Unable to deny my urge, I use my good arm to hold her loosely. Loosely because she isn’t mine to keep. She shudders at my touch then melts deeper into me.
After what seems like mere seconds, she leans back and looks up into the good side of my slightly turned face. “Braeden?” Black shit runs down her perfect cheeks, and I’d give anything to kiss away every tear. “Why aren’t you holding me?” Her gaze slides across my chest; then she notices my hand in my pocket. She seems to come to some conclusion, most likely the wrong one, and pulls away.
My arms itch to grab her back, to crush her to my chest until it hurts. But I let her go.
“So that’s it?” Her tone is dead. “You won’t even look at me?”
My eyes dart to her face, but it hurts too much to see her like this. Broken. Confused. And it’s all my fault.
She reaches to my face, but I step away and turn further into the wall. She slowly drops her hand. “Will you not even talk to me?”
I run my tongue along my lips, not even sure if the thing still works. “What’s there to say?”
“I don’t know. How about you tell me where the fuck you’ve been for the past five months.”
I can’t do that. “You moved on.”
My words are like a strike and she recoils, but doesn’t deny it.
I drop my chin, still maintaining the protective angle of my face. “It’s alright. I told you if you found someone better—”
“He isn’t better.”
I laugh, but it’s not fucking funny. It’s sad. “If you only knew.”
“Then tell me. My God, Braeden, I need answers here, please. I’m listening.”
“Adeline!” Rico Suave comes slithering down the hallway toward us.
Adeline . . . not AJ. He knows her real name.
She drops her chin and closes her eyes. “Please, Andre. I just . . . I need a second.”
The suit eyes the space between her and me, his gaze darting from her blackened cheeks to my makeup stained shirt. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Braeden is an old friend of mine.”
I can’t help but grin. If the guy only knew what kind of friend I was to his dear sweet Adeline, how many hours I spent with my mouth all over and inside her beautiful body, he’d probably kick my ass. I suppose he’s the one who’s getting all the friend benefits now. Huh, so I guess I should kick his ass.
“He made you cry?”
“Brae.” My brother’s voice comes from the other side of the hallway, probably having found me after sending out a search party. As if on cue, Jonah shows up through the same door Mr. Cashflow did.
Both the fighters approach cautiously, keeping their eyes on Andre, who doesn’t seem phased by the two men who’re four-times his size and closing in.
“Everything okay?” Jonah’s staring right at me, and I know he and Blake see the angle of my face, my hand in my pocket, and being smart men, they’re doing the math.
“Just fucking dandy.” I nod to her as she stares between them with eyes the size of beach balls. “Boys, this is Adeline.”
She frowns at the sound of her name from my lips.
Another guy shows up, this one bigger and in a suit.
I realize as he approaches it’s the guy who kicked me out the other night. “Fuckin’ great, it’s a party.”
“Sir,” Douchebag says to Moneybags. “This is the man you had me escort off the property.”
“What?”
“The fuck?”
AJ and Blake say in unison.
Jonah’s jaw is hard and he faces off with douchebag.
“It’s cool.” I put my good hand up. “I was just leaving.”
Andre pushes in front of AJ, and I fight a growl at him for thinking he has the right to place himself between her and me. “You were the drunk looking for his wife?”
AJ gasps and I inwardly cringe at how pathetic she must think I am.
“Wife?” My brother gives me the side-eye.
“Long story, it’s . . . it’s nothing.” I can feel AJ’s teary glare on me. “Not anymore.”
Andre turns to her. “Did you know he’s a married man, Adeline?”
I do not appreciate his tone.
“He’s not married.” She gives me a look as if she’s pleading for me to do something, to speak up for us, to claim her, drag her away with me, but all of it goes ignored.
Jonah runs a hand over his black hair and huffs. “Alright, my head’s fucking spinning. Let’s get our boy home and sort this out tomorrow.”
“Your boy is not welcome in my hotel. He is also not to contact Adeline, is that understood?”
“Excuse me?” Her shrill question makes me want to give her a high five. “You don’t tell me who I can talk to Andre.”
Maybe my feisty AJ still lives deep within all that fancy fucking Adeline façade.
The rich asshole grabs her elbow. “As long as you’re sleeping in my bed under my roof, I most certainly fucking do.”
I lunge for the guy, but Blake must’ve seen it coming and holds me back.
“Get to the penthouse,” Big bucks snaps at AJ. “Now.”
Blood pounds through my head.
My muscles jump with repressed aggression.
When she doesn’t move, he nods to the security guy, who grabs her upper arms.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Fine.” Richie Rich Dick gets in her face. “You want to be his whore?”
Black bleeds into my vision.
I don’t know how I get passed Blake and Jonah, but I have that piece of shit to the wall with my forearm pressed into his neck. “I’ll kill you!”
It’s all I manage to get out before I’m pulled back. AJ rushes to me, but the security guy holds her back. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
AJ’s upper arms are red where that fucker’s grip holds her back. “Let her go and I’ll walk away.”
The dickbags share a look, and I force myself to calm down. “I’m serious.” Jonah’s hold loosens, allowing me to take a full breath, further slowing my pulse. “I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay.”
“I’d listen to the man.” Jonah’s voice is deep and calm but carries the subtle shake of an underlying threat. “We can make this real ugly for you if you want.”
With my face still angled away, I watch out of the corner of my eye as he releases her, but him and the Golden boy remain a barrier in front of her.
I try to pull away, but Jonah’s forearm is wrapped around my neck from behind.
Blake then nods for Jonah and me to follow. “Let’s get out of here before this pansy calls the cops.”
Without much of a choice with Jonah’s heavyweight body at my back, we move toward the emergency exit.
“Braeden, please!” AJ’s voice echoes down the hallway. “Braeden . . .” The broken sobs of her voice cut off as the door slams shut behind us.
Blake nudges me. “You good?”
“Fucking fantastic, brother. Thanks for asking.”
Jonah laughs. “Something tells me you got history with Mr. Fancy Pants’ lady.”
“You could say that.”
Even in the dark alleyway behind the hotel, I can feel my brother’s eyes on me. “She know?”
I understand what he’s asking.
Does she know what happened in Iraq?
Know you lost your mind?
Is she aware you’re a drunk?
Does she know you love her, you dumbshit?
“Nope.”
He groans. “Fuck.”
“Pretty much.”
Twenty-three
AJ
It’s close to three in the morning when I hear Andre slip into the bedroom. I left the party after the blow-up with Brae, but, ever the professional, Andre stayed.
I expect him to head to the bathroom, change, and then crawl into bed with his back facing mine, so when I feel the bed dip and then hear the click of the lamp I startle.
He’s still in his suit,
looking as he did when the night began, the picture of sophisticated elegance, but his eyes are tired. Not so much sleepy, but more like a fed-up-with-my-shit kind of tired.
“I don’t care how long it takes. If I don’t sleep all night tonight or tomorrow, you will explain to me what the fuck that was all about.”
Where do I even start?
My eyes burn from crying, and my head hurts from the combination of sobriety and confusion. I sit up and push back to lean against the headboard, taking the thick comforter to my chest.
“I’m sure you figured out that was Braeden, the guy I told you about, before when we weren’t . . .” Together. I can’t bring myself to even say the word now that I know Braeden is in the same city. “What I didn’t tell you was I met him shortly before I met you. He’s a Marine stationed at Camp Pendleton. He came to visit me on weekends, and I don’t know, I thought . . . we thought we were just hanging out.”
Andre doesn’t take his cold hard eyes off mine, the warmth I’ve become used to completely gone.
“The last time I saw him was almost a year ago when he told me he was leaving on a six-month deployment.” It seems like a lifetime ago that we lay in bed wrapped up in each other, discussing our questionable future. “He said he’d be back.”
“You cheated on him.” Not a question, and so matter of fact that I peel away from the headboard.
“He told me not to wait. He told me if someone better came along to take it!”
“And tonight?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know. He just reappeared, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”
He leans away, bracing his weight with a hand to the mattress as he studies me. “He’s been showing up at the hotel, hanging around the amphitheater, claiming he’s waiting for his wife. Did you marry this guy?”
“No! It’s . . .” I chew my bottom lip, feeling the burn of tears as they bubble to the surface. “It was just a joke.”
“It’s not funny.” He sniffs and stares across the room before bringing his gaze back to mine. “Security has had to kick him out for being drunk and obnoxious.”
I drop my head back and groan. “I don’t understand any of this. Why now, after all this time?” I don’t expect Andre to answer, and talking about this with him is an asshole thing to do, but before we were together-together, he was my friend, and old habits die hard.
He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck as silence stretches between us. “Do you love him?”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.” Braeden shows up out of the blue searching for me, after five months of being back, but when I hugged him, he barely touched me. He wouldn’t even look at me and hardly spoke.
“That’s not the answer I was hoping for.” Andre doesn’t meet my eyes as he pushes off the bed. He crosses to the far side of the room and takes off his suit jacket, tie, and unbuttons his shirt before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
I click off the light then slip down into bed.
Being with Andre isn’t wrong.
Braeden told me to move on.
Then why does sleeping in the same bed with my boyfriend feel so disloyal?
Not that I’ll be doing much sleeping tonight. Knowing Braeden is out there somewhere and he has the answers I need to move on, makes it impossible to relax.
If I’m ever going to be able to leave him in the past, to get the closure I need to let go, I’ll have to hunt him down.
Twenty-four
AJ
One thing I’ve learned in life is that you get what you pay for. Nothing proves that point more than driving a luxury car.
The sweltering summer sun is nothing but an annoying reflection off the jet-black hood, easily counteracted by my sunglasses, as I navigate Interstate 15. The climate control keeps me comfortable at a cool sixty degrees, the leather seats inflated for lower back support, and my mom’s voice coming through the Bluetooth speakers.
There’s no reason why I shouldn’t feel content, totally at ease. And yet inside, I’m a melting pot of depression and restlessness.
“I’m so glad you called. How was the benefit dinner?”
As if my stomach wasn’t already cartwheeling all over itself . . .
“It was great. Total success.”
“I knew it would be. And, AJ, Dad really doesn’t feel comfortable taking your money. He has a job now.”
I look at the piece of scratch paper pinched between my fingers at the wheel. My exit is coming up. “I know, but you said it pays less.” And they were struggling back then. “Just tell him it’s only until he gets back on his feet.” What he doesn’t know is that I paid their mortgage for the next three months too. I’ll make sure to avoid my phone when he figures that one out.
“That’s very sweet of you, but don’t you have bills to pay too?”
“I told you, Mom, we’re part of the hotel, and Andre refuses to take my money anyway.” He also insists I drive his car. I guess an Audi outranks my Saturn, but I’m not complaining.
Especially today.
I took my time getting ready for this meeting: picked out my best skinny jeans, a blousy silk tank with spaghetti straps, and a pair of navy blue wedges. I have a cardigan to wear over it, which gives it more of a professional look, but with the amount of nervous sweat I’m giving off, there’s no way I’m putting it on.
I crank the AC up and angle the vents to my underarms. The gust blows my hair away from my shoulders, and I wonder if I should’ve curled it rather than worn it straight. Maybe a darker lip stain? God, AJ, calm down!
“Hello? Did I lose you?”
“Sorry, Mom. I’m trying to find this building, and I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”
“You know I hate it when you talk on the phone while driving.”
“I know, but I like the company.” And if I don’t keep my mind busy, I might lose my nerve and pull a one-eighty.
I half-listen while she goes on about all the latest happenings, and I make sure to throw in a “Uh-huh” every now and then. I turn left, then left again, and one right, until . . . “Okay, Mom. I’m here.” I swallow and for some stupid reason feel like bawling. “I gotta go.”
“Alright, honey, I love you.”
“Love you too.” She hangs up just as I hit the front gate, and a security guard is waiting for me to roll down my window.
The second I do, a gust of hot hair blows in from outside, which isn’t helping my internal temperature.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.” Thank God. Or rather, thank Barbara. While I lay around and nursed my swollen face and bruised ego, she managed to pull some strings to get me this meeting. “My name is Adeline Pines.”
He checks an iPad then taps the screen before opening the gate and allowing me through.
And damn, but now this all seems too real.
I take the first parking spot I can find, which is in the row farthest away from the building. As nervous as I am, I need a wide berth to avoid dinging Andre’s car or one of the twenty-plus in the lot.
I grab my purse and hit the key fob to lock up then scamper across the burning asphalt. That cardigan would’ve melted me alive. Not giving myself a chance to second-guess what I’m doing, I focus on what I’m here for, or rather, half of what I’m here for, and push through the glass door and into the UFL Training Center.
The lobby is what I expected. Clean. Modern. Manly. There are multiple TVs on the walls playing clips from fights, but I keep my eyes trained on the woman behind the desk.
She looks up at me as I approach.
“Hi, I’m Adeline Pines. I have a two-o’clock appointment with Mr. Kyle.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picks up the phone, hits a few buttons, and throws out a clipped, “Cam’s two o’clock is here.” I could’ve sworn she said that with bitchiness in her voice, but I might be reading too heavily into it. “His assistant will be down to get you.�
� She quickly dismisses me and goes back to her magazine opened in front of her.
“Thank you.” I’m too antsy to sit, so I move around the lobby, taking in the framed photos of live-action fights. Some are incredible shots taken mid-hit, others show two fighters wrapped up together in some complicated configuration, and others are fighters holding up a big gold belt. This one looks a lot like the guy from the other night. His midnight black hair is spikey with sweat, and what I couldn’t see under his suit is that he’s covered in brightly colored tattoos. There’s a nameplate on the frame that reads Heavyweight Champion Jonah “The Assassin” Sl—
“Miss Pines?”
I turn toward the calling of my name to find a petite, and very beautiful, blonde. Her hair is pulled back in an extreme ponytail showcasing a dainty face with picture perfect features—big eyes the color of chocolate, a pert nose, and lips that aren’t too thin or too thick. She’s wearing something similar to me, skinny jeans, cute sandals, but her black T-shirt is tight and has a skull on it, and not the pretty sugar skull kind either, but the kind you’d see tattooed on a biker.
As I approach her, she holds out her hand. “I’m Layla, Cam’s assistant.”
“Adeline. Nice to meet you.”
“Come on back.” She motions for me to follow her, and from behind, I notice even her hips and ass are tiny. Round, perfect, but small.
And why am I checking this woman out? Other than the fact that she’s gorgeous and hard to pull my eyes from?
The hallway spits us out into a huge gymnasium-style room. Gigantic speakers hang from the walls, and I realize this is the source of the heavy metal music I heard from the lobby. There are clusters of men and women involved in different forms of exercise and fighting, and if I had more time, I’d pull up a seat and watch.
“This way,” Layla says, directing me to a large staircase. We head up side-by-side and she turns to me. “I love your top.”
“Thank you. I got it at Target.”
She freezes mid-step. “No way. I got this at Target.” She points at her shirt, and we both share a quick giggle.
“They have really cute stuff.”
We continue to move up the stairs.
“I know, right? Every time I go to grab something for my son, I always end up with more for myself.” Her ponytail swings with each step, and after moving down a long hallway, she points to a door. “Here we are.”
The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8) Page 21