Fighting to Forget

Six

Rex

Fuck! What the fuck was that? I didn’t see it coming. I can’t believe she tried to kiss me. Try? Shit, she did kiss me!

It was seconds, not even seconds, and my dick roared to life. The slight touch of those full cherry lips, the smell of the sun and sweetness coming from her skin, and I was gone. All the blood in my body pooled instantly in two places, one painfully obvious behind my zipper, and the other in my stomach. I hit the door, practically choking on the rising tequila.

I take a deep breath and turn up the volume on my car stereo. Avenged Sevenfold’s “Lost it All” blares through the speakers, intent on beating the memory out of my head. I keep seeing the pain of rejection in her eyes and the look of sheer panic on her face when I left. But no amount of music can erase the lingering smell of her in my truck or the buzz on my lips left from her soft kiss.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Mac?” I ask and get no answer.

I’m good at seeing the signs of a woman who wants to hook up. I’ve even enjoyed a little harmless flirting. I have to in order to protect myself. What kind of assumptions would people make if I didn’t have a girl under my arm from time to time? How many rumors would start if I was never seen out with a woman? So I’ve made exceptions for the sake of appearance. And I always know when a girl is looking for more, when the flirting isn’t enough and she’s ready to take payment on the promises.

Mac didn’t put out any of the vibes: no come-fuck-me eyes, flirty giggles, shit chicks do with their bodies turning from human to feline, none of that.

I scrub my hand through my hair and keep my focus on the road ahead of me. What little buzz I had evaporated by the adrenaline rush of one kiss. The kiss came out of nowhere, but could’ve definitely led somewhere. Fast.

My pants are still uncomfortably tight between my legs. I need some relief soon, or I’ll turn my truck around and get Mac on her knees and fuck up everything more than I already have. I groan at the visual of her looking up at me, her lips wet and pliable.

Holy hell.

It’s almost five in the morning. Tattoo and piercing shops are closed, but the training center is open. I take the freeway exit and head back in the opposite direction. Hopefully no one will be there yet and I can get a few undisturbed hours with the heavy bag and leave whatever’s left beating feet on the treadmill.

If I can’t fight these urges out of my sick body, then I’ll exhaust myself so that I can sleep through them.

My head’s so fucked I’m not paying attention, not that it matters. I could drive to the training center with my eyes closed. Throwing my truck into a spot, I stalk to the door, head down, trying like hell to concentrate on anything other than Mac.

That damn kiss is still infecting every part of my body and mind. Fuck! Why did she do that? Those lips felt like hot velvet against mine—Bam! I slam through the locker room door so hard it bounces off the wall.

“Whoa! What the fuck?”

The startled response gets my attention.

Cameron Kyle, the UFL’s new CEO is standing there with a file folder in hand.

He glares at me. “Carter? You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off, kid.”

I’m not a kid, fuckface. I need to calm down. Cam may dress as if he’s spent the better part of his life warming a desk chair, but the retired UFL Heavyweight Champion dominated the octagon in his day. Other than the fact that he no longer sports his signature shaved head, he looks as though he could pick up his career right where it was ripped from him and annihilate his competitor.

“Rough night.” The two words come out on a growl and I head to my locker to grab my towel and hit the shower.

“I’m actually glad you’re here.” His voice follows behind me. “Need to run something by you.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, but the visions of a certain black-haired, tawny-eyed girl have me preoccupied.

“Big fight’s coming up. Two weeks.” The creaking of wood tells me he’s made himself comfortable on the bench behind me. “I’m in need of a welterweight fighter.”

A welterweight? I turn and lean against the lockers, arms crossed at my chest. “What happened to Reece and Kobe?” They’ve been on the ticket for months.

He exhales a heavy breath and tosses the file folder to the ground, spilling its pages. “Kobe.” He shakes his head then sets his eyes on me. “That fucking jackass got arrested last night.”

My jaw goes slack. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“For what?” He was looking forward to this fight with Reece. It’s a rematch after Reece, a fighter from the UK, KO’ed him on home soil.

“Selling cocaine.”

My jaw completely drops. Fucking idiot.

“Now I’ve got a fight two weeks away and no one lined up to go up against Reece.” He nods toward the grounded file folder. “I’m checking out fighters that can be ready in two weeks and the list is short. After Gibbs went and butt-fucked the UFL, fighters have been laxing.”

That’s true. A lot of the UFL’s fighters weren’t sure if they’d have an organization to work for anymore after the scandal with Gibbs. “Shit, man. So what’re you going to do?”

He tilts his head and looks at me. “I’m offering you the fight.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been training with Daniels for the last three months. I think you can pull your shit together in two weeks and take Reece.”

“Can’t.” I shrug. “Wrong weight class. Reece is a welterweight. I’m running on the high end of middleweight.”

“Fifteen pounds, Carter. You can cut that in two weeks no problem.”

Yeah, I probably could. Enough exercise, good diet, plenty of cardio. Not to mention my career could use a bump. I’ve been everyone else’s training partner for a while. It’d be nice to get my own fight. I’d prefer to fight in my weight class, but fuck it. What do I have to lose? If nothing else, it’ll keep me busy and keep my mind off all my shit.

“I’ll do it.” I offer him my hand.

He grins, stands, and shakes it. “Right on. Now get out there and start working off some of that weight.”

Grabbing his papers off the floor, he leaves me to my shower and my thoughts.

This is good. It’s been over a year since my last televised fight. There’s only one feeling in the world that beats fighting in the octagon, and that’s fighting in front of fifteen thousand screaming fans and a live TV audience of millions. The rush of a crowd that size is heady.

Feeling better already, I plan to spend most of my days training and very little at The Blackout.

~*~

Mac

The sun is just coming up when I finally make it home. A cab ride would’ve been cheap with us living so close, but I needed the fresh air, so I chose to walk home. I replayed what happened with Rex over and over in my head and came to the conclusion that I was wrong. I owe him an apology.

I can’t expect him to understand where my head is at. Shit, I don’t understand where my head is at. All this time watching him, worrying about him, and loving him from a distance, my body took over what my mind has never allowed. And I went there. It was a mistake, and even now I feel stupid for letting myself go the way I did.

I’ve worked at The Blackout for almost six months and managed to maintain my cool. But being so close, smelling the dark spice of his skin, watching his tongue toy with the ring in his lip . . . it was all too much. Sensory overload.

I twist my key in the front door and push it open to a dark and quiet house. Hatch’s bike wasn’t in the driveway, thank goodness. Not that I’m afraid of him. What happened last night was a simple case of putting my face in the wrong place at the worst time.

Heading straight for a hot shower, I pass Trix’s room. The door is open and she’s up.

I lean into the doorway. “Hey. Why are you up so early?”

She turns from the pile of laundry she’s folding and her eyes go wide on my face. “That motherfucker! He did that to you?”

My fingers lift to the scab and swelling on my cheek. “Yes and no. I kinda did it to myself.”

Moving toward me, she squints to study the damage. “Damn. Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now. Just sore.” Like my stupid heart. Ugh.

“He told me what happened. I got out of the shower and found him in the kitchen all beat to shit with a box of your popsicles pressed to his face. He said you jumped between him and Rex and took a punch.” Her squint gets tighter. “Why would you do that?”

To protect Rex. “I was trying to break it up.”

“Hatch has mad respect for you now.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s an idiot.”

She moves back to her pile of laundry, and I follow her in. Exhaustion weighs heavy and I flop down on her bed. “Why are you up?”

“My schedule at Zeus’s is all over the place. I slept all day yesterday. Couldn’t sleep worth shit last night.” She folds socks together. “I figure I’m up, so I might as well do laundry.”

I yawn and pull a pillow under my head.

“So you and Rex, huh?” A sly grin pulls at her lips.

“No.”

“But you banged him last night, right?”

“Ew, Trix. No I didn’t bang him last night.”

“Blow job?”

“No!”

“Handjob?”

“What? No!”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. He was worried I had a concussion and didn’t want me to be alone. He was a perfect gentleman, even slept on the couch.”

She tosses two handfuls of skimpy panties and lace bras into her drawer. “Well, damn. I was hoping to get the deets on that fine man. He’s never hooked up with any of the girls from the club.” Spinning on her feet, the sly smile is back. “I saw his band play at Cochella. He took his shirt off, so I know his nipples are pierced, but I want to know if he’s pierced”—she bounces her eyebrows—“everywhere.”

Everywhere? Like . . . down there? No, he’d never do that. Would he? The thought has my body suddenly heated.

“Thing is, the guy never hangs out at Zeus’s like the rest of his band and a few of the UFL dudes.” She hangs a skin-tight mini-dress that looks as if it’s made of rubber. “Too bad really. He’s hot as hell.”

“Keep your claws to yourself, Trix. Rex isn’t like those other guys.” I learned that the hard way tonight. How many guys would turn down a kiss from a woman? Especially a kiss that might lead somewhere else? Would I have allowed that kiss to go further? The fluttering excitement in my stomach confirms my head’s resounding hell yes.

How did I go from loving Rex as a brother to wanting him in this way? If I’m honest with myself, I’d have to acknowledge this has been building over the last few months. I’ve been steering women away from him at The Blackout, telling them that he’s got a girlfriend when they ask. I did it under the guise that I was protecting him from being taken advantage of, from being turned into nothing more than a piece of meat that would satisfy the carnivorous cravings of the female Las Vegas drones.

A woman would have to be dead not to fall in love with Rex. He’s gorgeous, polite, and tender in a way that isn’t found in most men. His skin might be covered in tattoos, but even those can’t hide his beauty. And he’s . . . pretty. He always has been, and no amount of ink or metal can cover that up.

That’s why they paid for him.

The words hit my consciousness like a wrecking ball, shattering progress and bringing me back to my purpose: to make things right between Rex and me—make good on my promise to help him, even if I’m fourteen years too late.

“I need a shower. I’ll catch you later,” I say and leave the room before she can see the tears building in my eyes.

“Later.” Trix waves me off and digs her hands back into her laundry basket.

How could I be so fucking selfish? This isn’t about my feelings. This is about Rex. After the talk we had about our nightmares, his mixed messages about forgetting the bad but remembering the dreams, I think he’s worse off than he seems. On the outside, he looks like a successful athlete and musician, but is it possible that’s all a cover up for what’s going on inside?

He needs me, just as he did back then. But rather than pull him from the circumstances of his present, he needs answers to the past. Answers that I can give him.

Once in my room, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The cold tile against my feet sends shocks up my legs. I blast the shower on hot and shiver while I wait for it to warm.

“Stick with the plan, Gia.” I’ve come too far to give up now. My selfish desires come second to him. After I give him everything I can, share with him what I know, then I can concentrate on making a life for myself, one that doesn’t revolve around feelings of guilt and anger. I just need to get close enough to him again to tell him who I am. That’s when I’ll apologize for not saving him when I could and tell him what he doesn’t know. I only hope my secrets will buy his forgiveness.

He walked out on me this morning, but I’m not giving up. Progress was made. I’ll get him alone again, and this time, I’ll tell him everything.