The Final Fight

by JB Salsbury

  I try to fill my lungs with air, but the damn things refuse to inflate.

  “I see the life you have here in Vegas, and you’re so talented, AJ. I want this life for you. I just . . .” He licks his lips, rolls them between his teeth.

  “You don’t see yourself in it.”

  “No.”

  I nod. It’s not like it’s news to me. I always knew in the back of my head that neither of us would budge on the goals we’d set for ourselves; it’s one of the things I like so much about Braeden. If he gave up his military career for me, I’d lose respect for him. “So where does that leave us?”

  He reaches over and grabs my hand, but continues to stare at the ceiling. “I’ll be in and out of town, and when I’m here, I’d love to see you.”

  “I’ll be your . . . booty call?”

  “No! I mean, fuck . . . I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s just no polite way to say it. I understand.”

  “I don’t want it to be this way, but no matter how many ways I bend it in my head, it just doesn’t work.”

  My eyes burn, and I angrily swipe at a tear that escapes.

  “Let’s not dwell too much on this shit, okay? Neither of us can predict the future, so there’s no use in getting all fucked up in the head about it now.”

  He’s right.

  But he’s also wrong.

  We may care deeply for each other, but not enough to put our own ambitions down to see where this goes.

  “Baby . . .” I blink up to see he’s moved and is leaning over me. He kisses me softly, and I taste his lips mingled with my tears. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m usually stronger than this, just . . . not around you.”

  His lips twitch in a grin. “I like that you don’t have to be strong around me. I want to take care of you, at least, while I can.”

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Don’t do that.” He kisses me again. “Don’t say good-bye.”

  “Six months.”

  “Six months, and then I’ll be right back here, in your bed, and we’ll be laughing about all this.”

  “And after that? When years have passed and I’m sitting in my apartment alone while you’re in California, what about then?”

  He cringes. “I’m going to hate myself forever for what I’m about to say, but”—he licks his lips— “I don’t want you to wait for me. If someone better comes along, don’t let him get away.”

  “Brae—”

  “You deserve it all, AJ. Every single good and wonderful thing you can pull from this life, I want you to have.”

  “Even if it’s not you?”

  He rolls me to my back and climbs between my legs. His weight is heavy on one side as he holds himself off my bad hip. “Hey, I said if someone better comes along, and we both know that’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

  I laugh, and it sounds so fucking sad. I slide my hands up his chest and lock them behind his neck. “Promise me you’ll be safe and not get yourself killed.”

  His expression grows serious. “Only if you promise me you’ll never settle for less than perfection.”

  “I promise.”

  He dips down and covers my mouth with his, sealing our promises in a warm wet kiss.

  Perfection.

  I never knew it existed.

  Until now.

  Twelve

  Braeden

  I’m a pathetic sap.

  It’s been twenty-four hours since I dragged myself out of AJ’s apartment with the kind of good-bye kiss that would put The Notebook to shame. I was a fucking mess on the drive back to Pendleton, blasting Sarah McLachlan and wishing I could fork my heart out of my chest and throw it out the damn window to shrivel up on the sun-soaked highway.

  Having the where-do-we-stand talk sucked donkey ass because we were both right. There’s no future for us outside of a stolen weekend or, if we’re lucky, a week. But relationships aren’t composed of a few days per year. She deserves someone who’s going to be there for the day-to-day to ice her injuries and fix her a warm meal. I just wish to fuck that guy could be me.

  It’s almost five o’clock when I pull into my parents’ driveway. Ever since I was a kid, The General insisted on an early dinner, and my mom is programmed to have it out and ready at five-thirty on the dot.

  I hop out of the car and mentally prepare for what I’m about to walk in on, pushing out one heartache for another.

  My dad’s health is failing, and every time I see him, I wonder if it’ll be the last.

  The door swings open and my mom grins wide. “Braeden.”

  “Hey, Mom.” I step inside, and she squeezes my shoulder. We’ve never been the kind of family that shows physical affection, and although my parents are coming around to the idea—I even saw The General awkwardly wrap his arm around Blake’s boy last Christmas—getting any kind of affectionate touch from them still feels like wearing shoes three sizes too small and on the wrong feet.

  “Your dad is set up in the study.”

  Set up? That doesn’t sound good. I move through the house that hasn’t changed a bit since I was a kid. Same seventies-era furniture with busy wallpaper and floral prints.

  I can smell The General’s study before I get there. Wood polish. The scent has always made my heart tick a little faster since it’s the room we were always punished in. Even now, I can’t get near lemon-scented oil without feeling the sting of a belt on my ass.

  I pause before entering the room.

  The static voice of AM radio and the tic-tock of the grandfather clock set my pulse hammering.

  Fuck me. I’m a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound Marine. Man the fuck up.

  I turn the corner and push down my reaction to the sight before me. A hospital bed is set up where The General’s desk used to be. His once thick silver hair is thinned so much that I’m catching a glare off his scalp. His strong jaw protrudes from the paper-like skin that was once thick and tanned.

  I frown.

  “Don’t just stand there. Get your ass in here and say hello to your father.”

  Nice to see cancer hasn’t stolen his edge.

  I cross to him and drop into a seat at the side of his bed. “General, how’s things?”

  He eyes me with that cold green stare I used to have nightmares about as a kid. “Doing great. Running a 5K tomorrow and I have a triathlon next week. Thinking of picking up golf again.”

  “Uh . . .” Shit, I knew he was sick, but I didn’t think the man had dementia.

  “Don’t have a coronary, son. I’m kidding.”

  “Since when did you catch a sense of humor?”

  “Stupid question deserves a stupid answer.”

  Feeling scolded, I slide my gaze away like a submissive dog and study all the plaques, certificates, and awards hanging on the walls. One small table is dedicated to family, where he has photos of me in my uniform, him and my mom at Blake’s wedding, and a family photo of Blake, Layla, Ax, and Jack. One tiny section makes up less than ten percent of the entire space.

  “You ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir. Packed up and ready for duty.”

  He stares blankly ahead. “If you’d listened to me and gone to the Academy—”

  “We’re not going to do this again, are we?”

  “You’d be a First Lieutenant by now.”

  “You know I don’t want that.”

  Silence builds between us. When my dad was active, he’d pull all the strings he could to keep me local. It wasn’t until he got sick the first time that he let up and I was able to get some deployments. He’s never openly told me that he hates when I leave, but it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out the firm set of his mouth means he hasn’t totally come around to the idea.

  There’s a soft knock on the door, and my mom comes shuffling in. She pulls out a card table, the kind with the fold up legs.

  “I got that.” I hop up and take it from her. “Where do y
ou want it?”

  She points to a spot close to The General’s bed. “There, please.”

  So, he moved from his bedroom to his study and now eats his meals in here too.

  Makes sense I guess. However much more time he has, he wants to spend it surrounded by the evidence of his greatest achievements. His military career. All that life lived, all those years behind him, and there’s a lot of polished wood and metal to show for it.

  He’ll leave behind a legacy of success as a Marine.

  People will tell stories about his dedication and bravery until time forgets him and moves on to the next great American hero.

  A feeling of dread washes over me, making my spine tingle.

  I may have gone my own way, but I’m right on track to become just like him.

  ~*~

  AJ

  I’m obsessively smiling.

  Staring at my phone for the umpteenth time, I read the words again.

  Boarding my plane and I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

  Not even war could erase the memory of those lips, muffin.

  Take care of yourself.

  Bruce hip checks me and I smother a wince. “Everything okay?”

  I stash my phone into my uniform pants and continue to wipe down the bar. “Of course.”

  I was lucky enough to grab a morning shift at the bar, which is keeping me busy enough to distract my thoughts from Braeden. I figure if I send all the money I make bartending to my parents I’ll still be able to stay afloat financially.

  “You sure? You’ve been on your phone since you got here.” He pops open a few bottles of well liquor and mounts them with pourers, all while keeping his eyes on me. “Is it your parents?”

  I shared my parents’ situation with Bruce. He’s a good guy and promised he’d fit me into the schedule when he could. Like now, when it’s nine o’clock in the morning and we don’t have enough business to justify two bartenders, yet here I am.

  “No, sorry. I was just reading a text from a friend.”

  Friend. Is that all he is?

  Yeah, I suppose it is.

  The morning starts off slow, but business picks up around eleven, and I manage to earn a great tip from a guy who scored big at the roulette table. I keep focused on my job, and it helps to pass the time.

  It’s two o’clock when I wrap up my last order and cash out. I roll up the one eighty in tips and shove it into my backpack, feeling satisfied with the earnings. If I can do this a few times a week, that should help my dad until he gets back on his feet.

  “Thanks, Bruce.” I pat my friend on the shoulder as I pass behind him to the bar exit.

  “No problem, Texas. I’ll let you know when another shift pops up.” He winks at me over his shoulder, and I smile, grateful to have the opportunity to work.

  I wave good-bye to the cocktail servers and move around people and tables until I’m out in the casino. I have just enough time to throw some food down my throat before I need to get ready for tonight’s performances.

  As I’m heading past the Black Jack tables, I see Andre talking to the pit boss. He must feel my eyes on him because he looks up at me and flashes the tiniest smile, just enough to bring that one dimple to the surface. He holds up a hand, as if to tell me to wait.

  I stop but groan because this is cutting into my eating time, and the last thing I want is to roll around on the silks with a full stomach.

  His face is all hard lines and business as he finishes up with the older man who is nodding, his lips forming a series of “yes sirs” until finally Andre makes his way toward me.

  He moves with grace and elegance in his charcoal gray suit that’s fitted perfectly to his slender, yet fit, frame. And although it seems crazy, it’s almost like people instinctively move out of his way when they sense him coming. Not that I blame them; he throws some serious fuck-off vibes.

  “Adeline . . .” He eyes me from my head to my feet. “What are you doing?”

  I avoid the urge to curl in on myself at the way he eyes me disapprovingly. “Headed to the amphitheater.”

  He runs a powerful finger along his upper lip then leans in close. “You’re limping.”

  “Oh, my hip, yeah, but it’s fine. I iced it and rested yesterday, so—”

  “Call in your understudy.”

  “Andre, no. I’m fine.” I hike my backpack further up on my shoulder.

  His dark gaze bores into mine in a take-no-bullshit way. “I wasn’t asking.”

  Our conversation attracts the attention of cocktail servers and dealers in the area.

  I step in and whisper, “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do this.”

  He smiles, but there’s not even the shadow of a dimple. It’s more of a thin-lipped display that proves I’m testing his patience. He hooks me by the elbow and walks me off to the side of the casino where a scan pad hangs on the wall. He flashes his wrist, and a series of beeps unlocks a massive door before he guides me through to a long hallway with tiled floor and fluorescent lights, a bright contrast to the soothing dim of the casino.

  “Where are we going?”

  He turns the corner and pushes into a room, showing me to the space that houses a long conference table and a flat screen TV. The setup seats about twelve, and the chairs are all fancy leather. “Sit.”

  I take the closest seat, and he pulls a chair out, turns it to face me, and drops into it in a way that reminds me of a cougar sizing up his next meal. “Let’s try this again.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Because I can’t have your public insubordination. If it were anyone else, they’d be fired, but because I like you, Adeline, I pulled you off the floor so we could do this in private.”

  “Oh.” Now I feel like an ass.

  “I want you to feel comfortable with me. And I realize it’s going to be hard to draw the line between our business relationship and our”—he shifts in his seat as if what he’s about to say makes his suit feel too small— “friendship. But I can’t have you talking back to me in front of other employees.”

  I drop my backpack and my shoulders deflate. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just really need—want to do tonight’s shows.”

  He leans back and crosses his legs, resting one elegant hand on his thigh. “What did the doctor say about your hip?”

  I lift a brow and smirk. “Are you asking as my boss or my friend?”

  I get the dimple. “Your friend.”

  “I didn’t go to the doctor—”

  “Adeline—”

  “It’s fine! I swear. It’s just a tweaked muscle. They’d only tell me to ice it and rest.”

  “Rest.” He blinks slowly, as if he’s bored, and I’m captivated by those thick black eyelashes that I would kill to have.

  “I can perform.”

  “As your friend, I’m asking you to call your understudy.”

  “I don’t want to.” Oh great, now I sound like an eight-year-old throwing a tantrum.

  “Fine. As your boss, I’m demanding you call her.”

  “No.”

  He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulls out a cell phone. He hits a number and presses it to his ear.

  “Andre—”

  He extends one finger in the air to shush me. “Cedric.”

  I groan and drop back in defeat.

  “Call AJ’s understudy. She’s not been medically cleared to perform.”

  There’s a mumble on the other end that sounds like a yes sir. Andre doesn’t say thank you, but simply hits a button and shoves the phone back into his pocket. “See how easy that was?”

  “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “Believe it.” He stands and buttons his coat. “This is my hotel. Your injury is a liability.” There’s no friendliness in his tone, no illusion of familiarity. “Now go home, Adeline. Rest that hip.”

  Asshole.

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “I see that fire behind your eyes. I wonder . . .” He shoves his h
ands into the pockets of his slacks and tilts his head. “What do you want to say to me right now?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  He licks his lips, like he’s trying to keep his grin under control. “Oh, now I’m dying to know.” He closes in, towering over me, and I push to stand to avoid feeling smaller than I already do. “I’m not your boss now, Adeline. Tell me. Tell me what you want to say.”

  I can feel the flames bursting from my eyes. Or maybe that’s the beginning of tears, because shit, I need this money!

  He reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek, and something about the tenderness of his touch has me blinking back emotion. “There is so much to learn about you, Miss Pines. Don’t hold it back; tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I need to work.” I push the four words through clenched teeth.

  A silent, tension-filled moment passes between us until I see understanding soften his features. He drops his hand and steps back. “Go home. You can resume your schedule on Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday! That’s in—”

  “Don’t push me, Adeline.”

  I suck in a calming breath and glare. “I won’t be able to make it to whatever you had planned for tonight. I’ll be home, resting my hip.”

  He frowns, opens the door, and I scurry out of the room and back the way we came. I don’t wait for him and push into the casino to beeline to my car.

  I can’t believe this shit!

  If I didn’t need this job, I’d tell him to go fuck himself, but now more than ever, I must do whatever I can to bite my tongue.

  Thirteen

  AJ

  “Full house, people!” Cedric hollers as he walks from one end of the backstage to the other. “It’s a sellout!”

  The performers explode in a frenzy of chatter as we’re gathered for stage call. Will looks at me and mouths fuck yeah, and I laugh while continuing to stretch. I’ve been back for three days after my forced sick leave, and although I’d never admit it out loud, I think Andre did the right thing by making me rest my hip.

  And the best part was that one day into my leave I got a message from the HR department saying my time off was paid. There’s no doubt in my mind that Andre made the call, and if I didn’t need the money so badly—if my parents weren’t hurting for it—I would’ve demanded he stop interfering. But then again, who calls their boss and insists he take back their paid leave?