by Callie James
“Do you really have to ask? It looks like a massive conflict of interest. Here I am busting my hump trying to stop violence, and you’re somewhere in a cage knocking somebody’s brain loose. I’m dating a guy who likes to beat the snot out of people. And why? I don’t have a reason. I wouldn’t know what to say. For … for…”
“Money…is that the word you’re searching for? Because we discussed this already. Jonas pays me to do this. It’s part of my job. I have to keep this job, Peyton.”
“Fine. I get it. But do you have to be so happy about it? I’ve never seen you so …alive. You were in your element, as if you enjoyed hurting Javier.” Her gaze lifted to mine, eyes wide. “Did you?”
I might as well try to explain color to a blind person. “Why do you keep asking me that? And looking at me like that?”
She shook her head, looking confused. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re scared of me now.”
“Scared of you? After watching that in there, I don’t even know who you are.”
I took a step closer and brushed my fingers against her cold cheek. “You know me,” I said, my voice going soft, as it always did when I touched her. I reached out my other taped hand to frame her face. “You know me better than anyone else, Peyton. I don’t talk to other people the way I do you.” Those blue eyes turned glassy from tears again. She tried to look down but I wouldn’t let her. “God, tell me you know how special you are to me.”
Her chin trembled and she took a small step forward, reaching for my waist. Her fingertips felt cold through my already wet shirt as she curled them against my sides. Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead to my chest. I wanted to push my fingers through her hair and kiss her. To forget the whole damn thing. “Is there any way you can get past this?” I asked.
She stood, quiet and unmoving. Just breathing.
I kissed the top of her head, my fingertips lingering along her jaw as I closed my eyes. “Can you?”
She nodded and I felt a glimmer of hope. “If you plan to stop,” she murmured, turning her face up to me. “Tell me you plan to stop. Someday. Any day. Maybe after graduation. Or when Savanna finishes school and your family doesn’t need you like this. Tell me you plan to stop someday and I’ll…I’ll…”
Stay. She’d practically said it. She’d placed the solution in my hands. Given me the easiest out I could have asked for. I could tell her exactly what she wanted to hear. Buy myself a few more months. Maybe a few years if things worked out. Maybe by then, it wouldn’t matter.
It was the perfect plan, but one I couldn’t consider. After tonight, I’d hit my limit on lying about myself. About what I wanted. I dropped my hands to my sides. “I’m a fighter, Peyton. It’s who I am. What I do. I’ll never stop.”
Her hopeful expression crumpled and she took a step back, dropping her gaze to the asphalt. “Bobby was right. You’re going to let Jonas train you. To fight USC.”
“UFC,” I said, correcting her because Javier had slammed the good sense out of me, apparently. “Ultimate Fighting Championship.”
“Sorry.” She nodded. “UFC. He told me Jonas wants you to fight professionally.”
Bobby might get his teeth kicked in if he didn’t shut his mouth. “It’s true. Jonas does want me to train,” I said, wishing she’d look at me. “But it’s not in the cards for me. I’ll never fight professionally.”
The question was there in her eyes as her gaze lifted to mine.
I shrugged. “I was too many credits short last year to graduate. Jonas wanted me to get my GED and start training. When I told my mother what I planned to do, she fell apart. Begged me not to do it. I told you she hasn’t been right since my father died. I couldn’t be the cause of more stress and pain. So I gave her my word I wouldn’t train professionally and I meant it.”
Her eyes searched my face. “Would you fight professionally if you could?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. I want to know.”
“If my mother wasn’t sick and I hadn’t made that promise to her, then yeah, I would. If I thought I was good enough, that I had a legitimate chance, you bet. I’d do it in a heartbeat.” I took a step closer so she’d see my face and know I meant every word. “I’d walk around with cauliflower ear, the same as every other guy in this fucking place, and I’d live the next thirty years without a dime to my name. I’d do anything if it meant I could get another shot at it.”
“Another shot at what? A gold belt?”
“No, at being the best at something again.”
“The best at something? At fighting?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why. You’re smart, Sam. You could do anything.”
“God, whatever you do, don’t sound like everybody else,” I said, unable to take the save-Sam-from-himself speech from her, too. “You said it yourself. I’m happy in there. Fighting is the only thing that ever came natural to me. That I felt good doing. I’m fast, I have decent instincts, and my dad taught me almost everything I know. In there, Peyton…it’s the only place I can still hear his voice. Like he’s right there with me. Still here. And I need him to be.”
Those blue eyes widened, and it occurred to me what I’d said aloud. Something I’d never told anyone else. Shit.
I turned and began to pace.
“Sam—” she whispered.
I stopped moving. Hearing her behind me, her voice wavering, her tears right there, I bit down until my jaw hurt. I was this close to coming apart and it was anybody’s guess what would fly out of my mouth if I did. “Forget it,” I said over my shoulder, unable to look at her. “I shouldn’t have said it.”
“But you did.” Her small footsteps crunched across the gritty asphalt. Her fingertips brushed softly against my back. “You hear your dad? You hear his voice?”
There was no judgment or question of my sanity in her tone. “Every time,” I said, pulling away. “To not hear him would be impossible. We practiced every night. Trained every weekend since I can remember. Until the day he died. He sacrificed everything, Peyton. He had opportunities to advance his career, but he stayed a traffic cop to keep a regular shift. So he could put more time into his family. Into me. It was supposed to be …a safer choice.” My eyes watered and I immediately turned to pace again so she couldn’t see. “Whether I’m in the ring or the cage, it’s not Jonas I hear. Or the ref. Or even the crowd. I hear him. It’s his voice telling me what to do next. Telling me if I’m getting it right or doing it wrong. Don’t you get it yet?” I stopped. Looked at her. “Anything that’s good in me, in there, is him. I’ll never give it up entirely. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
She stayed silent, her palms clasped in prayer position over her mouth again. “Okay,” she whispered.
“And don’t cry,” I added, because she was doing that rapid blinking thing and I really couldn’t fucking take more tears right now.
She turned to the Lexus. “I should go.”
Of course, she had to go. Her boyfriend had way too much baggage. She couldn’t get away fast enough. “That’s it then?” I said. “We’re done?”
She shivered and it occurred to me how cold I was wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt in the freezing night air. “Right,” I said when she remained silent. “So the never-giving-up-no-matter-what thing. That was all bullshit, right?”
She stiffened and eventually looked over her shoulder, her gaze never reaching mine. “I thought I meant something to you, Sam. But there are too many versions of the truth floating around. I don’t know what to believe anymore, except … I don’t think I do.”
How could she think that? She’d become my whole damn world since that first day on my lawn. “Look, I know I fucked up.” My voice sounded strange. Raspy and rough. Emotional. It was embarrassing but I took a step forward anyway. “Just …don’t go.”
“You waited too long,” she said, her voice clogged with tears. “I can’t undo this. I can’t forget.” She lowered her head into her
hands and scrubbed her face. “I’m too tired to think. I…I have to go. I’m sorry.”
Before I could stop her, she ran across the parking lot and jumped into the passenger side of her car, shutting the door. Her voice sounded muffled as her head dipped behind the seat. Cooper, her good fucking friend, leaned over and put his arms around her.
I clenched my fists and turned, my temper sliding into the red as I stalked toward the building and headed straight to Jonas’ office to get my things. First things first. I had to get Bobby or Jonas to close for me tonight. Then I planned to find my sister and kick her sorry, meddling ass.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sam
“Savanna!”
I slammed the front door, barely taking three steps before Mamá ran from the kitchen to block my path, her hands wrapped in a dishtowel between us. “Calm down, Samuel. I mean it.”
I looked past her to see Savanna on the couch, wide-eyed and poised to bolt. Too bad the little shit had nowhere to go without getting past me first. Ignoring Ma’s warning, I took another step.
“Samuel, calm down!” Ma shoved me back with her hand flat against my chest. “Control de sí mismo!”
I hesitated only a second and stepped around her while Vanna dove over the sofa’s back. Ma gripped and yanked my bicep, pulling me back briefly. “Samuel! You will not go near your sister with this temper! Do you hear me?”
Vanna poked her head up behind the couch. “I’m sorry, Samuel!” she shouted. “I swear it! Let me explain!”
No explanation existed that would matter to me. But Vanna was a girl. She was family. Two solid reasons I couldn’t and wouldn’t knock her to the floor, even if I wanted to. Scaring the hell out of her with empty threats was all I had left.
“Quit hiding,” I said, “you jealous, conniving little bi—”
Ma’s hand cracked me across the face before the expletive left my mouth, and the startling sting snapped me out of my single-mindedness long enough to take a stunned breath and look down at her.
“What would your father say seeing you act like this toward your little sister?” she asked, pointing a long, narrow finger at me. “Or using that language in my house? You’re supposed to protect your family. Not terrorize them to tears.”
Ma’s eyes watered the entire time she spoke—her usual reaction whenever she’d had to strike one of her children. On top of that, her pallor had worsened, making the hollowness in her cheeks more prominent. Not knowing if another migraine had caused her frail appearance or if I had, I took a full breath, focusing on the lasting burn in my cheek as perspective crept back in.
“Well?” she asked. “Are you finally calm?”
“Calm?” I glared at the sofa, knowing the little mocosa was back there. “Vanna’ll be lucky if I calm down by next April.” I looked to Ma. “Do you have any idea what happened tonight?”
“Yes, mijo.” She glanced to the floor. “Savanna said Peyton went to the gym. She knows the truth now.”
“Did either of you realize I had a cage match tonight?”
I heard Vanna sniffle behind the couch as Ma’s lips pressed together. She looked paler now than she had only a minute ago. She shook her head.
“Well, according to Bobby,” I said, “she saw most of it.” I rubbed my forehead, physically ill to remember the horrified expression on her face. Peyton had never looked at me that way, even when she thought I belonged to a stupid fight club.
“I’m sorry, mijo. And I understand why you’re upset.” She turned to the huge hazel eyes peering over the sofa back. “Savanna shouldn’t have interfered.” Her gaze swung back to mine. “But you must blame yourself for Peyton’s ignorance regarding the fighting, Samuel. Not your sister.”
My adrenaline dissipated a little more with every word, and as sanity crawled back in, a dull ache crept into my body. The blows I’d taken during the fight had begun to take hold. I had to take a hot shower soon or I’d feel this tomorrow in the worst way. I rested my fingers against my neck, forcing the cramp to relax. “It isn’t that she found out. I would have told her eventually. It was how she found out. She had no idea what she was walking into tonight.” My voice sounded thin. Ready to break. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me.”
“I really am sorry!” Vanna said tearfully.
I rolled my eyes, trying to remember how much I loved my sister. Trying to remember what we’d both endured together not too long ago. “Just come out, Vanna. I’m not going to kill you.”
Her head came up slowly, those hazel eyes bright with tears and smeared mascara. “You swear? You don’t plan to murder me even a little?”
I sighed and turned to our mamá, who pointed that finger a second time. “I have your word you won’t touch your sister in anger?”
“Of course, I won’t. Jeez, Ma. When did I hit Vanna last? I had to be seven.”
“You were ten,” Vanna said, crawling back onto the cushions. “I was seven. And it hurt.”
“So did the smack Papá gave me.” I looked at them both and shook my head, without hope as I turned for my room.
Ma watched me walk past her. “What are you going to do?”
I stalked toward my bedroom. “I’m taking a shower and going to bed.”
“I meant about Peyton,” she said, following me down the hallway. “I met her tonight. She was so pretty and polite. A lovely girl.”
Yeah. Lovely and gone. “Nothing.” I grabbed my still damp shirt and pulled it off, disappearing into the darkness of my room. “It’s over.”
She stopped to linger in the doorway, watching me move around in the dark as I rifled through the top dresser drawer. “She’ll get past the shock,” she said. “The violence of it, I mean. Give her the night to think on it. You can talk to her tomorrow.”
I shook my head, figuring out too late that I had no clean t-shirts. Fucking wonderful. I’d have to wash clothes tonight before I could crash. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me, Ma. You didn’t hear what she said.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
My curt tone probably hurt her feelings, but I was holding on by a thread and trying not to say something I couldn’t take back. It was all I could do to be curt. Grabbing a pair of dark sweat shorts and a white undershirt, I headed for the bathroom, pretending not to notice her recoil at the sight of my torso when I walked by her.
“I’m here if you want to talk,” she said softly.
“I don’t.”
“Goodnight then, mijo.”
I could barely manage a simple, “Mm,” as I shut myself in the bathroom.
Dropping my forehead against the wall, I stilled and let it all sink in. Fuck. I hung my fingers on my neck again, pulling at the bunching muscles. I’d let Javier beat on me a little too long tonight. It had felt good at the time. Like I was in a serious fight and not pretending to be someone’s opponent. I’d been pretending to be someone like Javier for months now. Someone who had bigger and better fights ahead of him. An actual path.
My neck hurt more than usual. I couldn’t recall if Javier had hit me or if I’d landed wrong. It was difficult to say on nights like tonight, when I didn’t feel much of anything until afterward. I needed an ice soak but heat would have to do. Turning the faucet as hot as I could tolerate, I let the water pound against my skin. For fifteen minutes, I stood under the spray, waiting for tonight’s events to settle into another bad memory. I closed my eyes and let the water run over my head. Damn, I’d never wanted to cry more in my life. Wished I could. Something to get rid of this painful lump in my throat that felt as big as a grapefruit. You waited too long, she’d said. I can’t forget.
That meant she couldn’t forgive me or get past what I’d done. She wouldn’t come back.
After the night I’d had, trying to relax was pointless. I finished the shower, took several ibuprofen, and put clothes into the washer. I stalked wordlessly through the living room to the kitchen, unable to look at Vanna
as the faint sound of Naruto Uzumaki’s voice drifted from the TV. Swearing under my breath, I opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. My sister knew I’d gotten hooked on the damn show while trying to get closer to Peyton. She had to be a prize sadist playing that shit right now.
Back in my room, I paced in the dark, holding the ice pack against my neck. I saw my old leather jacket sprawled on the corner chair and thought of the numerous times Peyton had worn it before leaving it in the Impala last week. She’d even worn it to school twice, as if she wanted everyone to know she was mine.
Mine. What a joke. How did I ever think Peyton Greene could be mine? She’d taken four years of Japanese just to understand anime better, when I couldn’t even manage to graduate high school in four years like everybody else. I glared at the coat until I couldn’t bear it any longer. Crossing the room, I grabbed it, lifted the thing to my nose and breathed in deeply to catch the faintest scent of her on the collar. The sweet smell glided over me like warm water and I closed my eyes. Definitely not my imagination. Definitely her.
Tossing it onto the chair, I doubted I could hate myself more. Would I have done things differently if I could go back? Possibly. Probably.
And she never would have gone out with me.
Pacing again, I tried recalling everything we’d said. To find a loophole. Something to fix this. Instead, the image of Cooper putting his arms around her materialized, and jealousy like nothing I’d ever felt burned in my gut, so potent, that I had to release the toxic energy or throw up. Without thought, I pivoted, pulled back, and punched the wall. A painful, nearly crippling vibration traveled up my arm, and I closed my eyes to feel every second of it.
The cracking sound should have been a bigger concern. I could have broken my hand but couldn’t bring myself to care. I turned and walked to the bed, moving my fingers and shaking my hand out as it pulsed with a warm, new pain. Dropping onto the mattress, I slumped forward and wedged my elbows against my thighs, contemplating never fighting again just for her.
I never thought I’d consider quitting for anyone, but for her, I tried.