Brawl

by Kylie Hillman

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We walk inside together, both turning for the locker room and entering it together as well. I’m early for training, having decided that coming here and taking out some of my frustrations on a bag would be better than moping around in my car, or trying to make small talk with Zali, who’s watching Cooper at the house she shares with Devon.

  Shoving my bag into my locker, the silence that’s between us grates on my last nerve, and I scramble for something benign to talk about. With mine and Hooligan’s history, that doesn’t leave me with much to choose from.

  “Why are you out of the hospital?”

  Good one, Gabbi. Launch straight into an awkward topic. Why don’t you just ask him why he walked away from you when you were about to put his cock in your mouth? Make it really uncomfortable.

  “I’m here for training...I’m fine anyway; a few scratches, and a slight concussion. Fuck, I’ve ended up in worse shape from sparring with the yellow belts. Angelo isn’t as tough as he’d like to think.”

  The smile that curls my lips takes me by surprise. My mental image of Hooligan being beaten by the little kids who make up his yellow belt class is adorable. I’m lost to the cuteness until the first part of what he said strikes me as odd.

  “What do you mean training? You don’t normally train anyone today.”

  “I do today,” he answers with a half-grin. It’s a look I’ve never seen on his face before, but I must say that I like it. Half humor; half shyness, it makes him look a lot more approachable than his normal scowl.

  Opening the locker that I’ve seen him stuff his equipment into before, he pulls out hands wraps and his sparring gloves. He tosses them at me, and I catch them clumsily, taken aback at his unusual playfulness.

  “Wrap me up?”

  Nodding, I try to contain my curiosity, unsuccessfully. “Who are you training?”

  “You.”

  Stopping in the middle of wrapping his right hand, I peer into his eyes. “Did you hit your head harder than they thought?”

  Finishing his first hand, I slide his glove on and push the Velcro together. Pointing at my chest, I smile when his gaze lingers longer than a casual glance should. “I’m still a girl so why have you changed your mind?”

  “Because I have. It’s my gym, I don’t have to give you a reason for anything I do.”

  Playful Hooligan dies an instant death and the asshole I’ve come to expect rears his head. My world rights itself, settling back onto its axis and putting an end to the confusion that was growing within me the longer he was being nice. Wrapping his left hand, I make quick work of putting his glove on. Tapping it to show him that I’m finished, I quip, “And he’s back.”

  “Who’s back?” Angelo’s voice fills the locker as he arrives.

  “Hooligan is.”

  I laugh when Angelo makes an over-dramatic double take when he spots Hooligan. Clutching his chest like he’s about to have a heart attack, he stumbles back a few steps and falls onto his back on one of the benches. He lays his hand on his forehead, and continues his pantomime. “Oh, Mamma Mia. The ghost has risen. Returned from the grave. He lives. He lives.”

  Giggling, I grab my training equipment and walk toward Angelo. His presence means that Hooligan was only being a smartass when he said he’s training me. I’m Angelo’s only fighter so Hooligan must’ve been evading answering my question with his joking answer.

  Slapping Angelo on the stomach with my glove as I walk past, I tell him, “Come on. Get a move on. Time’s a-wasting.”

  Firm fingers wrap around my upper arm, forcing me to halt mid-step. I’m dragged back into a warm chest and an arm goes around my waist, lifting me until I’m pulled onto my tiptoes. The spicy scent that I’ve come to adore washes over me, setting my desire on edge. Hooligan’s body feels just as good against mine as it did mere days ago, the touch of him stirring up memories best left buried.

  “I told you.” Minty breath rushes over neck as he lowers his head to my ear. “I’m training you from now on.”

  Nodding because his close proximity has stripped me of the ability to speak, I wait for him to let go of me. He does, but only after he’s planted a barely-there kiss on the top of my head. Part of me thinks I imagined it until Angelo speaks up.

  “It’s amazing how much of a motivator good old jealousy can be.” Standing, he salutes Hooligan and then blows me a kiss. Optimism fills my veins. Did he just give us his blessing? “My work here is done. I’ll be outside having a smoke if anyone needs me.”

  With confusion addling my wits as I try to work out what just happened, I’m slow to follow Hooligan when he gestures for me to come. Like a lost puppy, I trail behind him onto the main floor, coming to a stop at the side of the ring next to him. He’s standing, facing away from the ring, with his hands on his hips.

  I look past him to see what’s captured his attention. The mess from the broken window has been cleaned up, leaving a gaping hole in its place. You can see straight into Hooligan’s office now. I’ve only been in there once before but it’s been redecorated since the last time I was in there. A second desk has been added to the room and a huge painting of a blonde woman and a young boy has been hung on the wall. She’s beautiful and looks a little like Angelo, the boy on the other hand is a miniature version of Hooligan.

  “I guess he meant what he said,” Hooligan speaks in a monotone. It’s obvious that his words aren’t meant for me, his introspective tone and the reverence lacing each word making me feel like a voyeur. “Never gonna get rid of the fucker now.”

  The boy’s bedroom at his house makes sense now. He does indeed have a son—the boy in the picture can’t be anyone else, the resemblance is too defined. The excited hope that had mingled with my confusion after he held me in the locker room undergoes a reality check.

  The blonde woman must be his wife—ex-wife? The painting holds significance to Hooligan, that much is clear. From my position next to him, I can see his body shaking. Tears prick behind my eyelids and my nose tickles. Clearing my throat, I bite the inside of my cheek and head back to my things. Blowing out a deep breath, I sit down and begin wrapping my hands.

  “Here, let me help you.” Angelo kneels in front of me and takes over. “Gabbi, I’m gonna give you a piece of advice so humor an old man, will ya?”

  Rolling my eyes at him, I nod, sniffing when my nose tickles with impending tears again. Angelo isn’t that much older than Hooligan and he’s still a very attractive man—all muscles, dark blonde hair and big blue eyes.

  “He’s a bit fucked up, an absolute asshole at times, but he’s worth the effort. I’ll deny it if you ever tell him but he was once one of the best people I had the privilege to know, and he will be again when he deals with his shit. So, I’ll be the past prodding him from behind and you’ll be the here-and-now pulling him back to life.”

  His advice is so cryptic that I haven’t a clue how to respond to it. Bashing my gloved hands together, I stand and take the chance to sneak a glance Hooligan’s way. I flinch when our gazes meet. He’s no longer staring into his office, he’s watching me and Angelo with an intensity that borders on intimidating.

  “Ready, Gabbi?” Hooligan’s voice is thick with emotion. I watch his throat work when he swallows, his Adam’s apple moving up and down mimicking the effect he has on my emotions.

  “Yep.”

  “Start warming up then.” He pulls his tank top over his head, stomach muscles rippling as they come into view. Throwing the material onto the bench, he lifts an eyebrow in my direction. “Problem?”

  “Ah, right. Warm up.”

  Climbing into the ring, I hold onto the ropes with my gloved hands and extend my leg along the top, extending it as far as I can and pointing my toes until my hamstrings scream. Repeating the move with my other leg, I then begin to stretch my arms before moving into the middle of the ring. Bending at my waist, legs straight I touch my fingertips to the mat and hold the position.<
br />
  The ring starts to sway when Hooligan vaults over the side and makes his way over to me. Counting in my head to sixty, determined not to slack off just because he’s near me, I’m startled when he runs his hands up the back of my right thigh and then my left. He comes to a stop just below my ass, squeezing before he lets go.

  “Hmm, you’re a little tight. I’ll show you how to loosen your hamstrings once we’re finished.”

  Putting space between us, I look up at him, narrowing my eyes at the hunger I find on his rugged features. Placing my hands on my hips, I bounce on the spot, weighing up how smart it is to ask the question that’s buzzing around my head. Reminding myself that I was the one left on her knees in his hallway, I decide to roll with it. He hasn’t been wary of hurting my feelings so far so why should I extend him the same courtesy.

  “Why are you playing with me?” I bounce some more, trying to expend the adrenaline that’s coursing through my body as I lay it all out for him. “You almost fucked me right here in this ring. But you walked away telling me that I’m a little girl, leaving me on my back with my legs spread for you. You’re rude and snappy and you refuse to train me even though we had a deal, so I decide that you simply don’t like me—only then you turn up at my house and beat the shit out my mom’s boyfriend for threatening us. You let me stay at your house with my little brother because we have nowhere else to go, and we almost fuck again. Except this time, you leave me on my fucking knees in your hallway. I told you that I wasn’t giving you another chance to fuck me so explain to me why you’ve changed your mind about training me? Is it because you like to mess with my head...or is it because you get off on toying with me, making me wet for you and then walking away so you can laugh at me? I’ve had enough of it, I can’t—”

  Shaking my head, I bite my tongue when I discover that we have an audience. The group of guys who are turning up for their after-work training are standing inside the door with an array of stunned expressions covering their faces while they watch me air my dirty laundry.

  “Can’t what, Gabbi?” Hooligan doesn’t seem to care that we have spectators. He closes the distance between us, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me to him. “You’re as bad as me. You can’t walk away from me anymore than I can from you. You stop speaking to me for a month because of Jep, yet drop to your knees in my hallway without question. You’re as fucked up as I am, snarling at anyone who tries to help you, shutting everyone out. Has it crossed your mind that maybe I don’t just want to fuck you? Maybe what you see as me toying with you, is actually me trying to wrap my head around the fact that I have feelings for a seventeen-year-old girl. Instead of giving me ultimatums, why don’t you try to see this from my point-of-view? I’m a thirty-two-year-old man. I’ve been with one woman in my entire life. She was my wife and she’s fucking dead. Has been for three long years, and so has my son. My life hasn’t been all fun and games, but I was doing okay until you sashayed your tight ass and big tits into my life and flipped it on its head.”

  Pulling away from him, I put my gloves over my ears. I can’t listen to any more. My heart breaks for him and all he’s suffered, but I can’t accept what he’s saying. I don’t want to be the one who flips his life on its head. All I wanted was to lose myself in his body, fuck away my attraction to him, and then get on with the plan I have mapped out for me and Cooper.

  I have enough responsibility in my life without taking on Hooligan’s issues as well. Competing with ghosts—a beautiful blonde wife and his only son—I’m not interested in signing up for that heartache.

  Hooligan pulls his gloves off and throws them over the rope to the floor, he grabs my wrists and pulls my hands away from my ears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw everything at you like that. I was going to explain my shit to you tonight—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I scream at him. “Not now, not ever.”

  Knocking his hands away, I push past him, and leap out of the ring. Stumbling as I land, I run as fast as I can for the locker room. Opening my locker, the door crashing into one next to mine, I pull everything out and stuff it into my bag. Car keys in hand, I elbow past Nate who’s staring at me from the doorway of Hooligan’s office like I’m the devil incarnate.

  “I thought you were tougher than this. Never took you for a weak bitch.”

  Ignoring Nate as my need to get away from all of them tries to overwhelm me, I’m forced to stop when Hooligan appears in the entrance to the locker room. My reaction has hurt him; it’s written all over his face. With his arms crossed over his chest like a shield as he fills the doorway with his big body; the lines around his eyes show the strain he’s under and the downward turn of the edge of his generous lips calls for my fingers to lift them, but I can’t.

  I honestly don’t have the capacity to feel anything for him. Not once in the past month have I mentioned wanting anything more than a fuck from him. Fucking is safe. Trusting a man with your emotions is plain stupid. My own father couldn’t stick around and I have zero illusions that any other man ever will—no matter how much love they profess to have for you. I’ve watched my mother being eaten alive by Dad’s betrayal and I’ll never give anyone that type of power over me.

  Hooligan regards me through sad eyes. His green gaze runs over my face, searching for something that I can’t provide.

  A promise that I’ll fight with him against his demons...and mine.

  This might be the decision that I live to regret for the rest of my days, but I’m aware that life isn’t a fucking fairy tale. Nobody lives happily-ever-after. It doesn’t exist; it never has, and anyone dumb enough to believe that it does has my deepest sympathies.

  I could mount a fight for Hooligan’s love. Hell, I could wage a sustained campaign for his heart. Bulldoze my way through the pain left behind by his wife’s death like I have the challenges my dad’s defection has thrown my way, but I’m smart enough to know that any attempt I make to wipe the slate clean and give him a happy life is doomed to failure. My parents had twenty years of love as the basis of their marriage and it still didn’t last.

  “Move out of my way.” I ask in a voice that lets him know that I’m deadly serious. “I’m going to get our stuff out of your house and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Taking a step closer to him, I stop and gauge his reaction. His lack of acknowledgment pisses me off, making my temper flare. The nasty Gabbi who’s been dormant since my heart-to-heart with Amy rears her ugly head and I step right up to him, dropping my bag to the floor at his feet, and letting my expression fill with malice.

  Chest to chest, I repeat my demand. “Get the hell out of my way.”

  Hooligan shakes his head and holds his ground. He uncrosses his arms and runs a finger down the side of my face. Something gives in my chest, maybe not literally, but I feel tearing, right where my heart is. A tiny fissure develops from that one tender touch and cements every objection I have to Hooligan and love in my mind.

  My right arm has a mind of its own, swinging in an arc and punching him in the face before I have time to question the wisdom of such a move. The second swing I take at him, that one’s all on me—a conscious decision coming on the back of the satisfaction that I got from the first.

  He catches my arm, mid-air, using it to pull me into him, so he can glare down at me. “Now, you’re just trying to piss me off. You can go.”

  Hooligan pushes me away from him and steps out of my way. Picking up my bag, I take the time to look at the crowd who’ve gathered around to watch our drama. The censure written on their faces hurts. They were my friends for one short month, my personal cheer squad. This gym was quickly becoming more of a home to me than where I laid my head at night.

  My feet are frozen to the spot. He’s said that I can go, however, I’m in two minds now.

  What do I have left if I walk?

  My decision is made for me when Hooligan delivers his terse promise.

  “Enjoy your reprieve, Gabbi. I’m only letting y
ou go for now. What you haven’t had the time to learn yet is that I fight for what I want. Actually, fuck that, fighting’s for pussies. When I want something, I brawl for it. Fighting implies there’s depths that I won’t stoop to in order to get what I want. So when I say I’m ready to brawl for you, that should tell you that there’ll be no limits to what I do. To what I’m capable of.”

  I’m on autopilot as I run for my car with his words ringing in my ears. Icy-cold fear grips me, making me shiver and turning my blood cold in my veins.

  The fear isn’t that Hooligan is dangerous or that he might hurt me physically.

  I’m afraid that he might actually do what he’s promised...brawl for my love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Gabbi

  Two weeks later

  “Why are we here?”

  Folding my arms over my chest after I’ve exited the taxi, I regard Amy through stony eyes. My gut told me that she was up to something when she called earlier with a declaration that her mother was going to watch Cooper so we could hit the town for one last time before I’m officially legal next weekend.

  I drum the fingers on my right arm. Annoyance grows within me when her cheeks redden and she ducks her head, unable to stand the heat.

  “Well? I’m waiting.”

  “We’ve decided to speed things up. You’ve been a real bitch lately and Nate says that Hooligan’s even worse. It’s impossible to speak to either of you.”

  A shaved head emerges from above the people lined up at the door, waiting for admittance to Nitro’s nightclub.

  “Speak of the devil,” I groan as Nate makes his way over to us.

  He picks Amy up, planting a kiss on her lips, before putting her back on her feet and throwing an arm over her shoulder. She snuggles into his side, sliding an arm around his waist. I look between the pair of them. The redness coloring Amy’s cheeks deepens and Nate hits me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.