by T. E. Black
Mark Roche is the type of man who will fight tooth and nail for every last bit of dignity he has left. It’s one thing for him and Lauren to be getting a divorce, but if a rumor starts going around about his soon-to-be ex-wife sleeping with a fighter, shit will hit the fan.
“Rook! He’s going to know! What the hell am I going to tell him?” she worries as she steps into the shorts she was wearing yesterday.
My phone rings again, and I see Luke’s name flashing across the screen as I grab it from the charger. Now, not only do I have to help Lauren come up with an alibi, I need one of my own. I toss my phone back down and grab her lightly by each shoulder. She freezes under my touch, her pleading eyes asking for help.
“Calm down. It’s all right. It’s already nine o’clock, if he realized you didn’t come home last night, five minutes to compose yourself isn’t going to make a difference.” I press down on her shoulders until she’s sitting on my bed, and then I crouch in front of her. Her breathing is ragged and her entire body is shaking. I run my palms over her thighs, urging her to look at me.
“Deep breath,” I soothe. As her breathing begins to calm, I continue, “Tell Mark you were at a friend’s house, okay? Don’t go into details as to who—it isn’t important. I know how you feel about lying, so let’s not make it worse by making up some elaborate story.”
“What if he doesn’t believe me? I have to stay with him until we tell him we’re together. He’ll take everything from me. I don’t have a dime, Rook. Should we tell him today? Get it over with?” she carries on.
“First off, Sacramento’s a huge city. There are thousands of people here. You can have a friend he doesn’t know about. That’s not unrealistic. You’ve been separated for three months. There are parts of your life he wouldn’t know about. Secondly, I think we should wait until after Boston. We’ll tell him after my fight. I have family there, and if we need to get away for a few days, we’ll have a place to go.”
“Okay,” she sniffles.
I stand, place a kiss on her forehead, and take her hand. “It’ll be okay. Now, let’s get you home.”
Chapter Five
Ryleigh
Rook had gotten suspended, and I had been eavesdropping on our moms giving him a lecture about fighting. I feel bad because he won’t tell them why he did it. He knows I don’t want our moms knowing I get picked on at school, and I love him for keeping my secret.
“Rook Wallace! We’re not done talking about this!” his mother shouts.
His footsteps pound on the staircase that I sit at the top of. Instead of running back to the safety of my room, I come face to face with a pissed off Rook. As soon as he sees me sitting in his way, he stops, taking in the tears streaming down my face, and his whole demeanor shifts.
“Leigh,” he croaks.
He kneels down on the step below me as his hands slide over my cheeks. Placing a kiss on my forehead, he intertwines our fingers and stands us up. I move with him until we stop at my bedroom door.
“Are you going to come in?” I whisper with a hoarse voice.
“Of course I am.”
We walk hand in hand to my bed, where he lifts up the covers so I can scoot under. He kicks off his shoes and then climbs in on the other side. His smell is all around me, invading every one of my senses, and I love it.
“Leigh?”
With my back turned, I answer. “Yeah?”
“Don’t cry for me. I don’t mind taking the heat for beating the crap out of that jackass. He deserved it. Mom will get over it. It’s not the first time I’ve been suspended, and it won’t be the last.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “It was worth it. I won’t let anyone hurt you or make you feel bad about yourself. You have nothing to feel bad about. You’re beautiful, smart and kind.”
Another tear slips from the corner of my eye, but this time, it’s a tear of happiness. Rook Wallace is my happy. He’s the kindest boy I know, and the only person besides my mom who I trust. I love him. And even though he’s never said it, I think he loves me too.
I’ve watched movies about love, and in each one, the boy looks at the girl the way Rook looks at me. Like the girl is the most important thing in his life and he couldn’t live without her. After seeing the look in person, I can relate to those movies. Rook doesn’t need to tell me he loves me when it’s written across his face.
As a sniffle escapes, I feel his arms wrap around my waist. I snuggle in as he pulls my back against his front. His touch feels amazing. It’s as if we were meant to fit so perfectly together.
“Don’t cry, beautiful. I hate when you cry,” he mumbles into my long blonde hair.
He places a delicate kiss on the back of my head and my body melts.
“I love you, Leigh.”
And just like that, my entire teenage life changes.
I jump up from my cozy king-size bed, drenched in sweat. Why do I always have these dreams after I talk to him? They’re not bad per say, but I don’t want them in my head at night. If he gets back in my head, there’s no telling how it’ll affect my heart. I’ve already cemented the hole closed, and I don’t want him breaking it down. But how can I tell that to my sleeping subconscious? How the hell do I tell myself not to dream about the man I regret letting walk out the door?
He’s screwing everything up by coming here. Before he showed up at the bar after his mom’s funeral, I was fine. I went about life, knowing he was living his dream and I was living mine. Then, the bastard showed up after nine years, freaked out, and then apologized, and I was done for again.
Okay. I got this. I can handle him coming here. I need to keep my distance. That’s all. It’s a lie and I know it, but sometimes the lie is easier than the truth.
I roll out of my bed, put on the first pair of shorts I find, and head downstairs to start some coffee. My kitchen is a crisp, white and modern room with stainless-steel appliances and a marbled tile floor has me smiling from ear to ear. This has been my dream kitchen since I was a little girl.
Rook and I once planned on having a kitchen this beautiful. When he left, I gave up the hope that I’d have it one day. After doing so well at Max’s, I gave myself a gift—my dream kitchen.
I didn’t need him to be here to do something nice for myself. Granted, it would have been better if he were around to paint the cabinets and lay the tile flooring with me, but now I can be proud that I did something for myself.
My phone rings, stopping me just as I begin to make my morning coffee. Grabbing it off the counter, I look down to see Sarah’s name flashing across the screen.
Sarah is possibly the only person I would pick up for before I’ve had my coffee. That’s only because she’s my lead bartender and the person who runs Max’s when I’m not there.
“Hey.”
“I’m never drinking again!”
“Oh yeah?” I attempt to stifle a laugh, but it’s no use. She sounds like crap.
“My head is pounding, Ryleigh! I feel like I got ran over last night.”
Smiling into the phone, I ask, “So, you need me to cover your shift today?”
“Just for a little while until I can get out of bed without falling over. Just give me until two, and I’ll be in. Please,” she pleads.
I look at the clock, seeing it’s only ten in the morning. “It’s no problem. I’ll get dressed and head in for a bit.”
Sarah sighs in relief. “Thank you! I owe you, Ry. I’m going back to bed for a little while. I’ll call you when I’m human again,” she laughs.
“Anytime. I’ll see you later.” I shake my head and toss my phone back down.
Thirty minutes later, I’m at the bar and completely done with the opening side work. I’ve been opening the bar for years, and now, I have a routine I follow. It makes for an easy morning, leaving me more time to get all the prep work done.
The bell above the front door dings, followed by Trent’s voice calling from somewhere behind me. “Have you been dodging my calls, scootch?”
; I turn away from the shelf I’m inventorying and spot him walking toward me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“I haven’t been dodging shit.” I smile back at him.
He takes a seat at the bar and nods his head for a drink. The dream from last night has me so out of whack, I reach for a bottle of liquor but then stop. My face pales, and my eyes shoot to his. I almost served a recovering addict a drink.
“I’m so sorry.”
Trent waves it off, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Ry. I’m cool. Rehab was good for me. Better than that outpatient shit.”
Trent is a year younger than Rook and me, but he’s also my best friend. We weren’t always close when we were younger, but soon after Rook left, we became closer. And now, I’ve taken over Rook’s role in protecting Trent, even though he never asked for it. I guess I kind of took over Rook’s role for everyone when he left.
“Still, I’m sorry,” I apologize with compassion laced in my voice.
“Three months in rehab was good for me. I’m serious. I feel better than ever. I’ve been sober for a hundred and four days as of today.” He smiles proudly.
Setting a club soda on the bar, I smile and touch his hand. “I’m proud of you. You know I am. Making the decision to go to rehab yourself took a lot of balls. I didn’t think you had a sack that big.”
“Oh, it’s as big as my nine-inch dic—”
“Don’t finish that,” I warn. “I’ll tell Shay, and she’ll cut your imaginary nine inches off with a butter knife.”
He puts his hands up in surrender, laughing. “You’re probably right. Shay’s a force unlike any I’ve seen before. Damn, that woman never ceases to amaze me. I can’t believe I almost lost her and Abby. Did I ever tell you thanks for being there?”
He’s right about her. Shay Kirby is a bad ass woman. Not only is she a killer mother to Abby, but she was able to tame Trent. Shay used to work at Trent’s tattoo studio as a receptionist, but after a huge blowout between the two of them, she left and got a job at her daughter’s dance academy.
“About a hundred times. But you’re still welcome.”
He nods with one more silent “thank you” before changing the subject.
“So, did you hear about my big bad brother coming to fight?”
“Nope.”
“How did you miss that shit? It’s everywhere—television, billboards, on every fucking radio station. Do you hate him so much you figured out how to block out anything pertaining to him?”
I haven’t told Trent about my talking to Rook. I’ve been meaning to, but the right moment hasn’t come. He’ll be pissed. Not because he doesn’t want me talking to him, but because Rook hasn’t called Trent since their mom’s funeral. He’ll be more hurt than anything.
“Sorry. I know how you feel about him. I shouldn’t have brought it up. He abandoned us. I guess I hoped he’d call after the funeral. I feel like I lost my brother.” It’s not why I don’t answer him, but I run with it anyway.
“He didn’t abandon us, Trent. He followed his dreams. There’s a difference. What’s the difference anyway? We’ve been fine without him. We don’t need him like we used to.”
“You’re right,” he admits. “But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s my blood. What kind of brother leaves and never comes back? I don’t even know what I’d say if he comes around this time. He gave me all this bullshit about how we’d hang out after the funeral, but then he just left!”
“You know Rook has been keeping his distance to protect our privacy. The last thing we need is for the media to find out about our problems. We’d get harassed nonstop. I know I’d freak out. I like my privacy. I like my life the way it is, and I sure as hell don’t want any cameras pointed in my face. Do you?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
Trent sighs, running his hands down his face. “No, I don’t want any of that. It still doesn’t change the fact that he could call once in a while, you know? He’s done a lot of shitty things to us, Ry.”
“So have you,” I remind him.
“Screw it.” He looks away.
“Don’t let him bother you, Trent. We’ve made it this far without him, and we’ll walk a thousand more miles before we need him again. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch, I was just reminding you that everyone screws up every now and again.”
He turns back to me with a crooked grin on his lips. “You’re right. We only need each other.”
Chapter Six
Rook
This is how I feel every time I’m about to enter the ring—calm. My adrenaline doesn’t skyrocket. My palms don’t sweat with nerves. I relax. I am the calm before the storm. Every move or technique I know flickers through my mind like an old picture show. Most of it I learned from Luke after I got to California, but some I knew before I signed the dotted line.
I used to be a young kid with a big dream, fighting in underground tournaments and trying to make a buck for Leigh and me. She worked at Max’s, and although she made enough money, I never let her touch a dime of it. I wanted her to save her money and use it for something important to her. It wasn’t anyone’s job to provide but mine, and I did what I had to do to make it happen.
“You ready to wrap up?” Luke sounds out from the door.
Behind him stands the commissioner, whose basically there to be a dick about the wraps. I don’t need to cheat, though. Tonight is the title fight, and I plan on destroying my opponent fairly.
“Yep,” I answer, taking a seat on the locker room bench.
The commissioner moves with Luke across the room. When Luke takes a seat, the guy in the suit stands to the side, reminding us of the rules we’ve heard a million times.
“Fifteen yards,” he barks, referring to the length of the cloth.
Luke snips the fifteen yards off the roll, tossing a glare the commissioner’s way before continuing. He wraps the cloth around my palm and launches into his pep talk.
“You’ve got this,” he says. “You have to rein in the anger when it wants to come out. Remember what I taught you—deep breaths.”
He’s right. I’m calm before a fight, peaceful even, but once I get knocked around a few times, the storm comes. I can control that part of me now, but Luke always makes it a point to remind me. He knew me when I didn’t have control and was the one to show me how to channel the rage into something productive and efficient than beating the shit out of randoms.
Luke finishes wrapping my hands, and I hold them out for the commissioner to inspect. He nods his head before giving his verdict, “Approved.”
I watch him leave the room as Luke mumbles an insult under his breath. “I hate those suit-wearing motherfuckers. They’ve gotten worse over the years. Remember the guy we got before you’re first title fight. They don’t make them like that anymore?”
I chuckle, knowing exactly who he’s referring to. The first commissioner was a cool dude. He bullshitted with us the whole time Luke wrapped me up, and he even hung out for a while before I had to get my ass in the cage.
“Yeah. That guy was bad ass. What happened to all the chill ones?”
“I bet they fired all their asses.”
“Probably.”
“All right. Let me get outta here so you can get your shit together. I’ll get you when they’re ready for you.”
“Thanks, man.”
Luke leaves the room, and I relax into the silence filtering around me. This is my routine. I don’t need to get pumped up with music or jumping jacks. I only need quiet. I need to collect my thoughts with no one talking in my ear. It’s worked for this long, and I don’t plan on changing it now.
Being back in Boston is a mind fuck enough, but what I need to bury down deep is the fact we’re telling Lauren’s husband about us tonight. I should’ve picked a different day to do it, but she was panicking and I had to do something to reassure her. It was a dumb idea when I need to focus on winning.
Then, there’s Leigh. To say I’m nervous to see her is the understatement of the year. Last
time, things didn’t go according to plan. Well, not that I had a plan, but I hadn’t expected her to be so angry.
A knock on the door has my head swinging in its direction and my eyes narrowing. I’m ready to snap at Luke for messing with my time, but Lauren slides into the room, letting the door shut softly behind her before pressing herself back against it.
“Hey,” she greets, hesitantly.
“Hey, babe. What’s up? Is everything okay?”
She never comes to see me before a fight, because she knows I need this time. So, the fact that she’s interrupting me sends the warning bells into overdrive. She stays plastered to the door, never taking a step toward me like I expect she’d do.
It’s weird.
She’s being weird.
“I have to tell you something.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I jump from the wooden bench, stalking toward her while her body cowers.
“Lauren, what’s going on?”
She’s making me nervous. The look on her face is explaining whatever she’s about to tell me isn’t good.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe when I say this wasn’t part of the plan.” Her words are a rush of mumbles that don’t make much sense.
“What are you talking about?”
My tone causes her to flinch, but I can’t focus on the fact that I’m scaring her. All I can focus on is her last sentence. I box her in against the door so that our chests are practically touching as I rest one hand above her head and cup her cheek with the other.
“What are you talking about? What plan? What wasn’t supposed to happen? You’re not making sense.”
A tear slips from her eye, drops from her beautiful chin, and then lands on my bare chest. The moment I wipe the next one away, she panics. Her body tenses and her eyes fill with regret. What does she have to regret? What the hell did she do?