by Missy Blue
Asher's mouth twitched and I knew he wanted to laugh. "Yes, sir. Roger that, sir."
Dad nodded, then stepped forward and extended his hand. Asher immediately grasped it, and they shook. I felt both touched and embarrassed. I loved seeing my father and Asher getting along, but hated that I felt like such a helpless infant at times. I knew that was just how my father was, and how he'd always be, but it never ceased to irk me.
"Okay," I said. "Asher has to be going now." I looked up at him. "Right? You have to get to the gym. Or someplace that's not here."
He smiled down at me. "I do need to be going. Sir. Ma'am." He turned back to my parents and shook hands with them both again. I had to roll my eyes when I saw my mother's eyes go wide and her hands flutter a little when Asher turned to her. "It was a pleasure as always."
"Goodbye, Asher," my mother said with a big smile. My father merely nodded at him. I grabbed his arm and hustled him out of the kitchen toward the door.
"See? That wasn't so bad," Asher told me. "And your dad is fine with you coming with me. Now it's just up to you, Nutcracker."
"Right," I said. "I guess that was about as painless as it's going to be."
"Now you just have to deal with how pissed he is that you were late," Asher added. He smiled innocently.
"You made me late!" I hissed, shoving his arm a little. "You were supposed to wake up and take me home."
His smile turned mischievous as he opened the door. He glanced over my shoulder then leaned down, tilting his head until his lips were just a breath away. "You just seemed to be sleeping so peacefully, all of a sudden," he murmured teasingly. "No clue why, though. I didn't want to wake you up."
"You know why," I murmured back, my annoyance forgotten as memories flooded my mind and my face heated up.
He laughed and leaned in, kissing me chastely. "What’re you up to the rest of the day, after you leave here?"
"Working on my dance," I said. “Really need to nail this thing. You?"
"Sparring," he replied. I realized that between both our endeavors, we likely wouldn't be seeing each other that evening.
"Jewel!" my father's voice shouted. "Let's go."
“I want to come,” I said suddenly to Asher. “To Ithaca.” I realized then that being with Asher felt right. “I want to be there for you, Asher. Support you for once.”
His eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners. Both sides of his mouth curved upward into a genuine smile. Seeing him smile like this, really smile, with his whole mouth, was so rare that I had never really noticed it before. I had always figured he would have a nice smile. He was a beautiful man, after all. It made sense. But seeing it, really seeing it, feeling its warmth and basking in its glow, watching as it completely transformed his face, knowing it was me who planted it there—it almost took my breath away.
In reply, Asher leaned forward again and brushed my lips with his. It was reminiscent of our first kiss; sweet, almost loving, but there was just the slightest edge of the lightning hot passion that we’d managed to develop between us. I wanted to deepen the kiss but he suddenly pulled away.
"Have a good one, ma'am," he called, looking over my shoulder. He squeezed my hand. "I’ll keep you safe, Jewel. You’ve got me now; you don’t have to be afraid anymore," he added. With another wave to my mother, he left, jogging toward his car.
The smile I’d just been given, lingered in my heart. And the owner of that smile, that face, would never, ever, do anything to hurt me. Of that, I was certain. I was safe with him.
I sighed and turned around, seeing my mother standing against the counter with her arms folded. I was smiling widely. "Ma," I said, but I couldn't stop smiling myself. "Please."
"I like that boy," my mother said. "So sweet. Such a gentleman. So good-looking, too."
"He is," I said simply. "All of those things and more."
"Your father likes him, too," my mother added as we walked back into the kitchen. "Don't let him fool you."
"I do like him," my father insisted. "But if he fucks up, he's still a dead man. Capisci?"
DESPITE THE FACT that I hadn’t seen Asher as much as I had wanted to, the next two weeks somehow managed to breeze by quickly. He was busy training for the tournament, and I was busy with my showcase piece.
I did get to see him when I boxed at his gym, a few nights in the weeks, and I’d even met Bailey’s wife, Tess, for dinner at their house, a few times. It never failed to make me smile at how thoughtful Asher could be. He had wanted me to meet Tess so I’d feel less anxious about going away with people I didn’t really know. Meeting Tess did help a little. We got on like a house on fire. Asher had been right when he’d said Tess and I shared the same witty sense of humor.
I still felt a great deal of anxiety at the impending trip to Buffalo, tomorrow. But then I realized something. I hadn't thought of the trial for a while. I wasn't sure what that meant. Did I no longer care? Was I so afraid that I blotted it from my mind?
All I knew was I'd received the official subpoena, telling me to be at the New York City Criminal Court this Monday at nine o'clock in the morning.
Though I knew I needed to be packing for the weekend, I lay on my back on my couch—Rocky curled up on my tummy—staring at the ceiling, and thought long and hard about the trial.
I made myself think of what it would entail, envisioning myself sitting on the mahogany chair on the witness stand next to the judge as I told the jury exactly what Jackson James had done to me almost a year ago.
In detail.
And he would be there. He would be sitting there across from me, with his horrible dark, almost demonic-looking eyes, remembering what he'd done as he listened to me. I wondered if it would affect him at all. But then, with disgust, I realized there was a chance it would turn him on.
His defense would cross-examine me, trying to poke holes in my story. Or maybe they'd realize there were no holes to be poked, and would insist that he was out of his mind, hadn't known what he was doing.
He had known.
He was out of his mind; of that, I was sure and wholeheartedly concurred. He had known exactly what he was doing when he'd spent a weekend raping me, brutalizing me, beating me, making me beg for mercy and plead for my life, ripping into my soft flesh with his teeth and his hands and his gun.
A memory of the absolutely agonizing pain I'd felt, pain that I'd never before experienced, and prayed to God that I would never experience again, washed over me. I could feel it like I could feel it back then, ripping over my skin, tearing down to my bones, making me wish I would die, just so it would stop and I would be free of his torture.
I forced myself to think of all these things, curious in a detached way about my physical and emotional reactions. It was like I was studying myself, and I thought long and hard about the way my stomach clenched up and a feeling of incredible dread washed over me. My heart rate increased and I could feel it everywhere I had a pulse on my body. Rocky jumped off me suddenly when my breathing increased and tears stung my eyes as my entire body tensed up and shuddered.
I thought of my bottle of anxiety medication, on my kitchen counter, untouched since the day I'd stopped taking them—the night Asher had learned of my terrible secret. It seemed like so long ago.
I wanted one. I wanted the whole bottle. Anything to make these feelings of sheer panic and anxiety go away and leave me. Anything to make me stop feeling like I was about to lose my life at every moment; that every stranger I looked at was plotting against me, making plans to rip my flesh apart and leave me for my family to find.
As tears squeezed out of my tightly shut eyelids, I struggled to draw deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling loudly as the intakes of air shuddered between my dry lips. I felt an ache in my knuckles and realized that my hands were clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. In fact, I realized my entire body was tight and wound up with stress. I forced myself to relax, concentrating hard on making each muscle relax, one at a time. The exercise took a very long time,
but when I was complete, I felt a small measure of peace.
Next to walking out of the hospital and being in public, around people—enemies, as far as my shattered mind was concerned—for the first time after the attack, I knew the trial would be the hardest thing to date I'd ever have to do. But I was determined to do it. Even if it killed me, even if I broke down on the stand, even if I passed out or lost my mind—I'd do it.
I'd never forget what Jackson James had done to me. The lingering damage he'd caused that would haunt me probably for the rest of my life, the reminder as my sisters continued to bear children, and their children bore children, that I never would be able to do the same, because he'd taken that away from me.
I'd be damned and no better than him if I didn't testify just because I was scared, and as a result, he got off and did it to someone else.
It had to stop with me.
It would stop with me.
Chapter Nineteen
Him
“YOU DO REALIZE this is just a weekend thing?" I asked, looking down at the bags she was taking. "We're not going away for a week."
She gave me an odd look. "I'm aware," she replied. "Can't you tell? I'd have so much more if it were longer than three days." Her face clouded slightly. "Well, four, I guess."
I thought of the trial, and noticed the stress that came across her face, and leaned in to kiss it away. Her brow immediately smoothed as she focused completely on me, as I'd intended and hoped.
"Come on," I said. She followed me down the stairs and out of the building. She helped me load her bags in the car and then I opened her door for her. Her face brightened at the sight of the steaming cup in her cup holder.
"Is that for me?" she asked when I got settled behind the wheel.
"That's for you," I replied, starting the engine and pulling off. "So who's taking care of Rocky? Since your family is coming to New York on Monday."
"Well, my mom is going to come by and feed him every day until Monday," she replied. "Since my dad doesn't like cats and won't let me bring him over. Then she's just going to load him up with food on Monday before they leave. He’ll be okay for a day by myself." She leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat and smiled at me. "Why, you worried about him?"
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "No. Hell no. I just wanted to make sure you'd have your little buddy to come home to. That's all, Nutcracker."
She laughed and sipped her beverage. "Sure. It's okay, Asher. You can love him."
I grunted in reply, unable to wipe a smirk off my face. I made it to the interstate in due time and settled in. It would be about two and half hours to Buffalo.
Jewel stretched in her seat and ran a hand through her thick dark hair, bringing it over one shoulder. I kept my eyes on the road but sensed from my peripheral vision that she was watching me.
"You seem so focused," she commented, sipping her latte again. "Are you feeling pretty good about this? Nervous at all?"
"Don’t get nervous," I replied. "I'm honestly looking forward to it being over."
"Really?" she asked. "You don't enjoy it?"
"I mean, I do," I said. "Because I'm good at fighting. It's what I do; it's how I make my living. But the whole thing with these tournaments, the interviews, the press, the pictures, the televised fights—it just sort of makes it all seem so...fake and obnoxious. At the end of the day we're guys who just want to do our best, make our living, and get home."
"Only one of you gets to make a living, though," Jewel pointed out. "Right?"
"Well, only one of us gets the purse," I conceded. "Sometimes managers can work it out so that their fighter gets a percentage of the ticket sales."
"Did yours?"
I shook my head. "I don't do any of that," I replied. "I make enough from what I do day-to-day, and I'm considering some endorsement deals."
"If you win the purse, what'll you do with it?" Jewel asked.
I gave her a sidelong, playfully sly look. "Why? You planning to steal it from me or something?"
"Trust me, sweet cheeks," she retorted, "I do not want your money."
"What if I could make all your dreams come true?" I teased.
"Then I'd be paying you back every red cent," she answered, giving me a stern look. "Enough about that. Answer the question."
"Well," I mused. "I'll be giving some to my best friend’s wife and her children."
There was a pause. "The Marine who had saved your life," Jewel said quietly.
Jewel hadn’t asked me about the alleged affair. The one plastered all over the fucking media. The one that sent me into a rage last year, and nearly had me thrown out of Sparta for threatening to kill that bastard reporter, Marty Douchebag Jones, who started the fucking rumor in the first place. Asshole.
“You’ve never asked me if what they said was true,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.
There was another pause. “I don’t need to, Asher. I know if there was something between you two, you would have made an honest woman of her.” She smiled at me. “If you want to talk about it…you know I’m here for you too.”
I sighed. I really didn't want to get into any of it, but my girl had given me so much of herself, that it was only right to do so in return. "I haven't…I haven't made peace with losing Gable. I didn’t deserve to be saved by him. He was a better man than me. He had kids, a wife…" I replied quietly.
“Asher…” she said, her voice tender. “…You can’t think like that. He saved you because you’re a good person. Because he obviously saw something in you that you can’t see. Something I can see. I didn’t meet him, but I don’t think he would have wanted you to feel guilty for something he chose to do. And the way you look after his family, I’m sure he’s proud of you.”
I swallowed when I felt warmth sink into my chest. There was a long pause before I spoke up. "I'm working on it.” I gave her a half-smile and cleared my throat. "I've sent Bethany, his wife, enough so far to get trust funds started for the kids. Gable would’ve wanted them to go to college. I'm hoping I can win this purse and get the funds set up fully for them; give Beth something to live on comfortably. Then I guess I'll invest some of it. Maybe put some of it into the gym."
"You’re a good man," Jewel said.
I glanced at her, and removed my hand from where it rested on the gearshift and took her hand. We drove that way in silence for a while before I thought of something.
"You still taking your meds?" I asked, then shook my head. "Sorry if that was random. I was just thinking about things."
"It's okay," she said. "And no, I'm not taking them anymore. Although sometimes I want to. But I don't want to be a pill-popper. I don’t want to be a victim anymore."
"What made you stop?" I asked. "I know you still have panic attacks and get anxiety still."
"I do, but not nearly as much." She cleared her throat and glanced out the window. "Actually, you have a lot to do with that."
I looked at her in surprise. "How’d you figure?"
She bit her lip but I saw a dimple suddenly appear in her cheek. "I don't know," she hedged. "It's just…you've made me feel different. Like I can look people in the face again, that I don't have to be scared that I'm about to be raped and murdered every time I leave my house. You've made me comfortable with being me and...living." She met my eyes quickly, her cheeks rosier than usual. "I trust you. Do you know how nice it is to feel like I can trust another human being again?"
"I'm glad," I replied quietly, sincerely. "I trust you too."
She cleared her throat once more but looked at me, leaning her head back again. "It’s only been a year since it happened…but I've felt real happiness, Asher. It's because of you."
I squeezed her hand. "I'm happy too," I said, still quiet. "I don't think I've ever really been happy. But I feel it now." She smiled. “I just hope you’re not using me for my charm and hot bod.” I smirked.
She narrowed her eyes mischievously. “No. Just your hands.”
“Not my li
ps then?” I grinned over at her, then tugged her closer for a kiss.
Another comfortable silence befell us before Jewel spoke up again. "Do you have a song to walk out with? You didn’t have anything at Sparta, if I remember correctly," she said.
I shrugged. "No," I answered. "I'm a no frills kinda guy. Just get in the ring, handle my business, and get on with life. It's already a stretch to get me to agree to take pictures but, I signed an agreement. It didn't go over well at Sparta that I skipped all that shit."
"I see," she replied. "A photo-shoot, huh?" She wiggled her eyebrows playfully.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Only if you take pictures of you in your ballet outfit. Any chance of a preview for that?"
"Absolutely not," she replied, smiling. "You'll just have to wait on pins and needles." She meant the last part to be sarcastic, but I brought her hand to my lips.
"I’ll do anything you ask of me, Nutcracker. Anything."
Her
MY EYES WIDENED as I followed Asher into the lobby of the Hyatt-Regency Hotel in downtown Buffalo.
Already there were crowds of people gathered, holding signs, cameras, pictures. Asher had pointed out a couple of the other fighters he'd recognized to me and they were signing autographs for enthusiastic MMA fans. Asher ignored their calls to him, and shouldering both my bags and his own, he walked straight to the check-in counter.
The fans were a mixture of all kinds of people. But there were a lot of women. Lots and lots of women. Half-naked women. They weren't shy, either; much like the women at the gym, they were painted and dressed in tight, revealing clothing. They were beautiful, they were gilded and fake, and they were, apparently, horny.
They tired desperately to get Asher’s attention by shouting, “Tornado!” and looked at me like I was dog crap on the bottom of their shoes. I felt, saw, and heard their laughter, their pointing, their whispers. Their eyes glided from my raggedy punk T-shirt, to my jeans, and then to my sneakers. They towered over me in their heels and their fashion-forward club-wear.