Undefeated - A New Adult Romance Novel

by Hildreth, Scott

  I nodded, “Yes sir.”

  “I believe that you channeled your anger toward your father through the boxing. Your anger at the situation. Your mothers leaving, your exposure to the beatings, your developed hatred toward abusers of women,” he said calmly.

  “I believe so, yes. I’ve always said I have demons inside of me. I suppose all of what we’re talking about now is what has fueled me for years,” I admitted.

  “So, boxing allowed you to repress the memories of your mother, father, and the situation? To channel the anger and hatred elsewhere?” he asked softly.

  His voice was nice and calm. I found him very easy to talk to.

  “Yes sir,” I responded.

  “And when your father came home from the war, you were happy to see him? You had no recollection of the beatings or abuse after you started boxing?” he asked.

  “Yes, I was happy to see him, and no. I had no recollection of any abuse or beatings,” I responded.

  “Now, your grandfather. I imagine if he trained you, if he was your trainer and your manager, he must have had experience?” he asked, still leaning back in his chair.

  “Yes, he was a champion. He won several titles,” I responded quickly, proud of my grandfather.

  He paused.

  Silence.

  “Wait a fucking minute, doc. What are you saying?” I snarled as I sat up in my seat.

  He leaned forward and picked up his pen. “I’m not saying anything. What are you thinking, Shane?”

  “Well, you stopped talking. I’m not stupid. You do that when you want me to think,” I responded.

  “And what, Shane, did you think?” he asked.

  “Well, I think you wanted me to think that my grandfather abused my grandmother,” I said angrily.

  “I didn’t want you to think anything, Shane. I gave you time to think whatever it is that your mind developed as a thought or series of thoughts,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t like this game,” I said as I pulled my hood onto my head.

  “It’s not a game. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help you in regard to your father. Anger can destroy you. I’m trying to help you understand some things,” he looked at his watch.

  “We’re about finished for the day, may I continue?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes, “Sure.”

  “Your grandfather’s era. They rarely got divorced. That era of marriages tended to work through any and all problems. It was perceived, back then, as being far more sacred and far more of a commitment. I suspect, considering all things – your father abusing your mother, your grandfather being a boxer, and the fact that he was divorced – that he may have abused your grandmother,” he held his hand in the air to prevent me from speaking and took a breath.

  “I say this for this reason only. To give your father a reason for being the way he was. It wasn’t necessarily his fault that he acted the way that he did. When children are exposed to abuse, they either become abusers or they’re like you – one hundred percent opposed to it. It’s anyone’s guess where people land. It’s like the son or daughter of a raging alcoholic. Some become alcoholic, and some are so opposed to the thought of drinking that they abstain from it for a life time,” he paused and lowered his hand.

  I thought about what he said.

  “So you’re thinking maybe my father grew up seeing his father doing what I witnessed my father doing – and that he just ended up abusing instead of abstaining?” I rubbed my chin and looked around the room.

  “It’s a thought. It’s possible. We’ll never know,” he responded.

  It made sense. Everything that he had said, my hoodie and when I started wearing it as a child. The fact that my childhood blanket had been used for security of sorts, and that it was kept in a footlocker full of mothballs.

  My grandfather, and his devotion to boxing. Maybe it was why he got me involved in boxing. It’s possible, I suppose, that he started boxing as an outlet after my grandmother left. Knowing and understanding these things didn’t allow me to forgive my father for what he did, but it was beginning to help me understand.

  As adults, we are a product of what we were exposed to as children. Generations of abuse breed generations of abusers. Until one person is strong enough to break the chain.

  I’m strong enough.

  I stood from the couch and pressed my jeans with my hands, removing the wrinkles. He stood from his chair and walked around his desk, a business card in his hand.

  “Would you like to make another appointment for your next session?” he asked.

  “No sir, I’m done here. I appreciate your help. I’ll be fine,” I pulled my hood over my head.

  “Good luck in your upcoming fight, Mr. Dekkar. I’m here if you need me,” he said as he handed me the business card.

  I placed the business card in my pocket and turned to face the door. I inhaled a slow breath through my nose and exhaled out my mouth. I grabbed the door handle and slowly opened the door, knowing that the fight was the farthest thing from my mind right now.

  We all fight our battles differently. I choose to fight mine in the ring. My father fought his in Afghanistan and Iraq. Kace fought her battle attempting to make a relationship work that was destined to lose. We fight to form ourselves into something or someone that we naturally wouldn’t become.

  We fight to become stronger.

  And that strength, ultimately, allows us to continue to fight.

  And the fighting builds strength and provides us with experience – until we are strong enough to stand on our own.

  I slid my hand under my shirt and felt my chest. Bare. Bare of the dog tags that I have always carried as a reminder of my father and his devotion to fight for what he believed to be just, right, and moral.

  I walked through the lobby to the front door and opened it. Holding the door handle in my hand, I stood in the opening. I took a deep breath and looked out into the street.

  And I stepped out into the world with a mind full of new memories. Full of memories but free of the chains that have bound me for so many years.

  I stepped out into the world.

  Free.

  KACE. Shane had been home from the hospital for three weeks. He seemed different since the trip to the hospital – in good ways. He seemed much more loving, more willing to spend time being lazy around the house with me, and had been taking time to cuddle and do girlish things with me.

  Maybe the hospital was something that he needed for a long time. It was probably necessary to get his mind cleared after losing his father and grandfather in such a short period of time. He never talked to me about the trip to my mother’s house, passing out, the ambulance ride, or what the doctor told him at the hospital.

  The afternoon after we left him in the hospital, he called from a restaurant and said he was done with all of his medical tests. He said whenever we were ready Ripp and I could come get him. That day in the restaurant was the last we spoke of it.

  I know that something inside of him changed, because he hasn’t worn his dog tags since the day that he tore them off and dropped them on the floor at my mother’s house. Those dog tags were his life, his good luck charm, and his only real tie to his father. I think they might have caused part of the problem, because he tore them off right before he collapsed.

  I didn’t really know how to treat it, so I placed them on the kitchen counter for him to pick up whenever he was ready. That night, they were gone. He didn’t wear them, but I knew he took them from the counter.

  The next day, while Shane was showering, I accidentally threw away my driver’s license when I was cleaning out my wallet. As soon as I realized it, I dug through the trash to try and find it. When I did, I saw the chain in the trash. I reached into the trash and pulled at the chain, and found the dog tags attached, wrapped in paper to hide them.

  I have put them away until he wants or needs them. I don’t want to mention them and make him upset if he doesn’t want to talk about it. I know whatever
reason he is upset has to do with his father, and to him that is a delicate subject. I don’t want to upset Shane, not now.

  I just want to enjoy him the way he is.

  “Babe, where are you?” he asked as he walked in the door.

  “I’m in here,” I answered from the living room.

  He walked in to the living room holding a sack in his hand. His boots were clean and polished, and he was wearing a new black hoodie.

  “Look,” he said as he held one foot forward for me to see.

  “They’re clean. They look good. I like your new hoodie,” I said as I looked back and forth between the cooking channel and his clean boots.

  “No, babe. They’re new,” he said.

  “You bought new boots?” I asked as I turned off the television.

  “Brand fucking new,” he said.

  He has changed.

  “Holy cow. Where’s the old ones?” I asked as I stood from the couch.

  “Trash. I tossed ‘em. Got a new hoodie, too,” he said as he slowly turned in a circle.

  “I love it, it looks comfy. The old one?”

  “Trash,” he responded.

  “Oh, wow. And how long had you been wearing those old boots?” I asked.

  “Uhhm. Well, six. No, seven. Eight. Yeah, eight years,” he responded.

  “Wow,” I said, glad that he finally replaced them.

  He looked in the sack, pulled out a receipt, and handed it to me.

  “There’s a few dresses in there. Go in the bedroom and try them on for me. I looked at your dresses that you like and got size 2. All your dresses that you like are size 2.”

  “You bought me dresses?” I asked as I graciously grabbed the bag from his grasp.

  As he nodded his head, he unzipped and removed his hoodie. I looked inside the sack. One dress was black and one was a burnt orange color. I love getting gifts, and I love clothes. I haven’t received a gift for ten years that I can remember.

  Holding the sack in my hand, I reached around his neck to give him a hug.

  “Thank you, I love you, Shane,” I said.

  “I love you. Now go try them on,” he said as he sat on the couch and began to remove his boots.

  “Can I come out and model them for you?” I asked as I walked to the room.

  “Yes, that’s what I want. I want you to try them on and come out here so I can see them,” he said as he shook his head.

  This is so exciting.

  I ran to the room and shut the door.

  I held up the black dress. Black is elegant. Boring. I held up the orange dress. Oh my, this was nice. It’s going to look so good. I got undressed and put on the orange dress and looked in the mirror. I looked fabulous.

  Awesome sauce.

  If I go out there in this one first, then the black one will be last, and I won’t end it with a bang.

  I took the orange dress off and put on the black one. I looked great, but I needed shoes. I opened the closet and dug for my favorite 4” heels. I found the shoes and pulled them onto my feet. I stood and looked in the mirror.

  Oh wow.

  Wow.

  I opened the drawer to my dresser and pulled out my perfume and one of my folded tee shirts. I sprayed the folded tee shirt with perfume, pulled up the dress, and rubbed the tee shirt under my chest.

  That ought to do it.

  I looked in the mirror and pulled my hair behind my ears the way he likes to see it.

  Ok, here we go.

  I grabbed the door handle and looked in the mirror.

  I look too conservative.

  As I turned the door handle, I shook my head and walked out into the living room.

  “Don’t move,” he said as soon as I walked out of the bedroom.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” I asked, startled.

  “Don’t. Kace, don’t move,” he said as he stood up from the couch, “Take a step back by the door.”

  “What?” I asked, now standing still a few steps into the living room.

  “Just back up one or two steps into the light,” he said as he walked toward the kitchen.

  Slowly, I stepped backward two steps.

  “Right there, don’t move,’ he said from the edge of the kitchen.

  He grabbed his phone and started walking my direction. He stood a few feet in front of me and held his phone in front of him, looking at the screen. As I stood there smiling, he took a few pictures of me with his phone. He looked at the phone, scrolled through the pictures, and knelt down closer to the floor.

  He took another picture and looked at the phone, “Perfect.”

  “Kace, you’re simply as beautiful of a human being as could ever exist. Looking at you is proof that there is a God, he pays attention to his work, and he appreciates it. I wonder what I have ever done to deserve having the ability to just come home to you every day,” he said as he stood and started at the screen of the phone.

  “Look at this,” he said as he held his phone in front of my face and stepped beside me..

  I looked at the screen. The girl looking back at me was beautiful. Her hair was blonde and healthy looking. Wearing a new black dress and heels, she looked elegant. Her skin held on to the late summer tan, and was free of blemishes.

  I looked at the picture and realized that Shane had changed me. He had made me confident. He gave me reason to believe I was beautiful. He asked me daily, several times, who’s the most beautiful girl in the world? He knew what he was doing.

  Looking at the screen of the phone, I realized he was right.

  I was beautiful.

  And Shane knew it. Long before I realized it, he knew it. He brought it to my attention. He told me over and over, in his own way. And now, he stood beside me showing me. He truly believed I was beautiful for all of this time, and now he was making sure I knew it.

  I tried to remember the last time I looked at a picture of myself. I couldn’t even recall the last time. I had no reason to have pictures. Josh’s rules really didn’t let me take, send, or have a reason to have pictures.

  “I could just look at you for a lifetime,” Shane said as he turned from looking at the phone to looking at me.

  “Do it,” I responded, “Do it.”

  “I intend to,” he chuckled as he tossed the phone onto the floor.

  “Want me to try on the other dress now?” I asked, standing there a little more confident than before.

  “Take that one off, Kace,” he said.

  “Want to see the other one?” I asked again, excited to put on the other dress.

  “Take it off, Kace. Now, take it off. I can’t take it any longer. Looking at you makes me realize that you’re real. When I’m gone, I tell myself that what I believe may not be totally accurate. That you might not be all of the things that I remember you being before I left. It’s almost like trying to convince myself that I witnessed a miracle. As soon as I return, and see you, I realize that you are real,” he looked at me and shook his head in disbelief

  “And here’s the thing, Kace. Every time I come home, every time I meet you for lunch, every time I wake up and look over at you,” he paused and placed his hands on either side of my face.

  He held my face and looked into my eyes, “You’re more beautiful than I ever remember you being.”

  I melted into a puddle.

  “Kace, every time I go somewhere with you, I hold my head high. Proud that you are stepping down to my level – that someone like you will be with someone like me. That someone of your caliber will be with me. I stand beside you proudly, hopeful that I can make you a fraction as happy as you make me. I love you, Kace,” and with that he kissed me softly.

  As he pulled away from my lips, he focused on my face, “Off, Kace. Now.”

  “Okay, I’ll go grab the other one,” I sighed, still full of emotion from his little speech.

  “No,” he said as he grabbed my shoulders and turned me around, facing away from him.

  I felt him unzip the zipper of the dress. The dres
s fell to the floor. He knelt down at my feet, removed my shoes one at a time, and tossed the dress to the side. Dressed in my panties and bra, he led me by my hand into the bedroom.

  A certain satisfaction fills me as we walk into the room. I’m satisfied that Shane cares for me enough to buy me gifts, to remind me daily that I am beautiful, and that he desires to take pictures of me to prove that I am as beautiful as he expresses. I’m further satisfied that he loves me – and that he accepts my love in return.

  As we reached the bed, he turned me and lowered my body onto it. Slowly, I allowed myself to fall to the bed. His fingers slid to my panties, pulling them along my thighs. I raised my legs and kicked my feet to free my panties from my feet.

  I leaned up on the bed and reached back to unhook my bra as he pulled his shirt over his head. As he reached to unbuckle his belt, his bicep muscles flexed and twitched. He stood at the end of the bed, now removing his jeans, and looked like an absolute God.

  Shane Dekker was the sweetest man I have ever met. He was also the most brutal man to ever enter the boxing ring. Also, he was now, and would always remain the most gorgeous man I have even seen in my life. His innocence and shy nature did nothing but added to the fact that he was as tough as almost anyone on earth – it made him even more attractive. It made him human. Soon he may be fighting for the Heavyweight Champion in the World title. Looking at him now made that fact almost difficult to believe.

  As I tossed my bra to the floor, I wiped the drool from my lips.

  Now standing naked, he inched his way beside me on the bed. Shane knew by now that all I had to do was see him without a shirt, listen to him speak, or watch him get undressed and I was as wet as I would ever become.

  “Babe?” he whispered.

  I turned my head to face him. As our eyes met, he began to kiss me. As he kissed me his hands touched the sides of my face lightly. He did this all of the time when we kissed, and it drove me insane with emotion. Having him touch me while we kissed pushed me over the edge.

  His soft lips against mine, I moaned as he kissed me. One of his hands left my face and began to massage my breasts. He began to roll my nipple between his index finger and thumb. An electrical charge felt as if it were traveling from my nipple to my crotch.