Logan (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel)

by Lane Hart

  “Good morning. I have your raffle boxes,” she says with a broad smile, setting the boxes down on the table, each labeled on the front with our particular giveaways. “Participants can buy as many raffle tickets as they want, then they fill them out with their name and contact information. As they walk around to each of the tables, they’ll put their tickets in the containers for any prizes they want to try and win.” Reaching in her pants pocket, she pulls out a roll of tickets. “Here are a few extras if someone runs out and needs to buy more from you. They’re a dollar a piece.”

  “Great, thanks, Maryanne,” I tell her as I take the offered tickets. “The weather looks perfect today so hopefully we’ll have a big turnout.”

  “I hope so,” she agrees as she starts to walk away. “Oh, and I wanted to let you know that the bidding for your canvases close tonight. We’re up to around a thousand each.”

  “Wow,” I mutter as my eyebrows raise in surprise. “That’s…great.”

  Once she’s out of sight, Riley, who was staying busy arranging brochures, says, “I bet she bought one. She’s looks pretty damn desperate to see you mostly naked.”

  “You’re not jealous, are you?” I tease, going behind her to wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her bare shoulder revealed by her simple, blue spaghetti strap dress.

  “What? Jealous of her? God, no. She’s hideously ugly and ancient,” Riley jokes before she turns around to face me. “Seriously, though, I can’t believe you didn’t hit that. You have incredible restraint, which must have been quite a blow to her ego.”

  “I think she’ll get over it,” I tell her with a quick kiss before I reach down to slap her ass. “Now get back to work before you make me break my restraint right here in the middle of the park.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies, flashing me a grin before she kisses me and turns back around to arrange the table.

  …

  Five hours later, and Riley and I are hot, tired, and ready to leave. The fundraiser was a great success and both of us had lots of interest in our two giveaways. Maybe hers more than mine.

  “You know,” I start. “I think you got more entries than me.”

  “No way,” she replies with a smile as she piles up the brochures. “And the only reason I had so many was because it’s not every day you find someone to take pictures of you in your panties.”

  “I would let you take pictures of me in my panties,” I joke. “But really” – my tone turns serious – “I think boudoir could be a big draw. How would you feel about offering them regularly?”

  “You just want to see women walking around your studio in lingerie,” she accuses through narrowed blue eyes.

  “I’m serious, and if you want, you could schedule the shoots after hours, when I’m not even there.”

  “I guess I could do it for free, to get some experience,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “No, you can charge for your services, Riley. It doesn’t have to be my rates, but you’re talented, and you should get paid for it.”

  “Maybe,” she replies with a smile.

  “While you’re packing up, I’ll take the boxes and the cash from the raffle tickets over to Maryanne, so we can leave.”

  “Sure,” Riley agrees. “Just make sure she keeps her claws out of you.”

  “Will do,” I reply with a chuckle before I head to Maryanne’s table, in the main tent near the park’s entrance. She’ll take care of drawing a winner and then notifying everyone of the prizes in the next few days.

  “We’re heading out,” I tell her as I set the boxes down in the line with the rest being turned in. “It was a great event.”

  “Yeah, it was,” she agrees, as she comes around from behind her table to stand in front of me. “Thanks again for your help, and hopefully you’ll get a few customers too.”

  “Hopefully,” I agree.

  “So, you’re really serious about this girl?” she asks, nodding over to my table that’s off in the distance.

  “Ah, yeah, I am,” I answer honestly. “We’re living together so it doesn’t get much more serious than that.”

  “Only if there’s a wedding and babies,” Maryanne replies. “I guess that’s why I still can’t get over my shock that you’re dating someone so much younger.”

  My shoulders tense defensively at her comment.

  “Why not?” I ask, even though I’m certain she’s just jealous that things didn’t work out between us. “Riley’s beautiful and sweet. We have a lot in common.”

  “Right, but I thought you were adamant about not wanting any more kids.”

  “Oh,” I mutter, glancing over to the table where Riley is cleaning up. While I’m watching her, she glances up and smiles, her blue eyes going right to where I’m standing, like she knew I was watching her.

  Does she want kids? We haven’t even talked about that yet, but we should have. I was so concerned about the issue of Sara finding out about us that I didn’t stop to think about what a future with Riley would actually be like.

  “Surely a girl as young as her will want them. I mean, maybe not when she’s this young, but when she’s in her early thirties. By then, you’ll be…” Maryanne trails off.

  “I’ll be in my fifties,” I finish. Jesus.

  At this point in my life, I’ve given up on the idea of more children, especially after how brutal things ended with me and Holly, and her taking Sara away from me. There’s no fucking way I’ll want to have kids in my fifties. I would be seventy when they graduated high school! Riley would have to come get me from the nursing home and push my wheelchair to the school to see him or her walk across the stage.

  I’m too damn old to be a father again, but what if Riley is set on having kids someday?

  …

  Riley

  Brody has been quiet and acting strange ever since he went to give Maryanne our raffle entries.

  “Everything okay?” I ask him when we start walking to the car, a cardboard box in my arms and a large container with photo magnets in his.

  “Uh-huh,” he answers.

  After we get to the SUV and load up our boxes, I grab his hand to pull him to a stop before he can go around to the driver’s side.

  “Brody, what’s up?” I ask him.

  Green, narrowed eyes search my face before he says, “Do you want kids?”

  “Huh?” I ask, blinking up at his pinched face in confusion.

  “We’ve never talked about it, before but maybe we should.”

  “Right now? This is where you want to discuss whether or not I want to get knocked up?” I ask with a giggle, glancing around at the people in the parking lot surrounding us.

  “Yes, right now,” he says seriously. Pulling his hand from my grip, he crosses his arms over his chest, not showing even a hint of a smile.

  “Really, Brody? You want to talk about kids after we just decided to give this relationship a shot a few weeks ago?”

  “Yes. Do you want kids or not, Riley? Tell me the truth,” he demands, jaw clenched so tightly it ticks.

  I’m so stunned by his question and his serious tone that I can’t find any words. What’s gotten into him?

  “I-I don’t know what to say,” I reply honestly. “I mean, I just graduated from college, and want to have a career first…”

  “So, you want kids when you’re older? Do you understand what that means, being with me?” Brody snaps. “I’m not exactly getting any younger, Riley!”

  “I know that,” I tell him softly when he raises his voice. I reach for his hand again, so he’ll uncross his arms, then intertwine our fingers together. “Where’s all this coming from so suddenly?”

  When his eyes cut up and over to the main tent, I know.

  “Maryanne said some shit to you?” I grumble in understanding. “Don’t listen to anything that jealous bitch says!”

  “Jealous or not, she makes a valid point,” Brody tells me. “I’ve been so worried about hiding this from Sara that I didn’t even think
about what you might want. Marriage, kids, a family…”

  “Whoa, slow down,” I tell him, putting my free hand on his chest. “Things are really great between us, but they’re also new. Why do we have to talk about all of this right now?”

  “I want to be with you,” Brody says. “And I’m not opposed to marriage. But I’m too old to think about kids being a part of our future.”

  “So you’re saying that if I want kids, I shouldn’t waste my time with you?” I ask, in stunned disbelief. “We’re not even going to sit down to talk about it, or discuss it? Your answer is just hell no?”

  “Yes,” he says without hesitation. “I’m already aware that I’m too old for you –” My groan of annoyance interrupts him.

  “No, you’re not. I think you’re just worried that I’m too young for you,” I mutter.

  “That’s not what I think,” he says, letting go of my hand to reach up to cup my face. “I’m forty-two, Riley. Twenty years older. I’m gonna die way before you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “No, and you don’t know that either!” I yell at him, covering his hand with mine. “I could die tomorrow. You could outlive me by dozens of years!”

  “Unlikely. You’re young and healthy,” he replies with a deepening frown. “There’s also the fact that I probably couldn’t give you kids, even if I wanted to go through raising a child again, which I don’t. So, you need to decide now if that’s something you want or not. Because if you do, I’m not the man to give it to you.”

  Wow, I can’t believe that he’s making this ultimatum out of nowhere, and so soon after we just decided to be together. But the kids issue doesn’t seem like something he’ll ever budge on. I’ve never seen Brody act like this. So rigid, refusing to talk to me first, or even consider what I want. So, I tell him a little white lie.

  While I may have wanted to have children eventually, I’m pretty certain I don’t want them now. And I would pick Brody over the passing thought of children every time.

  “I don’t want kids,” I tell him.

  “Not now, but what about when you’re older?”

  “I don’t want kids,” I repeat. “And if I change my mind when I’m older, then by your estimation, you’ll likely be dead and I can have a younger man impregnate me,” I joke, because I would rather not talk about kids. Or the lack thereof.

  “That’s a possibility,” Brody replies, taking my comment seriously. “Before that, you could change your mind, and then you would hate being with me and giving up that opportunity.”

  “No, I won’t change my mind,” I say.

  “How do you know? One day, you might wake up next to me and realize that I’m too old to make you a mother.”

  “That’s not going to happen, so please drop it,” I tell him.

  “No, Riley. I can’t do that, because there’s no way for you to know now how you’ll feel about the future!” he declares.

  “I do know that if I wanted to be a mother, I would be one already!” I exclaim.

  Silence surrounds both of us as we realize what I just said. I swear, even the birds and the winds cease while that nasty truth creeps up, like a brick wall between us.

  Pulling away from Brody, I go around and open the passenger door to try and escape the whole fucking conversation.

  “Riley, wait,” Brody calls out, but my door has already shut, closing me up inside the hot SUV. A moment later, he climbs in the driver seat, and cranks the engine so that the air conditioning will start cooling it down.

  “Talk to me,” he says softly. “What do you mean, if you wanted to be a mother, you would already be one?”

  “You know what I mean,” I reply on an exhale.

  “No, I don’t. Tell me,” Brody responds, reaching for my hand and pulling it into his lap. “Please.”

  Taking a deep breath, unable to deny him anything, I admit the guilty truth that still keeps me awake at night, and probably always will.

  “Back in early May, I found out I was pregnant. Even after I had the morning after pill, my period was late, and then the test was positive…”

  “You ended it?” Brody asks quietly.

  Nodding, I tell him, “As soon as I knew, there were no doubts. I didn’t want it and never would. I couldn’t even tell you who the father was.”

  “That’s…”

  “Disgusting?” I finish for him, staring off through the front windshield, as I remember waking up on the baseball field, then weeks later, the trip to the clinic, so certain of my decision. “I only remember Dalton’s face. The rest were just a dark blur.”

  “Riley, baby, I’m so damn sorry,” Brody says, as he reaches across the console and wraps me in his arms. “It wasn’t your fault you got pregnant.”

  “Yes, it was,” I say against his chest. “I was stupid and slutty and deserved it.”

  “No, you didn’t!” he argues, but he didn’t know how drunk I was, how I acted, how I dressed, wanting the attention. And I got it.

  “I had no idea he put anything in my drink because I was probably too drunk to even realize it,” I admit. “It all happened because of my bad decisions. And then I had to make another decision. The baby was innocent, but I couldn’t raise one of those assholes’ spawn.”

  “No, and you shouldn’t have to. It’s okay. What you did is okay,” Brody says as he holds me to him in a tight grip.

  “So you shouldn’t worry,” I tell him against his chest. “I’m not cut out to be a mother if I could do that so easily…”

  “You don’t know that. Those circumstances…those are different than deciding to have a baby with a man you love.”

  Blinking away the tears, I pull away from him. “Can we just go home now? I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Yeah, sure, sweetheart,” he replies.

  Putting his seatbelt on, Brody shifts the SUV into gear and finally pulls away.

  And I already regret telling him the truth, because I know he’ll never see me the same. I don’t see myself as the same person. What I did was horrible, and I’ll never forgive myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Brody

  Seeing the broken look on Riley’s face makes me hate myself for bringing up anything to do with kids.

  I knew she had been through hell, but I had no idea how bad it was. And what I hate more than the assholes who took advantage of her is the way Riley blames herself. She shouldn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had taken her clothes off and volunteered to give them all lap dances. They stripped away her ability to tell them no, to get away from them, when they drugged her. They used her so callously that it’s hard for me to try and comprehend.

  While I hated hearing Riley talk about what happened to her, it helps me see her better; why she has a low self-worth and why she thinks she’s a slut. I wonder if she’s even told her best friend about the choice she made to end a pregnancy.

  In my mind, I think Riley made the right decision. If she had to go through with having the baby of an unknown, rapist father, she would’ve been reminded each and every day of how she was so wrongly used.

  Since we’ve been home from the park, Riley’s pulled away even further. She told me she was going upstairs to take a nap, and I got the feeling she didn’t want to be near me. Knowing what I do now about her makes me want to be closer to her. To comfort her, hold her, and never let her go. My worries about being too old for her, and not being able to give her a family, are long gone.

  In fact, now I’m certain that there’s nothing I wouldn’t give Riley to make her happy.

  …

  Riley

  I wake up and find Brody’s side of the bed empty and still made. He never laid down with me last night. Just as I feared, after I told him the whole fucked up truth, he doesn’t even want to lay a hand on me.

  Rolling out of bed, I wander the house looking for him, starting with the balcony first, then downstairs. There’s no sign of him until I get to the kitchen and find a handwritten no
te on top of the counter.

  “Riley, there’s something I wanted to do at the studio and it may take a while. Come find me when you wake up. Love, Brody.”

  Oh, my God.

  He used the L-word?

  Even though it’s written right there in front of me, I still can’t believe it. Maybe he didn’t mean it, but just thought it sounded better than Sincerely or Yours truly.

  Back upstairs, I take a shower, quickly dry my hair, and get dressed to go find him. I missed his arms around me last night and thought he didn’t want anything to do with me, so I’m glad he left a note telling me where he was and to come see him.

  Down in the garage, I crank up my car that I’ve barely driven since I got here a few weeks ago, and then head out. It’s so early, only a little after seven, so there’s not much traffic on the beach road, nor the bridge heading back to the mainland. The shopping center is completely empty on this Sunday morning since most of the businesses are closed today anyway.

  I park and then pull out the key to the studio that Brody gave me.

  “Brody?” I call out, even though he likely heard the soft jingle of the door.

  “Back here,” he calls out so I follow his voice. He’s not in his office, so I keep going to the last room in the hallway, the one used for storage.

  As soon as I step into the doorway, I gasp. “Oh wow!”

  No longer stacked with boxes and various, dusty photography equipment, there’s now a backdrop screen surrounded by lamps, a camera on a stand, and a small sofa in the back corner near a wooden desk. On the back walls are my photos – the boudoir ones from my portfolio, in individual frames.

  “What’s this?” I ask Brody, who is hauling a large computer screen over to the desk.

  “This is your own personal studio and office,” he says, setting the screen down. “You can take photos over there, and then meet with clients here to show them the proofs.”