Fighting Blind

by C. M. Seabrook

  Fighting Blind

  C.M. Seabrook

  Copyright (C) 2016 C.M. Seabrook

  ISBN 978-1533453075

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years and older due to bad language, violence, and explicit sex scenes.

  chantelseabrook@gmail.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Love doesn't hide. It stays and fights. It goes the distance. That's why love is so strong. So it can carry you all the way home.

  Pietro Aretino

  Chapter 1

  Theo

  My fist grinds into my opponent’s nose with a sickening crunch and the man falls, eyes rolling back in his head.

  “Shit, Theo, it’s just a practice match.” My trainer, Evan, jumps into the ring and crouches over the bloody bastard lying unconscious on the mat.

  “It’s not my fault he won’t keep his eyes up.” Sweat drips from my hair onto the new cage floor I just installed. An exact replica of the one in the MGM Grand. Cost me a pretty penny, but it’s not like I’m hurting for cash. Not after my last two sanctioned fights. Plus, the gym’s been doing well. I’ve got enough in savings to keep the place running, even if I decide to retire after my next match.

  It’s a possibility I’ve been mulling over.

  Twenty-five and retired. I grunt at the thought. Most men my age are just starting their career in the octagon, but I’ve got bigger plans. Plans that don’t involve having my teeth rearranged every couple of months.

  “Hey, Boss.” Moody pops his head around the corner, long hair pulled back in what chicks are calling a man-bun. There’s just something wrong about a six-foot-four, tatted MMA fighter wearing granny hair.

  “What is it?” I shout over the sound of fists smacking against leather and flesh.

  “There’s a pair of tits here to see you.” With a grin, Moody wiggles his brows.

  “You know the rules.” My girls know not to disturb me at my gym.

  “She’s pretty insistent. And hot too.”

  If it was the redhead from last Tuesday, I was going to lose my shit. After giving her one hell of a ride, the chick had gone loco, stalking the gym, and calling my cell at all hours.

  I pull off my gloves and unwrap the bandages from my knuckles, then walk to the front, ready to give her an earful.

  When I turn the corner, I freeze.

  People talk about things knocking the breath out of you, and that’s exactly what seeing Mackenzie Brooks does. The fucking air in my lungs leaves me in a rush. Shock, anger, relief. Emotions flood through me like a tsunami.

  Three years. Three fucking years. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen that beautiful face. Not that I didn’t try tracking her down. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to be found. At least by me.

  When her gaze turns to me, her eyes widen and trail down my bare chest. Her lips part in appreciation, pupils expand, and I hear her small uneven breath. I’ve seen the look countless times from other women, but not from Mac. Never from Mac.

  I take a step towards her, ready to scoop her up in my arms, then stop. I don’t know whether to hug or strangle her. My fingers itch to do both.

  “Hi.” Long brown hair rolls down her back in glossy waves. Soft, full lips that I’ve only dreamed of kissing open and close as if trying to decide what to say.

  An explanation of where the hell she’s been for the past few years would be a good place to start.

  “I…just wanted…” Her words come out in a stutter, and she tucks her hair behind one ear.

  She’s nervous. Good. She should be fucking nervous.

  I move toward her. The muscles in my jaw are so tight they feel like they’re going to snap. I can barely process the emotions that are slamming into my chest. But I can’t take my eyes off her. I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous she was. Hell, I’d tried to forget.

  Eyes the color of caramel, with flecks of amber and gold, stare up at me with uncertainty.

  Those eyes. They could pierce a man’s heart with a single look. And they had.

  I’d have given everything for her. Would’ve sold my soul to the fucking devil just to please her. All she had to do was ask. Instead, she walked away.

  The question that’s been raging inside my skull for the past three years, screams out. Why?

  “What are you doing here, Mackenzie?” My tone is harsher than intended, but no matter how good it is to see her face, I’m still pissed. And I have every right to be.

  I’d nearly lost my fucking mind trying to track her down, imagining the worst case scenarios of why she’d run. For months, I thought something had happened to her. Even got the police involved. It wasn’t until her drunk of a mother called the whole thing off that I got any semblance of an explanation.

  Hiking around Europe.

  That was the bullshit answer she gave me. Which was a pretty shitty lie, since I knew Mac didn’t have a passport.

  “I…” She rings her hands and chews on her bottom lip, looking anywhere but at me.

  Bloody hell. I know that look. She’s in some kind of trouble. But what else is new? It’s what defines our friendship. Her screwing up. Me bailing her out.

  I’m done trying to be her white knight.

  Even as I think it, I know I’m bullshitting myself.

  “I wanted to let you know I’m in town for a couple days.” She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. “I should’ve just called.”

  “Yeah, one phone call in the past three years would’ve been nice.”

  “Theo–”

  “Save it, Mac.” I drag my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. “What kind of trouble are you in this time?”

  Her eyes snap to mine, and a look of hurt crosses her soft features. “I’m not in–”

  “Don’t play games. You at least owe me that. What do you need?”

  “This was a bad idea.” She takes a step towards the door.

  Sunlight streams through the glass, across her pale skin, and I see her for the first time. I mean really see her. There are dark shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks are sunken in. I notice how her jeans hang loosely on her hips. Her oversized gray sweatshirt does little to hide the fact that she’s underweight.

  What the hell?

  “Mac?” I move towards her, and I see her physically pull into herself, like I’m some kind of predator and not the guy who was
her best friend for ten fucking years. “What’ve you got yourself messed up in?”

  “Nothing.” Her fingers tremble as they reach for the door. She swallows hard and squints, looking out the window like there’s something interesting on the other side.

  “Is it drugs?” I can’t imagine Mac ever turning to that shit, but then how well do I really know her now?

  “No.” Her voice raises an octave and she shakes her head. “You know I don’t do that stuff.”

  I believe her. But I can tell she’s hiding something. She’s always been a terrible liar.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I should go.” The corner of her lips lift slightly, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  She’s going to walk out that door. Out of my life. Again. Panic claws at my throat.

  “Are you staying with your mom?” I inch closer, ready to grab her if she decides to bolt.

  “No. You know how she is.”

  Yeah, I knew the woman all right.

  “Where you staying?” No way I’m letting her leave here without knowing where she’s going.

  “I’ve watched your fights.” She hugs her arms around her chest, and her sweatshirt shifts, exposing the sharp edge of her collarbone.

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “You’ve done well for yourself.” She glances around the gym, a soft smile touching her lips.

  Fuck, I’ve missed that smile. Missed everything about her. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m happy for you.” Her eyes glaze over and there’s a small quiver to her chin.

  Fuck, are those tears? The Mackenzie I know doesn’t cry. Not without good reason.

  I take a step towards her and her eyes widen. Fear? Arousal? Hope? Hell if I know what’s going on in that pretty head.

  I fight the urge to pull her into my arms.

  She didn’t come here for me.

  “How much do you need?” It’s money she’s here for. The way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks through the window, avoiding my gaze, confirms my suspicion.

  “I don’t want your money,” she says quietly.

  “No. But you need it. How much?”

  “I didn’t come here for help.”

  Another lie.

  “Bullshit. Why else would you be here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “I’ve been here all along.” I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring her defensive stance. “Why now?”

  Her lips tighten in a thin line and she shakes her head. “I’m back for a few days. That’s all.”

  Another goddamn lie. Anger simmers close to the surface.

  “You got your wish. You saw me. What now?” I ball my fingers into fists at my side to keep from reaching out and grazing my knuckles over her pale cheek. Even after all these years, the need to touch her overrides my sanity. I don’t realize how close I’ve gotten until I feel her warm, uneven breath against my bare chest.

  “Boss? Phone call.” Moody leans against the office door watching us. I can’t read his expression, which isn’t good. When I don’t move, he adds, “They’re wanting to reschedule your fight.”

  Shit. I have to take it. Cracking my neck, I straighten. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Her fingers are shaking again when she reaches out to touch my hand. It’s a small gesture, but the single touch makes my cock jerk in response.

  “It was good seeing you.”

  I huff in response. It was better than good. But fear keeps me from saying more.

  With a sharp nod, I take a step back.

  I’ve never felt like such a coward in my life. Of all the times I imagined what I would say, what I would do if I ever saw her again, letting her walk out the door wasn’t one of them.

  She hesitates, then pushes through the door, disappearing around the corner.

  I stand there, frozen, unable to move or even breathe.

  Bottom line, I loved Mackenzie Brooks, and she demolished me. No matter the highs I chase – the booze, the women, the adrenaline rush of stepping into the cage – nothing can fill the void she left in my soul.

  Was I really about to let her walk away, again?

  Chapter 2

  Mackenzie

  I can barely breathe as I run down the sidewalk, dodging other pedestrians. Tears blur my vision, and I swipe angrily at them with my sleeve.

  Going to see Theo was stupid. Reckless. Desperate. But I’m out of choices. And out of money.

  A horn blares when I step off the curb and into oncoming traffic.

  Shit. I jump back on the sidewalk, fingers shaking, legs gone to jelly.

  “Watch where you’re going,” a man shouts through a car window.

  I give a small wave of apology, then rub my hands over my face, and wait for the lights to change.

  With a trembling breath, I pull the hood of my sweater over my head and tug at the strings, then move quickly across the street, praying that no one recognizes me.

  I need to get back. Figure out what I’m going to do. Then get the hell out of town.

  But Theo…His face. His voice. Five minutes with him and I feel like I’m nineteen again. Like the past three years, the lies and deception, never happened.

  I pass a small bakery and the smells of fresh baked bread drifts through the open door. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today.

  The women’s shelter is still a good twenty-minute walk. Fifteen if I run. If I hurry, I’ll make it back in time for dinner.

  Despite the heaviness in my body, I start to jog.

  Returning empty-handed, I feel like the complete screw-up that I am. No money. No home. No prospects. At least in Clinton I had a job and a place to stay. Sure, it was a dump, but it was my dump.

  The only reason I came back here was to claim the money my great aunt left me.

  What a joke that turned out to be.

  My fingers ball into fists and I grunt, playing back the scene in my head.

  Somehow, my mother tapped into the account and depleted the savings, claiming it was what I owed her.

  A small, bitter laugh bubbles to the service, burning my throat.

  The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. But I learned a long time ago that there’s no point arguing with a narcissistic drunk addicted to pain meds. Even if I confronted her about it, she’d find a way to twist the story around, become the victim.

  Twenty-five hundred dollars wasn’t worth the fight that would ensue.

  She can have the money. I’ll find another way to survive. I always do.

  A sun-faded poster in one of the shop’s windows catches my eye. I’ve seen it a thousand times, but it always takes my breath away. Fists up, muscles bulging underneath tanned skin, Theo stares down his opponent. His eyes look dark, almost black, not the rich, warm brown I know they are. His jaw is set, full lips pulled down in a fierce scowl. Dark hair, cut short, unlike the longer waves that fell over his forehead and ears today.

  I don’t realize I’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk until someone bumps me from behind. The woman grumbles and pushes past. I ignore her and turn back to the poster, stopping myself from reaching out and tracing the outline of his face.

  The world has a love-hate relationship with Theo Ryan. It always has. Men love to hate him and women hate to love him. It’s like people are waiting with eager anticipation for him to step off a cliff. To self-implode. To come tumbling down from the pedestal they placed him on.

  But they don’t know him the way I do. Under all his edginess and arrogance, he’s a man who would do anything to protect the people he cares about, even those who’ve wronged him. It’s the reason I had to walk away. So far away that no matter how hard he looked, he would never find me. Give him a chance to live the life he was destined to live.

  His success may have shocked the world, but it didn’t surprise me. Ever since we were kids, I knew Theo Ryan was destined for greatness.

&nb
sp; The opposite of everything I am.

  My reflection in the window ghosts over the poster. Face gaunt, eyes tired, I feel ten years older than I am.

  A thousand regrets roll to the surface.

  Maybe if things had been different…If I could change that one night...I shake my head and grind my back teeth together.

  Too many ifs race through my mind.

  I can’t change the past, and in truth, no matter how messed up my life is, I know if I had the choice I wouldn’t change what I did. That’s the sick reality of it.

  I hate lying to Theo. But to tell him the truth would shatter his perfect world.

  Chapter 3

  Theo

  I shouldn’t go after her, but I do.

  After a quick apology to my manager, I grab my keys and run to my GT350 that’s parked outside the gym. I rev the engine and gun it in the direction Mac took off. It takes me ten minutes to track her down.

  I’m almost ready to give up when I finally see her. Arms wrapped protectively over her chest, gray hood pulled tight around her face. She makes a quick right and jogs down a side street. Her shoulders are slouched, and everything about her body language screams defeat.

  The area isn’t one I normally frequent. The buildings are old, crumbling, many with boarded up windows, marked with graffiti. Yellow flyers litter the streets, and I have to dodge an overturned garbage can that rolls off the curb towards me.

  Who the hell does she know in this neighborhood? My initial suspicion that she’s messed up with drugs, or worse, creeps back in my mind.

  I pull the car to the curb when she enters a building. The sign above the door reads ‘Prospect Place, Women’s Shelter.’

  It takes a few seconds for my brain to register what the place actually is.

  “What the fuck?” My gut does a three-sixty and adrenaline courses through my veins like it does right before a fight.

  I open the car door and realize that I’m still naked from the waist up. There’s a club t-shirt in the backseat. I grab it and pull it over my head.

  When I enter the building, a middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair, sitting behind a large desk, looks up and frowns.