Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4)

by Melynda Price

  This woman truly was a gift sent from God. How else could he have found someone who understood him so thoroughly and loved him so completely? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. He’d always known he loved Willow Scott. Granted, there were times—years—when he’d been in denial about that, but unequivocally, there had never been a time that he loved this woman more that he loved her right now. She exemplified everything that was good and right in his life. She was the beacon of hope he clung to, promising him he could get beyond this, and instead of dwelling on his past, he would focus on giving her the life and the future she deserved.

  Willow was right. He could let this destroy him, or he could choose to honor his mother by becoming the man, the husband, the father, he wished they could have had. And he knew exactly the woman he wanted by his side every step of the way. Unfortunately, that first step was going to be a doozy.

  Chapter 28

  Hey, man, sorry I’m late.”

  Regan reached into his locker to grab his sparring gear as he glanced over his shoulder and found Kyle heading toward him. He stopped beside Regan and began working the combination. The faintest hint of perfume teased Regan’s nostrils, and he exhaled a grunt. “I don’t care if you’re late, but I’d appreciate you showering last night’s fuck off you before getting into the cage with me. Seriously, it’s common courtesy, dude.”

  Kyle tipped his head and sniffed his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin tugged at his lips. “Sorry, bro. Give me a minute and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Regan exhaled, crossed over to the benches, and dropped into a lazy sprawl. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he closed his eyes to wait. He hadn’t slept for shit last night after seeing his father and discovering the truth. Compiled with the stress that today would most likely be the day he lost his best friend, was it any fucking wonder his nerves were shot?

  Ten minutes later, Kyle hollered, “You ready to go?” across the gym.

  “I’ve been ready,” Regan grumbled, getting to his feet.

  “Well, quit your bitchin’ and get in the cage. What’re you waiting for?”

  Regan shook his head as he pulled on his gloves. The knot in his stomach tightened as he climbed the steps into the octagon. As much as he wanted to come clean to Kyle and tell him the truth about him and Willow, the timing was less than ideal. He was struggling to come to grips with this shit with his dad, and with Campoli’s hearing coming up. He hated to admit it, but last night, after talking to Willow, he understood her decision to pursue Campoli’s appeal just a little better. And as much as he’d wanted her to let it go, he totally got why she couldn’t.

  Despite it all, he couldn’t put this off with Kyle any longer. Too much time had passed already. He despised secrets, and felt like a lying sack of shit every time he looked his friend in the eye. The possibility of losing Kyle’s friendship was a hard blow, but the thought of losing Willow? Beyond devastation.

  “Willow tried to call me last night. I didn’t get the message until this morning asking me to call her back, but she was already in class. She sounded upset. I take it you talked to her?” Kyle asked, pulling the cage door shut behind him and turning to face Regan.

  “Yeah, I talked to her.”

  “And? Did she give you that bastard’s name?”

  Kyle fastened the Velcro straps over his gloves and came forward, meeting Regan in the center of the cage. Regan exhaled deeply and scrubbed his hands over his face. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this.

  “Look, man. I want you to know that I don’t feel right about any of this. You’re like a brother to me. You’re my best friend, and I don’t take that lightly. But I’m in a difficult position here.”

  Kyle’s face hardened with determination. “It’s someone we know, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to give me a name.”

  Looking up, Regan met Kyle’s stare and held it—unwavering. “I love Willow.”

  “Of course you do. I love Willow, too. That’s why I expect you to understand why I want a name.”

  “Nah, man, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m in love with Willow. I’m the guy she’s been seeing.”

  Kyle’s expression locked down, leaving the cold, hard death-glare he reserved for his opponents in the octagon. Regan had been expecting this, had been preparing himself for it, but no amount of time could prepare him for the rage and betrayal glaring back at him right now.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

  “What? You weren’t happy nailing every cunt that crossed your path? You decided you needed a new challenge—is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it! Willow pursued me. I tried to resist—”

  “But what? She overpowered you and made you fuck her?”

  “No . . . I fell in love with her.” If he thought his declaration of love would somehow sway his friend, Regan was sorely disappointed.

  “She’s too good for your used-up dick. You forget, asshole, I know you. I know all the pussy you’ve blown through over the years, and you just added my sister to your cunny club! You think you’re in love with her now, but just wait until the next CFA party comes around.”

  Regan was getting pissed, standing there listening to what little regard Kyle truly had for him. Maybe his best friend didn’t know him so well, after all. “It ain’t like that, man. That’s not me anymore.”

  “Bullshit. How long?”

  “What?”

  “How long have you been lying to me? How long have you been fucking my sister behind my back?”

  And that was the question he knew would end this friendship. He could lie and hope for forgiveness—and as furious as Kyle was, he doubted it would come anytime soon. Or, he could tell the truth and take at least one step forward in reclaiming his integrity.

  “We’ve been seeing each other a few months.”

  Wham! Kyle’s fist slammed into Regan’s jaw. “You lying motherfucking piece of shit!”

  Pain exploded in his jaw, and he swore to God tweeting birds were circling over his head. Regan gave him that one because, hell, he deserved it. But Kyle wasn’t pulling his punches, and Regan wasn’t keen on eating another. The next time Kyle’s fist flew, Regan was ready. He blocked the uppercut and dealt a haymaker to Kyle’s cheek. The bastard had an iron jaw. He didn’t miss a beat as he sent a swinging back-fist into the side of Regan’s head. Fuck, they could go like this all day. They knew the other’s weaknesses, could anticipate the other’s moves, and Kyle showed no sign of stopping.

  He wasn’t fucking around. This shit was for real. Kyle was furious. Not that Regan blamed the guy, but he hadn’t expected him to try to knock him out. If he had any hope of walking away from this, Regan had to get him on the ground—get the advantage. He shot low and caught Kyle in the gut with his shoulder, lifting him up and slamming him on the mat.

  Boom!

  The echo through the gym attracted a lot of attention, along with a string of curses.

  “Fucking prick!” Kyle snarled from his back, bucking his hips and rolling to displace Regan, but he had his hooks in, dodging the fists flying at him.

  A door slammed down the hall, and footsteps pounded from all directions. “Scott! Matthews! Break it up!” Dean shouted.

  Neither of them heeded the warning. “Goddammit! Who’s reffing these two?” More footsteps. Then, “Easton, Grim, get over here and break these two assholes up!”

  Kyle caught Regan in the brow with an elbow. He felt the skin split, hot moisture running down his face. Another fist flew, but this time he was ready. Deflecting the blow, he shifted position and wrapped both legs around Kyle’s in a triangle while grabbing his foot. Pinning it with his arm, he gripped his ankle and twisted. The torque on Kyle’s knee from the heel hook was instant.

  “Tap,” Regan growled, the vision in his right eye gone from the blood running into it.

  “Fuck you!”

&nbs
p; He knew the guy’s knee had to be killing him, but he’d be damned if he was letting go. Friend or not, right or wrong, Kyle had come at him with intent, and something inside Regan had just snapped. All the rage burning inside him, the instinct of defense honed over the years of taking beating after beating from his father, the base male need to win, all thrummed through his veins. He wasn’t backing down, not until he felt that tap of surrender.

  “Tap!” Regan demanded.

  “Matthews, goddammit, save it for the fight! Let Scott go!”

  Dean’s demands went unheeded until an arm slipped around Regan’s throat in a rear naked choke and tried to yank him back. But Regan’s hold was tight. If he didn’t let go, he’d pass out. He didn’t want to do either one, but his head was getting light and his vision was starting to spot.

  “Let go, Raps.” Grim’s warning was the only one he was going to get before lights out.

  Regan’s grip slipped before he lost consciousness, just enough for Grim and Easton to pull them apart. He was yanked to his feet by the forearm around his throat and then unceremoniously shoved toward the corner. Between the black spots and the blood in his eye, he couldn’t see for shit. Dizziness from hypoxia left him stumbling into the cage, the roar of Dean’s cursing a distant echo in his mind.

  “So, it looks like you finally told him, huh? I’d ask how that went for ya, but your eye is all the answer I need.”

  Regan winced at the sharp pinch of the needle piercing his brow as the burn of the anesthetic infiltrated his skin. Past the doc, he shot Easton a scowl from the hospital bed. Once the chaos had started to settle, the fighter had taken one look at Regan’s face and promptly whisked him out of there.

  “Coach is gonna be pissed.” Easton crossed his arms over his chest and watched him from the chair against the wall. “You two dumb fuckers probably just disqualified yourselves from the fight next month.” He studied Regan a moment, giving him a good idea of what it must feel like to be a bug under a microscope. “Unless that’s exactly what you were trying to do, then in that case, you’re a fucking genius. Scott would have no idea you threw the fight, and right now, he’s probably too pissed to care. With that brow of yours split to the bone, and the way Kill was limping out of that cage, neither of you will be cage-ready anytime soon.”

  He wished he could say his motivation had been that altruistic. It was a hell of a lot more noble-sounding than getting busted for fucking his best friend’s sister—or how about he just wanted to kick Kyle’s ass for being such an insulting, pig-headed prick.

  “If you’re just going to sit there and lob conspiracy theories at me, you can wait out in the lobby,” he grouched, grimacing again when the needle scraped against bone. “Goddammit, are you about done?” he snapped at the doctor.

  “Easy, Raps . . . Let the man do his job.”

  “Sorry,” he grumbled. “Just do what you have to do so I can get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m nearly finished; then the nurse will be into irrigate the cut. I’ll stitch you up when she’s done. Your friend is right. It’s to the bone. You won’t be fighting for quite a while.”

  Fucking great . . . Dean was going to think the same thing Easton did—that he did this on purpose to avoid the fight.

  “So, was it worth it?”

  All hope of Easton shutting his trap was gone, so hey, if he wanted to talk, then two could play the twenty-questions game. “Was Katie worth it? You took a fucking bullet for her and shattered your shoulder. What are you gonna do if you can’t fight again?”

  Easton’s good humor fled, leaving them sitting there glaring daggers at each other. “Careful, Raps. You push my buttons and friend or not, you’re going to get a firsthand experience of whether I’ll get back in that cage. If I hadn’t taken that bullet, Katie would be dead. That woman is my life. I would die a hundred deaths for her. She is worth more than my career, and if I never fight again, I can live with that. Can you live with losing your best friend and possibly your fighting contract over Willow? Is she worth giving up everything you’ve fought so hard for? Because you’re on the fucking fence, man. This is no fucking joke.”

  He never thought for one minute that it was. He did, however, feel like a total fucking douche for pulling Easton’s girl in on this. “I shouldn’t have said that about Katie. I was way out of line. But the way you feel about her, that’s exactly how I feel about Willow. That woman is my heart and soul, and the thought of losing her kills me.”

  “You don’t think your best friend would understand that?”

  “He never gave me the chance to explain.” Regan pointed to the gash across his brow.

  “Jeez, you’ve got my fucking heart bleeding for you, man.”

  “Mine too,” his doctor chimed in, making Regan chuckle. The movement sent that needle scraping against his bone again. “Sorry. Smarts, doesn’t it?”

  “Give him some time to cool off, and then try talking to him again. He’ll come around.”

  Easton’s advice was solid, but he didn’t know Kyle the way Regan did.

  Chapter 29

  Willow’s stomach was playing a serious game of Twister by the time she pulled up to the gym and parked. She was worried about Regan. After the blow he’d been dealt last night by his father, she’d thought it best for him to wait awhile and at least deal with those emotions before taking on anymore drama by telling Kyle about them. He didn’t need any additional stress right now. But after his initial shock at discovering the truth, he’d rallied remarkably fast—too fast—and she feared he was resorting to the coping mechanisms of his childhood and stuffing everything while telling the world he was fine.

  She’d offered to tell Kyle herself, anything to help take some of this stress off Regan, but of course he’d refused. She prayed he hadn’t done it here. Kyle was going to be so pissed. Cutting the engine, Willow scanned the parking lot, searching for their cars. Both were here in their usual spots, sitting side by side. Maybe Regan had taken her advice and changed his mind about telling him right now. She could only hope. Drawing a deep breath, she rallied her nerves and got out of the car. She was working two to six this afternoon. Marcus had always been good about working around her school schedule, but Dean wasn’t as flexible and was less lenient about her showing up late.

  As Willow entered the gym, she wasn’t greeted by the usual sounds of gloved fists hitting flesh or coaching advice being shouted at whomever happened to be in the cage. The place was unusually quiet, no clanking of plates from the weight room or the muffled pounding of a heavy bag. Looking around, she saw the gym was rather empty.

  “Afternoon, Willow,” Dean greeted her by glancing at the clock as he walked by.

  A stab of annoyance pricked her conscience. Yeah, yeah, she knew she was late. “Where is everyone?”

  “The hospital.”

  Willow’s heart lodged inside her throat. “Are you serious? What happened?”

  “Your boys got into it today, and they both took some damage. Easton brought Matthews to the ER for some stitches, and Scott’s at another getting his knee checked out.”

  Oh no . . . “Where? Which ones?” she asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice and failing miserably. She knew this was going to happen.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. They’re both suspended for the next month, pending review.”

  “I’ve gotta go find them.”

  She was headed toward the door when Dean stopped her.

  “No, you’ve gotta get to work. You’re already late, and this place is a mess, especially that cage.” He pointed to the one closest to the lockers. “Matthews and Scott are going to be fine. I need you here, Willow.” He turned away and headed for his office before she could open her mouth to argue.

  As soon as he was out of sight, she dug her cell out of her purse and texted Regan.

  I just got to the gym. Are you all right? What happened?

  She pocketed her cell and stashed her purse in a spare locker. She was headed for
the laundry room to grab a bucket and scrub brush when a voice called down the hall.

  “You missed all the excitement.”

  Willow stopped outside the door and glanced behind her. Great. “Grim? What are you doing here?”

  He stepped in close, making it obvious he didn’t have much regard for personal space. Then again, he probably never had to develop one. August “The Reaper” Grim was admittedly a gorgeous man, but the most arresting part of the six-five, two-hundred-sixty-pound heavyweight fighter was his eyes. To say they were hazel didn’t do them justice. They were more like a kaleidoscope of color. And when he smiled, it was more like a wolf’s grin, a flash of white teeth full of devious mirth. She could see why the ladies loved him and wondered if any of those tabloid rumors surrounding the man were true.

  “Do you know what happened?” she asked, hoping someone, anyone, would tell her what the hell had gone down here.

  “Only that Matthews and Scott were sparring and it turned serious.”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “Oh, I saw it. Better than fucking pay-per-view . . .”

  She scowled at his insensitive remark and huffed, shaking her head in disgust.

  “What?” He acted like he genuinely didn’t get the reason for her ire.

  “Never mind. Why are you here again?” She stepped toward the door, and Grim reached for the knob, pushing it open and holding it for her to enter. “Thanks,” she mumbled, stepping inside.

  “I had a meeting with Dean. Thought I’d take another look around the gym while I was here.”

  Willow grabbed the bucket off the floor and set it in the utility sink before cranking on the hot water. She glanced behind her to find Grim leaning against the door to keep it open as he watched her fill the bucket. She poured in the disinfectant and tried to ignore the heat of his gaze settling on her ass. She wasn’t used to this kind of unabashed behavior. Everyone here treated her like their little sister. They were family, and it went without saying she was hands off. Obviously, no one had explained that to Grim.