by Maya Cross
I couldn't imagine myself actually being with anyone else. That part of me had died with Tom. But as much as I wanted to deny it, there was a powerful sense of friction whenever Logan and I were close. Sparks, guilty electricity. I hated it. I hated that my body suddenly seemed to be uncoupled from my mind.
Joy's mouth curled into a sympathetic smile. "I know. Think of it as a compliment." She hesitated. "I assume he has no idea about Tom."
I shook my head. "That's one card I'm keeping close to my chest."
"Well, if he's really making you uncomfortable, maybe you need to make your situation clearer. You don't have to spill the beans, just tell him point blank that you're not interested."
I sighed. "Maybe you're right."
I wasn't sure if uncomfortable was the right word. Confused was more appropriate. Part of me was afraid of him; this towering tattooed warrior who was addicted to the ring. But on the other hand, he was clearly trying to look out for me. I didn't understand why, and I certainly didn't want his help, but it did mean there was no way I could see him hurting me. If anything, I felt strangely safe around him.
Joy clapped. "Anyway, enough of this. You've shown me your guilty pleasure, now it's time for mine."
"I don't feel guilty about it in the slightest," I replied.
"That's the spirit!" She got up and wandered over to fish out a DVD from a nearby bookshelf.
Glancing over her shoulder, she shot me an "oh boy you're in for it" grin. "So let me ask you, how familiar are you with Doctor Who?"
Chapter Seven
Grace
The next night found Logan and I alone in the bar once again.
"You haven't seen Casablanca?" he said. "Seriously?"
Tonight our conversation had turned to movies. It surprised me to learn that Logan was actually a major film buff, and he had a big penchant for what he rather pretentiously called "the golden age of cinema." Apparently there wasn't much to do on a foreign deployment during quiet times besides watch things on people's laptops.
I shrugged. "I'm not really into love stories."
He threw up his hand dramatically. "You young people — no appreciation for the classics!"
I bristled in mock offense. "Young, hey? And exactly how old are you?"
"How old do you think I am?" he replied, with a twinkle in his eye.
I studied him for a moment. It was honestly hard to tell. There was nothing boyish about that strength and hardness, nor the soulful cast of his eyes, but every so often he'd smile in this mischievous way that made him look like a teenager.
"Twenty eight?" I said cautiously?
He clutched his hands to his heart. "Twenty eight? You wound me!" I rolled my eyes. "I'm twenty six," he said.
"Then who are you calling young? You're only a few years older than me!"
"Hey, a few years is a few years." He shook his head and grinned. "Kids these days, no respect for their elders."
I snorted. "Whatever, Gramps."
I felt a ripple of shame as I realized what I was doing. Tom had barely been gone four months, and there I was laughing and joking with another guy. It felt too easy, like the rapport of a long-term couple, not two strangers passing time at work.
My conversation with Joy had been weighing on my mind all day. The situation was more complicated than she realized, but the longer I thought about it, the more I decided she was right — I had to confront him. I had to understand why he was doing this.
"Is this what you come here each night to do? Joke about movies?"
His smile fell away and he let out a little sigh, like he'd been waiting for this. "Not exactly."
No going back now. "Well what is it then? Because I have to say, I'm super confused. The alley, that night outside the bar, and now this. You seem like a nice guy, but it's all a bit weird. Why are you so interested in me, Logan?"
"Like I said before, I want to help."
"No, that doesn't answer the question. I know what you're trying to do. I just don't understand why. Why me? We met properly, like, a few weeks ago. We barely know one another, yet here you are trying to ride in on your white horse to save me. It doesn't make any sense. The only thing I can think of is that it's some elaborate attempt to get in my pants."
A short laugh escaped his lips, but there was no mirth behind it. "I'm sorry I'm making you uncomfortable."
Not a denial, just "sorry." "That's not an answer either," I replied, feeling a tingle roll across my skin. He stared at me, those stunning eyes seeming to reach down inside me to squeeze the breath from my lungs. I swallowed hard and willed myself to think of Tom.
"You don't have anything to worry about," he said eventually. "I'm not hitting on you. Just trying to do a good thing."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded.
"Well, just in case, let me make it clear. I'm not interested. My last relationship..." My chest hitched, but I steeled myself. "I'm just not in a place where that is a possibility." He looked thoughtful, and I realized that once again I'd given away more than I'd intended.
"I understand," he said.
I wasn't entirely certain I believed him, but I'd put it out there and he'd given me an answer. What more could I do?
"Well, I'm glad we've cleared that up," I said. "But it still doesn't answer the initial question. If that's not it, why are you putting yourself out there for a virtual stranger?"
He exhaled slowly. "I honestly don't know. It just cuts me up seeing you hurt like this. I know that sounds stupid, but it's true. I felt that way the moment I met you. I know what it's like to have something eating away at you, that fucking grinding feeling in the pit of your stomach that never goes away. If I can do something to protect you from that, I feel like I should."
The way he said that, the tightness of his face, the tremble in his voice, the words he chose, I got the sense that maybe he really did understand. I found myself wondering what pain he'd been through. Was there a chance he really could help? Whatever his trauma, he seemed to have found a way to cope.
But those thoughts didn't last long. There wasn't anything he could say that could fix this. It was too big, too deep, and it would require me to share my shame, which was something I just wasn't willing to do.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Logan, but I don't need any help. I know you think I'm this damsel in distress, but I'm just going through a rough patch, that's all."
His mouth opened a fraction, but no words came out.
"I know I can't stop you," I continued, "but I'm asking; could you please just leave me alone? I can't deal with this right now."
It hurt to send him away. I really did enjoy his company, and I felt like if we could get past all the heroic bullshit we might be really good friends, but I wasn't sure it would end there. Despite what he'd claimed, there was something between us, something potent and crackling that flared inside me like wildfire. My hormones had a mind of their own around him. It was too dangerous.
He didn't speak for a long time. I thought perhaps he was preparing to stand his ground, but eventually he gave a curt nod. "If that's what you want."
"It is." I had to force the words out.
He nodded again, then dropped his cloth and walked toward the exit.
"If you need me, you know where to find me," he said, pausing at the door.
"Thanks."
When I was alone, I buried my face in my hands. It shouldn't have been so hard to ask him to leave. He was practically a stranger and he was intruding, stubbornly trying to bully his way into my business. He didn't know me or anything about what I'd been through. It was the right thing to do.
It was the right thing to do.
Chapter Eight
Logan
Well, I tried. I really did. I could have kept pushing, but there's a thin line between persistence and just being an asshole. Ultimately, you can't force anyone to change. They have to want it enough to put aside their shame, their anger, or whatever is holding them back and move forward. Apparen
tly Grace wasn't at that point yet. Maybe she never would be.
Perhaps it was better this way. It wasn't like I was exactly a fucking model of mental stability. There was every chance I'd have done more harm than good, or worse, wound up dragging us both down. Besides, I had my own shit to focus on. Training, my upcoming fights; I didn't need the distraction. Despite what I'd said to Grace, I had my concerns about this Caesar guy. He was in a whole other class from the rest of us Final Blow schmucks. Ivy League school, parents richer than sin. He trained at one of those private Chicago gyms with a host of professional UFC fighters plastered across their roster and a panel of experts on staff. Meanwhile, there Tony and I were at Parker's with its patchwork matting and tattered equipment, just trying to get through each training session without breaking something. Throw in my thirty hours a week at Charlie's, and you've got a pretty big deficit to make up. I don't lack self-confidence, but at some point it just becomes a battle of resources. Simple math.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous. I never set out to be a big name. Hell, I don't think I could handle it. Those UFC guys are like fucking show ponies; they spend eighty percent of their time posing for the camera and talking to the press. I couldn't do that. Too much pressure, too much attention. I fight for the rush, the pure physical competition. There's a series of moments in there when you're deep in the zone where everything else fades to black. It's just your body and theirs. Kinetics, power, action and reaction. It's electrifying, terrifying and utterly intoxicating. It's those moments that make me drag myself to the gym, day after day. They're what keep me going, keep me sane. Money, trophies, newspaper articles — I couldn't give a shit about those.
Instead of freaking out, I used his advantages as motivation. I thought about him, holed up there in his swanky Chicago apartment, utterly certain he was going to jet over here and wipe the floor with me. Guys like that never see a loss coming. They've had everything handed to them on a silver platter. They've never experienced anything real, and if it was within my power, I was going to change that for him.
Tony was working me as hard as he ever had, and I ate it up. By the time I got to the bar some days I could barely raise my arms, and even then, I found myself going back and working the bags some more after my shifts, or running the long way home. I told myself it was just extra training, but deep down I knew the truth. I was distracting myself.
To the casual observer, it probably seemed like Grace was fine. A little curt maybe, but nothing noteworthy. But I knew better. Those nights talking together had shown me glimpses of the real her, the one that shone like a lighthouse in the dark, and that girl was nowhere in sight now. Even from across the room, I could feel her slipping further down. The only time I noticed a genuine smile on her face was when she was talking to Joy. I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd briefly mentioned her ex. I got the sense that he was the source of her problems. Had he hit her? Or worse? The thought set my blood on fire. I would have given anything to know more, but of course that was none of my business. I just wished that ache in the depths of my belly would get the memo.
A few days later, I came into work a little early to meet with Charlie. He wanted to go over some details for my fight against Caesar. It was still weeks away, but big fighters came with big demands, and his team wanted to make sure everything was going to be to his liking. It made me a little wary. On one hand, I was happy that Charlie's business was taking off. The guy had given me so much, and I wished him every success. I just hoped it wouldn't turn Final Blow into another circus.
Caesar's demands were very specific. Everything from locker room contents to which corner he fought in.
"He seriously wants a whole tray of mangoes?" I said, running my eyes down the list. "And 'light bulbs no brighter than thirty watts?'"
Charlie nodded wearily.
"Who is this guy, Mariah Carey? What a prima donna."
"I think some of it is just him fucking with us," Charlie said. "Seeing how far he can push."
"Sounds about right."
"Anyway, what princess wants, princess gets. You good with all that other stuff?" Charlie asked. There were a few demands that affected the fight itself. Shorter breaks between rounds, notes about scoring, that sort of thing. It would be a bit of a departure from the normal Final Blow rules, but this was a marquee event that had been months in the making, and in Charlie's mind, a few alterations were a small price to pay.
I nodded. "You know I don't give a shit about any of that. Just get me in the cage with him. It's been too long already." The gap between this fight and my last had been larger than normal; another gift from Caesar's management. Being out of the ring this long made me edgy, but there was nothing I could do.
"Good." He grimaced and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well I better head out front. Got some more unpleasant business to take care of."
"Yeah?"
His mouth drew into a thin line and he shook his head. "It's that new girl, Grace. She's been drinking on the job. I didn't want to believe it at first, but I've been in this game long enough to know when someone is loaded. I don't know if she's been taking it from our stock or bringing her own or what, but either way she's out of here."
Everything inside me seemed to tighten all at once. I'd partially been bluffing when I told Grace this would happen. I'd figured the odds were about fifty fifty. But Charlie was sharp. I should have known they'd be worse than that.
"She's not stealing it," I said slowly.
Charlie blinked in confusion. "You knew?"
I nodded.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I was trying to help her. Thought maybe she could get it under control; no harm no foul, you know? But she wasn't interested."
He blew a long breath out of his nose. He had every right to be angry. The legal ramifications if anything went wrong were enough to sink this place, and he knew I knew that. "Well, what's done is done, but I can't have that shit in my bar." He got to his feet and began moving toward the door.
You ever experience one of those choices you know is going to ripple throughout the rest of your life? Joining the army was one for me. The army isn't just a job, it's a way of life. I knew that once I went through that door, everything would be different. My values, perspective, friends, career prospects. An entire future altered on a simple yes or no.
I had that same feeling now. Helping her would change things. I think it had already. I'd been back in the real world for two years, and for the most part I'd kept to myself. This was the first time I'd felt a real connection with another person besides Charlie. I wanted to write it off as a selfless act, like maybe I'd finally found my altruistic side, but that just wasn't true anymore. There was more to this than just being a good person, and that frightened me. It had taken me a long time to get my world back to equilibrium, and the balance was precarious at best. One stumble and the whole house of cards could come crashing down.
But then I thought about the alternative, just letting Charlie do his thing, and I knew I'd regret it forever. Grace would walk out that door into the darkness, and I'd never see her again. She'd be alone with her pain, and it would burn through her like an infection until there was nothing left. That story, the one where I did nothing, definitely didn't have a happy ending for her. The other one? The odds were slim, but maybe there was a chance.
"Give me one more shot," I said.
He paused at the door. "What?"
"Let me talk to her once more. Maybe I can bring her round."
"You said she shut you down."
I nodded. "Yeah, but this might change things. She needs this job, Charlie."
"I can't take the risk, kid. If anything happens—"
Even now, with me having forty pounds and several inches on him, he still called me "kid." Not many people could get away with that, but from him it just felt like a sign of affection. "It won't. Look, if she doesn't agree to work with me, you can do whatever you want, but just let me try, okay? I can hel
p her, Charlie. I know what she's going through."
His expression remained blank.
"A year ago, you took a chance on me when you didn't have to," I continued, "and it saved me. She deserves the same chance."
He studied me for what felt like an eternity. He was a hard man in almost every way, but he had a soft spot for me. I prayed it was enough.
"If she drinks so much as a drop before or during one of her shifts, you tell me, understand?"
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Got it."
He moved to leave, but then hesitated. "You sure you know what you're doing here?" He had the sort of weathered face that looked older than its years, a landscape shaped by sun and wind, but still, I could see lines of concern etched there now. He wasn't just talking about Grace's problem anymore.
I shrugged. "No, but I'm doing it anyway."
I found her behind the bar. "Grace, you got a minute?"
A variety of emotions played across her face as she turned to me. Surprise, annoyance, curiosity. "We're kind of getting smashed here," she replied, nodding to the queue of people waiting for drinks. "So no, I don't."
"It's important," I replied.
She looked hesitant, but something in my expression must have gotten through, because she turned to Jonah, the other bartender working tonight, and said, "I need to take five."
Jonah's shot her one of his trademark greasy smiles and nodded. I'd never liked him. He was one of those guys who used this job as an excuse to hit on anything in a skirt and, amazingly, girls seemed to find his whole preppy frat boy shtick appealing, because damn if he wasn't good at it.