“What was it you said to me? ‘He’s a fighter. Let him fight’.”
“Well maybe I was wrong.” Curtis pressed his lips together. “I don’t fucking know, Law. I hate seeing you like this. That man right there means a lot to you. And I like him. But Jesus, keeping him alive is gonna be harder than doing the same for Reed and half the time I’m tempted to replace his door with bars to keep him out of trouble.”
“Chains are just as effective.” Lawson chuckled and took a slow sip of whiskey to savor the burn. “Noah would kill you.”
“Mhmm.” Curtis cocked his head. “Four years to live. Might be worth it.”
Lawson arched a brow. “If you’re not serious about him, don’t go there. Growing up in this place has messed him up enough. We’re already doing a shit job protecting them.”
“You know I wouldn’t hurt him.”
“No. I don’t know that, Curtis.” Lawson’s jaw ticked. “I don’t know much of anything right now.”
Squeezing his shoulder, Curtis leaned close. “Understood. The mood I’ve been in myself lately, it’s probably not a good idea anyway.” He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand over his face. “Talk to Matt. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whatever. But you’ve got to work this shit out of your system. I’m giving him a few days off to recover.”
“He was getting that either way.”
“Yeah…I know.” Curtis stood as Doc helped Matt take off his shirt. His attempt to hide his wince was admirable. “I’m gonna go check on the kids. Try to convince them to be…fucking dentists or something.”
“Good luck with that.” Lawson drained his whiskey, the insistent buzz in his skull returning as he watched Doc carefully prod the purple blotches marking Matt’s chest and sides, speaking to him quietly.
Not long after Curtis left, Doc finished up and had Matt lay back down with an ice pack over his side. He motioned for Lawson to follow him to the door.
“He got lucky. I know it looks bad, but other than the stitches and some nasty bruises, he’s fine. Have him drink some Gatorade and get some rest. This was more mentally exhausting than anything.” Doc patted Lawson’s shoulder. “Give the boy some credit. He’s fast and he’s a skilled fighter. I wouldn’t suggest he fight again until the deeper bruises are gone, but other than that a day or two of rest and he’ll be good to go.”
“Thank you, Jared.” Lawson hesitated as he opened the door for the other man. “I’m sorry for before. That was uncalled for.”
Doc shrugged, completely unfazed. “I expected this to fuck with you. You don’t do well when you’re not in control. Speaking of which.” He gave Lawson’s bandaged arm a pointed look. “That won’t go away from sheer willpower. You will let me look at it tomorrow to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s a second degree burn, you stubborn asshole. You let it get bad enough that it will probably scar. Don’t think I won’t involve Noah if this continues. I’m paid to keep you idiots in one piece.” Doc poked Lawson in the center of his chest and laughed at his scowl. “I know a dozen different ways to keep you down without landing a single punch. Don’t push it, boy.”
Aside from Noah, Doc was the only person in The Asylum who could speak to him this way and get away with it. Mostly because he knew the man didn’t make idle threats. If he thought immobilizing Lawson was necessary for his healing, he’d find a way to do it.
And it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Nodding his understanding, Lawson closed the door and returned to the sofa, where Matt was sipping from a glass of water Doc had brought him. The blood had been cleaned from his face, and other than the bandage taped to his chin, he looked good. Steadier.
He smiled hesitantly up at Lawson. “Turns out I’m not broken.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.” Lawson pressed his lips to Matt’s forehead. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d stop collecting scars.”
“I like that idea.” Matt rested his head on Lawson’s shoulder as he settled down next to him. “Fuck, I’ve never been this out of it after a fight. Sorry about that.”
“Stop. Matt, fighting here isn’t the same as the competitions you were in. The lack of rules increases the risks.” Lawson curved his hand against Matt’s cheek and held his gaze. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” Lawson slipped off the sofa and held out his hand. “Come to bed. I want this day over with.”
Matt blinked at him. Nodded slowly. “Sure, but…can we talk?”
“We just did.”
“That’s not what I mean. You’ve been…I don’t know, it’s like you’re saying what you think I need to hear concerning the fight.” He pressed his lips together. “You’re allowed to be mad.”
Lawson chuckled and pulled Matt to his side. “Thank you for giving me your permission. It’s not needed.”
“But—”
“Not another word. It’s over. Let it go.”
The look Matt gave him made it unlikely that he’d follow that order, but he gave Lawson a jerky nod and followed him to the bedroom. Held still as Lawson helped him remove his jeans and slip into some sleep pants.
Once Lawson had changed as well, they both climbed into bed. Lawson pulled Matt into his arms and closed his eyes as Matt rested his head on his shoulder. This was good. Having Matt close. Knowing he was safe. He needed a break from worrying that his man would be covered in more bruises. In his own blood. Fuck, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Matt take his shirt off without fresh marks covering his flesh.
None that had been put there in pleasure.
“You’re taking this week off.”
Matt stiffened. Pushed himself up on his elbow. “What?”
“I don’t like repeating myself.”
“You’re gonna have to, because I think I heard you wrong.” Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Doc said I’m fine. To take it easy and not fight for a bit.”
“He’s not your Dom.”
“And we’ve yet to negotiate what exactly that means when we’re not having sex. Which we aren’t and haven’t been for the past week.” Matt’s jaw tensed. He winced and brought his hand to hover over the bandage. “Fuck, I don’t want to argue. Can we discuss it in the morning?”
“There’s nothing to discuss, Matt. You don’t want to accept my order as your Dom, then you will accept it as your boss. I own this club. You work for me.” Lawson couldn’t stand to hear the words coming out of his own mouth, but he was at a loss. His lack of control had led to Matt getting into that ring. He couldn’t let that happen again. “You are not working. That is final.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
There was no way to respond without things escalating, so Lawson remained silent, grinding his teeth as Matt shifted to the other side of the bed. He wasn’t sure how to fix this. Or if he even should.
All he knew was the space between them made it hard to convince himself that, despite the win, they hadn’t lost something in that ring.
And he wasn’t sure how to get it back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Matt slipped out of the bedroom, waiting to put on his shoes until he’d reached the third floor landing. He needed to move, get the ache out of his muscles the fight with Ram had left behind. Sitting on the top riser, he shoved one foot into his sneaker and winced, examined the top of his foot, which had turned light blue. Hell, he had bruises on his toes for chrissakes.
Sighing, he stood and limped his way downstairs.
The bar was empty, so he put a filter in the coffee maker and started heaping out the requisite number of tablespoons. Reed and Lawson liked theirs like paint thinner. Curtis had a more nuanced palate and would wait until the other men had drained the first pot before demanding something less, as he put it, toxic to his kidneys.
He hoped Curtis didn’t mind today, because judging from the way Lawson had been snoring when Matt left, the man wouldn’t be up for a while. Last n
ight, after the match, he’d been…weird. Alternately nice and frustrating. Matt figured Lawson would have at him at some point after how upset he’d sounded when he’d chatted with Curtis. Of course, Lawson had wanted to protect him, but it would’ve been nice if he’d said something to Matt’s face, talked to him at least after Doc said his injuries weren’t that bad, but if anything he’d been more closed off after the fight than before.
One hand on the counter, Matt leaned down, stretching the sore spot where Ram had gotten in that first hit. He wouldn’t kid himself. He’d come damned close to losing, and Lawson must’ve been shitting bricks. Though, at the moment, Matt couldn’t tell whether said brick-shitting would have been over him or the near-loss of five grand and a helluva lot of face.
Yanking a cobalt blue coffee mug from under the counter, he shook his head at himself. That wasn’t fair or true. He was being a shit. Lawson had all-but-carried him upstairs. Insisted he not get off the couch. Held Matt’s head in his freaking lap and stroked his hair.
It had been the singular most amazing moment of his life, and no matter how much he hurt, he hadn’t wanted it to end. Doc had come in with Curtis, and Matt had kept his eyes shut, enjoying being fussed over. Safe. And yeah, he’d felt like hell, but if he’d had to get up he could have.
Sort of.
Passing a hand over his face, Matt rasped his stubble and breathed deep. If only Lawson would talk to him. Tell him what he was thinking. He would have understood it Lawson had yelled at him or even threatened him with an ass kicking. Those reactions he got. But this silent treatment made him crazy. No matter what he did, Lawson was a wall he couldn’t climb around, over, or...on.
Cream in his hand, he limped back from the bar fridge, grabbing some sugar on the way by. If it were him, Matt knew he’d have wanted to rip Lawson a new one, and he wasn’t even a dominant. Or maybe that was just what he wished for as a submissive and he should stop projecting. At least then he wouldn’t have had to walk around on eggshells waiting for the hammer to drop.
Dragging the pot out from under the spout he shoved his cup beneath. When it gurgled to the top, he withdrew the mug and shoved the pot back underneath, more than ready to start his day. Aside from his limp and a bit of soreness, he was in good shape. Lawson wanting to keep him locked up in his ivory tower just because he couldn’t say the shit he needed to say wasn’t going to help clean up the mess Matt knew awaited him in the gymnasium.
He’d just started to round the bar when Reed loped down the stairs, yawning. Stopped. Looked behind him, then back to Matt, wrinkling his nose. “Is Lawson’s coffee pot busted, dude?”
Frowning, Matt looked down at his cup and back up to Reed. “No. Why?”
“Are you nuts?” Reed closed the distance from the stairs to the bar, his voice no less emphatic for how he whispered. “Get the fuck back upstairs.”
Matt pulled back. “I feel fine.”
Reed’s answering laugh burbled, a little hysterical. “Well, you’re not gonna be when Lawson’s done with you. Seriously, dude, I don’t want to mop up the aftermath again. Go back upstairs.”
Now Matt knew Reed was just being dramatic, because no way was Lawson going to go Hannibal Lecter on his ass at six-fucking-thirty in the morning. The guy was barely able to walk a straight line before his first cup of coffee. He might not like Matt cleaning, but he wasn’t going to go apeshit over him just being downstairs.
Matt heaved a sigh when Reed tugged at his arm. Matt yanked away, and his coffee splattered over the rim of the mug onto his hand.
“Jesus! Ow. Motherfucker.”
Matt plunked his mug onto the bar, spilling more, and raced to the sink to rinse his hand. Unlike Lawson, he at least had a lick of sense.
“Shit. Sorry. Let me get you some ice.” Grabbing a bar towel, Reed reached into the ice chest and wrapped up a handful before giving the towel to Matt.
Matt scowled blackly, snatched the makeshift ice pack, and elbowed the faucet off. “Thanks.”
Sliding onto one of the stools, Reed contemplated him from across the bar. “You’re really all right? Because you lost a fuckton of blood in that ring last night.”
“Yeah. It didn’t hurt much after Doc patched me up.” He lied through his teeth. Just talking was making his jaw ache from the bruising. “I’m good.”
Reed regarded him, heel of his palm under his chin. “You’re full of shit.”
“Am not.” Doc had said he had some bruised ribs and some strains. Nothing he hadn’t dealt with after fights before. So, he wasn’t at one-hundred percent. Big deal. “Besides, if Lawson is worried or upset, all he has to do is tell me.” He chucked the ice in the sink and threw down the towel. ”I’m so sick of this shit. Why can’t he just talk like a normal person?”
“Whoa. Dude.” Reed raised both hands. “Not the enemy. As far as I know, you won last night, so there’s nothing up your ass.”
Matt blinked, too many images cascading into his brain at once for him to process. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s not your fault.”
Reed cast him a sympathetic glance. “Lawson is Lawson. You can’t expect him to wear his heart on his sleeve.”
“I know. He was awesome last night. All the way up until he found out I wasn’t broken.” Matt chewed his bottom lip. “No. That’s not true. It just felt that way. I wanted him to talk to me and he wouldn’t.”
Covering Matt’s hand briefly with his own, Reed squeezed. “He cares more about you than I’ve seen him care about anyone. Like, in that way. Him and Curtis are weird, but kinda like going and each other. There was Noah, but he wasn’t his…” Reed shrugged. “Boyfriend.”
Boyfriend?
Matt’s lips quirked despite his foul mood. “I don’t think he’d classify me that way. Hell, I’m not sure he or Curtis knows what a romantic relationship is supposed to look like, and neither do I.”
At the mention of Curtis and romance, Reed got a funny look on his face. “I— Yeah. That’d be a brain twister for sure.”
Shoulders aching, Matt pushed upright and glanced toward the gymnasium door. Bravado was his friend right now, but not for much longer. He only had a few good hours in him today, and he wanted them to happen before Lawson got out of bed and prevented him from cleaning up the mess he’d made last night. Nobody else had started that shit with Ram, and he didn’t want them to have to clean it up.
“Do me a favor?”
Reed cocked his head.
“You didn’t see me and you don’t know where I am.”
“If he dares to say yes, I’m going to beat his ass, so you might want to reconsider that request.” Curtis stood in the stairway, brown eyes glinting black with anger.
Matt’s stomach bottomed out, but he lifted his chin. Ignored Reed’s oh shit expression. “Whatever you two get up to in your spare time is up to you.”
Rounding the bar, Matt grabbed his coffee and headed for the gymnasium.
Curtis stepped in his way. “I don’t particularly care whether or not you want to add more hurt on top of those bruises of yours, boy, but I want you to remember this moment and that both Reed and I tried to warn you.”
“Look.” Matt briefly closed his eyes, hands cradling his cup. “It’s just something I need to do. ‘Kay?”
The resigned look Curtis gave him wasn’t without pity. “Your funeral.”
With a glare, Matt shouldered past him. Inside the gymnasium, cool darkness greeted him, along with his demons. He forced himself to move along the wall to the light switches and flip one on. The bank over the ring illuminated the space above and below, revealing a marked lack of disco ball...or blood. The room smelled of antiseptic cleaner. No papers littered the floor. The ring showed no sign of where he’d fallen and almost let Ram win. It was almost as if the nightmare had never happened.
Moving to the side of the ring, sipping his coffee, he paused where Lawson had stood. At his height, up close, he would have seen every blow and heard every impact. Might have even been sprayed with Mat
t’s blood. Matt closed his eyes against the memory of Ram’s breath in his face, the man lifting him off his feet. He’d felt helpless in that moment, but Lawson had actually been helpless.
Last night, he had won, not lost, and it was the first win he’d had in a long, long time. Not just in the ring, but anywhere, and he wanted to feel good about it, but he couldn’t. Not until Lawson talked to him. At the end of the day, he just wanted, no needed, to know where the man’s fucking lines were. He wanted them spelled out as clearly as the ropes that surrounded the ring he’d fought in last night. And a whole lot of silence wasn’t going to give him that, or their relationship the emotional closure it needed on what had happened.
Sighing, Matt placed his coffee on the edge of the ring and went for the mop and bucket. Not because the place needed cleaning, but because he needed to do something. He had to get back in that ring today, even on his hands and knees with a scrub brush, because if he didn’t, he was afraid he might never climb between those ropes again.
On his return trip from the janitorial closet, bucket wheel squeaking, he paused. Heard raised voices from the other side of the closed doors. Curtis’s, and then Lawson’s.
He gripped the mop harder, the wood from the work-roughened handle digging into his palm. “Shit. Here we go.”
He waited, but not long.
The gymnasium door opened on Lawson’s “Explain to me what was unclear about my instructions last night.”
Chest bare, wearing only his jeans, no shoes, and a whole lot of bedhead, Lawson stood framed in the doorway, his jaw tic visible even at a distance.
Matt brought up his chin.
It was twenty-five feet from the door to the ring, he judged. Another ten to where Matt stood. Eyeing the side door, he calculated his chances of out-running Lawson if the man decided to get riled.
As if.
Since when had Lawson done anything that wasn’t one-hundred percent under his control? Even the beating Matt had taken from him in the ring had been a choreographed, if deadly, dance. Nobody was going to see Lawson’s inner workings, Matt realized. Not even him. Which meant this conversation was pointless before it even began.
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