Against the Ropes

by Carly Fall

  “It feels better,” he said. “And I have you to thank for that.”

  She said nothing, just brought his arm across his chest. And . . . that was the movement that hurt the worst. He heard a slight pop and closed his eyes.

  Regan laid the arm by his side. “I heard the pop,” she said. “Not good.”

  Dylan sat up.

  “So what’s next?” he asked.

  “I’ll get some ice,” she said. “Then rest for a bit. I think Max is taking you out to spar down at one of the gyms today.”

  Dylan nodded and watched her as she went into the house. Today she wore a brown skirt and blue shirt. He loved the way the skirt swished around her thighs when she walked, making it look as though her hips were swaying more than they really were.

  Max had mentioned last night that he’d set up a sparring session for him. It wouldn’t be a hardcore match, just someone to get into the ring and work on his technique with. Max would be there the whole time, barking orders at him.

  Regan returned and handed him the icepack. Thanks to her, the bag of peas was long gone. He moved over on the table, and she sat down beside him. They stared out into the yard, a companionable silence between them as they listened to the sounds of suburbia. There was a lawnmower going somewhere in the neighborhood, and kids were playing in the backyard a few doors down. A faint smell of barbeque permeated the air.

  After a moment, he said, “We’re going to have fresh oranges in a week or so. It looks like they’re almost ripe.”

  Regan nodded. She reached over and laced her hand with his, and Dylan’s heartbeat kicked up a couple of notches.

  “So, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night,” she said.

  Dylan studied her profile as she stared out into the yard. The finches were chirping, and the scent of orange blossoms was strong. It was a gorgeous spring day.

  Spring. A time of renewal and rebirth. A time to shed the old skin and grow into the new. Could it be possible that his relationship with Regan would move into a rebirthing phase?

  Or maybe it was already there. Maybe it had just moved at such a slow pace he hadn’t noticed it.

  Or maybe she was going to say that this was the death of their relationship, which he hoped like hell wasn’t the case.

  “And?” he prompted her.

  Regan turned to him and studied his face. It was as if she were memorizing it as she looked him over carefully.

  She didn’t say anything for a beat, and Dylan’s gut clenched. Silence was not his friend when it came to finding out his path with Regan.

  Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she turned her gaze out to the yard again.

  “Regan—”

  Her lips came down on his, her hand threaded through his hair, pulling him close. The familiar smell of her cucumber-melon shampoo engulfed him as her hair tickled his cheek. Her lips moved slowly, yet passionately over his, sending fire licking through his body, and her fingers gently caressed his neck, sending jolts of energy down his spine. He reached around her waist and pulled her closer, turning his body so they were chest-to-chest, and he felt the hard peaks of her nipples press into him. After a moment, she pulled away. “Please don’t break my heart again, Dylan,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Dylan’s heart soared, and he stood up. He remembered that Max had a doctor’s appointment in downtown Phoenix and wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. He was going to take advantage of his time alone with Regan.

  He picked her up, carried her into the house and to his bedroom. He laid her out on his bed, her blonde hair fanning out against the black comforter.

  Lowering himself on top of her, he said, “I promise I won’t hurt you again, Regan. “I love you. I promise.”

  Dylan kissed her tenderly, deciding that he would go slowly. He would get to reacquaint himself with every blessed inch of her, and savor the hills, valleys, and smooth skin he had missed so much.

  As their mouths moved together, Regan’s hand traced up and down his back, finding the hem of his T-shirt. Her fingertips blazed trails of fire over his skin and she brushed over his ribs.

  He sat up and lifted her shirt over her head, then removed his own. A pink, lace bra housed her breasts, and he flicked the front clasp, moving the cups to the side. He suckled one breast, bringing her nipple to a tight peak, and then the other. He slowly peppered her stomach with kisses, and he thought he tasted a slight bit of coconut, her skin satin beneath his lips and fingers.

  Slipping her skirt down her long, toned legs, he swirled his tongue over her hip bones and lower stomach.

  He gazed at her from head to foot, and decided her body was more vibrant and beautiful than he remembered. How could he have let his memory of her silky skin, soft moans and strong, yet pliant body fade? How could he have ever been so stupid and arrogant to do anything to force her away?

  He kissed her kneecaps and slowly made his way back up to her lips. “I can’t believe I pushed you away, Regan.”

  Her breath hitched as he slipped his finger into her slick folds, and her hips undulated at his touch.

  Their lips met passionately, their tongues dancing together lazily. Regan threaded her fingers through his hair and, suddenly, he felt a buzzing on his thigh.

  Regan pulled back and looked at him questioningly. Dylan sat up and realized that his phone was still in his pocket. He pulled it out and showed Regan, and she laughed.

  “Technology ruins romance,” he said with a grin.

  “I thought you had some toy or something going off in your pants!”

  Dylan glanced at the phone, didn’t recognize the number and turned it off. He threw it on the nightstand and stood, unbuckling the belt on his jeans and letting them fall to the ground.

  “Toys, huh?” he said, blanketing himself over Regan again.

  “Well, all of a sudden you started vibrating down there,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what was going on!”

  “Did you like it?”

  Regan stared up at him. “I . . . I didn’t think about it.”

  “Then maybe I’ll get one of those vibrating cockrings and we’ll see if you do.”

  Regan laughed. “If that’s what you want, but I’m good with just this,” she said, reaching down and cupping him.

  He groaned, and thrust his hips forward.

  “It feels so good to have you touch me, Regan,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve missed you. I feel like a part of me has been gone for so long, and I’m now just getting it back.”

  His shaft found her hot center, and he slid in with ease. As he slowly ground his hips into her core, he gazed down at her, feeling as though he had found his other half again.

  “Me, too, Dylan,” she whispered as she pulled his head down, their lips meeting again.

  He never wanted to stop making love to Regan, but he also knew that Max would be home soon, and if they were caught . . . Dylan would be on the receiving end of a verbal thrashing he didn’t want. He needed to talk to Max and make sure he understood that he wanted Regan in his life for the rest of his days. That conversation couldn’t start with Max catching Dylan and Regan in bed together.

  Dylan rolled to the side, putting Regan on top. She rocked on him, planting her hands on his chest. He ran his hands up and down her sides from her ribcage to her hips, gently kneading her breasts and squeezing her nipples until they were hardened pebbles.

  As she closed her eyes, the sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting a halo effect on her once again. She was his angel.

  When she came, Dylan listened to her cries of pleasure as if they were a symphony and actually felt tears sting his eyes. It was the most beautiful sound. Her core contracted around him, over and over, milking him, and his own climax approached like a freight train. He thrust his hips, trying to get deeper into her as he held her in place. The orgasm numbed his mind; the pleasure tore through his body as if it had taken on a life of its own. He heard his own cries as Regan collapsed against him. He wra
pped his arms around her, and he knew that he had found his home again with Regan. He would do everything in his power to make sure that this small building block wasn’t destroyed.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Regan stood under the hot spray of the shower and smiled. Being with Dylan was like someone had lit the candle of life within her. She felt an energy that had been missing since she walked away five years ago. Her body felt alive, her soul soared with happiness.

  As she washed her hair, she thought of what Dylan had said about getting a part of himself back. She felt the same. Since he’d broken her heart, she’d felt like a piece of her very being was missing. Granted, she couldn’t say that she had done much to replace it—in fact she had taken steps to make sure that didn’t happen. She’d moved to a small town that offered little or no opportunity for her to meet anyone to start a new life. It was as if her subconscious knew Dylan would find his way back to her again, and she just needed to be available for it to happen.

  This both pleased and upset her. On a rational level, it upset her to think that she had been waiting around for a man who hurt her so badly. But on a magical level, where fate and destiny played a role, it had been what was needed until they could get to a place where they were both playing on the same field, so to speak.

  There was a knock on the door, and Regan smiled, wondering if Dylan was going to join her in the shower. Erotic images filtered through her mind, and she almost hoped he wanted to, but they were cutting it very close with Max coming home. They needed to sit Max down and talk to him about where their relationship was going, not have him blow a gasket if he caught them showering together.

  The door opened, and Regan peeked around the corner of the curtain. Dylan stood in the doorway, fully dressed and obviously distressed.

  Fear coiled within her. “What’s wrong?”

  Dylan’s eyes welled. “That call I hung up on? It was the hospital. Max has been in an accident. We need to go. Now.”

  Regan nodded and shut off the water.

  “What happened?” she asked, grabbing the towel from the rack.

  “I . . . I don’t know. The message was from a doctor at the hospital who said I needed to get down there immediately. It sounded bad.”

  Regan stepped out of the shower and looked up at Dylan. He was on the verge of panicking, but the fact of the matter was they knew nothing about Max’s condition. They needed to get information.

  “Did you call the doctor back?” she asked, taking another towel off the rack and drying her hair.

  “Yeah. It went to voice mail.”

  “What hospital is he in?”

  Dylan told her, and she moved past him to get to her room. “I’ll be ready in ten. Go get directions to the place, Dylan.”

  As Regan pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt, she prayed that everything would be okay with Max. If it wasn’t, she didn’t know how Dylan would handle it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They arrived at the hospital a half hour later.

  “I’m here to see Max Garcia,” Dylan said to the gray-haired woman at the counter with the milky blue eyes of old age. She wore a light blue jacket that matched her eyes, as did the eye shadow she wore.

  She tapped away at her keyboard, and he felt his impatience growing with each second. He was pissed at the doctor who wouldn’t pick up his phone and, therefore, the lack of information.

  “He’s in ICU,” she said.

  “And?”

  “I can’t let anyone up there but family,” she said.

  “I’m his . . . son,” Dylan said, hoping she didn’t catch the hesitation in his voice.

  The woman glanced over at Regan.

  “This is my wife,” Dylan said, a little surprised at how easy he spoke the words.

  For good measure, Regan threaded her arm through his.

  “Okay,” the woman said, handing them both a badge. “Make sure you identify yourself to the nurse on duty.”

  They found the elevator up to ICU and watched as the numbers above them changed.

  “He’s going to be okay,” Regan said, squeezing Dylan’s hand.

  He nodded, wanting to believe her, but he had a bad feeling in his gut. There was nothing okay about any of this.

  The door opened, and they walked toward a nurse’s desk. The woman looked up at them with hard, brown eyes. She was in her forties, with short, brown hair and about thirty extra pounds housed in her blue scrubs. The glare she gave them let them know she was highly protective of the patients on the ICU floor.

  “We’re here to see Max Garcia,” Dylan said, flashing her the badge he had been given below.

  The nurse narrowed her eyes at him. “Do I know you?”

  Dylan took a deep breath, trying to calm the panic. He needed to see Max, not play twenty questions with the nurse.

  “No. I need to see my father. Please.”

  At least he was still remembering his manners.

  The nurse stood and motioned him to follow.

  They passed partly open curtains that somewhat hid the patients. Some were in their final days or hours of life, while others would get out of the hospital to live another day. Their footsteps echoed on the tile floor, the smell of antiseptic permeated the air.

  The nurse stopped at room 401, and pulled back the curtain. She looked Dylan in the eye. “I do know you. You’re that boxer guy.”

  Dylan nodded, his gaze going to Max. He had been prepared for a lot of blood and bruises, but he saw very little. It looked like Max was sleeping.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “He passed out at the wheel. Thankfully, he swerved to the side of the road and didn’t injure anyone else. It’s the other thing that is worrisome.”

  “What other thing?” Dylan asked, his heart beating so fast, sweat breaking out on his brow.

  The nurse looked confused. “He never told you?”

  Dylan’s gut clenched, and Regan’s gripped his arm harder. “Told me what?”

  The nurse shook her head. “Honey, I’m not supposed to tell you this, okay? It goes against all the HIPPA rules and regulations they passed, but he’s got stage four prostate cancer.”

  Dylan’s memories shot back, recalling how Max had lost weight, his appetite, and his energy slowly over the past year. If Max knew he had cancer, why didn’t he get treatment? The room began to spin, and Dylan felt a good dose of nausea roll through his stomach.

  “The doctor can give you the details when he comes back through.”

  He said nothing to the nurse, and Regan squeezed his arm again.

  “Thank you,” Regan said. “What was your name again?”

  “Judy,” the nurse said.

  “Thank you, Judy,” Regan said, giving Dylan a gentle shove past the curtain.

  Dylan stared at Max. It seemed he had physically shrunk since he’d seen him two hours ago. He looked small and frail under the white blanket, a dim light illuminating his lined face and grey hair.

  “Cancer?” Dylan whispered as he pulled up a chair next to Max’s bed. “He’s got cancer? Stage four?”

  Regan sat down next to him and grasped his bicep again. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Dylan,” she said quietly. “We’ll get through this together.”

  They sat with Max for about an hour before he opened his eyes. He looked over Dylan and Regan.

  “Hey, you two,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  “Max, what’s going on?” Dylan asked.

  Max sighed and closed his eyes again for a moment. When he opened them, there was a little bit of the fire the man usually possessed.

  “While you were in jail, I was treated for prostate cancer,” Max said. “And it was gone.”

  “And now?”

  Max shrugged. “It metastasized, Dylan. Went into my pelvic bones. The doctor thinks it may be in my brain now too since I passed out while driving.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Why didn’t you get it treated?
Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Max looked at Dylan for a long time. “I wanted to be around for you, Dylan, until you got your life back together. My chances at survival weren’t too good if I went through treatment and I would have been really sick. I figured I’d play the game as long as I could, and then just . . .”

  Dylan sat back in his chair, not believing what he was hearing. He thought over the past few weeks and how tired Max had seemed, how he’d moved a little slower. Max had put Dylan’s life before his own. He was both awed and angry at the sacrifice.

  “Well, you can start treatment now,” Regan said.

  Max shook his head. “No, honey, I can’t. I don’t want no treatment. I just want to let go.”

  “No, you’ll get treatment,” Dylan said as he stood up and began pacing the room, feeling like he very well may lose it. The emotions within him—sadness, anger, defeat, fear—were all mixing together in a huge cauldron, and he didn’t know how they would come out.

  “No, Dylan. I don’t want that.”

  Dylan turned to Max. “You have to get treatment, Max! If you don’t, you’re going to die for sure!”

  “And if I get treatment, I’ll probably die anyway. We all die, Dylan. I’m not going to spend the last of my days sick from chemotherapy and having my hair fall out. I just want to go peacefully.”

  “Max—”

  “Knock it off, Dylan. This is my decision.”

  A wave of unimaginable sadness overtook Dylan, and his knees felt weak. He plopped back down in the chair and held his head in his hands. Regan smoothed her hand over his back, and it brought him a little comfort.

  “Max, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Dylan said, hearing the choke of emotion in his voice. He felt short of breath, like his heart was being squeezed, and nauseous. The last time he’d felt anything remotely close to this was when he watched Regan walk out of his life for the last time.