by Eve Langlais
For all I knew, she’d already left New York. Disappeared like a goddamned thief. And I never would, on the infinitesimal chance she’d come back.
“Tray.”
That voice in my head. Taunting me. Whispering over my abraded skin, delving into the wounds she’d made. Soft hair trailing over my bare flesh, her clean, crisp smell enveloping me even as I struggled against her unyielding arms.
“I’m here. Tray. Look at me.”
I opened my eyes and she swam into focus before I closed them again and shook my head. “No.” I could barely croak out the denial. “Don’t do this to me again. You left. I have to let you go.”
“No. I made you a promise. And you made one to me.”
None of this was happening. When I opened my eyes again, I’d be in bed. Alone.
She laid her hand on my cheek and exhaled a shuddering breath. “Tray, I went to see Costas.”
That name sliced through the fog in my head. I shoved at her hold, breaking it to stalk over to the bar. I didn’t look at her, because I feared she didn’t really exist. Only the anger and misery holding my gut hostage existed. Only that was real.
“I told him I wasn’t going to fight him.”
My heart kicked hard in my chest. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
“He wasn’t surprised.” A dry laugh. “He told me he’d been waiting for me to back out. That it didn’t matter, because the fight had already done its job. I don’t know what that means. He never asked me why. Just said ‘yeah, fine’ and went back to his reps.”
“I’m glad.” Relief coursed through my veins, but I couldn’t acknowledge it yet. I still half believed I was trapped in a nightmare that looked like a dream.
“He said something else too.”
I waited. Not really caring what fucking Giovanni Costas had to say.
“He told me you were into some shady shit. Betting on fights. That you’d taken a drop the night of the bout with him.”
Swearing under my breath, I gripped the edge of the bar until my knuckles went white. “He’ll see how much I appreciate that allegation when I pound his skull in for free.”
“I found a paper in your coat. Way back at the beginning. The sheet got mixed up with some mail so I didn’t see it at first. And then when I did, I didn’t understand what it was. Those numbers were amounts of money someone had offered you to lose.”
“Yes. They were.” I cut her a sidelong glance. “Sounds like you’ve figured everything out.”
She locked her gaze with mine. “I know you wouldn’t cheat.”
“I lied to you for weeks. If I can lie so easily, what makes you so sure I’m not a cheater too?”
“Because I know you.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have even mentioned that crap. You’d know better. I would never believe that about you for a minute. And I’d take care of any bastard who dared to even say those words.” My grip intensified on the bar. “You know what else, Mia? I’m not glad Darren Fucking Winthrop is dead, because I wish I could kill him myself. I wish I could rip his limbs from his body, one by one. I’d keep punching him until nothing remained but dust. That’s who I am. A fucking bloodthirsty maniac who’d kill for you, because I can’t do anything else to take your pain away.”
The floor creaked under her footsteps. I stiffened, but her hand pressing against my back still made me bite off an oath.
“I hurt you,” she whispered.
I didn’t know if she was referring to the welts under her palm or the much bigger hurt. That fear that would never leave me now.
The one where I woke up alone, and it stuck.
“Do you know why I insisted on fighting Fox Knox?” she questioned, as if she understood that Fox Knox and Tray Knox were two different people.
Too bad I hadn’t understood that myself for so very long.
“Fox was the best. A fight with Fox would get the most attention and the most money. I’d get out of town with Carly that much faster. But the real reason was Fox represented everything I hated. He was one of them. Rich, blond, impossibly perfect. Just like Darren.”
“Goddammit, Mia—”
“Hear me out.” Her tone gentled. “But you’re not anything like Darren. Not way down deep. The trappings might be similar—the wealth and privilege, the sense of entitlement—but inside, where it matters? You couldn’t be more different. You fought to prove you were worth something, but walking away without your supposed vengeance against Costas showed your value.” She caressed my skin. Easing the soreness from the wounds. All of them. “You lied to me to protect me. To help me feel safe. Not to try to deceive. And maybe I didn’t realize that right away last night, but I know it now. I know you, Tray.”
I swallowed over the sand in my throat. “Why did you back out of the fight with him?”
“After last night, my head was too messed up. Going in that ring tonight would’ve been a suicide mission. Just like your fight.”
I didn’t argue. The truth was evident enough.
She trembled against my back. “I used to think checking out was brave. Not anymore. I don’t want to die. I want…”
Her fingers curled against my spine, her nails offering an unintentional relief from the churning in my gut. Those miniscule slices in my skin opened up the pressure valves nothing else would.
“Tell me. Say the rest.”
“I’ve been the next best thing to dead for years. Now I want to feel again. To stop running.” She pressed her cool, velvety cheek to my shoulder. “I want to find my place. My home.” She swallowed audibly. “Maybe I already have.”
So many thoughts collided in my skull, all of them demanding to get out. But only one surfaced. “You could’ve told me you were going to talk to him.”
“I had to do it alone.”
“No, you damn well didn’t. You don’t have to do anything alone anymore.” I turned and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her both to solidify the point and to emphasize the reality of her standing in front of me. Whole. Strong. Mine.
Still mine.
“Do you have any clue what I went through, waking up without you? I thought you were gone. That you’d left me, left the city. Just packed up and taken off, like I didn’t mean a fucking thing to you. And worse, so much worse, I’d made it happen because I don’t have one goddamn iota how to do this right.”
I let her go and jammed my fists into my eyes, even the one that hurt already. The pain centered me until her tentative touch on my wrist tugged me away from the agonizing comfort.
Tipping back my head, I let the words out. Finally. I wasn’t some damn superhero. I didn’t have all the answers. Hell, I didn’t have any of them. “I don’t know how to be the man you need. No one’s ever depended on me before. I’ve lived my whole life for myself. I can’t give you anything but—”
“You.”
“What?” I met her gaze, sure I’d misheard.
“I only want you.” Her lips quivered before she firmed them and walked forward into my arms. Hers encircled my waist, holding on tight. “I don’t know what I’m doing either. But we can figure it out. We have time.”
I jerked back and gazed into her liquid brown eyes. “Do we?”
She nodded.
“Not good enough. Tell me you’ll stay. That you won’t leave, no matter what. Even if I screw up and make things worse somehow. If I harm you without knowing it. If I fucking spank you when you want me to stroke.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Pretty sure that will never happen.”
“Mia.” I gripped her chin. “Promise me.”
“I already did once.”
“Give me the words again. Please.”
”I promise.” She wrapped her hand around the back of my neck and tugged my head down to hers. Kissing me tenderly at first, then adding a rough slice of teeth. “I’m not leaving you.”
I dragged her against my chest and buried my face in her hair. “Goddamn you, I love you. So much it makes me insane. More
insane. Not working with a lot there to begin with.”
She gave a watery laugh and pressed her cold nose into the crook of my shoulder. “And you said you weren’t a poet.”
“I don’t like to brag.”
She laughed again and eased back to graze the area beneath my injured eye with the tips of her fingers. “I have to go to work later. I called in and asked Carmine to put me on the schedule. Since I won’t be making my big payday from the fight, I’ll need to pick up more hours to cover my rent. It’s going up.”
I thought it over for about five seconds. “Stay here.”
A shiver went through her that I was sure had nothing to do with the cold. “With my sister?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “You’re too much.”
“Better than not enough.”
Her gaze dropped to below my waist for a fraction of a second before returning to my face. Much to my shock, a smile curved her mouth. “No worries there.”
“Thanks for reminding me I’m wearing just a towel. Maybe I’ll use it to tie you up and turn you into my love slave.”
“No turning required,” she murmured, lifting her face to mine.
But before our lips connected, she slid her mouth to my cheek. “You’re just going to let it go?”
I tensed. “What?” I asked, knowing full well what she meant.
Costas. Always freaking Costas.
“You believe I thought the worst of you but that’s okay. We’ll just fuck it out, right?”
“Well, now that you put it that way…”
“I decked him, Tray. Right in his goddamn eye. Just like you taught me. I didn’t fracture his eye socket, but I gave him a nice shiner.” She wiggled her fingers, revealing the split knuckles I’d missed. “Jesus, that hurt.”
I grabbed her hand and kissed the cuts, lifting my eyes to hers. “My hero.”
“I owed him one.” She shrugged. “Besides, he’s still talking about going out with Carly. Maybe getting his clock cleaned by her sister will kill that idea.”
Somehow I doubted it but I didn’t want to piss on her cloud. Not yet anyway. My own cloud was pretty full at the moment, as was the rapidly tightening area in my chest. “You never doubted me.”
“No. Not for a second.” She stepped forward, eliminating the space between us. Her dark eyes clear and steady on mine. “I believe in you. One hundred percent.”
“Ditto.” I cleared my throat and rubbed my thumb over her lower lip. “I’m probably going to piss you off at least once an hour.”
“Undoubtedly. And vice versa.”
“Absolutely.”
Smiling faintly, she leaned up and cupped my jaw. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Me too.” Giving in to the yawning chasm of need inside me, the one only she could fill, I crushed her against me and covered her mouth with mine. “Welcome home, baby.”
Epilogue
Mia
All my life, I’d fought to believe that love healed. I’d heard it. I’d seen it. But I’d never felt it, all the way down to my bones. I’d never been the recipient of a love so strong that even I couldn’t break it.
If someone had told me it existed even for someone like me, I would’ve laughed. I wasn’t looking for love. I wanted to fight. The irony that my need to fight had led me to love wasn’t lost on me. I’d only stopped running when I found something worth sticking around for.
Not just Tray, but me.
Me.
I wasn’t all that crappy of a girlfriend. Or sister. Or person in general. I didn’t know how to cook, I sucked at being flirtatious and I tended to react to annoyances by raising my fists. But you know what? Some people liked me that way.
Some people loved me, baggage and all. Not in spite of who I was, but because of it.
“Happy birthday, Fox,” Carly called, holding out her covered cake pan. “Surprise!”
Tray looked up from the textbook open on his desk to where Carly and I stood in the doorway to his closet-sized office at The Cage. Since Tray and I were now both part-time trainers, we actually shared one, which wasn’t saying much since our office was full of his stuff. I had a folding chair and a corner of the desk currently covered in books and notebooks and about sixteen pens.
He’d started preparing for his NYU entrance exam, hence the book paraphernalia. The glasses he wore were a recent addition after his surgery. He’d come through it like a champ and his vision was almost back to normal, but he claimed he’d hung up his gloves for glasses.
I understood, since I’d hung up mine too. Now that I had a lot of reasons to stay healthy, I wasn’t about to risk it if the payoff wasn’t spectacular. Someone wise had once told me the fight wasn’t what mattered, but what you were fighting for. I could always make money in other ways.
My biggest regret was that I’d ever worn a titty top for that fuckjob Costas. He still held the date with Carly over my head, saying he’d been promised it as a condition of setting up a fight with me. As long as my sister agreed, he insisted I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him from what he was rightfully owed. That remained to be seen.
You could take the girl out of the ring, but you couldn’t take the fighter out of the girl…
“You made me a cake?” Tray rose, obviously delighted by our unexpected lunchtime visit. He also clearly did not recognize the pan Carly held. “Fuckin’ A. You’re the best, squirt.”
“Sure did.” Carly beamed. “German chocolate with chocolate icing and custard filling.”
“Oh man. Thank you. I’m starving.” He cast a suspicious look at the sound I made, crossed between a cough and a giggle, but I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
When Carly popped the lid off the cake and he saw which one it was—and the little weasely face that covered the tip—I lost it. Grabbing my belly, I turned away and gasped for air. “Oh God.” I couldn’t stop laughing. “I should’ve brought my camera.”
“You put a face on my penis?” The outrage in his voice made me laugh even harder.
“It’s not your penis, per se. I wouldn’t know what that looks like. Ame refuses to take pictures.”
“Sicko.”
Carly ignored me. “It’s just a generic penis, but I wanted to make it specific for you. So, ta da, it has a fox face.”
“Take a breath,” Tray advised me, not sounding particularly amused. “You’re going to rupture a lung.”
“And look, there are twenty-eight candles. Just like your age. It was hard fitting them all in, but I did it.”
“Twenty-four. I’m only twenty-four, squirt.” Then he squinted and shook his head, realizing she’d been kidding. “What’s next? I’ve already gotten an obscene cake and age jokes. Lemme guess. Birthday spankings?”
“Only if you’re lucky.” After a long wheezy exhale, I held up a finger. “Hang on. I need to get your presents.” I glanced at Carly “Don’t let him eat his penis until I get back.”
“You are so hilarious. Both of you. I’d laugh, but Mia sucked all the air out of the room.”
Still grinning, I jogged out to his car. I’d borrowed it for my running around this morning—I actually had a license now—and the passenger seat was stacked with boxes. I’d bought just as many presents for me as I had for him, but I figured we’d only have one first birthday together. And I’d had fun buying up the store.
I wouldn’t have as much fun adjusting my budget, especially since we’d just moved into our new place, but those were the lumps. I could always take on more shifts at Vinnie’s or new clients at The Cage. I only had a couple since I was on probation, but my track record on the circuit had helped me land the job. I definitely appreciated the extra cash now that I wasn’t fighting anymore and had a new spiffy apartment to decorate.
Well, Carly was decorating. I was okay with my saggy couch and the chair with the broken springs, but we needed to be able to entertain guests. So she said.
She seemed happy here in the city. I’d asked her fla
t out if she wasn’t, if she’d rather return home to Aunt Patty or hell, get away from me, period. Just because I’d chosen to stay in New York didn’t mean she had to do the same. But she’d told me she wanted to live with me, that she’d been waiting for years for our chance to be a couple of freewheeling young women making our own way.
I’d only cried for twenty minutes or so.
Tray had repeatedly asked us to move in with him. I’d been tempted, because we hadn’t had much time to look for safe, affordable housing. Okay, so that wasn’t the only reason. I wanted to set the right example for Carly, and moving us in with a guy I’d known for only three months didn’t seem like it. I could only imagine Aunt Patty’s reaction.
But even so, we’d only signed a year lease, and I fully expected to be living with Tray by this time next year. Instead of that making me feel panicky and unsure, it gave me a warm glow. I was loved. I loved, even if I hadn’t quite said the words yet. And the world hadn’t ended.
Everything wasn’t roses. I’d decided to try therapy once a week, and so far I’d gone through three therapists. The current one had lasted two sessions, and I was hopeful. As long as she didn’t start telling me to join an abuse recovery group like the others had, we might be okay.
It had taken me this long to tell anyone about my rape, never mind a room of people. Group therapy helped plenty of others. Perhaps it would be help me too someday. But not now.
Tray and I fought—a lot—but we enjoyed the making up part just as much. He still tried to tell me what to do more than I liked, and I still retreated into silence in defense. His parents weren’t particularly thrilled he was dating me, and I couldn’t say I adored them either. But we’d lived through a couple of family dinners and we even managed to laugh afterward.
Usually while consuming an alcoholic beverage. Or three.
We weren’t giving up. If fighting had taught us anything, it was the importance of not being a quitter. It had also taught us how to judge an opponent’s weakness.
I hefted the boxes and headed back inside. I had one of Tray’s in my arms.