Billy let him go, And Noah shot off the floor. At least sparring would give him a way to focus the aggression flowing inside him, because right now Noah just wanted to break something with his bare hands.

  I just want you.

  Aw, fucking hell.

  Thoughts of Kristina flooded in behind the memory of her voice. How was she doing? Had her workshop at the Art Factory started yet? Was she thinking of Noah? Or had she written him off completely?

  I guess we’re done here.

  That’s what she’d said right after Noah uttered the filthy lie about not loving her, and it had been twisting like a knife in his gut all week long—a wound of his own making, of course. He got that.

  Having not bought his own equipment yet, Noah suited up in some borrowed pads and guards from the club, including protective headgear—something Noah’s doctor had insisted upon. The man had been familiar with fight training as therapy, but he’d still been hesitant about signing off on it for Noah.

  In the end, though, it had been Noah’s call—and to his mind, it was better to take the risk that he’d get hurt in the ring than live with the certainty that he’d die from all this pain.

  He and Billy climbed into the ring.

  Colby gave the signal, and then they were circling, assessing, planning their first strike
s. Billy attacked with a punching combo which Noah easily defended. Noah counterattacked, striking in a series of quick punches, jabs, fades, and hooks. Billy came at him with a leg kick, pivoted out, and got in a backhand. As they fought, Colby called out guidance, and it quickly became clear that while Noah was a stronger boxer, Billy had a stronger kicking game. Something Noah would have to work on, then.

  But just then, the deficit only added to Noah’s frustration.

  Noah pulled from deep inside and poured on a burst of energy, getting Billy in a clinch against the cage. Punch, punch, punch. Noah went at the guy like he was possessed. The more he fought, the more his anger consumed him, blinded him, took over his mind. He pinned Billy and nailed him with a spinning back elbow.

  Billy went down against the cage, but the guy wasn’t to be underestimated, because he got his legs around Noah’s knee and forced him down, too.

  Landing half on top of the other man, the fight became all about the ground and pound. They grappled. Clutched. Flipped each other. Hit. Kicked.

  Christ, I want Kristina. Punch, punch, punch. Will I ever stop feeling like this? A hard elbow to the ribs. What is the fucking point of all of this without her? Pound, pound, pound.

  Noah got his thighs around Billy’s neck and went to town on the man’s unguarded ribs.

  “Whoa! Noah! Noah, stop!” Colby called, grabbing his arms. Billy scrambled out from under him, going into a kneeling position a few feet away.

  Blinking away the haze of red in his head, Noah looked from one man to the other.

  “What the fuck, man?” Billy said, glaring at him. “I tapped out thirty seconds ago.”

  “Shit…I…” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize.”

  “And you didn’t hear me call it off?” Colby asked, a concerned expression on his face.

  Fuck. “No.”

  Colby nodded, and took some notes on a clipboard. And then he started to give them some pointers based on what he’d seen of their fighting. Noah could barely hear the words the man spoke. Utter exhaustion flooded through his veins, a heaviness that almost made it impossible to lift off his pads and rise to his feet minutes later when Colby dismissed them.

  “I’m sorry,” Noah said to Billy outside of the cage.

  Billy looked at him a long minute, and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I see where you are right now, Noah. I recognize it because I was there. Better get a handle on it before it consumes you.” He gave Noah a pointed look, and all Noah could do was nod.

  Damn hard to hide the shit inside you when the person standing in front of you had once waded through it himself, wasn’t it? Right in that moment, Noah didn’t know if that was a relief or a curse.

  When time was up, Mack asked Noah to hang out afterward. Noah was glad for the delay, because it gave him an easy excuse for not joining the guys for drinks after. He was pretty sure that the last thing he needed to be doing was adding alcohol to the fucked-up cocktail in his brain, although there was a certain temptation there, he had to admit.

  And wasn’t that a cheery goddamned thought.

  Noah helped Mack stow the gear in a supply closet. Back out in the gym again, Mack turned to him. “What happened in the cage today?”

  Shit. Guess he should’ve expected that. You never kept fighting after the bell rang, the round ended, or your opponent tapped out. “I lost focus,” Noah said.

  Mack’s gaze narrowed on him. “You sure it wasn’t more than that?”

  Noah frowned, hating that this was one of the first impressions he was making on the guy. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “I didn’t think that you did,” Mack said. “Colby said you were really waling on Billy, and didn’t hear either the tap out or Colby’s voice. And that tells me that whatever’s going on in your head was louder.”

  Shame ran a flush across Noah’s skin.

  “I was there, Noah. I know what it is. And all I have to do is look at you to know you’ve lost, what, a good eight or ten pounds since I last saw you?”

  Noah dropped onto one of the benches, his elbows on his knees, his head hanging. “Yeah.”

  Mack sat down next to him. “You’re not okay, and I’m worried about you. Did something happen?”

  “Yeah,” Noah said. “I was an asshole to someone I care about, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost her.” He almost surprised himself by saying this, but Mack got his bullshit on some fundamental level, and Noah was too tired, too overloaded to keep it all inside.

  “Have you tried apologizing?” Mack asked.

  “I haven’t done anything at all since it happened.” Noah turned his head to look at the other man.

  “I see,” Mack said, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m not a doctor or a psychologist. But a couple of things seem important here. First, apologize. Right? You don’t know where things stand until you do, and things might seem worse than what they really are. Depression does that. Makes everything seem worse than what it is. I know that first-hand.”

  Noah dropped his gaze to the floor again, and he fought against the knot suddenly in his throat and the sting at the backs of his eyes for all he was worth. Because his depression had never been this bad, not even right after his injury. And deep down he hated himself for not being stronger, for not just willing himself to get the fuck over it already.

  Mack clapped his hand against the back of Noah’s shoulder. “Second, you need to get some help, Noah. I’m telling you that you can’t do it alone. Also from experience.”

  Noah looked to Mack again, relieved not to see any pity on the other man’s face. Finally, he nodded. “Okay, Mack. I will.”

  Chapter Twenty

  By seven o’clock on Friday night, Kristina was already in her favorite nightgown—a pretty yellow little thing with blue ribbons under the bust, along the shoulders, and along the frilly bottom hem.

  It was beyond pathetic.

  This had been her first week of summer break, and she’d barely left the house except to teach her workshop at the Art Factory, which met on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. She’d actually been really glad for those classes, because they’d given her something fun and rewarding to think about, something to distract her from the ragged hole that existed right in the center of her chest.

  The hole caused by removing Noah from her life.

  And damn, it wasn’t easy to do.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much she tried to distract herself with TV or books or work for her class. And she occasionally unthinkingly reached for her phone to text him, not remembering until her fingers hit the keys that she couldn’t. Or, at the very least, shouldn’t.

  Clearly, she had a long way to go.

  For his part, Noah hadn’t reached out to her, either. And frankly, that seemed to say quite a lot.

  Oh, God, it hurts.

  Sitting on the couch, laptop in her lap, she pressed a hand against her chest and tried to take a deep breath.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Kristina frowned, then shifted everything off her lap and made for the door. Glancing down at herself, she decided her nightgown wasn’t too revealing, so she pulled open the door just a little.

  Her stomach plunged to the floor.

  Noah.

  She’d half thought it would be Kate, who’d been on a non-stop Kristina-watch ever since Saturday night, stopping by, texting, and sending her funny links at regular intervals to make sure she was okay and try to cheer her up.

  “What are you doing here?” Kristina finally asked.

  His expression fell and he shifted his feet, making her notice the blue cooler bag dangling from his one hand. Oh. My. God. He did not bring her ice cream.

  “Um, well, can I come in?” he asked.

  She was a hundred percent certain neither of them had ever had to ask the other one to be allowed in, and it hurt to hear him say those words because it revealed just how messed up they were now.

  It hurt even worse to say, “No
. Tell me why you’re here.”

  He frowned, and the longer Kristina looked at him, the more she noticed that Noah…didn’t look good. Dark circles marred the skin beneath flat, bloodshot eyes. His cheeks appeared hollow. And holy crap, even with a T-shirt and jeans on she would’ve sworn he’d lost weight since last weekend. Again.

  “I wanted to talk to you.” He shrugged. “Maybe hang out.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Hang out?”

  “Yeah.” He held up the cooler. “Reverse dinner?”

  “Noah—”

  “Please, Kristina,” he said, stepping closer, close enough that all that separated them was the invisible plane where the door would be if she shut it. “At least let me apologize.”

  Almost sure that Kristina was going to regret it, she nodded, opened the door wider, and stepped out of Noah’s way. He came in and dropped the cooler on the table, then turned toward her. His gaze raked over her nightgown, and Kristina hated the heat that rushed over her skin in its wake. But that reaction proved that her decision about their relationship had been the right one.

  Noah held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For so many things, Kristina. For the way I talked to you. For the way I’ve been treating you, all the way back to when I came home. I’ve just felt so bad about myself that I didn’t want you to see it. But that’s no excuse, I know.” He stepped closer, sending Kristina’s heart into a sprint. “And I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, for not responding better to what you had to say.”

  She frowned. For not responding better to what she had to say? Like what she’d said was just any old thing? Whatever.

  “Okay, I accept your apology,” she managed.

  Fighting wouldn’t serve any purpose, and the easier she made this for him the faster he would leave. At least, that’s what she told herself.