by TC Matson
Ryker’s nostrils are flaring, scowling at Kyce as Jackson talks. The moment Jackson spreads his arms and says go ahead, Ryker wastes no time and fires off a solid punch into Kyce’s face.
Kyce stumbles backward but then rushes Ryker. He wraps his arms around his waist, but Ryker shoves him off, hitting down into his face.
My mouth hangs open in horror with my hands covering it. Tears are pouring down my cheeks.
They trade punches with so much anger I can feel it cascading around us. Grunts, exhales, and solid thuds echo through the room and over my heart into my ears.
Kyce slams Ryker in the face with a left and directly behind it a right and then wraps around Ryker again. Ryker twists, slamming his brother to the mat. It’s a mess of arms, legs, and punches. Kyce shifts, sliding out from under Ryker and springs back to his feet. Ryker moves to stand and Kyce sends a punch into Ryker’s face.
Ryker snaps. Looking more like a MMA fighter than someone fighting his brother. His eyes are glazed over with hostility. He’s angry…no, beyond angry. He’s absolutely enraged.
He lunges forward and nails Kyce in the face again. This one sends Kyce staggering backward with blood trickling from just above his eye, but Ryker doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hesitate and steps in, jamming his knuckles into Kyce’s ribs and then returning with an evil right hook across his face that knocks the wind out of Kyce.
Ryker grabs Kyce by the back of the neck, holding him where he wants him, and viciously slams his fist into his brother’s bloodied face. Unlike Ryker’s trained and calculated punches, Kyce is winded, throwing sloppy punches and flailing his arms to try and block some of the hits. With Kyce’s head still in his hand, Ryker strikes again, and this time Kyce’s arms drop to his side.
Ryker shoves him away. “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he grumbles.
Kyce is slow to straighten his battered body, but when he does, he shakes his head no. It’s met with another solid strike to his face. He stumbles again and swings, missing his mark.
“I’m fucking sorry, dammit!” Kyce roars, out of breath. He fires off another punch, missing Ryker.
Ryker growls, unloading on him, jerking his head each direction.
Kyce is barely hanging on by a thread, trying to slug more punches at Ryker. Ryker shifts away. “You’re so fucking—”
Kyce’s sentence is stopped by a jab into the ribs that jolts him off his feet.
“Stop!” I scream on the top of my lungs. “Stop it!” Tears stream my cheeks. I’m hit with a wave of courage, leaping into the ring.
Ryker rotates toward me. Kyce drops to his knees.
“This is ridiculous. Look at you two.” I lock a murderous glare on Ryker. “I was just as defiant as he was, but I don’t see you disowning me. This is so stupid.” I stomp my foot in anger. “For months he’s called every week. For months he’s gone by Candice’s to make sure I’m okay.”
“I told you to stay the fuck away from us,” Ryker snarls, stepping around me, but I shove him away, placing myself in front Kyce.
“He calls for you too, but you’re so fucking stubborn. Dammit, Ryker.”
Jackson grabs my shoulders and moves me out of the way, sizing himself up to Ryker. “It’s not just about what happened to Whitney, is it?”
Ryker’s eyes narrow.
Jackson puffs a pissed laugh. “What? You want to hit me too? Try me.” He threatens. “I won’t be as easy and you fucking know it.”
I watch Ryker take the shakiest breath I’ve ever seen him take. “I can grasp losing everything I worked so fucking hard for. My dreams went up in smoke. My goals disappeared. They’re all gone. I can accept it. But I can’t fucking stomach what happened to her. This is my world,” he slams his fist to his chest. “A world we all know about. It should’ve been you,” he grits pointing to the battered brother on his knees gasping for air.
“It’s me now,” Kyce states, rolling his head backward toward the ceiling with a bloody and broken smile. “Look at me. Done in by my own brother’s hands.” He takes a breath and stumbles to his feet. “If I could rewind and do it all over again. I would. But I can’t. I fucking can’t. You think you’re mad at me? Ryker, I let my sister get hurt. I fucking despise myself.”
Ryker snaps again, advancing forward but Jackson shoves him. “I wasn’t there to protect her. It fucking haunts me. She got the fuck beat out of her because of me and I couldn’t fucking protect her,” he roars.
“And there’s the truth,” Jackson states simply.
They share a stare. Ryker’s mind is working. I can see it in his eyes.
When I grab a towel hanging on the side of the ring, I’m shaking so badly my legs feel like they’ll fail me. I hand it to Kyce. “Are you okay?”
His eyes are defeated. “I deserve this.”
I shake my head disagreeing. “No, you don’t.”
Ryker storms off and slams the door to his office.
Jackson puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let me take you home. He’ll be a while.”
I don’t tell Ryker I’m leaving. I’m too mad to care. I slide into Jackson’s black sports car, and Kyce drops into the back, lying across the seat.
“Don’t think this is their first or last fight,” Jackson says, keeping his eyes on the road. “They’re so much alike they’re always bound to combust at some point.”
“That was appalling,” I admit, sniffling.
“But needed. Brothers fight,” he says, peering at me. “Sometimes with so much anger they want to kill each other. But they always stop mere inches from it.”
“Have you?”
He laughs as does Kyce. “When I was younger, all the time. I dragged Ryker through the fucking ringers at times. Beat the shit out of him more than I can count and sometimes just because I was in a bad mood. But that’s us. No one else is allowed to kill us. Only us. It’s a Hayes thing.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, begging the hot tears threatening my eyes to stay at bay.
“Whitney, whether he’ll admit it or not, he’s got a lot on his shoulders from that night. He doesn’t mind forfeiting. He minds the reason. He witnessed you, the woman he loves, with the same wounds he intended his opponent to have after he was done. It’s a helplessness he’s never felt before. It’s juvenile for him to think it’s only Kyce’s fault, but he has no one else to lash out at. He trusted his brother and was let down so immensely. He’ll never be mad at you for it, either. Picture how terrified and unsure he was wondering what was happening with his bride-to-be. Imagine him finding out his worst rival saved your life. Not him. Envision him seeing all that while knowing he just threw away all his aspirations. Ryker had to swallow many spikey pills that night.”
“I wish I never went that night,” I hear myself say.
“I wish to fuck I didn’t leave your side,” Kyce murmurs. “I wish to fuck I didn’t take shit for granted.”
“I’m glad you did. Whether you two see it or not, he’s got one hell of an opportunity that’s opening so many doors.” Jackson smiles at me. “Sometimes the things we want the most come from corners we didn’t know existed.”
Chapter 20
I’ve begged to lay the blame on anything I can grasp at, that I’ve fucked up in so many ways.
My asinine ways of thinking. I’ll admit it.
Fuck.
I make my way up the concrete stairs, across the wood boards, and pause, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door.
He answers the door—black, blue, and purple. An ugly gash is torn on his left eyebrow, another cut sliced under the left eye. Both eyes are swollen. And although he’s cleaned up, he looks like hell.
Kyce sets his jaw.
I tip my chin. “You’re gonna need to ice that.”
His eyes deepen at me.
I clench my jaw, conflicted by my actions. “I can’t forgive you, Kyce. I can’t find it in my fucking bones to do it. But I’m done with the animosity. I’m fucking over it.”
Kyce gazes at me f
or several long seconds, working things through his mind, but then sticks his hand out in front of him. “Brothers?”
I grab it intending to shake it, but he pulls me in for a hug.
He leans back and shakes his head. “I’m sorry I let you down. I fucked up, man. And I’m sorry. I wish to fuck I could take it back.”
“I’m done talking about this shit.” And I mean it. “It’s done, it’s dealt with, and it’s over.”
He drops his head and I know he’s hiding his emotions. Any other day, I’d tease him about being so much like mom. Today is no different.
“Suck it up, pansy,” I say with humor.
He laughs, keeping his head down.
“I’ve got some cleaning up at home to do. I’ll catch up with you later.” I start down the sidewalk. “Clean it and ice it,” I call over my shoulder without looking back.
Boy, did I fuck up. How exactly do I know? Whitney’s on the couch, curled up under a blanket, hugging the pillow. I go to the bedroom, lower the covers and come back for her. Easily, I scoop her up, but two steps away from the couch, she stirs.
“What are you doing?” she asks sleepily.
“I’ll be damned if you’re gonna sleep away from me. Not if I can help it,” I tell her.
“I won’t sleep in the same bed with you until you get the hell over yourself,” she says squirming.
I chuckle because although wiggling, she tightens her grip around my neck. I kiss her forehead. “I’m over it. Kyce and me…we’re good.”
She blinks up to me all doey-eyed and shit. “Seriously?”
I place her in the bed and kiss her forehead again. “Seriously.”
I leave her and head for the shower.
When I return, she’s sitting there eyeing me like a hawk. “You didn’t murder him, did you?”
Her question surprises a laugh from me. I move in beside her and prop my head up on my elbow. “No.” I state simply. “I’m ready to move past it. It’s made me a miserable bastard and I’m tired of the bad blood.” I scoot her down and into me by her waist. “We good?”
“As long as you didn’t kill him,” she says.
I shake my head, resting it on hers. “Then we’re good.”
She exhales and snuggles into me. “That was disgusting.”
I close my eyes. “Yeah.”
I came to the gym early to clean up the mess from last night. I’m on my hands and knees when the door swings open and Carter steps in. He’s in black gym shorts with a neon green stripe, a gray t-shirt, and he’s cut his hair. It’s not a wild, tousled mess any longer. Instead, the sides are cut short, the top kept long, textured and casually messy.
I rest back on my knees and eye him.
“You like?” he points to his hair.
“Are we dating now?” I jest.
He shakes his head. “Figured I’d clean up a bit.” Glancing down at the blood stains on the cloth floor, his brows draw together. “What the hell did I miss?”
I clear my throat. “Brotherly love.” I take back to scrubbing. “Go warm up.”
I decide to keep him out of the ring today and have him work on stamina. Mainly because I’m too fucking exhausted to care right now. I’d say it isn’t fair, but he needs to work on endurance anyway.
I work him over for several hours between the treadmill, jumping rope, punching the heavy bag, and weights. Oddly, I’m still not feeling it. I call it a day, but not without a strange look from Carter.
“I’ll make it up tomorrow,” I promise.
Sensing my mood, he nods and steps off as I head for the shower.
Changed, tired, and ready to go the fuck home, I grab my bag just as my phone begins to ring.
“Yeah?” I answer, unsure of the number.
“Mr. Hayes?” a man’s voice questions.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“I’m Jameson Reece, call me JR for short. I appoint the lineups for the MMAT. Are you Carter Sharpe’s manager?”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Good. You have him down as a welterweight. Is that still correct?”
“Yeah.”
“You think you can raise him to middleweight in a few months?”
“He’s not too far off, so yeah. Why?” I ask.
“I’ve got him on the roster in three months in Houston against Hugh Walsh,” he tells me. “It’ll be Mr. Walsh’s second bout.”
“Three months? You fuckers move fast,” I say.
He chuckles. “If he’s not ready—”
“We’ll be there,” I grumble. “He’s ready.”
We hang up and I go in search of Carter. He’s up front cleaning the lobby when I approach. He stops mopping and props up on the handle, eyeing me curiously.
“How ready do you feel you are?” I ask.
“For what?”
I spread my hands to the side. “What the fuck do you think I mean?”
He beams, standing straighter. “I got a fight?” He drops the mop and I swear he’s about to start dancing the fuck around.
“You got a fight,” I agree.
He slams his fist into his palm in celebration. “Who against?”
“Some cat named Walsh. He’s middleweight.”
He springs from foot to foot and I know he’s trying to conceal his need to dance. The kid likes to fucking dance.
“Hell yes. I’m fucking ready.” He beams.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do to get your weight up. I’ll do you like my coaches did me. Training will get difficult, more intense closer to the match,” I tell him.
He nods, grinning like crazy. “I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it. It’s happening.” I walk off, saying over my shoulder.
Chapter 21
Gracie bounds around the store while Lily, Candice, and Sarah try on their dresses. I needed to get a feel, a look at how we all fall into place. One by one they step out in their horizon blue, knee-length, pin-up halter top dresses. My breath escapes me. Their makeup and hair isn’t done up and yet they’re stunning.
They smooth their hair and dresses in the mirror before Candice turns to me and gives me a pointed stare. “You can’t play dress up without the final piece.”
I smile. “I know.”
Candice pops my butt. “Chop, chop. I’m ready to see this dress on you.”
After shimmying into my dress and having Sarah thread the horizon blue lace into my corset, I step out. My palms are sweating. My arm pits are sweating. I am a freaking nervous mess. They all gasp, grinning with happy tears.
Once my eyes hit the mirror and I see my reflection, my heart flutters. I’m beautiful. This dress is more than perfect. It’s glamorous and extravagant. The bodice has diamante lace that hugs my body to my hips where the tulle-satin skirt flares out down to the floor.
“You’re a princess, Whit,” Gracie says.
I’m speechless. I’m only able to nod my head, agreeing.
“Whitney, Ryker is going to fall over when he sees you,” Sarah says. “You’re going to knock him out cold without laying a finger on him.”
Candice shakes her head. “She won’t make it to him. He’ll scoop her up and have his way in an empty room.”
They laugh.
“He better not mess up her makeup,” Lily chimes in.
I roll my eyes. “He’ll be patient.” I glance back to my reflection. “I hope.”
“You know I know what you mean,” Gracie curls her lip. “That’s nasty.”
My eyes spring wide, but Sarah looks to her daughter adoringly. “Nosy ears. Look, you can’t tell Ryker anything.” She sticks her pinky out. “You have to promise to not tell Ryker anything about what you see in this room. If you do, that swear jar is Whitney’s.”
Gracie shoves her finger into Sarah’s. “I’m not dumb, Momma.”
Ryker steps through the side door. He looks tired, but his eyes light up when he sees me.
“Hey,” I say, standing to hug him. With all the wedding stuff I did
today, I’m feeling more emotional and in need of his touch.
He wraps his hands around my hips and places a soft kiss to my lips. “You miss me?”
I smile. “I did.”
“Did you and the girls have fun?”
I eye him suspiciously. “You just want details.”
“Of course,” he says. “I’m impatient and have one hell of an imagination.”
I tiptoe to kiss his jaw. “Just a few more weeks. How was training?”
“Good.” He lets loose of me and grabs a water from the fridge. “He’s going to kick that fucknut’s ass.”
“You think he’s ready?”
“Yeah,” he exhales. “As long as he doesn’t let his nerves get in the way of his focus.” He puffs a chuckle. “He’s become a cocky son of a bitch.”
I titter. “Look who his coach is.
He scoops me up by my ass and kisses me relentlessly.
I pull back panting and in a playful mood. “Did you miss me?”
He growls low and nips my jawline.
I suck in a breath but then let out a soft moan.
“That. That fucking right there is what I need to fucking hear,” he says and laps his heated tongue along my neck.
He carries me to the couch, dropping my ass, but I’m feeling frisky. I yank his shorts down, and spring his dick loose, immediately taking it in my mouth.
He hums in pleasure, his eyes heavy with lust. He twists my hair in his fist, and I grip his dick tighter, sucking harder. Running my tongue from his nuts to his tip, I moan my own pleasure.
Removing me by my hair, he lays me flat and jerks my pants down. “I’m in no mood for foreplay,” he warns with dark eyes.
There’s the battle—tender versus hard.
He moves my legs around his waist, lowers, and presses in. I suck in a sharp breath at the fullness, and he rocks twice before pausing to look into my eyes.
Storm clouds. Depraved. Begging. Restraint. In dire need to let go. So many emotions twirl in his piercing stare.
I smile. “My dress is gorgeous.”