by D. M. Davis
I eye the containers of frozen food. Pulling out a casserole dish big enough to feed an army with the word ‘lasagna’ written across the tinfoil, with reheating instructions, I stick it in the oven.
He can cook. I’ll miss that too.
I peel a banana to take with my prenatal vitamin and set the timer. It’ll be a while before the lasagna’s ready. Refilling my water, I pop the pill, barely getting it down before Rowdy appears in the doorway.
“What’s that?” He eyes the prescription bottle on the counter.
I take another drink of water and answer around a bite of banana, “Nothing.”
He picks up the bottle, reading the label. “It appears you need to take nothing once a day.” He pins me with his eyes. “It’s a ninety-day supply with four refills. That’s a lot of nothing.”
“It’s a multivitamin.” Finishing off the banana, I throw the peel in the trash and stick my head in the pantry. I need something else to tide me over.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah.” Starving, actually. We’ve been home for two days, and when my appetite finally came back, it came back full force, like, I-need-to-eat-every-few-hours full force. I give up on the pantry and start pulling stuff out of the fridge.
I’m about three slices of ham wrapped around cheese in when I note Darkboy leaning against the counter, arms folded, eyeing me.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” His brow quirks in interest.
“What?” I mumble around the excessive amount of food in my mouth. I’m hungry and eating for two here. Clearly.
“Didn’t you just have a bowl of cereal?”
I nod.
“Two pieces of toast?”
I shrug.
He glances to the left. “Put food in the oven?”
“It’s frozen. It’ll take a few hours,” I clarify.
He nods on a smile. “A banana, and enough meat and cheese for more than a few sandwiches?”
“Your point?” I finish off another ham-cheese wrap and my glass of water.
He grabs my cup and refills it while munching on a slice of cheese. He places my water on the counter next to me. “I just find it curious.”
“I’m healing. I’m hungry.”
“Obviously.” He stalks closer, nabs a slice of ham and cheese, rolls it up and hands it to me. “You’ve either got the metabolism of an elite athlete, a tapeworm, you’re eating your feelings, or...”
God, don’t say it.
“Pregnant.”
He said it. A wash of dizziness has the room spinning and my ears ringing.
“Whoa.” Rowdy grips my hips. “Breathe, Frankie.” He places me in a kitchen chair, gently forcing my head down. “Just breathe.”
I breathe in through my nose, out my mouth until I feel better. By the time I sit up, my ribs protesting each and every movement, he has my glass of water in my face, and he’s sitting in a chair in front of me, knee to knee. “So, pregnant, huh?”
His face distorts as my eyes well with tears, and my trembling chin is a sure sign I’m about to lose it.
“Ah, hell. Don’t cry, darlin’.”
I find myself on the couch, at his side, my face buried in his chest as he holds me. “It’ll be okay, Frankie,” he assures me more than once, and each time I cry a little harder.
A knock at the door has him cussing as he extricates himself from me and the couch. “Don’t move.” He reaches to the end table and hands me a box of tissues before heading to the door.
“Where is she?” Emmy’s voice reaches me seconds before she stomps to a stop at the edge of the living room. “Oh, God.” Her face crumples as she takes me in. She hasn’t seen me since my fall. I’m still pretty beat up, but my eyes are barely swollen—well, except for the crying—and the bruising has lightened considerably. But from her perspective, I didn’t have black eyes the last time she saw me. My busted lip has healed, and the staples in my scalp are hidden beneath my hair, and the rest of my body—healing ribs and contusions—are hidden from sight as well.
“I’m okay,” I assure her, holding up my hand when she charges, getting ready to hug me.
“She’s got broken ribs.” Rowdy grips her arm to slow her forward motion.
“Oh.” She stops, then sits ever so slowly next to me. Her worried eyes spot my tears. “You’re upset.”
“Was,” I sniff.
“Can I give you a little hug if I’m really careful and don’t squeeze?”
“Yeah,” I exhale on a new wave of tears. I’ve missed her. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be so seen by Emmy.
“I’ve missed seeing your face,” she whispers into my cheek. Her hug is gentle like she promised.
“Me too.” I glance at Rowdy once she releases me. “Emerson, this is Cameron Jenkins. He’s one of Cap’s new fighters.”
She stands to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Cameron. You can call me Emmy.”
“Likewise, ma’am. You can call me Rowdy.”
Smiling, she reclaims her seat next to me. Rowdy sits on the adjacent couch. “Welcome to Sunnyville, Rowdy. Where are you staying?”
“Thank you, I’m happy to be here.” His eyes stay locked on her. “I’m staying here.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Here?” She looks between us. “As in, here with Frankie?”
“Yes.” Rowdy replies as I say, “No.”
“Yes, I’m living here with Frankie in Gabriel’s home,” he reiterates.
Protective alpha males, what am I to do with them?
“You know Gabriel?” Emmy asks, still eyeing the two of us.
“I met him at Cap’s Vegas gym but got to know him while Frankie was in the hospital.”
“And?” Emmy prompts.
“I think he’s an idiot for letting Frankie go.”
“Agreed.” She smiles, satisfied with his answer.
“He didn’t let me go. I told him to leave.”
She pats my knee. “Semantics. He could have fought for you.”
Yep, he could have, but he didn’t. I battle another wave of tears. I’m going to blame it on the pregnancy and not my weak backbone when it comes to all things Gabriel.
“Stay for lunch? Lasagna’s in the oven.”
She smiles at the two of us. “Love to.”
It’s been five days since I walked away from my Angel. They say it’ll get better with time. I don’t believe it. My dark thoughts and the hole in my chest only grow each day I can’t get a glimpse of her. When I was deployed, there were hours, days she didn’t come to mind. It was a peaceful reprieve, my thoughts occupied with staying alive or saving the lives of others. There was nothing peaceful about that time except the breaks I got from wanting her.
The idea of finding peace again is nearly enough to make me reenlist. But that’s stupid talk. Running away from her and into the peril of deployment would be a suicide mission. I am many things, but suicidal is not one of them.
Besides, I’m a different man now. She changed me. I doubt any emergency could pull her fully from my mind, my gut, or my cock that only wants her. She’s ruined me, and I’m pissed as hell about it. Which isn’t really a bad thing if you’re a fighter. I’ve been training hard, harder than ever. Cap sent Jonah to Vegas with me. Coach stayed back to continue training the other guys in Sunnyville, where my other half works and lives—in my house.
Even though I offered, I resent her for living there, in my space, the space I shared with her. The space where I brought her to heal when Austin hurt her in ways I never would. Though, in the end, I hurt her in my own unique way. If she’s feeling the pain of our separation half as much as I am, I don’t envy those around her. My Angel lashes out when she’s hurting. The idea of me being the cause is a difficult burden to carry. But carry it I do, as my penance. Though the idea of her taking out her frustrations on those assholes who get to see her every day nearly brings a smile to my stone-cold face. Nearly.
“Gabriel, get a move on,” Jonah’s voice echoes throu
gh the locker room.
“Coming.”
I step into the training room to a scowling Jonah and a nervous newbie—not new to the sport, but new to me—by the name of… Fuck, I forgot his name. Doesn’t matter, I’ll knock him on his ass like I did to the guys who came before him. He won’t come back—at least not to spar with me.
Jonah halts my progress with a firm hand on my chest. “Listen.” He pushes, garnering my dead stare. “He’s a sparring partner. The point is for you to use him to test yourself, to work your skills, to get you ready for your match.”
“Yeah,” I grunt.
“So, knocking him out in the first few minutes defeats our goal and scares everyone from wanting to get in the ring with you.” He pushes hard enough for me to take a step back. “Got me?”
I slap his hand off. “Maybe you need to find tougher guys.”
“Maybe you need to lighten the fuck up and stop taking your breakup with Frankie out on them.”
“Cap taught me to use my anger.”
“Yeah, in the octagon, not to kill sparring partners.”
Melodramatic much? Whatever. “Are we doing this?” I could just as easily beat the shit out of the bag than deal with these pansy-asses. I miss Walker and Sloan. They could take whatever I unleashed. They never won, but they sure as fuck didn’t whine about it and not come back the next day.
Obviously exasperated, he steps aside, letting me pass. “Don’t kill ‘em.”
“No promises.”
I’ve got the kid in a chokehold he should’ve escaped in seconds—I’m barely trying here, it’s like I’m his sparring partner to help him get ready for a big fight instead of the other way around—when I see a familiar face enter the gym. I release the kid and roll away, jumping to my feet, and watch Austin cross the training room floor like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he hasn’t left the best part of him behind.
I guess I was wrong. He never saw Frankie for the gem she is. Maybe he knew her too long. Maybe growing up with her made her seem like a given, like he had a right to take all he wanted before discarding her when someone new and exciting came along. From what I’ve gathered, there were quite a few new and exciting things who caught his eye over the years. Piece of shit is all I can think as he disappears inside the locker room.
“You’re done,” I throw over my shoulder to the kid as I leap the ropes, landing easily on the other side, stalking to where Jonah glares at me. “You need to find me some real heavyweight competition. No more of these kids. If you have to, tell Cap to send me one of the new guys he brought to Sunnyville.”
I step past him and pause. “Not Rowdy. He stays there.” I pin him over my shoulder. “I need a challenge, Jonah. I’ve got seven weeks, and at this rate I’m better off conditioning and taking on a boxing bag than these dipshits.”
I leave him to stew as he grumbles some response I can’t make out. I’m so over it, I can’t even be bothered to find out.
Asshole in full force. Check.
Pushing through the door, I find Austin shooting the shit with some of the other small-time fighters on Cap’s roster—where Austin is going to stay if he doesn’t get his head on straight. He has such potential and had come a long way in the last two years. Except now, I don’t trust if what I saw was him or the steroids. He never got caught. He never failed a test before a fight. So, career wise, he’s in good standing. But reputation wise, he’s got a way to go.
Leaning against the wall, I stare them down, waiting until one of them notices and shuts the fuck up about the skank-talk coming out of their filthy mouths. One’s bragging about how hard he gave it to some ring-chaser last night, how she was gagging for it, how dirty she let him get. Another how he got head in the laundromat from a stranger under a table while his woman was across the room folding laundry. Assholes. All of them.
When my wilting patience doesn’t pay off, I clear my throat. Arms crossed and death glare in full force, they nearly cower out the door, tripping over their own feet—all except Austin.
“Hey,” he greets with a chin nod, not a bit affected.
“They shouldn’t talk like that about women. About anybody.” The disgust is apparent in my voice, and in case he missed it, I’m pretty damn sure it’s all over my face.
“They’re messing around. It’s harmless.” He straddles the nearest bench and eyes me up and down.
“Yeah? You think it’s harmless if they were talking about your mother or sister in such a way? Or what about Frankie or whoever you left her for? You okay with them talking about her pussy like that?”
He cringes, eyes lower, not so cocky now. “I get your point.”
“Good. Next time, tell them to shut the fuck up. Set the example. Be better. Expect better.”
“I said I heard you. Get off your high horse.” He shoves his phone and bag in his locker. “What are you doing here, Stone? I thought you were living the dream in Sunnyville with my girl.”
The fuck? I’m on him before he fully turns around. My forearm restricts his airway. My body plasters him to the nearest wall. “You want to rethink those words, Tamer?” Rage is asking for blood. Reason has me slowing my roll, understanding he’s trying to find his footing in this new reality where Frankie is no longer his but mine. He doesn’t know I’m fighting my own new reality where she isn’t mine either, not in any tangible sense.
“Fuck,” he grates, short of breath.
I ease up before letting him go and stepping back.
He slides to the floor, getting a few good breaths. “You’re right. Sorry.”
I sit on the bench closest to him, admitting, “I’ve been an ass to everyone. I get it.”
“You? Shocker.” He smiles, meaning no offense, and I don’t take any.
“She dumped me.” I lean forward, arms resting on my knees, my head buried in my hands. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted, and she wasn’t settling for less.” I let out a punch of air and meet his eyes. “You taught her that lesson.”
“I guess I did.” He nods, remorse contorting his features as he looks past me. “I never meant to hurt her.” He sniffs, turning away. “It kills me knowing I did.” He swipes at his eyes. “I’m such an ass.”
“You learned from the best.”
“Nah, you didn’t make me an asshole. I did that all on my own.”
We’re silent, lost in our own thoughts as seconds tick by before he speaks again.
“I upset her the night she fell down the stairs. I’m the reason she was so distraught and probably why she fell.” A sad smile crosses his lips. “My girl’s pregnant. I’m gonna be a dad.”
For a split second I think he’s talking about Frankie. “The girl you cheated with?”
“Yeah, Natalie. She’s about five months now.”
“Fuck, man. When you screw up, you go all in.”
“Don’t I know it.” His head falls back, hitting the wall. “What the fuck do I know about being a dad?”
“You’ll figure it out.” Hopefully he’s a better dad than he was a boyfriend.
His gaze meets mine. “What about you? You could do it too, you know? You could be what Frankie needs.” He picks at the square carpet tile. “Maybe it was always you.”
“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair.
Maybe it was always you. His words pack a punch, stealing my breath, and have thoughts racing that are better left alone.
You could be what Frankie needs.
The vision of Frankie’s abdomen swollen with my baby has my feet moving before my brain commands it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Cap said I had to wait two weeks before returning to Black Ops Gym. It’s been three. I’ve always loved coming to the gym, working with the fighters, and Cap. But a part of my joy is missing now, taken by Austin and Gabriel, the two faces I looked forward to seeing most throughout my day. That was my reality for nearly nine years with Austin, and if I’m being honest, nearly five years with Gabriel too. I’ve always felt the
pull of Gabriel even when I was madly in love with Austin. Or maybe I wasn’t as in love as I thought. For as much of an asshole as Gabriel was to me, he still turned my head, had my heart racing, and my girly parts lusting.
In hindsight, I hadn’t been as repulsed by Gabriel as I pretended to be. In fact, I wasn’t repulsed at all. I was hurt by his disregard and confused by my body’s reaction to someone who treated me so poorly. And no matter how he treated me, I still wanted his approval. I never would have cheated on Austin, but I still wanted to be seen by Gabriel.
Daddy issues, clearly.
Gabriel’s absence and the failure of our relationship feels like it will be more daunting the moment I step foot in the gym. His absence from one of his favorite places is more proof I’m not worth fighting for. He moved to another state to avoid me, for God’s sake. I know. I said I was worth the fight. I’m still working on believing it myself. My doubting inner voice is hard to silence. Plus, the pregnancy is taking its toll, sapping my energy, and I just may puke more food in a day than I actually consume. I’m not sure. Could be a draw.
As I stand in the parking lot outside the gym, I’m reminded of the last time I returned to work after Austin dislocated my shoulder. Only that time, I had Gabriel by my side, holding my hand and promising to fuck me on the training room floor so everyone knew I was his.
Crap, no more tears! These stupid pregnancy hormones have me crying at nothing. And don’t get me started on my heightened sex drive. I want sex all the time and no prospects in sight. Though I don’t want somebody new. I want somebody old, and grumpy, who shows me no mercy when it comes to loving my body. It was only my heart he didn’t want. My body? He couldn’t get enough of.
“You comin’ in, darlin’?”
I dry my tears with my sleeves, thankful I don’t wear makeup most days, and nod at Rowdy as he nears.
He smiles softly as he takes in my undone state. “You don’t have to do this today. Cap won’t mind giving you more time, I’m sure.”