But I have confidence in Tripp and know he has only my best interests in mind.
Over the last six months, we’ve become close friends, something I never would have thought when I was forced to beg him for a job. But, once I’d proven myself to him, he showed me he is a fair man and an even better friend.
I’m in the locker room of the gym, tying my tie in the tiny mirror when the door opens. Tripp strides inside, coming over to clap me on the shoulder.
“You just about ready to go, man?” he asks.
I nod and finish with the knot of my tie. “Yep. Just let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready.”
He lifts his chin and says, “Okay. Meet me out front.”
He’s almost to the door when I call out to him.
“Yo, Tripp?”
He stops and turns toward me. “Yeah?”
“Thanks,” I tell him.
He waves a hand in my direction and says, “Don’t thank me yet.”
I shake my head. “No. Thanks for everything. For giving me a job. For letting me date your sister. For believing me when I told you I didn’t do the drugs. For agreeing to represent me. For being my friend.”
He comes back to where I’m standing and wraps his arms around me, patting me hard on the back.
I return the gesture, my throat thick with emotion.
“You’re welcome, man,” he says and then turns away from me. He’s walking through the door when he shouts over his shoulder, “For the record, no one lets Rebecca do anything!”
Isn’t that the damn truth.
As if her ears were burning, Rebecca comes waltzing into the locker room.
“Why, hello, handsome,” she says, standing on her toes to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Oops,” she says to herself before licking her thumb and rubbing my face.
“Jesus, Rebecca,” I say, pushing her hand away and looking back at the mirror. There’s a faint outline of pink lips on my cheek, and I begin rubbing at it so hard that it makes my face hurt.
She sits on one of the benches and crosses her ankles before looking back in my direction. “So, you ready for this?”
Satisfied that I’ve gotten all of the lipstick off, I give my tie one last look. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She rests a palm beside her and leans to one side. “Listen. Let Tripp do the talking. No matter what that asshole says to you to bait you, just let Tripp handle it.”
“I know, I know. We’ve had this conversation already,” I tell her, frustrated. Not because she’s wrong, but because, even though it’s his job, I still feel like a child sitting idly by while Tripp negotiates my fate.
“Honey,” she says, standing. “Look at me.”
I oblige her.
“I can’t possibly know the way you’re feeling right now. I won’t even pretend that I do. But I promise you’re in the best hands with Tripp.” She laces her slender fingers through mine, and I stare at our joined hands.
In the past, I would have thought that leaning on a woman made you weak. When fighters would give up their careers for a woman, I’d laugh at them.
But that was before I met a woman who would never ask me to choose between the job I love and her. Leaning on Rebecca doesn’t make me weak. Leaning on her makes me stronger than I’ve ever been.
“You’re right, doll.”
She squeezes my fingers and then releases my hand. “I’m always right.” She smirks. “Now, go! Tripp’s waiting on you. And I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”
* * *
I watch the scene in front of me play out like one of those bad dreams when you yell at the top of your lungs but no sound comes out. The louder I yell, the worse things get.
Except I’m not the one yelling. Tripp is.
“You’re being unreasonable!” he says, his teeth clenched so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked one.
Mr. Brown leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head as though he were enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon of watching football with his buddies. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Mr. Toler. But I’ve already told you. Ryker Hawke is not welcome back in our organization.”
Tripp slaps a hand on the table, causing me to flinch. Brown doesn’t move a muscle. The only indication that he noticed the action at all is a small smirk that crosses his face for an instant before its gone, replaced with a blank mask.
“You did not ban him from the league, Brown. You suspended him. Suspensions end,” Tripp barks. “And his suspension ends in two days.” He pulls several papers out of his briefcase and throws them across the large conference table. “There. A signed and notarized letter of consent from Dax Prescott, stating that he wants to fight Ryker. Beneath it are several sponsorship contracts, including one from Ryker’s previous sponsor. A sponsor I’m sure you don’t want to lose.”
Brown doesn’t make a move to look at the papers, only glances down at where they’ve scattered and then pins Tripp with a stare. “The sponsors mean nothing to me. There are millions of products in the world. If one company chooses to part ways, it will be no problem to replace them within the hour.”
Tripp’s holding on to the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles are ghostly white. His chest moves up and down rapidly. Worried that he’s going to have a stroke trying to negotiate on my behalf, I speak.
“Mr. Brown.”
Tripp’s head whips toward me, and he shakes it once, forcing me to close my mouth.
“Ah. So Ryker can still speak.” Brown sneers. “Please, continue.” He waves at me.
Ignoring the condescending tone, Tripp asks, “What about Prescott’s statement refusing to fight anyone else but Ryker?”
Brown waves again. “Prescott is nothing more than a puppet on a string in this league. He doesn’t want to fight anyone else? He doesn’t have to. He can leave from the same door he entered in.”
Tripp sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring, and then he snatches the papers from the table. “We’re done here. But this is not the last you’ve heard from us, Brown. Believe me when I say that Ryker Hawke is not done fighting in this league.”
Tripp shoves the papers back into his briefcase, and we both stand. I turn on my heel and follow him to the door. I have my hand on the frame when I hear Brown call out to us.
“How’s Rebecca doing, Ryker? She still as hot a piece as she was when she was working under me?”
I instantly see red and grip the frame tightly. Then I stalk back to the desk and lean across it. Tripp rushes in behind me.
Pulling on my arm, he begs, “Let it go.”
I shake his hands off and grab Brown’s tie. I pull him out of his seat, and when our noses meet, I growl, “You ever even think about my woman again, I’ll cut your fuckin’ nuts off and feed them to our dog. You fucking understand me?”
Grinning, the mother fucker laughs and says, “Oh, I’ll be thinking about her again. Probably tonight in the shower. Tell me—I’ve always wanted to know: Are her tits real?”
A rage like I’ve never experienced in my life washes over me, and my head comes dangerously close to exploding.
I can hear Tripp speaking, but as if I’m underwater, it’s muffled and I can’t make out what he’s saying. Rearing my free hand back, I take a swing. But, before my fist can make satisfying contact with Brown’s nose, Tripp catches it, stopping me from sealing my fate.
All at once, Rebecca’s voice pops in to my head, telling me not to let Brown bait me, and Tripp’s pleas to let Brown go penetrate the haze of fury. I release Brown’s tie and step back, panting from the exertion. Brown straightens his spine and then runs a hand over his slimy, bald head.
“Best of luck to you, Ryker Hawke,” he says before turning away and gathering the papers in front of him.
Tripp grabs my arm and drags me all the way to his car before releasing his hold on me.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Well, that went well.”
I shake my head and
climb into his car. “Take me to Rebecca’s.”
After popping the cap off my beer, I take a long pull. Then I grab another bottle from the fridge and then stalk into the living room. I flop down on the couch and waste no time downing the drink in my hand.
“Uh, you might wanna slow down there,” Rebecca says, eyeing me carefully.
“Nope,” I gripe and then twist the cap off the second beer.
“So, what the fuck happened?” she asks, her head swinging between Tripp and me.
“Let’s wait another minute until Breccan gets here,” Tripp tells his sister from across the room. He’s standing in front of the window, and every so often, he pulls the curtains to look out.
“Is something wrong?” she asks before sticking a thumbnail into her mouth. “Why do you keep looking out the window?” Her eyes widen, “Jesus, you didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I fucking wish.”
Rebecca walks into the kitchen, and I can hear her pulling a glass from the cabinet. A moment later, she emerges, her hands full with a glass, several beers, and her entire bottle of wine.
She dumps it all onto the coffee table. After twisting the cap on a beer, she takes my empty bottle and replaces it with a fresh one. She gives me a halfhearted smile and then fills her glass before sitting down beside me and resting her legs in my lap.
“Tripp, you need a beer?” she asks.
He nods.
She points to the table. “There ya go.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, Tripp nursing his beer while I continue to slam them back. I’m on drink number four when Breccan walks in.
He pauses just inside the door and looks around. “Fuck. Someone die?”
“Only my career, man. Only my career,” I groan. Holding my beer high in the air, I say sarcastically, “Cheers.”
“Now that Brec’s here, will you please tell me what happened?” Rebecca whines.
The only thing I can think about are the vile words Brown said about Rebecca, which causes my blood to boil all over again. I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of the image of his smug smile.
Tripp begins speaking. “Brown had no intentions of ever letting Ryker fight again. I think he took the meeting today just to fuck with us.”
“Sounds about right.” Breccan growls.
Rebecca slides her legs from my lap and sits up straight. “So, what are you saying?”
“I’m done!” I bark. “I’m not fucking fighting anymore. It’s over.”
My stomach rolls as I say the words, the finality of it all hitting me like a ton of bricks. When I was suspended, I didn’t think I would go back to fighting. But it was always an option, even I wasn’t going to take it.
But then Rebecca pushed me to fight again, I started training, and I remembered how good it felt to get in the cage and have such a singular focus that the rest of the world disappeared around me. I remembered the rush I felt from knocking someone out. The sense of accomplishment I got when I’d force someone to tap. The pride I had in myself when I’d hear the cheers, even if it was just Rebecca shouting from her desk.
Brown made it clear that I would never get to compete again, and that was a blow even worse than the bogus suspension.
“No, you’re not.”
Breccan’s sharp words snap me out of the pity party I was in the process of throwing for myself.
I stand, and the sudden change in altitude combined with the beers I’ve already had causes me to wobble.
“Look,” I say, a slight slur to my words. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.” I glance over at Tripp and then down to the couch where Rebecca is still sitting, a worried look on her face. “All of you. But let’s call it like it is. I’m done. Brown says I’m out. So, I’m out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hangover to acquire.”
I saunter into the kitchen and jerk the refrigerator door open, growling in frustration when I see that the beer is gone. When I slam it shut, something on the top rattles. I look up and, after spotting a bottle of whiskey, grin.
“Now we’re talking.”
I snatch the bottle and, without even bothering with a glass, unscrew the cap before taking a swig. The brown liquid burns the back of my throat, but I welcome it.
It’s better than soul-crushing disappointment.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rebecca
After a few minutes, Ryker finally emerges from the kitchen, a bottle of liquor in his hand. He stumbles down the hall, and I get up and follow him to my bedroom.
“What are you doing?” I hiss as he kicks his shoes off and then belly-flops onto my bed.
“Whas it loo like I doin?” He mumbles in to a pillow.
“Jesus, Ryker. Pull yourself together.” I pad into the room and then, using my toe, nudge his leg.
He lifts his head and cranes his neck to look at me. “I love you, doll. But, please, just leave me alone and let me get drunk.”
His face is a mask of pain, and my heart hurts for him. I still haven’t gotten the whole story, and I can tell that Tripp’s keeping something from me.
After all of the time and effort he’s put into getting back in shape for a fight, I can’t imagine the devastation he’s experiencing right now.
I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and whisper, “Okay, baby.” And then I quietly close the door behind me on the way out.
While walking down the hall, I can hear Breccan and Tripp talking, their voices low. But, once I get to the living room, the conversation stops abruptly.
Narrowing my eyes at Tripp, I demand, “Tell me what happened. Everything.”
He glances over at Breccan.
I raise my voice, “Don’t look at him! Tell me!”
Tripp sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and then gestures to the couch. “Sit down at least. Fill your glass up.”
Following his suggestion, I curl into the corner of the couch and grab my wine glass. Impatiently, I wait for him to tell me why my usually laid-back boyfriend is back in my bedroom, hell-bent on giving himself alcohol poisoning.
“Basically, Brown said that Ryker wasn’t welcome back in the league. He didn’t even look at the letter from Prescott. Didn’t give a shit about the sponsors. Even went so far as to say that Dax Prescott was nothing more than a puppet on a string. There was no reasoning with him,” Tripp explains. Then he averts his eyes and says, “He, uh, he said some inappropriate stuff about you too.”
“What kind of inappropriate stuff?” I ask.
Breccan cuts in. “You don’t need to know the specifics, Reb. Just that it was disgusting. He’s a fucking douche.”
“Tell. Me,” I say through clenched teeth.
If Breccan and Tripp don’t want to tell me what Brown said, it has to be bad. Which may explain Ryker’s comment earlier about wishing he had killed someone.
“He just made a lewd comment about you still being a piece of ass. Something about you working under him.”
“Oh, God,” I murmur. My stomach churns at the thought of being anywhere near Brown, much less under him.
He’s always had a reputation of being inappropriate with the girls, but I somehow managed to avoid any of his unwanted advances.
“Ryker got in his face. Then the asshole asked––” He stops midsentence and looks at me.
“Just tell me, Tripp.”
“Ryker had him by the neck, told him that, if he ever thought about you again, he’d cut his nuts off. The slimy bastard fucking smiled and asked if your boobs were real.” Tripp looks like he’s going to vomit when he finishes the story.
My jaw’s hanging open, and Breccan has a murderous glare on his face..
Even though bile is creeping up the back of my throat, the thought of these two being so worked up over it causes warmth to spread through my chest.
“What did Ryker do when he said that?” I whisper.
Tripp shakes his head. “Let’s just say it’s a damn good thing I was there.”
I appreciate the sentiment, but Brown’s words mean nothing to me. I couldn’t care less what he insinuated. “Well, he’s a pig, obviously. But enough about me. What’s our next step?”
“I don’t think there is a next step, Reb,” Tripp tells me.
“Bullshit,” I spit. “There’s always another option.”
I refuse to believe that all of Ryker’s hard work has been for nothing. He didn’t deserve the punishment he received in the first place, and he sure as shit doesn’t deserve this.
“I might have an idea,” Breccan says quietly.
Tripp and I both turn to look at him.
He begins to pace back and forth. “So, there’s a board. Usually the president of any organization has to have the approval of the board on all decisions.”
Tripp’s eyes light up. “Yeah, you’re right. And isn’t McGregor on the board?”
Breccan’s gaze meets mine, and he smiles. “Yep. And McGregor owes me a favor.”
Hope blooms in my belly for the first time today, and I nod excitedly. “Call him. Set up a meeting. How soon do you think we can see them?”
Breccan shakes his head. “I don’t know about ‘we.’ But I’ll call and see what he has to say.”
I jump to my feet, wagging my finger in the air. “Oh, hell no. You’re not keeping me out of this meeting.”
His hands up in surrender, Breccan concedes. “All right, all right. Sweet Jesus, you’re a pain in my fucking ass. I gotta get home. I’ll let you know about the meeting tomorrow.”
Despite his annoyance with me, Breccan hugs me before clasping hands with Tripp and then making for the door. He pulls it open, pauses, and, in a low voice, tells me, “Take care of him, Reb. Blow like this one? He’s gonna need you.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, and I’m not surprised. Breccan has never been one to get too deep with his emotions, even after having met Sid. But what I am surprised about is the fact that he cares enough about Ryker, a man who, for all intents and purposes, is the only fighter to ever beat him, to go to bat for him against the high-ranking officials in the fighting league. The love I’ve always had for Breccan grows even more with his quiet advice.
The Undisputed Series Page 50