by D. M. Davis
I can’t wait to get my hands on him. I won’t let him hurt her again. Ever.
Texting Grant to confirm I can clean up the blood and dispose of her ripped clothes, I make use of my time and throw a week’s worth of clothes and what I assume are her toiletries in a duffle bag I found in the closet. I find her purse, cell, iPad, laptop, and all cables, and add them to the bag. When I get the okay from Grant, I place her stuff by the door and look for cleaning supplies. Hydrogen peroxide is the best choice to get the blood out. It may lighten the carpet, but it’s better than leaving a dark stain. After I find some in the bathroom, it’s a quick cleanup.
I throw her ripped clothes away and put the others in the laundry. I’m relieved when the evidence of what happened here is gone. I don’t want Frankie walking in and feeling like it’s a crime scene. Though, I guess it is. Maybe. What did he do? Is she pressing charges?
The thoughts tumble around in my head as I make my way home, anger my only companion.
Slamming cabinets jar me from sleep. What is it with this house and rude awakenings? It’s a sign you need to find other accommodations.
Was Gabriel trying to wake me as a hint he wants me out? Emmy left sometime after lunch and my second nap. Yeah, I’m a joy to be around, but between the meds and my emotional breakdown, I was worn out.
I trudge into the kitchen to find Gabriel at the stove. “Hey.”
He whips around, scanning me from head to toe, lingering on my face, which I’m sure is puffy from my emotional collapse. Obviously finding me annoying, he resumes his tasks, ignoring my greeting.
“Training go okay today?” I don’t want to jump to conclusions. It’s not all about me. Maybe he had a bad day. Got bad news. Or is simply in a bad mood. It happens, especially to Mr. Asshole.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “Dinner will be ready in ten.” He covers the pot and stomps out of the kitchen.
“Okay, then…”
Dinner’s not much better. I make small talk as we sit at the kitchen table. I thank him for breakfast and for letting me stay here. When all I get are one-word responses and no eye-contact, I take my bowl to the sink, dumping my uneaten food in the disposal before rinsing it out as best I can and placing it in the dishwasher.
Anger, shame, and disappointment have my pulse pounding and words forming in my throat. “I’ll find another place to say.” I make for the stairs. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”
“Angel.” His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands.
I pause, my back to him, unwilling to show what his new pet name does to me. For the last thirty minutes he’s made me feel like less than the dirt on his shoes, and that one word—Angel—has tears threatening and hope blooming that I’m not nothing to him too. That he’s not discarding me like my father and Austin so easily did.
He stops behind me, so close I can feel his heat. I brace for his touch on my back, my shoulder, my hair. But nothing comes. He takes a filling breath and lets it out slowly. His voice is like razors on my skin when he speaks, “Did he rape you?”
I grip the counter with my one usable hand as my knees try to give way. A sob attempts an escape, but I clamp down, unwilling to give it air. With my eyes pinched shut, I shake my head.
Sex with Austin may have ended badly, but I was a willing participant.
But the fact it’s a question at all shows how fucked up things with Austin have become.
Gabriel grips my hip, stepping into me, offering his hard body as support. “Did he hurt you?”
Obviously. “My arm.” How do I even begin to talk about this? It feels like a bad dream that happened to someone else…only I’ve got the battle scars to remind me it really happened.
Gently, Gabriel touches my bad shoulder. “Not what I meant.”
I feared as much.
“There was blood on the floor near the couch.” He offers proof I didn’t need to hear.
“You went to my apartment?” Panic laces my words. I can’t imagine what he found. I know our clothes—Austin’s and mine—were everywhere in our urgency to breach the distance that had grown exponentially over the last few months, or longer if I’m being honest. “There was blood?”
Shame floods every part of me. I step out of Gabriel’s hold and back away. I don’t deserve his touch. His support. His pity.
“You needed clothes. Your phone. Your purse.” Now he sounds flustered, trying to justify his actions. “It’s all on the bed, by the way.”
“I wish you hadn’t.” I step back as he moves toward me. The idea of him seeing where I lay unconscious and naked—bare to the EMTs who came to help—makes me sick.
“You didn’t answer. Did he hurt you? Before this?”
A tear breaks free. He’ll never understand. Gabriel is a black and white guy. He sees no gray, and there was a lot of gray that night. I wanted Austin to want me like he used to. I needed to feel loved, cherished. Instead, his unfaithful admission killed all hope, then he pulverized it into dust when he compared my body parts to his other women—before he... “Did you know?” My tears fall freely, uncontrollably.
“Know what?”
“About the other women? That he was cheating on me?” I’m shaking with anger as my voice remains deceptively calm. Gabriel reaches for me, but I can’t stand his touch and move away. “You knew!”
“No!” His vehemence matches mine. “I suspected.” On a second attempt, he manages to capture my hand. “He wasn’t talking, and he sure as shit knew better than to flaunt his cheating around me.” Moving closer, he adds, “You’re not the only one he pulled away from. He did it to me too.”
“Oh?” I lock on to him. The idea that he thinks his Austin relationship woes are comparable to mine has venom building, ready to spew. “He fucked your ass hard enough to make you bleed, dislocated your arm, then left you unconscious, naked and bleeding on the floor too?”
Oh, God!
Horrified, I dart up the stairs, ignoring the pain that throbs with each step. I didn’t mean to say that. Well, I meant to say it. But I shouldn’t have.
My revealing outburst must have slowed his response as I manage to make it to the guest room and lock the door before he reaches me.
Gabriel tests the handle. “Frankie, let me in.”
I brace with my back against the door. “I’ll be gone tomorrow. Just… Give me tonight.” Where am I even going to go?
“You’re not going anywhere.” He bangs on the door; the vibration radiates in my shoulder. When I cry out, he stops. “God, Angel, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His voice softly seeps through the crack under the door. Even when he can’t see me, he knows when I’m hurting. Maybe he didn’t know Austin was cheating. “Please, let me in. Let me take care of you.”
“I can’t. I need time. Space.” I sink to the bed. If he chooses to break down the door, I can’t stop him, and I certainly don’t want to be standing on the other side of it.
I swear I can hear him breathing, contemplating on the other side of the door. “Okay. Rest now. I’ll check on you later.”
I lie down, not bothering with the covers. I need a quick nap.
Hours later I’m roused from sleep by Gabriel slipping me under the covers. So much for the locked door. The bed dips behind me, and he pulls me into his chest. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.” He kisses my head, squeezes my hip. “So sorry for what he did.” He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”
“I don’t trust you.” It’s a sleepy confession, rife with truth. “I want to…”
“You trust me. You’re just afraid to.”
“Austin hurt me in the worst way, but you’ve hurt me too. You were awful to me for years, but…you’re not like that lately. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
He stiffens, the lazy circles he’s been fingering on my hip still. He chews on his response so long I start to doze off. “It was a necessary evil. I’ll tell you all about it, someday. But know this, I’ve always had your back. And I always
will.”
The lazy circles resume.
He’s right. I am afraid to trust him. Mr. Asshole made an appearance tonight, crushing my vulnerable sprit that was starting to heal. He’s always had my back? I don’t understand how making me feel like shit was having my back.
As confused as ever, I drift off to sleep.
I’ve left her alone for a week. I’m irritable as hell. Everyone’s keeping me at a distance, even her. I haven’t slept in her bed since the night I went to their apartment and found out what really happened. Austin took her hard, dislocated her arm and left her bleeding on the floor. Naked.
And that asshole’s been cheating on her.
He broke her heart, broke her body, and I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of that out of my head—or stop wanting to kill him.
I don’t know what the fuck happened to Austin. The guy I met five years ago would move heaven and earth for his girl. He would never physically hurt her, and he sure as shit wouldn’t cheat, except for the random blowjob he regretted for years. This new Austin surpasses even my level of assholiness. I’ve never physically hurt a woman, and I’ve never been in a relationship requiring faithfulness, but I know I would be faithful.
If I were with Frankie, she would never doubt my commitment to her. Ever.
But I’m not with Frankie. She’s still broken and healing from the effects of another man’s hands on her body. I am guaranteed to fuck this up, and I can’t have any part of making this harder on her. The strength it’s taking to stay away from her is nearly killing me.
King Asshole is back. Not because I’m being a dick to her, but because the distance she needs is ripping a hole in my chest I can’t seem to breathe around. I want to protect her. Keep her safe. But every time I look at her, I see Austin hurting her. I see the effects of his dismissal of her pain. I see a broken angel I want to scoop up in my arms and heal with my words, my body, and promises that I’ll never hurt her like he did. But the truth is, the promises of forever after she wants, deserves, I can’t give. I don’t want a wife and kids. My father made sure of that. So, I’m giving her space, which is making me act like a temperamental ass to everyone else around me. It’s necessary to keep her at arm’s length while she heals, and I focus on winning my next fight.
If I ever do win her heart, I want it to be because it’s me she wants, and not because I’m the rebound guy, the one looking after her, a convenience.
I don’t want to want her. But I do. And everyone around me is paying for my terrible mood.
The guys haven’t found Austin. I’ve been too preoccupied with training and keeping her safe to go looking myself. I’m Army-trained special ops, but I’m a medic—a first responder—not a spy or a tracker. I fix those injured while on the hunt, not doing the hunting myself. If I could heal Frankie’s heart with my med-kit, I would. But time is the healer she needs. Not an overprotective asshole who wants her in his bed for the foreseeable future.
So, I train. I cook. I watch after Frankie as much as she’ll let me. I sneak into her room at night to be sure she’s safe. I don’t climb under the covers and hold her like I want—like her restless sleep calls to me to do. I sit in the chair, or if I’m bold, at the foot of the bed. I don’t stay long, only long enough to ease the knot in my gut and soothe the beast who never believes she’s safe unless she’s in my arms or in my sights. Sometimes, when she wakes from a bad dream, she holds my hand or urges me to rub her back until she falls back to sleep. It’s not nearly enough, but it’s what she needs. And I’ll move mountains to give her that.
That makes for long-ass days, and even longer nights. It’s not conducive to training, to my focus, or my commitment to the team. They depend on me. Captain depends on me to set an example, to forge the path the others can follow. I will win every fight this year, even if it means I do it without my Angel by my side. I’ve had my blinders on for the past five years. It should be a piece of cake, but I’ve seen the promised land. I’ve held it in my arms. I’ve cared for those fields. I’ve stood as sentry, protecting it. Now I want to dwell in it. I want to take up residence and never leave.
Every day is a test of my willpower. And today, it’s starting early.
Frankie had a follow up with the doctor this morning. She’s hoping the doctor will give the okay for her to begin physical therapy. She and I both know it’s too early for that. I doubt the doctor will even let her out of the sling.
Emerson is taking her. I offered, but Frankie shut me down. I didn’t fight her on it. I have a sparring match I didn’t want to miss or have to reschedule. Alex Young is only in town for few days. He’s a former heavyweight champ and here as a favor to Coach, who’s friends with Alex’s father. If I don’t take the opportunity, Sloan or Walker will, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give them a leg up on me. We’re all heavyweights. I’m set to get the matches, the big invites this year. It’s my time. My title to take. And as much as Sloan and Walker are brothers in arms, they are nipping at my heels. We’re on the same team, but MMA fighting is a solo sport. When I step in the octagon, ring, or cage, it’s me against the other guy. My team is there to support me leading up to and after the fight—during, it’s all on me.
The air is thick in the Black Ops MMA Gym this morning. I can hear the planes taking off and landing at the old Miner's Airfield where we’ve taken up residence in an old hangar. It’s ideal, really. We don’t get walk-ins or curious spectators, which is the point of Captain setting up shop here. It’s not for casuals. I’m not sure if this an experiment to keep our focus on training and not fighting off ring-chasers and the multitudes of distractions in Vegas, or if Cap is thinking of making this a permanent move. The Vegas gym is still in full swing, but the big contenders—like me—made the move here with strong prodding from Captain Jimmy.
I’m warming up, getting ready to step in the practice ring, when a commotion at the door gets my attention.
Frankie.
My Angel.
My demon from my own personal hell.
Emerson dropped me off at my apartment to get my car. She thought she was coming with me to the doctor, but I had other plans. I don’t need an escort or anyone telling me what I can’t or shouldn’t do. That’s why I didn’t take Gabriel up on his half-hearted offer to take me. He never would have agreed to let me get my car, much less drive it to the doctor alone. Though, he didn’t put up a fight when I turned him down.
Ever since Gabriel found out what happened with Austin, he’s been distant and angry. I don’t believe he’s only upset with Austin. If that was the case, he wouldn’t be giving me the cold shoulder too. I’m tainted, and he can barely stand the sight of me. Except at night. I’ve woken up more than a few times to find him watching over me. He makes me feel safe, but my gut twists at the idea of wanting more from him. I’m not sure I can trust another fighter, another man—especially one who runs through ring-chasers like it’s a sport.
I don’t have time for men who don’t see my potential. I know I’m a diamond in the rough, my edges worn down by the last year of living in Austin’s shadow. Perhaps even longer than that.
Captain never would have given me a chance as a physical therapist for his MMA Team if it weren’t for Austin. I’m thankful, but it’s my hard work and dedication that keep me in Cap’s good graces. He hired me while I was still in school, paying me while I interned for his sports medicine doctor and physical therapist. While they covered other facilities, I was dedicated to Black Ops MMA Gym, and I’ve never regretted my decision.
I got into physical therapy as a way to stay relevant in Austin’s life. I didn’t want to be the outsider when it came to the world of professional MMA fighting as so many girlfriends are. I wanted to be right there in the middle of it, as close as possible, in a key role other than arm candy. I succeeded. But my success is not because of favors, but because of hard work and a true love of what I do. The human form is a spectacular thing—especially highly trained athletes at the peak of their game�
�a beautiful sight to behold. And when hurt, I want to be the one to help them get back to top form.
My profession is no longer due to a desire to stay close to Austin, but to pursue a job I love in a field that excites and challenges me. Never short of testosterone, it’s a daily test to prove myself to the guys, ensure I’m needed and respected by guys strong enough to snap me like a twig.
Before leaving the doctor’s office, I called Cap to let him know I’d be coming in. Checking in. I’m not fool enough to believe I can return to full duty. But I need to let him know I take my job seriously, and I will be back—sooner than later.
He must have told some of the guys I was coming, as I’m greeted by gentle hugs and gruff, “I’ll kick his ass,” comments the moment I walk in the door.
“I know you’ve missed her, gentlemen. But give her room to breathe,” Captain Jimmy Durant’s command parts the way as he approaches. “It’s good to see you, Frankie.” His hug lingers, like a father who’s not convinced his kid is okay. “Let’s go to my office.” His large hand on my back and his impressive scowl ensure we make it with no further interruptions.
“Sit.” He rounds his desk as I take a seat across from him. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” I lean forward, ignoring the discomfort the effort produces. “I’m ready to come back to work.”
He shakes his head, leaning back. “Frankie.”
“At least part-time. I can assess injuries. Stock supplies. Light therapy—”
“No.”
I take a breath to reply when I notice Cap’s eyes are on the door and not me. It’s then I realize the no didn’t come from Captain but Gabriel.
Cap points to the chair next to me. “Join us, Gabriel.”
“No.” I stand and step to the window. “This is none of your business,” I say to Gabriel. “This is between Cap and me. He’s my employer. Not you.”
Gabriel stands, legs wide, arms crossed. “Cap?”
“He’s right, Frankie.” Cap draws my attention. “You’re in no condition to return to work. Give it two weeks. Then, with a doctor’s note, you can return to work with limited duties.”