J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forget

“You know I can’t touch you before we hit the octagon.” He jerks his head, motioning to a stocky guy with a buzzed head. “But he can.”

I turn to the bald guy, who’s bouncing on his toes looking amped for a fight. “You shove me?”

“Yeah, bitch.” He gets in my face, nose to nose. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Fuck, I’d give anything to knock this dipshit out, but I know that’s exactly what he wants. “Not a thing.”

Reece laughs. “What a pussy.”

I turn to him, taking my eyes off the twitchy fucker in my face. Probably not smart, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this guy think his threats intimidate me. “What’s your fucking problem? You should be kissing my ass for saving this fight for you.”

“My problem, dog, is that you’re sandbagging. You probably begged for this fight to save your non-existent fighting record.”

My fighting is the only thing I take seriously, and implying that I’d drop weight to fight in a lower weight class for an easy win is beyond insulting.

“I’m loyal to the UFL.” I step into his space and feel the snarl that pulls back my lips. “And I’d never turn down the opportunity to fuck you up.”

He shoves me. “What’re you waiting for?”

I move to throw my weight behind my fist.

“Stop!” Layla’s voice pulls me from my internal struggle not to hit Reece. She stomps our way, shaking her head. “Tell me you guys aren’t doing what it looks like you’re doing.” Her eyes go back and forth between me and Team Dumbass.

I step back from Reece, but move toward Layla. Call me paranoid, but I’m a little nervous at the idea of her getting between us. And knowing that she’s carrying Blake’s baby ups my unease.

“It’s cool, Layla.” I don’t take my eyes off the little shit who looks as if he’s about to pop the first person who gets close enough. Damn, what is that dude on? “Why don’t you go find—”

“Now hang on there, puppy dog.” Reece puffs out his chest. “Layla, huh?” He runs his dirty eyes up and down her body, and I pray like hell Blake’s not within one hundred yards.

“Go on, Layla.” I move in front of her, facing Reece.

She moves around me and glares at him. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You heard her; she wants to stay. Stop cock-blockin’.” His pack of idiots laughs.

My muscles tense, readying to defend Layla from his advances. “I’d watch your fuckin’ mouth if I were you, Reece.”

“Back off, dog.” He licks his lips. “Damn, you’re hot.” He moves to grab her hand. I pull her behind me.

“Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you are not hitting on my woman.” Blake’s voice comes booming from behind me. Before I have a chance to turn around, he’s in front of me and nose to nose with Reece. “You’re over here nutting up on my boy and disrespecting my woman? Back the hell off, asshole.”

Blake’s always been protective of Layla, but ever since they found out she was pregnant, he’s gone nuclear possessive. Come to think of it, I rarely see her anywhere in the training center without him.

“Ha! Your woman?” Reece laughs and his team of dumb asses follows along. “You tappin’ her ass doesn’t make her yours. If that were the case, half the women in Vegas would belong to you.” The group of them burst into laughter.

The fighters in my camp are the closest thing I have to family. We get each other’s backs in every situation and nothing—career fight or risk of being fired—means more than that. Blake’s shoulders are flexed to his ears. Shit’s about to go down. My muscles tense and I flex my fists.

“Layla,” I say over my shoulder. “Go. Now.”

She grips the back of my tee. “No, Rex. I’m not leaving and—”

“Mouse, baby, listen to Rex.” Blake’s low grumble gets Layla moving, and I take my first full breath, knowing that she’s safely out of the way.

I move close to get Blake’s back when I see a few guys who just walked in stop and watch. Wade, Blake’s opponent, stalks in our direction, stopping just shy of the Reece-Blake faceoff. The tension is palpable.

“I’m giving you the opportunity to walk away, Reece,” Blake says, a heavy growl rumbling his words.

“Yeah?” Reece tilts his head and sneers. “Well I don’t appreciate you standing between me and a little pre-fight head.”

Oh shit.

Blake knocks Reece back into his buddies. They advance. The short shit, finally getting the fight he wanted, throws a punch. I grab his fist and twist. He drops to the ground. Blake moves on Reece again.

Wade wraps two arms around Blake’s shoulders. “Not worth it, man.”

“Get the fuck off me.” Blake jerks out of his hold.

“Daniels,” Wade says, jumping in front of Blake and pushing him back. “Don’t do this. You’re giving him what he wants.”

Blake lunges toward Reece, barely held back by Wade. “He disrespected my—”

“What the motherfuck is going on here?”

All eyes dart toward the furious voice of Cameron, who’s barreling toward us. His fists are clenched, eyebrows dropped low, and his body looks as if it’s about go all kinds of Hulk on his corporate business get-up.

He shoves Reece and steps into his space. “You pull this shit in my house?” Another shove. He points to the training center floor. “You’re a guest in my motherfucking house, and this is the respect you show? You little fuck. I could fire you right now. You want that? No more fat paychecks to buy all those trampy bitches you pay for.”

“Cam, man.” Reece shakes his head and throws his hands up. “I didn’t do shit! Daniels attacked me.”

What a pussy. I’m really going to enjoy knocking his ass out.

“Didn’t do shit? You disrespect my assistant in front of her man and you think that’s nothing?” He jabs a meaty finger toward Blake. “He had every right to crack your skull.” He turns to make eye contact with every one of us. His furious glare would make lesser men tuck tail and run. “Those of you who collect your paychecks from this organization will obey its principles. Loyalty. Honor. Respect. Self-control. If this is a problem for you, pack your bags and get the fuck out.”

“Yeah, bitch.” Blake’s tacked on words are aimed directly at Reece.

“Blake.” Cameron gives Blake one look that he shrugs off immediately. “If this is not your home training center”—he glares at the visitors from both Reece and Wade’s camps—“when you’re in my house I fucking own you.”

The group nods and keeps their mouths shut.

“I was fighting for the UFL before you all tried on your first jockstrap. It’s an organization that demands respect, or it was once. I will bring it back to where it was before Taylor Gibbs destroyed it, and that means crushing any piss-dicks that get in my way.” The room is silent. This guy is tough as shit. He must’ve been an animal in the octagon. I make a mental note to Google some of his old fight footage. “We have a multi-million dollar fight to showcase tomorrow night. Do not fuck this up.”

With that he turns and heads back to his office. Blake and I wait the few seconds it takes for everyone to break up and go their respective ways.

He steps up to me. “I owe you, man. Thanks for looking out for Layla.” He offers his fist and I raise mine for a bump.

“No problem, man. You’d do the same for me.”

“Yeah, I would.” He crosses his arms at his chest and smiles. “What’s up with you and Mac? Layla said you two are hookin’ up.”

I shake my head, trying to understand what’s up with Mac and me enough to put it into words.

“Oh shit.” He punches my chest. “You too, huh?” He laughs so loud he gets the attention of the room. “And another one bites the dust.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I’m grinning and pretty sure I know exactly what it means.

“Nothing, man.” He moves past me, chuckling and shaking his head. “I’m off to find my woman. She’s gonna love this.”

Yeah, she’s not the only one. I hide my grin and move to the locker room.

As if thoughts of Mac weren’t enough to have me flyin’ high, Cameron’s speech, along with my recent vendetta to take down Reece for fucking with my family, has me fired up.

Things couldn’t possibly get better, except taking the next step with Mac. Feeling stronger and braver than I’ve ever felt, I consider what sex with her would be like. I grin and welcome the tiny nauseating twist in my gut.

She could be it.

My cure.

Mac

It’s funny how looking through the box feels different now. Rex’s no longer the boy who clung to me for survival, or the memory that I kept alive for my own. The relationship we had built on fear and revenge now seems insignificant. Today, we have so much more. Shared experiences and opening up vulnerabilities have replaced old feelings with new ones. Better ones.

Some much better ones.

I shift from sitting crossed-legged on my bed to lying down. Spending time with him, being invited into his home, and the picture . . . My heart flutters. To think this whole time he’s held me close, just as I have him. Our dedication to one another and our love for each other transcend memory. He doesn’t remember Mac, but he loves Gia. Reconciling the two will mean keeping him forever: the child he loves and the woman he wanted to touch.

My skin tingles where his hands roamed. Goose bumps race down my arms as I remember his growling voice at my ear. His tall frame had pinned me to the door, supporting my weight with a tender strength more intimate than any sexual experience I’ve ever had, not that I’ve had many. But the one thing I needed after being locked up was to experience all that I’d missed: movies, junk food, and sex. I never understood what the big deal was, why people talked about it as if they couldn’t live without it. Now I understand. The things Rex did to my body with a simple touch or a few perfectly timed words were amazing. A shiver races up my spine. I want more.

Rex is my addiction.

On some level he always has been.

But not like this.

I’d beg, get on my knees and plead for him to take me, control me, and have me for no other reason than his pleasure. I scrub my hands over my face. That sounds insane.

But it’s true.

I love Rex in a way that can’t be defined in words or songs or poems. Unconditional, completely, and irrationally obsessed. A kind of love born from suffering, solely created to bind and heal the broken.

I pick up the teddy-bear and trace the letters on its shirt. “How did you know we’d end up here?”

The stuffed toy doesn’t answer. I hug it to my body and close my eyes. Will there ever be a day when I can hold Rex like this? Or better yet, wrapped up in my arms, legs tangled together with nothing to distract us but the rhythm of our breathing.

The pinging sound of our doorbell steals me from my moment. Trix is at work and there’s only one person I’d be interested in seeing, but he’s busy prepping for his fight.

The bell rings again. What are the chances that they’ll go away if I ignore it?

It rings again, this time in obnoxious repeat. What the fuck?

Tossing the bear on my pillows, I jump up prepared to give the damn bell ringer a lesson in etiquette.

My feet slap against the tiled foyer. I grab the door handle. “What the fu—” I gasp and stare. “Rex.”

Wearing a pair of black track pants that hang low on his hips and a TapOut tee, I’m assuming he came directly from the training center. Ravenous, I devour every inch of his inked arms.

He shuffles his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “I was on my way home.” Exhaling a long breath, he meets my eyes. “I had to see you.”

A slow grin pulls at my lips. “I’m happy you did.” He had to see me. See me—shit! My contacts. I drop my eyes to the ground and turn back into the house. “Um . . . yeah, come on in.” Crap! I have to get my contacts in before he notices my eyes.

The door closes, and I’m guessing he walked in behind me. “Just have a seat and let me go, um, grab . . . I’ll be right back.” I take one step toward the hallway before the heat of his grip wraps around my upper arm.

“Wait.” He spins me toward him and crashes his mouth against mine.

The spice of his clean skin hits me instantly, and my knees buckle under his exuberant assault. His tongue invades my mouth, and towering over me, he bends me back. My hands dart out to grasp his biceps.