Half an hour later, as I’m concentrating only on breathing, Jackson leads Trinity into the room. I stand and pull her into my chest. Over her head I ask, “Do you think you might want to watch tonight?”
She pulls away and looks up into my questioning face. “I can’t, Grey. I’m not…ready. But…I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What’s that?”
“If you win, I mean, when you win tonight. I’ll watch your first pro fight. It will mean a lot for both of us, so I’ll go out there and watch and wince every time you get punched and kicked. But I’ll do it for you.”
I move my hand up to her face and squish her nose with my thumb. She laughs and hugs me tightly. Her feet move around the bench as she finds a spot to sit for the long haul. I sink to the bench beside her, letting the silence spread. This is the moment I savor. Right before I must go out into the screaming crowds, while minutes spread and I don’t have to speak or think with my sister here supporting me. I squeeze Trinity’s hand while we wait. I close my eyes, intent on focusing on nothing.
A voice calls through the stillness. “Greylan Pace, you’re up.”
One last squeeze from Trinity and my eyes pop open as I stand. I take a deep breath and look at my little sister. She smiles encouragingly. “Do this, Grey. I know you can. Remember, no regrets.”
I nod and turn, walking the distance to the cage. Yelling and screaming ring through the room as I step up onto the platform leading to the gate. Jackson grasps my arm, asking, “You ready, Champ?”
I nod one last time before I fit the guard into my mouth and enter the octagon. I force the air in and out through my nose. The other man, Mark Gaines, on the other side of the blue mat, is a foot taller than me, but thinner, with buzzed dark hair. His arms bulge as he flexes and dances around his side of the cage. I move my feet in the dance, forcing my heart to speed up. This is the fight that decides which one of us will move up.
I surge forward as a whistle signals the beginning of the round. Mark glares across the mat and moves his leg in a roundhouse kick connecting with my arm. I lift it just in time to block the kick, which was aimed at my face. I shake it out and swing at Mark’s chin with a balled fist. He moves his arms up, causing my knuckles to fall away. Slowly I move around him, lowering my body as if I’m a bull about to attack, and my feet charge forward, forcing my shoulder into his abdomen. It’s unexpected; Mark falls through the air for seconds, as if weightless. His back hits the mat, causing the air to rush from his lungs. I take advantage and lunge forward, toppling over him, pounding into his sides with rounded strikes. My knuckles brace as each hit vibrates through my arms. He seems to wake up as the air rushes back in. He moves his arms, forcing them into my face. My assault stops as I try to keep my position, but the force of Mark’s body causes me to fall back. I know it was a mistake. I had the upper hand and now I scurry to my feet again. Mark steps onto the balls of his toes and lunges at me. The force pushes me into the metal of the cage, the links digging into my back. His arms brace in a clinch around my neck as if we are embracing, but I use the fence to gain momentum. With all the strength I have, my body thrusts forward, my clenched fists landing on his torso. I take a step out of the clinch allowing an opportunity to elbow him in the chest. Mark collapses on contact. The referee blows the whistle when the time limit is reached and a decision is made - I win the round.
My breathing heaves as I aim for the other side of the cage. Jackson tells me through the linked metal, “That was great, Pace. You know the drill, only two more to go.”
I stare across the mat at my opponent, who is now heaving, trying to catch his breath. The referee has his arm in his grasp and he’s asking him something. I’m sure it’s whether he can go on. Mark nods, satisfying me that we will continue. My glance swings the length of the mat and lands on the color red that seems to call to me. Her eyes meet mine. Worry, pride, sadness all flash in that small look before her lips turn up in an encouraging smile. I frown at my stupidity and look away, cursing. Dammit, Grey, focus.
The whistle sounds and Mark is across the cage before I can take a step. His arm comes out of nowhere, forcing the breath from my stomach. I collapse to the blue beneath us. My hands brace my body against the soft padding. I gulp air as Mark rounds my back, pulling me in a rear naked choke. This causes panic. I know it’s hard to come out of this one. My oxygen is still lacking but I force my body backwards into his body, trying to upset his stance, but he pushes forward with the same force. Black spots begin to form in my vision. I fall forward against my palms and tap the mat. The pressure on my neck is immediately gone and a whistle sounds, claiming Mark as the winner. So fucking stupid.
A moment later I’m on my feet again, angling for my corner of the fence. The look on Jackson’s face tells me everything but he doesn’t hold back his rant. “What the hell was that? You aren’t a pansy-assed beginner. You’ve been here, Pace, too many times. Get your head straight.”
I wipe the light sheen of sweat from my forehead and the anger surfaces. I know I must win this one and I’m pissed I let some chick get to me that easily. Willing the fury to rise, I picture Parker Harris’ face and Meyer’s smug smile.
The whistle sounds one last time. The blood rushes through my veins and my ears heat up. I lurch across the mat, landing a spinning back kick to Mark’s abdomen. He moves an inch away just as the kick lands, so the force isn’t what I had hoped. He moves forward, grabbing a hold of both of my arms. Raising them helps to loosen his grip as my foot comes around to sweep his legs out from under him. My intent was successful; he goes down, landing on one knee. My body follows, forcing all of my weight on top, mounting him with a fury of punches. His arms raise in defense with an uppercut to my nose. A trail of blood runs down my mouth and chin. I turn everything off; the shouting, my conflicted thoughts, the pain, everything. This is the moment that matters. I collapse onto him, my hand taking his neck in a guillotine hold. Before he can tap out, the whistle sounds, signaling the end of the round. Immediately I back away and lift to my feet with an offered hand to him. He takes my hand and stands. I move my palm to stop the now steady stream of blood seeping out of my nose. It’s probably broken. I shake my head, still pissed but satisfied with the fight.
The referee skirts away from the side of the cage after consulting with the judges through the links. He aims for me and raises my arm to a resounding round of shouts and applause. His voice comes out steady, announcing, “Winner by unanimous decision, Greylan Pace.”
My body sinks to the mat with the realization that I did it, once again. Jackson steps up and kneels beside me, offering a rag for my nose. He leans in, clapping me on the back. “I knew you’d do it, Champ. Congratulations!”
A smile spreads over my face as I shake my trainer’s hand. I’m still in disbelief that I’ve been given this opportunity again. Silently I thank the powers that be for the chance, and make the vow not to screw it up this time.
I stand to more screams and cheering. My eyes scan for her, but neither Meyer nor Mollie is still here. I wonder if she was here, if she saw my win. If she saw how much she affected me, causing me to almost lose it all. I follow Jackson to the locker room. As soon as we cross into the room, Trinity jumps into my arms, taking me by surprise. She causes a laugh at the happiness surging through me. This moment that I get to share with everyone I care about, especially Trinity, who has always been there for me. I kiss her cheek and whisper, “I guess someone told you I won.”
She nods against my chest and turns to Carlo.
“Carlo stayed back here with me to tell it play by play.” She punches my arm, declaring, “My God, Grey, you could give a person a heart attack. I was scared to death during that second round.”
I chuckle. “You and me both, Trin.”
My hand extends to Carlo. “Thank you for looking out.”
Carlo smiles, grabbing my hand, pulling me into a hug. He offers, “Congratulations, buddy. You deserve this more than anyone.”
A med
ic comes in and looks at my nose. He tells us that it probably isn’t broken, but bruised. A few minutes after he leaves, the bleeding stops but I can tell the swelling will continue for a while. It’s worth it.
Christina finds her way back into the cramped room and congratulates me. She asks as she gives me a hug, “Will you be good tonight? Jonathan wants me to go out with him.”
My arms around her tighten and I whisper, “Thank you for being here. Have fun and be careful.”
She nods and smiles as she leaves. Jackson takes that as a cue and tells them all, “Everybody out. Let Greylan get dressed and home to bed.”
When the room is empty, I sink to the bench, putting my head in my hands. A few deep breaths escape my lips with the words, “This is for you, Mom and Dad.” I add, “Theodore James, wherever you are, I’m sorry.”
A moment later a noise across the room grabs my attention. Jackson enters the space, his mouth in a tight line. He sits beside me and lets the silence spread for a moment. Finally he mumbles, “Whatever it is, Grey, that you beat yourself up about - your parents, Theodore James, or anything else - you have to let it go.”
I nod, looking to the floor. I know Jackson’s words are right but it’s hard when you have demons like mine.
Jackson adds, “You might want to think about going to talk to someone.”
My head jerks up with a frown. “You mean like a shrink?”
Jackson chuckles. “I guess like a shrink, some way for you to get the guilt out. Grey, trust me, I know, it will eat away at you.”
I look away, knowing that Jackson has probably had some things in his past that could definitely compete with my own. He was in the army for fifteen years before opening the gym. He fought in the Kuwait war. I can only imagine what he endured.
Without saying anything else, I move to the locker and slip a shirt over my head. I turn to Jackson but the room is empty. I fit jeans over my sore muscles and splash cold water over my face at the lone sink. Finally as I leave the gym I spot Jackson waiting by his truck.
Beside the truck is a familiar car from my past, Meyer’s Mustang. I shake my head; of course he still has that damn car. As I approach them, Meyer turns his attention my way. He steps forward, extending his hand. “Hey, congratulations. I didn’t have any doubts, but that second round, buddy…”
I grab his hand but don’t respond to his comment. I turn to Jackson and ask, “You ready?”
At this point I’m pissed. Angry with Meyer for coming back and more pissed that he brought Red with him. At the thought of her I scan the lot which is mostly empty. My eyes land on Meyer’s car but she isn’t there, either. I look back at Meyer, about to tell him exactly how I feel, but Jackson speaks up.
“Grey, I was just talking to Meyer here. He wants to take us out for a drink. Are you up for that?”
My blood starts to boil. Turning to Jackson, a frown forms on my face, silently questioning if he’s lost his mind. But Jackson explains, “Grey, I think you might want to hear what Meyer here has to say.”
I glare at Meyer for a moment and shake my head. “I don’t have to listen to shit. I won’t repeat my past mistakes. Have a good night, Meyer.”
I open the door of the truck and slide in. My gaze remains forward even as Jackson climbs in. He doesn’t utter another word on the drive back to my apartment and I’m more thankful for the other man than I’ve ever been.
Chapter 17
“Thud!” I wince as my body shudders with the force of my hand against the other man’s head. Another bang and I frown. The sound continues, bringing me out of the same scene that repeats nearly every night, the sight of Theodore James hitting that wall from the force of my arm. More banging. My eyes flutter open and I turn to glance at the time, ten o’clock. My legs shift and I realize the banging is coming from the front door. Someone is insistent on getting my attention. I consider lying here longer and not answering it. Sooner or later they’ll give up, but it could be Christina. She may need me. I slide out from under the blanket and pull on a pair of jeans. I run a hand through my hair as I pull the door open.
A frazzled Red is standing there looking up at me with the saddest eyes. Her hair is a mess haphazardly piled on top of her head. Her face is clean and fresh with no makeup and my heart starts to hammer in my chest. If she wasn’t so upset, I’m sure she would be able to hear it.
We stand for what seems like a full minute staring at each other before she tells me, “It’s Meyer. H-he was upset last night when he came back to the hotel. Now he’s gone. I don’t know where he went.”
I remember the last I saw of him the night before when I blew him off. “Do you want to come in?”
As she walks through the open door, I wrestle with myself. Why the hell should I help her? She’s here with Meyer and he’s nothing but bad news. She turns back to me once the door is securely closed and my breath catches at the sight of her. The strength she displays without even knowing it. I know in that instant that I would help her fly to the moon if that’s what she wanted. The feelings I had so long ago to protect her surface full force and I want to take away anything that causes her grief.
“Where should we start to look for him? I went by Mills Pond first but he wasn’t there. Is there anywhere else he could be?”
I snap to my senses, staring at her. This is Meyer she’s trying to find. She came here with my childhood friend who had so much to do with me losing five years of my life. I shake my head and go into the kitchen. I suddenly need the warmth of coffee or anything to distract me. My hands itch to grab her and pull her body flush with mine so I can taste those perfect lips. I can only imagine how sweet they must be. Instead my focus is on getting coffee to qualm my body, trying to distance myself as far as I can. Something must be wrong with me if this woman affects me this much.
My chest heaves and I slam the door to the cabinet after taking the bag of coffee from the shelf. Concentrating on the routine of filling the water section and pushing buttons, I don’t hear her speaking.
Her forceful tone takes me away from the task as she states loudly, “Greylan, did you hear me? I was talking to you.” Her voice turns angry. “Why do you seem so intent on being such an ass? Your friend is missing. I don’t know what you said to him last night, but he came back to the hotel pissed, and now I’m sure, based on your reaction, that it was because of something you said to him.”
I spin around on my heel, blood surging through my veins. Everything comes to a halt when I look at her determined face but I gather my thoughts and hiss at her, “Don’t blame this shit on me, lady, it’s not me he’s fighting with. It’s that bitch called guilt and he deserves it.” The momentum carries me away. “You know what? I really don’t give a shit where Meyer is. Let him leave. That’s what he does best, anyway. He walks away when you need him the most without a backward glance.”
I turn back to the counter and brace my hands in a tight grip. My breathing is broken. A moment later I hear the front door slam. Fuck, Grey, what’d you do?
I rush to the door. As it opens I watch a red corvette speed down the drive out of the complex. Shit, shit.
Back in my room I shove a T-shirt on over my head and grab my phone and keys, almost running to the truck. The whole way out of the neighborhood I curse myself for doing this. Why the fuck should I care what happens to Meyer? Who the hell is she, waltzing into my home and demanding I help her find the shithead?
I maneuver the truck through the familiar streets. The reality of where I’m headed hits as I make the last turn, facing my past and my present. The truck gains distance on the two lane road and unintentionally my foot rises from the gas pedal. I have second thoughts, reasoning that Brutus’ would be the last place Meyer would go. But as the truck inches closer at a snail’s pace, I know that is exactly where Meyer would go. Damn you, Meyer, for making me do this.
As I park my hands on the steering wheel, my eyes lock on the bar front. The neon has changed from five years ago. It’s pink and blue now in fa
ncy lettering. It figures Brutus would open up at the crack of dawn, nothing like a whiskey to wake up a drunk. My breathing becomes shallow and I doubt I’ll be able to leave the truck. The familiar images start playing through my head; the alley, dark and full of foul smelling garbage, the brick wall lining one side, a scream in the silence. My vision jumps to my arm moving forward. I want more than anything to stop it. I try to focus on my other hand, but as it did five years ago and hundreds of times since, my fist makes contact and the sound that follows makes me want to vomit. I slip out of the truck, landing on my hands and knees. My stomach dry heaves continuously as my breathing slows and the numbness follows, flowing through my body. I remain in that position for a few minutes trying to get a grip. The nightmare has never hit me this hard during the day.
I look up at the bar directly in front of me. My heart starts to speed up again. Slowly I gather enough strength, reasoning that I need to do this for Mollie, not Meyer - Mollie. Carefully I stand, bracing my hand on the side of the truck. I look back down the street, wishing I could retreat back to the apartment and forget about her. My eyes swing back to the bar and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The space between me and the door shortens with each step and the doubts that I can do this rise in my stomach again. I’m such a pussy. I’m such a pussy. I repeat this mantra over and over, trying to motivate myself into the bar.
No Regrets (No Regrets #1) Page 12