by L. G. Kelso
"I—I…" Since when did I stammer?
"You what, Tor?"
I wanted to scream. Tell him I couldn't take the job. The words were right there, stuck in the back of my throat, but I couldn't get them out. If I took the where out of the equation, this would be the perfect job. The needed hours worked with school. And, really, I just needed any job I could get at this point.
Rent and bills were a bitch.
The lines around Jeff's eyes wrinkled, his age smacking me in the face even more so, as he smiled broadly.
I glanced around my surroundings. Breathing, leather hitting leather, air compressing and moving, arms and knees whipping and mats rustling filled my senses. If I went in any farther, would I be able to get back out?
Would I want to get back out?
And if I didn't, would I survive this time?
I scolded myself for thinking so emotionally.
Jeff looked happy. I would feel like a real ass if I let him down again.
"Yeah, okay." I nodded.
I let out a long breath as he led me, his arm now over my shoulder, into the mouth of the monster. I didn't want Jeff to think something so old still haunted me, so I stayed silent.
I scanned the room, but my eyes never found whom I searched for. Instead, my eyes narrowed on metal cage that filled the north corner. The lights above it were off, leaving half the caged in octagon in darkness. A wave of acidic nausea hit me. Flickers of light from the rest of the gym highlighted pieces of silver metal, sharp teeth surrounded by black.
"You know he isn't here, Tori. I'd never let him back in." The lines in Jeff's face sagged as his eyes dimmed, but he perked up again as he pushed farther into the strange thing that was my past and, somehow, currently infiltrating my present. "As you can see, I've left much of the warm-up section and weight area alone. Added some more cardio equipment. I took out two of the private studios to open this up. I left the east side alone, and rent that out for some extra income. We hold some fitness boxing classes there. We put the new ring in a little over a month ago."
The new boxing ring stood in the middle of the gym, separating the large mat section from the workout equipment area. The platform raised the bottom of the ring about two feet off the ground, and under the bright lights, it looked inviting. Two ropes ran horizontally across each of the four sides, connected to the four corners.
Two people currently sparred in it. They weren't staying still enough for me to get a good look at either of them. They moved around, throwing hits and taking them, and then the one in the hooded sweatshirt grabbed the other guy's leg and did a beautiful takedown. The technique was solid; each movement flowed into the next as if was as natural as walking for him. Admiration for the hooded guy fought with my unease over being back in the gym.
"Come with me. I want you to meet these two. You know much about the MMAUC? Still follow STRIKERS at all?"
I glared. As much as I had tried to avoid knowing anything about it, sometimes it just happened. MMAUC stood for Mixed Martial Arts Ultimate Championship, and was the biggest fighting organization in the world. STRIKERS was a top, though below MMAUC, fighting organization. The top pros from STRIKERS usually fed into the MMAUC.
That had been my plan.
Jeff chuckled, leading me toward the ring. "Sorry. Just thought I'd check. Well, one of those guys is a pro with STRIKERS. He's been working toward challenging the champ for the title."
Jeff always had pros around here. Pros were made here and they came here. If Jeff expected me to fangirl, he was going to be disappointed.
"You still have a few minutes before you have to run off, right?"
I eyed him carefully. Where was this leading?
"If I said no?"
"I'd call your bullshit."
"Then why'd you even ask?" I snorted.
"Already, it's just like old times."
"It can never be like old times, Jeff," I said, straining to keep my voice above ice-bitch tone. His hand moved to my head, and he screwed up my nice, neat bun. "You totally did that on purpose."
"Why would I do that? I love those tight little buns."
"The only tight little buns you love are when it's a woman's ass."
Jeff groaned. "I thought you saying shit like that when you were—what, twenty-one?—would be less horrifying than when you were thirteen. I guess I was wrong."
I shrugged. "You can thank your nephews."
"How are they?"
"Fine, I guess. I haven't heard from Bax in a while, but Dad said he's busy with grad school."
We were almost to the other side of the dojo now. The ring grew closer, the cutting of air and impact of hits louder.
"Shane," Jeff said once we were close. "Time to ice your shoulder." Jeff leaned toward me. "Shane's healing from a shoulder injury. Almost as good as new, but he still gets some swelling. He's on light duty."
"Ah," I said. Something on the ground distracted me. Bags, gloves, and mitts pressed against the wall. An open book rested on top of one of the bags. The color of the back cover looked familiar, but I wasn't close enough to tell exactly what book it was.
"Shane, this is my niece, Tori," Jeff said.
I looked up, away from the approaching book and bag. Jeff had his arm rested on a guy's shoulder—a guy I took to be Shane. Shane stuck out a gloved hand. I shook it.
"The Tori?" he asked, wiping off his face and the top of his shaved, black head with his T-shirt.
"What the hell does that mean?" I directed at Jeff.
Shane laughed. "I've just heard about you. Saw some of your photos on the wall, and Jeff and I got to talking. Pretty impressive. It's an honor to meet you. You coming back to the boxing world?"
"That would be negative," I said. "But thank you."
Shane gave a quick nod and then bounced past.
The other fighter bounced in the ring, the back of his hoodie to us. I figured this was it, end of the tour, but Jeff continued to push me by the shoulder.
"For old times' sake, can you do me a favor?"
"What?" I asked Jeff as we neared the bag and the book.
"I need him to go for another ten minutes and to work on strikes and cardio."
"Oh no. No. No. And hell no." My declaration was enough to stop me from squinting at the novel—why couldn't I make out the title—and glare at Jeff.
"Please. He still needs to keep his endurance up. Nothing major. Just let him work on some strikes and take defense."
"Jeff." I slipped my shoulder out from his hand and folded my arms across my chest.
"Fine. I understand."
Someone made a cat call. I turned around, looking for the man with a death wish. Jeff frowned, and the old fighter in him sparked. I scanned the dojo, looking for the moron. No girls.
Well, that was not okay.
"Jeff, where are my girls?"
There had been three of them. The only other three girls in the gym—and all girls I had brought into the gym and trained.
"The girls? Oh, right. The short one, what was her name? Justine? She and the other one stopped coming after you quit. Sheila moved. I think she still fights," Jeff said. "And apparently, I need to announce that you are my niece." His voice grew louder, but I put my hand on his arm.
"No, don't worry. But I'll do your favor."
Obviously, these boys hadn't seen many females in here. That needed to change. As I had learned when I was younger, there was only one way to make that change happen. "I'll hold mitts. That's it. And no jiu-jitsu. Just strikes, knees, kicks."
What the hell was I doing?
"I should have known I just needed to get a boy to piss you off."
"How about you let me spar with the guy who made the cat call?" I gave Jeff what I hoped to be charming smile, but I had a feeling I looked more like a psycho.
"Not a chance in hell."
"Why not?"
"I don't need you fucking up any of my fighters."
"He deserves it."
Jeff handed me a s
et of mitts. "Strikes, knees, kicks only. You got it. Make sure you keep him on his toes."
"Is that a challenge?"
"I never make challenges."
"Bullshit."
Jeff smiled and slid into the ring, between the ropes. Easy to get in and easy to get out. Thank God. After unbuttoning my button-up shirt, I dropped it to the floor. My undershirt would do much better.
"She's going to work mitts with you. Two five-minute rounds."
Two five-minute rounds of mitts were going to kick my ass. Jeff had too much faith that I can kept my endurance up.
In my periphery, the hooded man yanked his sweatshirt over his head and tossed it outside the ring.
I tightened my mitt with my teeth, wishing I had wrist wraps. As I messed with the mitts, I finally remembered what the novel was, just as someone said, "Who did the cat-call? That was completely inappropriate. Someone needs—"
I looked up.
My eyes locked with the librarian's.
Chapter Four
The voice stopped, the words ended abruptly. Max's mouth stayed open, from talking or surprise, I wasn't sure which. He had shaved and cut his hair.
"Someone needs?" Jeff prompted.
"To have a talk with him," Max finished, but his voice turned soft, the words an afterthought.
Neither of us moved. The fading bruise on his cheekbone made a lot more sense now. My brain tried to merge the librarian I had talked books with and the fighter who stood before me, but as a warm flush fell over my skin, I forced myself to stop thinking. I had enjoyed talking books with Max too much. His literary knowledge had pleasantly surprised me, but adding this, well, I didn't want to go there.
I couldn't go there.
"You two okay?" The combination of Jeff's voice, the feel of the mitts curving around my hands, and being in the ring sent my body into reaction. Muscle memory kicked in, my feet moved to fighting stance, and my back curved. Hands up, elbows in.
My movement sent Max into motion. He was no doubt taking it easy. My guess was that he wasn't sure what I could handle. I didn't blame him. I probably looked ill. He threw easy, light hits when I called them or held the mitts up. I was epically failing at making him work.
This was almost as embarrassing as making him think he smelled bad. No, scrap that. This was way more embarrassing.
Somehow, his light movements didn't make me worry too much. I stayed in the present. His hits were light, easy, and flowed into one another. No angry strikes, just relaxed movement.
Things improved a few minutes in. I stopped trying to think so hard, and simply allowed muscle memory to come to the surface and to feel it, to find the rhythm.
"One, two, three, six, two. One, one, two, three, two. One two, one two. One, two, six, three," I called out combinations I hadn't done in years, and he hit the mitts with punches that correlated the numbers I called. I moved lightly on my feet, getting in his space and forcing him to compensate. The speed and intensity of his combinations increased as I called them faster.
By the end of the ten minutes, my sweat drenched my undershirt.
My eyes fell on Max. A light sheen of sweat coated his skin, probably from the sparring with the other guy before me. His T-shirt stuck to his chest and across muscular shoulders, the sleeves tight over deltoids and ending in the middle of pumped biceps. Bits of a black, inked design stuck out from under his right sleeve.
I forced my gaze to my mitts as I freed my hand out of the damp cradle. From nearby, Velcro pulled apart, two gloves padded to the floor, and a water bottle cap flipped open as I stared at the mitts.
Don't look; don't look.
WHY ARE YOU LOOKING?
"So," Max said after he pulled the water bottle away from his mouth. "I feel like an idiot now."
"Why?" I asked, my eyes finally settling on him after my attempt to stare at the mitts failed.
"For recommending you take self-defense classes. Obviously, you didn't need them. I had a feeling from watching you, but since you didn't mention it, I assumed I just misread the situation. Oh, God. I didn't mean it to offend you, if it did. I wasn't saying, you know, that you couldn't punch or anything. Great, now I feel like an idiot and an asshole." He rubbed his hand over his head, causing his short hair to stand up and then smashing it down as he rubbed again. His other hand bounced the water bottle against his leg.
"Don't worry about it."
"Are you going to be coming here?"
"I'm going to be working at the front desk."
"Well, welcome."
"Thanks." I wiped a piece of hair off my forehead and shoved it behind my ear, and got a whiff of myself. Holy crap, did I smell, and strangely, as horrible as I reeked, it made me happy. I missed the sweat.
What had I done?
"Tori?" Jeff said.
"Hmmm?"
"When do you want to start work?"
"Monday?"
Jeff scraped the stubble on the side of his face with his nail. "Monday works. You want to hang around some more?"
"No. I need to go do school work." I slipped out of the ring. "See ya," I called to Max over my shoulder. For some reason, I couldn't look at him.
I hurried out before I could change my mind. I needed the job. Somehow, I would keep my past in the past. I could go in, do my job, and leave before any of it seeped back into my life.
And I'd have to stay clear of Max.
He was a fighter. He was a part of a life that I couldn't be in.
As soon as I could find another job, I would and I would leave every bit of this world behind once again.
Chapter Five
The following Monday, I showed up a few minutes late to work because I had spent too long banging my head against the mirror in my bathroom, trying to figure out how the eff to get out of my new job.
I had come up with a million ways, but they were all on par with "my dog ate my homework," and not something I could stomach to say to Jeff. I had already abandoned him once. No matter how much the thought of being back in the gym made me want to hurl, I couldn't screw him over again.
And toothpaste. I really needed toothpaste. Stupid toothpaste.
I had a feeling today was going to be craptastic.
Max and Shane were on the mats. Shane had Max in his guard while working a Kimura, a shoulder lock, on Max. Max managed to escape the lock but ended up under Shane.
Nausea knotted my stomach into a tight ball. Shane mounted Max, and was in the perfect position to pound him. I hesitated by the entryway, watching. Shane threw a few light punches that Max blocked and then went for an arm-bar. Shane didn't do much pounding and Max stayed calm. My nerves eased.
Ground and pound definitely didn't slip past me anymore.
The twitching in Jeff's eye increased, and within two minutes, he called a break. I went back to my desk. The water fountain hummed and I looked behind me. Max stood at the fountain, filling up his water bottle.
His drawn face and the tension in his mouth made my earlier question slip out. "Are you okay?"
He looked at me, and at first, I thought I had seriously overstepped some unseen boundary. But just before I could apologize for asking, water lipped the top of his bottle before running down the plastic and onto his hand. He yanked his arm back, swore, and sighed.
Someone was definitely not okay.
However, it was also definitely not my place to harass him.
He popped his mouthguard out, rinsed it in the water fountain and hooked it over his ear. "I'm...well."
Well, my ass. Nevertheless, I simply nodded and turned back to the papers in front of me.
"Why do you think something is wrong?" he asked.
"You seem distracted." It sounded stupid, especially since I didn't know Max that well.
"Oh. You saw that?"
I looked at him, purposefully quirking my eyebrow. "Saw what?"
"That." He gestured toward the dojo. "I completely suck today."
"Everyone has sucky days. You're human after all.
"
The right side of his mouth twisted up. "I'm sure you wouldn't beat yourself up at all after having a sucky day."
"Who said I have sucky days?" I winked. "Anyway. Are you all right?"
He dropped his hand from his mouth after taking a drink from his water bottle. Without his bent arm in the way, I realized that I had a completely exposed view of his bare chest. Abs bulged down his torso, pressed under taut skin that shone with sweat, and disappeared into the waist of his lose Gi pants. The black lines on his chest, which were blurred under his white shirt earlier, inked across his right pectoral and shoulder in beautiful, sharp designs.
The man was doing a public disservice by wearing a shirt all the time.
I could handle this in one of two ways, I realized.
I could either pretend for my own good not to have noticed and ignore the fact that he was gorgeous, or I could accept that he obviously had the body of the amazing athlete he was, and that there was no surprise in that or any need to feel guilty or embarrassed.
I thought about that last one for a second. I simply appreciated his body because he no doubt took care of it and it reflected his dedication to his skill.
Realizing I was staring, although hopefully not openly gawking, I said the first thing that came to my mind. "Sorry. You just...have muscles."
And I strangely want to touch you.
"Thanks," he said, as though it wasn't weird for me to say that at all. "I guess I am distracted. I have to take the GRE in a few days, and my damn phone won't stop ringing. And Jeff is freaking out that I'm going to be going back to school."
"No wonder you're getting your ass kicked." I grinned, trying to ease some of the tension that had picked up in his shoulders.
"Well, at least I'm out there, getting my ass kicked." He closed the distance between the water fountain and me, and leaned his elbows onto the desk. "Instead of sitting here at a desk." He smiled that crooked one where the right corner of his mouth went up and laugh lines softened his jawline.
That was the smile that had eased my apprehension when I first met him. He had come in late one night, muscles visible under his shirt, looking serious. It wasn't that he had given me a bad vibe; it was that strangers had started to make me nervous after I learned what someone I trusted was capable of. As soon as I went to the counter to take his order, he had given me that grin. After that, he never made me worry.