The Undisputed Series

by Teague, A. S.

  I attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe we should start by saying that bygones should be bygones? Water under the bridge? That sort of thing?”

  “Not interested in making a new BFF, Hawke. Finish up. You’ve got thirty seconds left.”

  Pressing my lips together, I debate walking out of the room. I’m still technically the light heavyweight champ, even if it has been two years since I fought last. I don’t need this bullshit.

  But I do need a job.

  Before I can let my pride get in the way, I shove my ego to the back of my mind. “Like I said, I wanted to see if you needed any trainers.”

  “And, like I said, I don’t.”

  “Come on, man. Gyms always need trainers,” I respond quickly.

  It’s true. The turnover rate for trainers in a gym is embarrassing. They follow their favorite fighters to different camps, think they can fight themselves, or just stop showing up when they realize they can’t pay their bills on their mediocre salary.

  “Fine. But why are you looking in my gym?” He smirks. He knows the reason why I’m here, but he’s toying with me.

  By the look on his face, I think he’s enjoying it too. My blood pressure rises, but I silently talk myself down. If I want him to say yes, losing my shit isn’t the way to do it.

  “You know the way shit went down,” I say. “Other gyms have blackballed me.” I admit through clenched teeth. Saying the words out loud is tough, but not having a place to live would be tougher.

  “I can’t imagine why that would be. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the drugs you took, now, would it?” he asks condescendingly. “I hate a fuckin’ cheater. And you, Hawke, are a fucking cheat.” He pushes to his feet while jabbing a finger in my direction.

  Even though I’ve become accustomed to hearing the words, it doesn’t make being called a cheater—something I’m not—any easier to swallow.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with a prospective client. A light heavyweight, as a matter of fact, hungry for a belt.” His smirk is back, and my fists clenching involuntarily.

  “Tripp, wait. Just hear me out.” I grab his arm to stop him from opening the office door.

  His eyes shoot lasers at me, so I release his arm and hold both hands up.

  In my entire life, I’ve never been one to beg or grovel. When I was a kid, if I wanted something and was told no, I found a way to get it without pleading. I learned at an early age that begging made you weak and gave the other person the upper hand. I’ve never wanted to be considered the underdog, even if that’s what I actually was. So, I made it my personal mantra never to plead for anything.

  But this is different. And desperate times call for desperate measures. And, while I am a proud man, I’m when it comes to her. And I refuse to let her down.

  To his back, I list out the worst jobs I can think of in the hopes that something will sway him. “Listen. I’ll do whatever you need me to in here. I’ll let the guys use me as a punching bag. They can practice submissions on me until I pass out. If you want me to spend twelve hours a day training the little kids, I will. Just give me a chance.”

  The hand he had on the door knob falls, and he turns in my direction. “Any job? Sanitizing the mats each night, even?” His eyebrows are raised, and he’s studying my face for a reaction.

  I would almost rather get a job at McDonald’s than spend my days cleaning other people’s sweat and blood off the mats, but I know he’s testing me. And I’m not about to fail.

  “If that’s the only way you can use me, then yeah. I’ll keep those mats so clean you could fuckin’ eat off them.”

  He shakes his head at me once. “Nah. Don’t think so.”

  My stomach sinks when I realize he’s not going to give in. After I swallowed my pride, the rejection stings. Giving it one last shot, I beg, “Tripp, man, come on. Look, I’ve already moved here. I’ve already uprooted Gram.” I whispered the last line.

  “Gram?” he asks.

  Everyone in the organization knows who Gram is. When I was at the height of my career, Gram was at every event and took on the role of mother hen to some of the fighters—including Breccan a time or two in the early days, when his parents were nowhere in sight.

  “Yeah. She moved in with me a few years ago.” I hang my head. Rubbing the back of my neck, I look up. “I need a job man.”

  He’s staring at me, the clock ticking in the background. I begin counting the ticks, and I’m up to thirty-six when he finally speaks again.

  “She’s a good woman, your gram. I’m sure you crushed her when she heard about the drugs. I’ve always wondered. How did that kind, old woman raise a man like you?”

  I flinch as he delivers the low blow. I not only failed myself when I got suspended, but I failed her too. Closing my eyes, I suck in a ragged breath as the jagged pill of rejection slides down my throat.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” he mutters.

  My eyes pop open. “What?”

  “Go tell Reb to give you the employment forms to fill out. You got any shit to tie up before you start working?” he asks.

  A grin breaks across my face as I shake my head. It hasn’t taken long to get settled in after moving, considering I barely have enough furniture to fill up the two-bedroom apartment I’ve been forced to lease in an unsavory part of town. The only redeeming thing about it is that it comes with a garage I can park my last thing of value in.

  I spent the last eighteen months living off my savings. I lived comfortably while I was fighting, but Gram taught me to be smart with my money, so I put a good bit back. Once the sponsors dropped me and the checks stopped rolling in, I was forced to tap into it. Then the savings dried up and I was forced to sell my possessions off one at a time, until I had just about nothing of value left. Throughout all of this, I went to every reputable gym I knew of, looking for a job. They all turned me down, some a little more harshly than others. But, when I was forced to start using Gram’s retirement and social security checks to pay the bills, I knew I only had one option left.

  “All right, then. Be here at six a.m. Monday morning,” he finishes before walking through the door.

  Stunned at the turn of events, I stare at the empty doorway. After allowing myself a moment for it to sink in, I shake my head and then practically dance over to the reception desk.

  Rebecca’s leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed and a mini bottle of something––Holy shit, is that wine?––in her hand.

  I rap my knuckles on the counter, and her lids fly open.

  “Shit, you scared me!” she shouts while clutching her chest.

  I can’t help following her hand, and my gaze is fixed on her round breasts heaving up and down when she clears her throat.

  “Ahem, excuse me!” She snaps her fingers to catch my attention. “What do you want, Ryker?”

  Unable to wipe the ridiculous grin from my face, I tell her, “Tripp said to get some new-hire paperwork from you.”

  Her mouth falls open, and she blinks at me several times before composing herself. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbles to herself as she leans forward and opens a drawer.

  The angle is just enough for me to catch a glimpse of cleavage under her bright-pink tank top, and I take a minute to admire her assets before she sits back up and shoves a jumbled mess of papers at me.

  “Here ya go,” she says as she drops them on the counter, just out of reach of my outstretched hand.

  I quickly flip through them but pause when a colorful flyer catches my eye. Pulling it out, I smirk. Then I hold it up to her. “Uh, is this a requirement of employment here?”

  She snatches the Wine of the Month gift certificate out of my hands and exclaims, “That’s where that went!”

  I nod at her once before turning to leave. “See ya Monday, Reb,” I tell her over my shoulder.

  “Don’t call me that!” she screeches just as the door closes behind me.

  Laughing, I jog to my car, too happy that
I’m gainfully employed again to care that it’s probably going to be the worst job I’ve ever had.

  It can’t be as bad as that week you spent lying on your back for a clinical trial.

  After climbing into the Chevelle, I fire her up and peel out of the parking lot. Time to celebrate the tide having finally turned. In more ways than one.

  Chapter Three

  Rebecca

  Nestled under my down comforter, I open my eyes five minutes before my alarm goes off. I can’t remember the last time I actually slept until it sounded and was beginning to wonder why I wasted time even setting the damn thing anymore.

  I roll over and check my phone, seeing a missed call from an unknown number. I’m listening to the voicemail when I feel the opposite side of the bed depress. Warm breath tickles my neck, and a wet tongue moves across my cheek.

  Chuckling at the wrong number voicemail from some crazy lady named Juanita, I turn back over and sing, “Good morning, Prince.”

  Another swipe of his tongue has me groaning.

  “Gross!”

  His butt wiggles.

  I push his face away from mine before asking, “Do you need to go out?”

  At the mention of the word out, he starts jumping up and down, landing a big paw right on my boob.

  “Ow! Dammit, Prince. Every freaking time.” I shove up on an elbow and give his ears a good scratch before pushing him off me and sliding out of the bed. I slip my flip-flops onto my feet and grab a sweater off the back of a chair, making my way to the back door. Prince dances along behind me and bolts through the door as soon as I get it open, happy not to be leashed to go pee.

  My agent booked two open houses and several showings over the weekend, so I’ve spent most of my time at Tripp’s house. He has yet to fence his yard in, so anytime we’ve gone out, I’ve had to put on Prince’s dreaded harness so he wouldn’t pull me off my feet.

  I pumped Tripp for information on Ryker, but he stayed quiet until I finally gave up. I want to know why he is in Atlanta instead of Miami. Why he was looking for a job in our gym. And, most importantly, what the hell he said to convince Tripp to say yes. But, no matter what I threatened or how annoyingly I begged, he never spilled it.

  I also need to know why I am attracted to him, but that is a question that Tripp doesn’t have an answer to. So I kept that one to myself.

  An hour and a half later, I pull into the gym’s parking lot and see a candy-apple-red muscle car idling near the front door. After putting my BMW in park, I slowly get out of the car and come around to the passenger’s side to let Prince out. He immediately comes to my side, and together, we make our way to the front door. As I put the key in the lock to open the front door, I hear the other car’s engine cut off and the door slam.

  Holding my breath, I turn and see Ryker walking over to me. My relief that it’s not an axe murderer come to kill me is quickly squashed when I notice the scowl he’s sporting.

  “Are you the first one here?” he barks.

  His face is harsh, but it’s still just as handsome as it was last week. Looks like the weekend I spent telling myself that I’d built him up in my head was wasted.

  At his tone, I quirk an eyebrow and Prince lets out a low growl.

  Ryker stops in his tracks and lowers his gaze. Slowly putting his hands up, he asks, “Your dog’s not gonna eat me, is he?”

  Fighting to suppress my amusement, I say, “Talk to me like that again and you’ll find out.” I shove the door open and the Godforsaken bell chimes. When I flip the lights on, the gym is bathed in unnatural light that forces me to squint.

  “Come on, buddy,” I call softly to my dog.

  He obediently follows me in. I don’t bother holding the door for Ryker, and it slams in his face.

  Oops.

  Chuckling, I settle in behind my desk while Prince lies underneath on my feet. “So, did you bring your paperwork back?” I ask once he’s made his way inside.

  “Yeah. It’s right here.” He places the stack in my outstretched hand. His fingers graze mine.

  I jerk my hand from his, causing several of the papers to fall. He reaches down to help gather them, but I wave him off, embarrassed at my reaction.

  Get a grip, Reb!

  “So, what time does the gym actually open?” he asks as I’ve stacked the papers up.

  In an attempt to keep from staring at him, I focus my attention on starting my computer up and make a show of organizing the forms in a corner.

  Once I’m sure the blush has faded from my cheeks, I look back up. “Not until seven.”

  “Mother fu––” He stops. “Tripp told me to be here at six this morning.”

  Laughter erupts from my throat before I can stop it. It’s just like my brother to tell Ryker to show up an hour early.

  “So, you’ve been sitting in your car for the last half hour, huh?” I ask through my giggles.

  He doesn’t say anything, just nods once. He’s studying my face, and I find myself wondering what he’s thinking.

  Does he like what he sees?

  And why do I care?

  His hair is still too long, and it hangs over one of his bright-green eyes. My fingers itch to brush it from his forehead. His face is freshly shaven, and I admire the sharp angle of his jaw. I follow the curve of his chin to his lips and notice that his bottom lip is a little fuller than his top.

  I’m still staring, trying to convince myself that I’m not attracted to him, when Breccan and Tripp come through the front door. At the sound of their voices, I snap out of it and sit up straight.

  “You made it I see,” Tripp says to Ryker’s back.

  Peering around him, I see a smirk on his face, and I narrow my eyes at him.

  He ignores me and asks, “Were ya here long?”

  Ryker doesn’t bother turning and says, “Nah, not too long. Just chatting with Reb.” He winks at me, causing my stomach to flip.

  “Hawke?” Breccan growls.

  Ryker finally turns away from me, and my shoulders sag in relief.

  What is it about him?

  Breccan cocks his head to the side. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again after I left Friday.”

  “That makes two of us, I guess. Tripp here was kind enough to speak with me though.” Ryker points a thumb at my brother. “Gave me a job. So here I am.” He sticks his hand out to Breccan in an attempt to shake it.

  I take a deep breath in and hold it, waiting for Breccan to move.

  Tripp’s always been slow to anger and quick to forgive, so it’s no surprise that he’d agree to give Ryker a job. But Breccan is the opposite of Tripp, and forgiveness is not his most redeeming quality.

  The air stills and grows thick with tension as Ryker’s hand sways, waiting for Breccan to accept it. Finally, he concedes and quickly clasps Ryker’s hand.

  “You come ready to work today?” Breccan asks gruffly.

  Ryker nods and assures him, “Whatever you need me to do, man, just tell me.”

  The guys chat for a few minutes about the usual training schedule while I pull up the day’s list of appointments for them. Breccan’s reading the list aloud when he suddenly stops midsentence and turns toward me. I was intently watching the exchange, but when the conversation stopped, I scrambled to look like I was busy.

  “Reb?” Breccan calls. “There something you need to tell me?”

  Racking my brain, I have no idea what he could be referring to. “Uhhhhh…” I drawl. “No?”

  “What’s that noise?” he questions.

  I concentrate but don’t hear anything other than the ticking of the wall clock. “I don’t hear anything,” I reply, glancing over to Tripp and Ryker.

  They’re both fighting smiles.

  “What is it, you two? Do I have something on my face?” Panicked that I have spinach in my teeth or a booger in my nose, I quickly scrub my hands over my face.

  “Are you panting?” Tripp asks.

  Shit. “Uhm, yes. Yes, I am,” I say quickly. �
��Brec, did you know that today’s a holiday?”

  Shaking his head, he glowers at me. “What holiday would that be?”

  “It’s national ‘take your dog to work’ day.” I smile at him.

  It isn’t the first time I’ve brought Prince with me to work, but after the last time he was here, Breccan demanded that I leave him home. But it wasn’t Prince’s fault that some dumbass had tried to come on to me. He was just being a good boy and protecting his mama. And the kid only needed a few stitches anyway.

  “Rebecca. It’s not ‘bring your dog to work’ day. And, even if it is, I told you last time that you couldn’t bring him back.”

  “He was protecting me!” I shout, waving my arms in the air. “You should be thanking him! You don’t want that guy in here!”

  “You’re right. He was protecting you. And doing a damn good job. But what about the time before that when he ate one of the mats? Or the time before that when he started humping Jones while he was training?”

  “Prince is a good boy!” I state, offended that Breccan would think otherwise.

  At the sound of his name, his head pops up and he starts wagging his tail.

  “Ryker, you met Prince yet?” Tripp asks.

  “Prince, huh? As in the artist formerly known as?” Ryker asks me.

  “Uhm, yes––”

  “Ha! No. Most definitely not,” Tripp interrupts, laughing. “Prince. As in short for Princess Picklebottom, Duchess of Brineyville.”

  “I told you not to tell people that,” I hiss at him. Turning my attention back to where he’s lying on the floor, I cover Prince’s ears with my hands. “Don’t listen to him. He’s such a prick.”

  Laughter erupts from Ryker, and he sputters, “Excuse me? You mean to tell me that you named a hundred-pound male pit bull Princess Picklebottom?”

  I squint at him and shrug. “I may have already had some wine when I went to pick him out.”

  “She’d had a lot of wine when she called me and begged me to take her to get him after seeing him online,” Tripp interjects.