Fighting the Fall

by J. B. Salsbury

  “I’ll call you.” He winks before he turns to follow Jonah outside.

  “You’re going out with a guy.” Raven pins me with a knowing glare. “You’re so not gay.”

  If she had any idea what my mind and my body have been up to . . .

  “Mason’s cute, but I didn’t know he had the power to turn a gay woman straight.” Layla pulls at her lower lip, hiding the smile that her eyes can’t.

  “Real funny.” What have I done? Besides leading Mason on and potentially pissing off the CEO of the UFL. Yeah right, like he cares.

  I’ve never been anything more to him than a booty call. If he is at this party, I bet he won’t spend a single second worrying about my being there with Mason. And I’ll spend the entire night wishing Mason was him.

  Fucking great.

  My phone rings in my purse on the table. “Oh, I better get that.” I’m the on-call manager tonight, and it would be my luck to get called in for something stupid like them running out of toilet paper. “Hello?”

  “Yvette.”

  My chest gets heavy and I swallow hard. “Hey, what’s up?” I hold up one finger to Raven and Layla and mouth “I’ll be right back” to avoid them overhearing our conversation.

  “Did you miss a deposit?”

  I hurry to the back door and step outside. “No, Dad. I’ve never missed a deposit. You know that.” My shoulders slump and I close my eyes, knowing what’s coming.

  “It didn’t come through, honey. I swear. I need you to put more in.”

  Dammit. He must’ve gambled, drank it, or both. “I don’t have any more until payday.”

  “How’s that possible? You’ve gotta eat, right?” He chuckles.

  “Dad, you’re asking for my grocery money?”

  “You’ve got rich friends, Yvette. I have no one. And you promised you’d help me out when I need it. I need it.”

  This is so fucked up. My stomach roils, and I muster up the courage to say no. “I put the money in your account. It’s not my fault you ran out.” I hold my breath, close my eyes, break out in a sweat, and wait.

  “Always so selfish . . .”

  Here it comes.

  “Just like your mother. She should’ve listened to me when I told her to abort you, but the selfish bitch had you anyway.”

  Every word chips away at my soul, destroying what little confidence I’d managed to build since our last call.

  “. . . gave you life, and you repay me with nothing. Every breath you take on this earth you owe to me.”

  I don’t want to believe him, but I can’t think of a reason to refute him. My head hangs low between my shoulders.

  “. . . you spend all your money on food to feed your fat ass . . .”

  He’s wrong. Right? My chin trembles.

  “ . . . I never loved you . . .”

  I cringe and tears spring to my eyes.

  “. . . horrible daughter . . .”

  He’s right. My mom left when I was seven because I was too much of a burden, and he was left to raise me alone. I do owe him.

  “. . . never hear from me again, you selfish bitch.”

  My heart leaps in my chest. “Dad, wait!” Don’t leave me.

  He’s silent.

  “If you can give me a few days, maybe I can scrape something up. It won’t be much, but I’ll try.”

  “I’ll come by to pick it up.”

  “Wait, Dad—”

  The phone disconnects. Shit.

  I take a moment to pull myself together before going back inside. Just like every other time I give in to my Dad’s demands, I feel sick. Used. Dirty. But the little girl in me rejoices that I’ve managed to keep him around. It’s only money, right?

  As long as I have something he needs, he’ll never walk away.

  Twelve

  Cameron

  Things are coming together. For the first time since I took this position, the UFL doesn’t look like a sloppy mess. The guys aren’t killing each other, they’re fired up and training harder to get on the big-card fights, and I’m seeing a revival of UFL pride within the organization.

  With the holiday weekend approaching and the party on Friday to kick it all off, I’m feeling damn good about the progress I’ve made.

  I’m headed to the weight room for a workout before I go home when I see our intern, Killian. He’s a great kid, and from what I’ve seen, Blake and the guys are going to turn him into an exceptional fighter. At seventeen, Killian’s managed to pick up on some basic holds and submission techniques. Which is why seeing him on all fours, his hand braced on his belly, gets my attention.

  “Killer, what’s up?” I move toward him, and he pushes up to his knees, his face red. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Nothin’, Mr. Kyle. Just some of the . . . new guys playin’ . . . around.” He’s sucking in air, but trying to act unaffected.

  I admire that.

  “Don’t lie to me, kid.” He’s obviously had his helping of ass kickings and cover ups throughout his life, but I won’t tolerate being lied to.

  His shoulders drop along with his chin. I put out my hand to help him up, but he shakes off my offer and pushes to standing. He’s taking deeper breaths and looks me in the eyes. “Reece and his boys were just razzing me.”

  “They put their hands on you?” Adrenaline rockets through my veins. This isn’t the first time I’ve had issues with that punk Reece. Razzing is one thing, but bullying and assault is another.

  “No, sir.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “You lyin’?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Killer, I’ll give you one more chance to tell me the truth.”

  “I . . . There were too many of them, or I think I could’ve taken ’em.” He’s practically whispering. “Pretty sure they were just messin’ with me.”

  Fuck. I get what’s happening. This kid wants respect, he’s looking to be accepted into the fold for being a man, and that’ll never happen if he’s ratting out the punks to the boss.

  “Who’re you training with?”

  “Blake, sometimes Rex and Caleb.” He bends over and picks his glasses up off the ground. When he puts them on, one lens is shattered. “Damn, that sucks.” He takes them off and studies them with a fire brewing behind his eyes.

  Killian’s the kind of kid who’ll end up being exceptional given he’s shown some direction, but he also has that quiet crazy look that given the wrong direction could land his ass in prison.

  “I’ll pay for new lenses.” Or I’m taking it out of Reece’s paycheck, that little fuck. “If you’re interested in earning some cash, I’d be happy to upgrade you from intern to employee.” I see big things happening with Killer, and being an official employee of the UFL should earn him more respect from the guys.

  His eyes grow wide, and the battle raging behind them fades. “I . . . I mean . . .” A broad smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, uh, yes. Sir, yes. Please.” He shakes my hand. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. When summer break is over, we’ll move you back to part-time, but you’ll remain on the payroll. Who’re you training with?”

  His eyebrows pinch together. “Um, Blake. You already asked me that, sir.”

  Shit. I did? “Right, well, I’ll talk to the guys you’ve been training with about getting more sparring in, getting you ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready for whatever you decide to do after graduation.”

  His entire face lights up, and that slump in his shoulders is gone. “Thank you, Mr. Kyle.”

  I nod and move to continue toward the weight room.

  “Are the rumors true?”

  I stop and turn. “Rumors of what?”

  “You being challenged to return to the octagon by Rusty Faulkner?”

  I should’ve known having that conversation in the lobby would come back to screw me, but I’ve got nothing to hide. “It’s true.”

  “They’re saying he’s wants to put you out of commis
sion. Permanently.”

  They? “Not sure who you’ve been talking to—”

  “It’s all over the Internet. His camp, even Faulkner himself, they’re posting on all the MMA sites. Says all it’ll take is one hit.”

  That media-hungry motherfucker. He’s pitting me against the public before I’ve even officially accepted his challenge.

  “Faulkner’s a no-good piece of shit. He’ll say anything to get me riled.”

  Killer rubs the back of his neck, his eyes fixed on everything but me. “But . . . it’s true, right? One more concussion could be lights out. You quit because the doctors said you were unfit to fight.”

  Not exactly accurate, but that’s the story I’ve been selling since the day Rosie drowned. “That’s about right. But times have changed. I’m meeting with the board to see if they’d be supportive of me going back into the octagon. I think my coming out of retirement could be a big ticket.” I shrug. “Can’t see why they’d say no.”

  “That would be so fucking cool. I saw footage of your fight in ’98 against Kiro Tumbo, and honestly, the only way Faulkner stands a chance is if he can avoid your takedown. If he can’t, and we know he can’t, it’ll be over by submission, first round.”

  I can’t fuckin’ believe this kid. “You’re seventeen.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were one year old in 1998.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Amazing. “You see any of Faulkner’s old fight footage?”

  “I have. It’s unimpressive, you know, all the showboating he does.”

  I really like this kid. “Think about what you want to do after graduation.”

  I give him a fist bump, head to the weight room, and smile when I hear his whispered “fuck yeah” from behind me. He’s a good kid, on the path to becoming a good man, as long those fuckin’ bullies leave him alone.

  Speaking of bullies, Faulkner’s clearly trying to piss me off enough so that I’ll fight him. Not that he even has to try.

  The more I think about it, the more I want to beat his ass in the octagon.

  ~*~

  Eve

  As if dressing for a date isn’t hard enough, but dressing for the guy who isn’t the guy taking you out is awkward. I don’t want to lead Mason on by making him think I went to all this work for him, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen Cameron I want to make an impression.

  It’s stupid. Cruel even. I’m setting myself up to be hurt again, but that doesn’t stop me from putting together the most kick-ass Fourth of July outfit ever. If he does show up to this party with a girl on his arm, I want him to see me at my best. I want to wear an outfit that makes him forget about our age difference, forget that I lied, and most importantly, I want him to ache to be close to me again.

  Pulling some lip gloss and gum from my everyday purse and into my red clutch, I see headlights pull into my driveway. My stomach flutters. Don’t freak out. There’s a good chance Cameron won’t be there tonight.

  “I’m such a bitch.” Here I’m getting excited over a guy who wants nothing to do with me when a very sweet guy who’s interested is hurrying to my door. “Karma is going to kick my ass for this one.”

  I open the door just as he arrives. “Hey, Mase.”

  He stills, and his eyes move up from my feet to my hair. “Whoa, Eve, you’re like . . . hot.”

  Sigh. There’s a part of me that would’ve loved for that compliment to light some kind of fire, but it falls flat. “Thanks, you look . . . really handsome.”

  Jeans that fit just right, blue and red plaid short-sleeved collared shirt, blond shaggy hair, he’s like Malibu MMA Ken.

  “You ready?” He jerks his head to his waiting Tundra that’s the color of the ocean.

  I lock up and follow him to the passenger side door, which he opens for me. I should fall for him. I should.

  He fires up the engine, and “Don’t Push” by Sublime blares through the speakers. He turns it down. “You feel like grabbing a bite to eat?”

  “I thought this shindig was being catered.”

  He shrugs and turns out onto the main road. “It is. I’m just trying to get some alone time with you.” A slight twist and he flashes me a half smile that is really, really cute.

  “You’re so honest.”

  “And that surprises you.” His expression loses its humor.

  “I’m a single woman, Mase. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “Ex do a number on you, then?” The muscle in his jaw ticks.

  God, he’s really so damn sweet.

  “You could say that.”

  He doesn’t respond, and we travel the rest of the way to the party in silence. For a moment, I consider what my life would be like with a guy like Mason. We’ve hung out a few times in a group, and I’ve always enjoyed his company. He’s funny enough, definitely hot, and safe. If I could trick myself somehow, convince myself that he’s what I want, what I need, I would.

  The truck lurches to a stop in a fancy neighborhood, the street lined with cars.

  “Hang tight.” Mason jumps out of the driver’s seat and hurries around the front of the truck to open my door.

  Guilt coils in my chest, but I push it back and paint on my most appreciative smile. “Thanks, Mase.”

  “My pleasure, beautiful.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes at his obvious schmoozing. Funny, when Cameron calls me beautiful, I melt into a puddle of goo.

  He hits the fob and leads me down the sidewalk. It’s seven o’clockish and warm since we still have a couple hours before sunset. I hope we don’t have to hoof it too much longer. Showing up sweaty won’t do anything for my look.

  I notice Jonah’s truck and Blake’s Rubicon parked ahead when Mason leads me with his hand on my lower back to turn up a long walkway to a killer house. It’s not what I’d expect in this posh neighborhood. Dwarfed by its multi-leveled neighbors, this house is modern and sleek. It’s all brick and glass with exposed metal beams. The landscaping is simple with an almost Asian-prayer-garden flare. Trickling water leads to a pond that’s surrounded by those cool-looking green stick bushes. Dark and airy, peaceful simplicity, in a word . . . masculine.

  “This place is incredible. Does it belong to one of the new guys?” I’ve heard that a few of the new fighters have had pretty successful careers and whoever owns this place is loaded.

  We reach the enormous wood door, and Mason ignores knocking to push right inside. The sound of music, voices, and laughter filters out from the depths of the house.

  “Pretty sick pad, huh?” Mason shuts the door and to my surprise grabs my hand to lead me further inside. “It’s Cam’s place.”

  Oh shit.

  Thirteen

  Cameron

  This party was a good idea. I remind myself to thank Layla again for setting this all up. The smell of fried chicken, mac-n-cheese, and baked beans makes my mouth water. Going with an all-American menu was fuckin’ brilliant. As soon as the sun goes down, the firework show should begin. It’s being put on by the country club, who also does its own party for the Fourth, but my generous financial contribution had them setting up the pyrotechnics with a perfect view from my backyard.

  “Sanderson,” I call out to Mike Sanderson, a member of the UFL board as he and a woman I’m assuming is his wife, saunter out into the backyard. He makes his way to me, hand out, and smiles. “Glad you could make it.”

  “You went all out.” He grabs my hand in a firm shake and introduces me to his wife before sending her to the bar for drinks. “You thought any more about Faulkner’s challenge?”

  “I have.” Been planning for this fight for fourteen years. “Just waiting on the approval from the board.”

  “We’ve met. Discussed.” He shrugs and swings his gaze in a slow rake around the backyard before coming back to our conversation. “It’d be a Supercard.”

  “It would. Set up the prelims with rivals. Promote the fuck out of it. We’re talkin’ record-breaking numbers. Huge money.” />
  “Rival Bout. I like it.” His wife comes back with two drinks, hands one off to him, and then waves to another woman she recognizes and excuses herself.

  “The rest of the board see things like we do?”

  “They’re . . . less convinced. Fact is we need you. With your medical history, combined with the possibility of concussion, we need to ask ourselves if one fight is worth the possibility of losing a great CEO.”

  “Gotta get hit hard enough for that to happen, Sanderson. He won’t get near me.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, but you can’t guarantee—”

  “I can. Give me the fight. I’ll prove it.”

  He glares and his lips pull up on the sides. “Stubborn son of a bitch.”

  “I want that fight.” I laugh and throw back the last of my beer when a flash of blond catches my eye.

  Is that . . . ? My blood pounds through my veins. The mingling crowd obscures my view, until she emerges. Holy fuck. It’s Eve.

  She’s here, at my house, and looks better than my fantasies have recalled. Her straight blond hair falls around her bare shoulders; I know those thick bangs, even with her sunglasses on, frame the biggest pair of sky-blue eyes. It looks like she was poured into a blue and white dress that seems as if it’s made out of elastic bandages. Her long legs are tipped with bright red heels that beg to mark a man’s back. Fucking gorgeous.

  “. . . meeting next week. We should—”

  “Give me a minute?” I hold my hand up to Sanderson. “I need to go say hi to . . .”

  What. The. Fuck.

  She’s coming this way. But she’s not alone. My teeth clench and my fists get tight. She’s with Mason, and not just accompanying him. She’s holding his motherfucking hand.

  “Cam, man. Great party.” Mason’s talking to me. I know he is, but I don’t pay him even a second of my attention as my eyes are firmly set on Eve.

  Mason drops her hand only to throw his entire arm over her shoulder to hug her to his side. “You remember Eve from The Blackout.”

  She pushes her sunglasses up on her head and fuck me . . . those eyes. “Hey, yeah. Nice to see you again.”