DS Fight Club Box Set (Volumes 0-3)

by Josie Kerr

  Bailey had known that Tripp expected sex that night, and she tried to ready herself for it, but their first time had been nothing like Tripp expected and everything that Bailey feared. He was just on the other side of tipsy, and rough, and she was nervous and tense. When it was all over, Tripp had been completely unsympathetic about her tears, instead immediately rolling over to pass out. And the next morning, he had the gall to say “Wow, you really were a virgin” when he saw the blood on the sheets.

  She should have called off the engagement right then and there.

  Engagement.

  Bailey snorted at the thought. Hindsight being twenty/twenty, she knew that the ill-timed engagement announcement was more about hurting and punishing Em for daring to leave Tripp than it ever was about his wanting a permanent relationship with Bailey.

  And of course, when she did finally leave Tripp, after months of his lies and emotional abandonment, he went off the deep end and returned to the first person who dared to reject him, Em. He began first by verbally harassing her, and then ultimately, he broke into Em’s house and physically confronted her. And that confrontation ended with several shattered things: Rory’s hand, Tripp’s jaw, and Em’s glass collection.

  Now, Bailey was facing life as a single mother with a jailbird babydaddy, something that everyone in her previous life had expected and that she fought for ten long years to make sure did not become a reality.

  Best laid plans and all.

  Bailey shook herself, her body and her emotions, willing herself to pull herself out her funk and be thankful for all that she did have.

  She had wonderful, wonderful friends, friends that helped her find a nice home and a good job, friends that supported her and cared for her, no questions asked.

  Bailey cupped her six-month baby bump, another something that she was thankful for. She had never been anything but thankful for the baby, regardless of the state of her relationship with the baby’s father. And at least Tripp hadn’t wanted her to terminate the pregnancy – he had that going for him.

  Bailey leaned forward as far as she could over the bathroom counter, peering at herself in the mirror, trying to determine if she needed more makeup or something to give herself a little oomph. She swiped one more layer of mascara and a light coat of lip gloss and stepped back to survey herself.

  Not bad.

  Bailey turned to the side and tugged at the sparkly cardigan.

  No, that looks stupid. And tacky.

  She had always hated when women tried to squeeze themselves into their pre-pregnancy clothes, and she was not about to become one of them, even if she didn’t look as festive as she’d like. She unbuttoned the cardigan, except for the very top button, and let her tummy stick through the opening.

  Okay, that’s kind of cute. She nodded at her reflection.

  “Let’s go, little girl,” Bailey said to her bump. “Time to ring a New Year, and a new beginning.”

  Bailey arrived at Rory's luxurious Midtown apartment just in time for the pre-fight show. Ashley Richards, Rory's NotGirlfriend, was in the kitchen with Em, putting together the finishing touches on a delicious looking hors d'oeuvres dinner.

  “Bailey! I'm glad you were feeling up to joining us,” Em said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Did you have any problems parking?”

  “No problems at all,” Bailey said, looking around Rory's apartment. Wow. “Rory, this apartment is unreal. I can't believe you actually live here.”

  Rory fiddled with some cords behind the television. He chuckled at Bailey's wide-eyed looks. He shrugged and grinned, and then turned his concentration back to the television.

  If she didn't know better, she would think Rory Doyle was a typical playboy bachelor with more money than sense, but Bailey knew that was just for show. The big, red-headed Irishman was generally the first in the office and the last to leave, and in most of his spare time, he volunteered at a small rec center, doing everything from teaching classes to getting up on the roof and repairing it.

  Rory blew out a breath and threw up his hands. “I think I need a fifteen-year-old to make this function. Where's the sound engineer when you need him?” he said with a laugh.

  Em rolled her eyes. “You know damn well you should have hooked that thing up before the night of the fight, and don't you dare call Mick to ask him to help you. He's visiting with Duke and I want him to have as much time with him as he can.”

  “Duke's pretty bad off, then?” Rory said, his smile fading from his face. “I knew he must be feeling pretty rough to not go to Vegas to see the fight in person.”

  “No, he's not doing well at all. Mick said that he's trying to convince him to go into hospice, but Duke isn't having it. Maybe when Colin gets back to Houston, he can reason with his father.”

  “Let me look at it, Rory,” Bailey said. “I'm pretty handy. Well, as long as I don't have to crawl anywhere these days,” she added with a chuckle, patting her not unsubstantial baby bump.

  “Have at, love.”

  Bailey peered behind the big television and spied the problem. She was too bulky to fit, so she told Rory what to hook into where, and instantly, the raucous sounds of cheering filled the living room.

  “Oi! Brilliant! You're getting another bonus, girlie,” Rory said with a laugh, his Irish accent becoming more pronounced with his excitement.

  “Now you can have the snacks, Rory, although you’re probably not hungry anymore,” Ashley said. “I know you’ve been sneaking food.” Rory just shrugged and gave Ashley a kiss on the cheek.

  The four of them settled down to watch the pre-fight commentary.

  “Oh, this is the life. Three beautiful women fixing my electronics and making me tasty food. What more could a bloke want?” Rory grinned.

  “You’re getting spoiled, Rory,” Em said with a snort. “You’re becoming insufferable.”

  Rory continued grinning at her as he popped a canapé in his mouth.

  “Y’all need to be quiet. What’s the good having the pre-fight commentary on when you can’t listen to it because some people are flapping their damn gums?” Ashley growled.

  “Wow, she’s really serious about this MMA stuff, isn’t she?” Bailey whispered to Em.

  “Yep, she’s crazy. Wait until the fight starts. It’ll be a hoot.”

  “Ermengarde Davidson, you need to zip your lip,” Ashley hissed.

  Em made the zipping and locking motion over her mouth while Bailey giggled.

  “I thought that Mick’s brother was in the main event?” Bailey asked, confused. She didn’t hear any mention of Colin Brennan.

  Just then, the face of a chestnut-haired version of Em’s boyfriend flashed on the screen, with the name Bren “Ice Cold” Carmichael splashed under his ruggedly handsome face.

  “Wow. Okay, so Bren Carmichael is Mick’s baby brother, Colin?”

  “Duke’s middle name is Colin,” Rory explained as he made quick work of the plate of hors d’oeuvres. “Mick’s mam actually named him after his da. When she gave him up, Colin took Duke’s last name and made his mother’s last name his first, making him Brennan Colin Carmichael. Very posh.”

  Bailey was mesmerized by the man on the screen. His face was all intensity and seriousness, but there was a spark of mischief in his silvery blue eyes that said that he just might play as hard as he fought.

  “Wow, he’s even bigger than Mick,” Rory said, as the fighter’s stats flashed on the screen. At 6’8 and at 265 pounds, Ice Cold Carmichael was at the top of the heavyweight class.

  “That is one big-ass boy,” Ashley said.

  “No, that’s a man,” Bailey said, her voice breathy.

  Both Em and Ashley looked at each with raised eyebrows.

  Bailey groaned. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  Rory barked a laugh, his eyes twinkling. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Colin is at the height of his career, but he’s not getting any younger. His body has got to
be breaking down. And his opponent is young and hungry. It’s going to be a good match, but it could be brutal.”

  Bailey couldn’t tear her eyes from the television. She continued to watch him as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and threw punches, big jabs at the air that made the tattoos on his upper arms ripple.

  Despite her intentions of going home early, Bailey stayed on the couch, eyes glued to screen for what she hoped was a short but exciting fight.

  Las Vegas

  The crowd was going wild, but Colin didn’t hear a thing. He stood in the middle of the cage, chest still heaving from exertion, awaiting the judges’ decision.

  Man, I am getting too old for this.

  The fight was closer than anyone thought it would be, but during the final moments of the final round, Colin’s superior grappling and ground and pound style paid off. He was pronounced the winner by unanimous decision.

  Thank fuck. Now I can get out of here.

  The announcer moved in for the customary post-fight statement in the cage. Colin took a deep breath, hoping that the people watching television and the Jumbotron didn’t see his nervousness for what it was.

  The sports reporter was practically yelling at him to be heard about the screaming crowd. “People have been speculating that you were too old to be in the cage, that you didn’t want it enough, but you’ve proved them wrong yet again. What’s next for Ice Cold Carmichael?”

  Colin answered with his usual gruff candor. “Tony, first off all I’d like to thank everyone that’s supported me all the years I’ve been fighting. What’s next for me is retirement. I’ve been a fighter for twenty years, and a professional fighter for eight. Now it’s time for me to be with my family.”

  He heard the murmur of the crowd as he left the octagon, rumblings that quickly turned to a roar of questions as reporters clamored for more details. Junior chased after him, blocking the more aggressive interviewers from Colin’s personal space.

  When they got back to the dressing rooms, a crowd of reporters and fans had already gathered. Colin groaned. He wasn’t terribly outgoing on a good day, and absolutely hated the PR circus that surrounded the big fights, and today, despite the huge victory and even bigger paycheck, he just couldn’t deal with it. “Junior, can you take care of this?” Colin asked as he returned a thin chain to its usual place around his neck.

  “C, I’ve got it. The laptop’s already set up. Mick and Duke should be waiting for you.” Colin’s trainer slapped him on the back. “By the way, good job, C. The way you went out will have people talking about you for years.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Junior.”

  As Colin made his way to the computer that was set up in the dressing room, he was suddenly exhausted. He moved the mouse to wake up the screen, and Mick’s face appeared. He was looking toward something off camera and his brow was furrowed in a frown.

  “Hey, Mickey,” Colin said.

  “Colin! Congratulations, baby brother. You did well.” Mick smiled into the camera, but Colin knew there was something wrong.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Duke?”

  “He’s gone to lie down, but Colin, you need to get back here, tonight if possible. He could barely sit up for the fight, and I know he’s hurting. He actually took some painkillers tonight.”

  “Well, shit. I’ll see if I can get a late flight out. I knew I should have postponed this fight.”

  “No, Duke would have kicked your ass if you put off this fight for him. Just get back to Houston as soon as you can, brother.”

  They said their goodbyes and Colin quickly showered without waiting for anyone to check him out for a concussion or other injuries.

  “Hey, Junior...” Colin started to say, but was interrupted by Junior handing him his duffle bag.

  “Already taken care of, Gordo. Plane’s ready for you as soon as you can get to the airport. I’ll handle everything else. You just get back home, okay? There’s a car waiting by the side entrance.” Colin slapped his trainer/manager/best friend on the back, pulling him into a half hug, and then grabbed the duffel bag and slipped out the side door. Sometimes there were big advantages to having a family jet.

  A blonde woman wearing a pair of short shorts, high heels and a “Team Ice Cold” t-shirt that was two sizes too small slithered up to Colin as he made his way to the waiting car. He groaned with frustration.

  “Look, Andrea, I don’t have time for whatever drama you’re cooking up. I have to get to the airport.”

  Colin was a man with few regrets, but the biggest one he had was letting Andrea Michaels into his bed. The other fighters warned him that she was a manipulative, opportunistic gold digger, but she had shown him a softer side when he had desperately needed it.

  Unfortunately, he had been wrong in his initial opinion that Andrea was merely misunderstood.

  “Bren, baby,” Andrea purred, sidling up to him and stroking his chest. “What about giving me a ride to the airport? In celebration of your win?” She put her back to the limo door and pulled Colin to her.

  Colin made a face. “Andrea, move, please. I gotta get on this flight.” He was this close to physically moving her out of the way, but wanted to avoid touching the woman at all. She didn’t move but instead, snaked her arms around his neck.

  “Aw, C, don’t be that way,” she purred, moving her hands over his broad back and making her way down to his ass. “You know we’d have a good time.”

  Colin growled in frustration. Rather than engage her in a conversation, Colin decided subterfuge would be quicker. He cocked an eyebrow at her, placed his hands on her hips, and leaned into her. As she moved away from the door to thrust her body closer to his, he deftly picked her up and deposited her in the opposite direction. He quickly got into the car and slammed the door. He could see the driver’s amused eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Dude, just don’t. I needed to get to the airport twenty minutes ago. I’ll pay any tickets you get.” The driver nodded and took off through the arena’s parking lot. Colin didn’t turn around, but he knew Andrea was throwing the mother of all hissy fits behind him.

  When Colin arrived in Houston four hours later, he found his father, Duke, and his half-brother, Mick, in Duke’s den, smoking cigars and drinking a glass of eighty-year-old Scotch.

  When Colin halted in the door, stunned at the sight, Duke drawled at him, “There’s nothing like morphine and Scotch for what ails ya.” He raised his glass toward Colin.

  “I know you won’t want a whisky, kid, but at least have something to drink. We’ll toast your victory and my send off.”

  Colin caught Mick’s eye as the older brother poured him two fingers of the expensive liquor.

  “My father bought this Scotch the day I was born. Said to open it on my wedding day. Seein’ as how I never got married, it’s just been sitting on the shelf, collecting dust. You two boys are my family, though, and a fine family you are. I waited thirty years for all of us to be together, so here’s to us, to our family.”

  Colin and Mick raised their glasses to Duke, each man in lost in his own thoughts. When Duke nodded at him, Mick excused himself from the den. Duke looked at his son.

  “I know you’re going to pester me about hospice, Colin, but save your breath. I’m not going to be around long enough for y’all to hassle with it. I just wanted my boys to have a final drink with me and for me to be able to tell them that I love them. Mickey and I have already talked. Now, it’s your turn, now that you’re back from being a badass in Las Vegas.” Colin laughed softly at that. “Son, I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. It’s an honor for me to call you family. I only have one request for you, Colin: you need to find someone to share your life with, to create a family with. I was damn lucky that I finally got a family. Don’t wait until you’re forty-five to start looking.”

  Colin started to reply but Duke’s coughing interrupted him. When the coughing fit stopped, Colin noticed that the handkerchief Duke used
to wipe his mouth was covered in blood.

  “Colin, go in the kitchen and get me a glass of water, if you will,” Duke said. The man’s face was white and his breathing shallow.

  Colin met Mick in the kitchen. “This is really it, isn’t it?” Colin asked. “They gave him six weeks, two years ago. Stubborn bastard. He’s going to do things on his own timetable, period.” He laughed softly, but the breath he drew in was shaky. Mick grabbed Colin’s shoulder, but pulled him into a full bear hug when the younger man started sobbing.

  “Fuck, this is hard, Mickey.” Colin wiped his eyes and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Let’s go finish that drink.”

  They didn’t hear any coughing when they got into the den. Duke sat in his recliner, eyes closed. Colin chuckled, and pulled a blanket off the couch to cover his father. He didn’t know how many nights Duke slept in this recliner instead of the bed. Colin tucked the blanket up under his chin and touched the man’s face. Duke’s head nodded down, and his upper body collapsed sideways.

  “Duke!” exclaimed Colin. “Mickey! I think....” Mick’s hand on his shoulder confirmed what Colin knew to be true but didn’t want to believe. His father was dead.

  Chapter Two

  Three weeks later

  Colin eyed Rory’s casted hand. “You taking care of that hand the way you’re supposed to?”

  Rory, instead of looking at Colin, looked at his brother. “He’s as bad as you are with the mothering.” Mick chuckled while Colin continued scowling.

  “At least that asshole is still in jail, right?” Colin asked.

  “Yes, he is, and he’s going to be there for quite a while longer,” Mick said.

  “Good.” That’s where that fuck needs to be.

  Rory looked from one man’s face to the other. Two sets of identical eyes looked back at him.

  “You know this is kind of creepy, right?” he said with a chuckle.

  “We’re brothers. It’s not like we’re random people that look alike,” Mick said. Colin nodded.