The Undisputed Series

by Teague, A. S.

  He cuts his eyes away and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, uh. You’re welcome.” He glances to the side to a person attempting to wave him down. “I need to go. Good fight, man.”

  As he hustles away, I glance at Rebecca. Her confused expression matches my own.

  She lifts a shoulder and then asks, “How’d that feel, Champ?”

  My heart pounds as I remember the way I felt walking into the cage. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t an actual fight. The feelings were the same. That mix of excitement and nerves, adrenaline and deadly focus.

  Once the bell rang, just like riding a bike, it all came back to me. I didn’t even have to think as I circled Breccan and checked each strike he threw at me. When my fist connected for the first time, it gave me the surge of confidence I’d been lacking.

  The match was close throughout, but in the third round, it was evident that Breccan was fading. Surprised that I wasn’t anywhere close to being gassed, I threw a leg kick that sent him to the ground, and from there, it was the Ryker show.

  Her arm around my waist squeezes me.

  I quietly admit, “Like I’d just gotten home after a long vacation.”

  She gazes into my eyes and smiles tightly. “You looked good in there. A natural. The cage is where you belong.”

  My stomach clenches, and the excitement over my win quickly turns to anger. It doesn’t matter if I belong there or not; I’ll never be able to step into an octagon again. At least not on a professional level. A wave of sadness washes over me, and the cage that, just moments ago, felt like home now feels like a prison, the fencing trapping me inside. I have to get out of here, out of this gym, and clear my head before I end up wallowing in self-pity for the rest of the night.

  Clenching my jaw, I take a deep breath in through my nose and guide Rebecca away from me. My hands formed into fists at my sides, I give her my back.

  “What? What did I say?” she takes a step in front of me, her face filling my vision. Her brow is furrowed. As she reaches her hand for mine, I shake my head.

  “Nothing. I need to get out of here, check on Gram. I’ll call ya tomorrow.”

  I stalk out of the cage without another word. I can hear her calling my name behind me, but it only causes me to quicken my pace.

  I break into a jog and hit the doors to the locker room just as Tripp is coming through them. After barreling into him, I catch myself before we both tumble to the ground. Steadying myself, I ask, “You okay, man?” at the same time that he says, “Everything okay?”

  I nod in his direction and then keep going, grabbing my duffel from the locker and then making my way out the back door. I’ll have to walk all the way around the strip mall to get to my car, but I don’t feel like making any more small talk tonight.

  After coming around the corner of the building, I skid to a stop when I see a figure leaning against my car. I squint, barely able to make out the blond hair glowing in the streetlight.

  Fuck.

  Even though there’s no way she doesn’t hear me approaching, Rebecca doesn’t turn. I open the passenger’s door and toss my bag inside.

  “You miss it, don’t you?” she asks without moving.

  Fuck yes, I miss it.

  There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t wake up in the morning and, for a split second, think that I need to get up to train. It’s never more than a fleeting moment though, because once I open my eyes and see the water stain on the ceiling of my shithole apartment, reality comes crashing back down on me.

  Every day I walk into Team Undisputed and see the guys in camp, my chest constricts.

  Each time a new fight card is announced, I find myself searching for my name, only to remember that I’ll never see my name in a lineup again.

  I eat a piece of pizza and scold myself for not eating healthy. Then I remind myself that it doesn’t fucking matter what I eat anymore.

  So, yeah, I miss it. But I mourned the death of my career a long time ago. I moved on, and I’m not about to let a stupid exhibition match dredge up the feelings I worked so hard to bury.

  I don’t tell her any of that though. Instead, I ask, “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

  She turns and gazes at me across the roof of my car. Under the glow of the streetlight, I can her see eyes searching my face.

  Finally, she whispers, “Are you ever going to tell me?”

  Feigning ignorance, I lean my forearms on the car and drop my head in my hands. I rub my palms into my eyes and then look back up. “Tell you what, Rebecca?”

  Her lips thin as her eyes narrow. “You know what.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not a mind reader.”

  She pushes away from the car and shouts, “God, Ryker! Just fucking tell me. Tell me why you took those Goddamn drugs!”

  “That’s none of your fucking business,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

  She whirls around. “None of my business?”

  “No. It’s. Not.” I punctuate each word. “Go home,” I bark. Stomping around the hood of my car, I brush past her. Then I yank my car door open and climb inside. I pull on the handle to shut it, but she grabs the window frame, stopping me.

  “Fuck you, Ryker!” she shouts, jabbing a brightly painted finger at my chest. “You can’t bark orders at me and think I’ll obey them like I’m some fucking dog.”

  “No, fuck this, Rebecca. You can’t be a prying bitch and just expect me to spill my guts to you like I’m some pussy-whipped asshole.”

  Her head snaps back as though I’ve physically slapped her, and her eyes widen. Regret instantly washes over me, the hurt on her face consuming me. I reach for her, but she takes a step back and puts a hand up.

  “Don’t,” she snaps.

  “Look, I––”

  She shakes her head again and yells, “I said don’t!” She takes a deep breath and then, evenly, she says, “I don’t know what the fuck happened back there or why you’re suddenly a surly asshole, but I don’t like it. This isn’t you.”

  I drop my head. “You’re––”

  Speaking over me, she says, “As much as I love a good fight, I’m going to bow out of this one.” She sniffles and runs a finger under one eye. “Goodnight, Ryker.”

  She slams my door shut, and the sudden silence roars in my ears. I watch her walk back toward the gym, her shoulders hunched over. She fumbles with the door, and I war with myself to keep from getting out and chasing after her.

  She’s quickly become more important to me than I could have ever imagined, and I can’t trust myself not to tell her everything she wants to know. Not that she’d believe anything I told her. But I know I need to tell her soon. I don’t think I can stomach seeing the spark in her eyes die out again the way it did tonight.

  Once she’s safely inside, I start the engine of the Chevelle and put it into gear. Slamming the gas, I squeal the tires as I pull out of the parking lot.

  Fuck this.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rebecca

  My phone dings, alerting me that I have a text. I snatch it off the table. I haven’t heard from Ryker since our fight last night, and even though I am still pissed at him for having calling me a bitch––again––I hope it’s him.

  Disappointed to see it’s just Tripp asking if I spared the family my terrible cooking, I typed out a terse reply and then tossed my phone onto the counter. Checking the clock, I see that it’s time to leave for my parents’ cookout.

  Reluctantly, I grab Prince’s leash. “Here, boy. You wanna go see Nana and Papa?”

  His butt begins wiggling, and I have to chase him around to get him leashed.

  I couldn’t have known when I told Ryker that he belonged in the cage that he’d have the reaction he did. I instantly felt guilty that my simple statement had brought up feelings he’d obviously buried. But the guilt was quickly replaced by anger when he snapped at me. He’s been so tight-lipped about his suspension that there was no way for me to know that talking about it would hurt hi
m the way it did.

  I don’t have it in me to go to my parents’ house and put on a happy face, especially knowing that Tripp and Breccan will be there, asking questions. I’d rather wallow in my hurt at home, on the couch. But I know that, if I don’t show up, everyone will worry, and they’ll still ask the questions I don’t have the answers to.

  Sighing, I try my best to push it to the back of my mind, deciding that I’ll worry about it after I get lunch over with.

  With Prince’s leash in one hand and my purchased potato salad in the other, I pull the front door open. I’m looking into my purse, rummaging for my keys, when Prince begins straining against his collar.

  “Hang on!” I murmur, still searching through my messy bag.

  But he doesn’t listen and begins pulling harder, whining loudly.

  “Jesus, Prince, just a minute!”

  “Need some help?” a deep voice asks.

  My stomach flutters, and snapping my head up, I find Ryker standing in the doorway, a large bowl in his hands.

  “Uhhh, what are you doing here?” I stutter.

  He looks down at his empty wrist and then gives a quick shake of his head before replying, “The cookout? It’s today, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you were still coming.”

  He holds up the bowl in his hands. “Couldn’t subject your family to bad potato salad, could I?” He shifts the bowl to one hand in order to grab Prince’s leash. “Here. I’ll take the monster.”

  Blinking in disbelief, I dig back into my purse. With my attention torn between finding my keys and watching Ryker out of the corner of my eye, it takes me a few minutes to locate my pink-sequined key fob. “Victory,” I mumble, pulling the door shut behind me.

  We walk in awkward silence to my car. Or at least it’s awkward for me. Ryker, on the other hand, looks like the definition of comfortable.

  Once Prince has curled his mammoth body into the back seat, I slam the door shut and turn to Ryker. “Listen, about last night––”

  He interrupts. “No, don’t apologize.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “Apologize? I wasn’t going to apologize.” I let out a humorless laugh. “God, you’re infuriating. You know that?”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing as he blows out a breath. “That makes two of us.”

  I let that comment slide. “What I was going to say before you so rudely interrupted me was that I don’t appreciate the way you spoke to me last night. You may not want to tell me things, and while it aggravates me, it’s your right. But it isn’t your right to bark orders at me and call me a bitch.”

  He grabs my hand, and I try to pull away, but his grasp is tight.

  “You’re right, doll.”

  Nope. Too easy.

  “I’m right? Did you even hear me.”

  “I heard you. Can you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you?”

  “Baby, I’m pretty sure we speak the same language. But I’m sure I can find a dictionary if you need it.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but it only makes him grin. Damn it! How am I supposed to stay mad at him with that grin?

  “You promise to talk to me when you’re upset about something?” I ask quietly.

  He frowns. “No.”

  I pull my hand from his and place them on my hips. “No?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  There’s a small part of me that wants to slap him in the head for being such a guy. But the majority of my brain respects him for at least being honest with me.

  I huff and say, “Fine. Will you promise to at least talk to me if it’s something I’ve done to upset you? Communication is really important to me. The only thing more important is you always being honest with me.”

  A relationship is nothing more than a ticking time bomb without open and honest communication. If he can’t agree to tell me when he’s unhappy with me, then there may not be much point in continuing a relationship with him. And, since he’s made it clear that we are most definitely in a relationship, I need to know we’re on the same page.

  Is it too soon to be thinking long term with him?

  He grabs my hands, lacing his fingers in mine, and leans his forehead to mine. “That I can do.” He tilts his head and flashes me another grin, repeating, “Sooo, can you forgive me?”

  Whispering, I ask, “Will you ever tell me about it?”

  He cuts his gaze away from mine. “One day.”

  Despite the fact that I want to stay mad at him, I can’t, so I nod. His face breaks into a grin, and he swoops in, his lips crashing into mine.

  His tongue brushes my lips, and I open my mouth. His tongue glides against mine, which causes me to moan into his mouth. I run my fingers through his hair, relishing the feel of it in my hands.

  Abruptly, I pull away and arch an eyebrow at him. “Don’t think you can kiss me and all will be forgotten. I said I forgive you, but you’re still in trouble.”

  He smirks. “I’m in trouble, huh?”

  “Mmmhmm.” I nod.

  He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Maybe you should punish me, then.”

  I groan. “You’re terrible, you know that?” Giving him a shove, I say, “Let’s go. We’re gonna be late.”

  Tripp and my parents spend the afternoon embarrassing me and entertaining Ryker. I’ve never wanted to commit bodily harm to a person more than I want to hurt my brother. He’s made it a point to tell Ryker every embarrassing story about me from our childhood, and my parents have enabled him by breaking out photo albums that displayed their terrible fashion sense and my horrible smile before braces.

  After eating and drinking for several hours, I finally beg for mercy and we leave just as it’s getting dark. But not before my mom pulls me aside to tell me that, if I don’t hang on to Ryker, she will disown me. I roll my eyes, but then she gives me that “mom” look and I know she’s serious. I tell her I am going to try my best, that he has a tendency to get all alpha on me, and I am not quite sure how I like it. When mom so disgustingly informs me that she personally loves being bossed around, especially in the bedroom, I have to swallow hard to avoid puking all over my pink wedges. I do not need mental images of my parents in the bedroom.

  After pouring myself some wine at home, I carry a glass and pad into the living room. Settling on the couch, I tuck my feet beneath me and absently say, “So, my parents liked you. My mom threatened me, actually.”

  He smirks. “Clearly, they have great taste. They seem like really great people.”

  “Yeah. If you like being humiliated, I guess you could say that.”

  “Aw, come on, doll. You were a cute kid. Even if you had SpongeBob teeth and a mullet.”

  I grab the pillow beside me and throw it at his head.

  He dodges it and laughs. “You aren’t gonna offer me a beer?”

  My eyebrows nearly hit my hairline. “Is this a trick question? You trying to see if I pay attention? You don’t drink when you’re driving. Remember?” I throw air quotes up. “Not even a drop.”

  He grabs my legs, pulling them from under my ass, and I slide down the couch. After crawling on all fours, he hovers over me, takes the glass of wine from my hand, and sets it on the coffee table. “I’m not driving tonight.”

  “Ha!” I scoff. “Yes, you are!”

  He lowers his face until it hovers over mine and whispers, “Stayin’ here tonight, baby.”

  I furiously shake my head back and forth. “Not. A. Chance.”

  My heart pounds as he dips his head and lightly kisses me on the forehead. He trails kisses over to my ear before pulling my lobe between his teeth and nipping. When his tongue brushes the hollow space behind my ear, my body involuntarily arches and I moan.

  “You’re playing dirty,” I groan.

  Between kisses along my neck, he murmurs, “Learned from the best.”

  As he continues his descent down my body, I argue, “I don’t want yo
u to stay. I’m still mad at you.”

  My protests sound weak, even to my own ears.

  His head rises, and he looks at me. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.” His eyes are hooded, his gaze lusty. I don’t even hesitate before shaking my head.

  “Stop and I’ll cut you,” I breathe.

  A low rumble erupts from his chest. “Well, when you ask so nicely…” he trails off, placing his lips on my collarbone and licking.

  “God, your tongue,” I moan, fisting a hand full of his hair and holding his head in place.

  He looks back up at me and winks. “What tongue?” He pulls the top of my T-shirt down, exposing the lace of my bra, and slowly runs his tongue along the edge of the fabric. “This tongue?” he murmurs.

  “Mmmm. That’s the one,” I pant.

  After releasing the neck of my shirt, he grabs the hem and, in one quick motion, pulls it over my head. Pushing up to his knees, he glances at me before reaching his arms around me and unhooking my bra. I push the straps down my shoulders and allow them to fall from my arms.

  His eyes darken as they roam my bare chest. “Fuck, you’re sexy,” he whispers. Dipping his head, he licks and sucks along the swell of my breasts before pulling a nipple into his mouth.

  “God,” I breathe. My body arches in protest when he releases my nipple and kisses his way to my other breast.

  He chuckles. “No, not God. Just Ryker.”

  “Shut up and keep going, just Ryker.” I giggle.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he retorts, saluting me.

  As he goes back to kissing my belly, I close my eyes, relishing in the warmth of his tongue. He pulls at the waist of my shorts, and I lift my hips, letting him strip both my panties and my shorts down my legs.

  Completely naked underneath him, I don’t feel the slightest bit self-conscious. As his hands run up my thighs, I shiver. He touches me in all the right places, as though we’ve been doing this for years.

  He nestles his head between my legs, and his scruff rubs along my inner thighs. His warm breath on my core causes me to shake, and with the first swipe of his tongue, my eyes fly open. He licks my folds, avoiding the sensitive nub. He continues to tease me, kissing and sucking everything but my clit until I let out a frustrated growl.