Below the Belt (15 page)

She swore under her breath. Reaching for her beer, she downed the last of it in one big swallow. Just when she’d taken the first major step in her boxing career, he’d walked away from her.

For all his fancy talk about not being like Kyle, about the relationship between a trainer and fighter being about trust, he’d let her down. Just like the rest of them.

She didn’t want him to
care
for her. She wanted a relationship with him on
her
terms—a relationship she could keep at arm’s length and control. A relationship that wasn’t going to leave her raw and hurting and broken.

Screw him.

She slammed her empty beer glass down onto the table. Crossing to the bar, she ordered a straight vodka. The bartender slid it toward her and she sucked back a fiery mouthful. She settled onto a stool and propped her elbows on the bar.

There were other trainers out there. She didn’t need Cooper. She certainly didn’t want what he was offering her—whatever the hell it was. The chance to “explore” the feelings between them—not interested, thanks for calling. Next, please.

An hour passed. She was on her third straight vodka when a group of a dozen or so people breezed into the pub. She didn’t pay them any mind until one of them propped beside her at the bar. After a few beats she turned her head to look at him.

“What do you want?” she asked Kyle.

“To buy you a drink. That was a good show you put on tonight, Jimmy,” he said.

“No.”

Behind him, she could see the crowd he’d come in with had taken over two booths along the back wall. Liana Nelson was among them. Her green gaze bored into Jamie from across the room.

Someone was a bad loser.

“Come on, for old times’ sake,” Kyle said. He leaned a little closer. “We had plenty of good times before things went sour, Jimmy.”

She stared at him, taking in his confident smile and good looks. Once, she had loved him.

“Not if I was dying of thirst,” she said very clearly. She turned her gaze to the television screen in the corner of the bar.

Kyle laughed and reached out to touch her. She caught his wrist before he even came close. Five years of buried rage and grief burned its way up her chest and into her throat as she glared at him.

“I’m not twenty-two anymore, Kyle, and I know how to look after myself. Believe me, you don’t want to take me on.” She let his wrist go. “Now, which part of piss off don’t you understand?”

The smile dropped from his lips and his I’m-a-good-guy demeanor slipped at last.

“You always did think you were too good for me,” he said. “With your private school education and your fancy BMW that daddy bought you.”

She stared at him.

“Is that why you screwed me over? Because of the school I went to?”

Kyle’s mouth worked for a beat, as though he was trying to decide whether to say something or not.

“I asked your father for a loan once, when I was just starting out. Do you know what he told me?
It’s good for fighters to be hungry, Kyle.
”

“My father didn’t believe in hand outs. He thought it was good for a fighter to need to win as well as want it.”

Was it possible that Kyle was really that petty? That her father’s actions and his own sense of inferiority and entitlement had led him to betray her all those years ago?

“Yeah? Well, you tell me, Jamie. How does it feel to be the hungry one for a change? How’s that working out for you?”

There was so much bitterness in him that she had to look away. She signaled to the bartender to hit her with another vodka.

“What, nothing to say now that the boot’s on the other foot?” Kyle said.

“That’s right. I have nothing to say to someone who’s so feeble he blames his own weaknesses on someone else. You were always spending more than you earned, even when you started winning big. You always wanted the best, even if you couldn’t afford it. Don’t you dare blame my father or me because you couldn’t live up to your own expectations. Now, if you don’t mind, I was enjoying myself up until about five minutes ago.”

She turned away from him, reaching for her vodka. She was aware of his anger, of the potential for violence that hung between them, but she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead.

After a long moment, Kyle pushed away from the bar and swiveled on his heel, returning to his posse.

Her shoulders relaxed.

She should go, but she didn’t want him to think he’d scared her away.

She frowned as she paid for her vodka. She couldn’t believe that his exploitation of her and her family had come down to something so small and simple. How had he become so resentful, so envious, that he’d seen her father’s fall from grace as an opportunity to even the score?

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from him.”

Jamie looked up to see Liana Nelson looming over her. The other woman was sporting a black eye and a bruised jaw from where Jamie had knocked her out.

“Relax. He’s all yours. I wouldn’t take him if he came with a million bucks tied around his neck with a bow,” Jamie said.

“He told me about you, how your family blames him for the way your father screwed up your lives,” Liana said. “Poor little daddy’s girl who couldn’t make it on her own.”

Jamie clenched her hand around the glass. She’d never had a fight outside of the dojo or the ring, but right at that moment she was experiencing an almost irresistible urge to push the other woman’s teeth down her throat.

Except that was exactly what Liana wanted.

“You want a rematch, you talk to my trainer,” Jamie said.

Then she remembered that she didn’t have a trainer. She pushed her vodka away. She was starting to feel distinctly sorry for herself, which meant it was time to go back to the motel.

“You got lucky,” Liana said, leaning in close.

Anger radiated off her. Jamie slid off her stool so they were standing eye-to-eye.

“I won. Suck it up.”

She headed for the door without a backward glance.

Outside, the night air was warm and dusty. She took a moment to blink and get her bearings in the darkness of the parking lot. Technically, she was probably a little drunk. But the walk back to the motel would help clear her head.

She was barely halfway across the asphalt lot when she heard the pub door open behind her. She knew without turning who it was and what was about to happen. So much for never having had a fight outside the ring.

“Sawyer,” Liana called.

Jamie stopped but didn’t turn around. “Just let it go, Liana.”

“What’s the matter? Don’t think you can get lucky twice?” Liana asked.

Jamie set her jaw. This woman was beginning to really piss her off. Despite her win, it had been a pretty shitty night. Between Cooper’s abandonment, her grandfather’s disapproval, Kyle’s smugness and Liana’s prodding, she didn’t see how it could get much worse.

“Why the hell not?” she muttered.

Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was watching Cooper walk away. Maybe it was a whole bunch of stuff that had been piling up in the back of her mind for too long.

She turned around. Kyle and his friends had followed Liana out of the bar. Great, they had an audience.

“You want a piece of me?” she asked Liana, squaring up. “Come and get it.”

C
OOPER WATCHED
the taillights of a passing car fade into the distance as he approached the pub on foot.

He’d been about to head to bed when Arthur had come knocking on his door. The old man had been concerned that Jamie hadn’t returned to the motel yet. Like the sap he was, Cooper had offered to go look for her. Chivalry, it seemed, was not entirely dead, even in Dubbo late on a Saturday night.

As he rounded the fence line and approached the pub’s parking lot, he saw a huddle of people in the corner and heard hooting and catcalls. He’d been in enough street brawls to recognize the signs. He steered around them, not wanting to get sucked into something that was none of his business.

Then he caught sight of the two combatants. Adrenaline squeezed his gut.

Liana Nelson was going at Jamie. Any finesse she’d possessed in the ring fell by the wayside as she got stuck into Jamie’s ribs and belly. Jamie was covering and blocking the best she could, but he could see she was hurting. Bare-knuckle fighting was a hell of a lot more painful than boxing with gloves on, and a hell of a lot more dangerous.

“Jesus,” he muttered, striding forward.

He was on the outer rim of the circle of spectators and pushing his way through when a big, brawny shoulder blocked his way.

“Let them sort it out,” Kyle Vandenburg said.

“Get out of my way,” Cooper said.

“My girl deserves a rematch.”

Cooper’s gaze slid over Vandenburg’s shoulder. Liana was taking shots at Jamie’s face, trying to hurt her as much as possible. A bright streak of red bled down from Jamie’s nose and across her mouth. Something primitive went off in Cooper’s brain. He elbowed his way past the other man, forcing his way into the circle. In two strides he was on Liana, hauling her off Jamie and shoving her away.

“Back off,” he warned in a low, intense growl.

Jamie stumbled and lifted a forearm to wipe at her face. She looked surprised to see blood smeared up her arm. He couldn’t tell if she was punch-drunk or just drunk-drunk. Now didn’t really seem the time to worry about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, grabbing her hand.

Vandenburg blindsided Cooper with a jab to the jaw before he’d taken his first step toward the motel. His head snapped back and pain radiated up the side of his face. Quickly Cooper shuffled back to get out of Vandenburg’s range.

The other man squared up, his teeth bared in a feral grin. Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper could see Liana circling in on Jamie again. Not taking his eyes off Vandenburg, Cooper reached behind himself and grabbed Jamie’s arm.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

Vandenburg feinted forward, throwing a cross. Cooper ducked around it, firing a quick one-two into the other man’s ribs. Vandenburg fell back a step, and Cooper glanced at Jamie. Liana was coming at her again, throwing punches. Jamie danced around her, her boots rasping loudly on the asphalt, her breath coming fast.

Then he was too busy defending himself against Vandenburg, ducking shots, weaving. Concentrating on body shots, he rained blows down on Vandenburg. It didn’t take long for the sneaky son of a bitch to try a knee in Cooper’s balls, then a gouge to the eye. Cooper thumped him hard in the kidneys in retaliation. Getting a good grip on the other man’s shoulders, he shoved him backward so forcefully that Vandenburg fell on his ass.

Cooper checked on Jamie. Liana had a handful of her hair, and Jamie ignored everything he’d ever taught her and rammed her knee into the other woman’s torso. The scratch of gravel underfoot told him Vandenburg was on his feet again. Before he turned away he saw Jamie land a punch square in the other woman’s face. The crunch of bone breaking was audible from ten feet away. Liana dropped to her knees, blood gushing from her nose.

Cooper brought up his guard as he faced Vandenburg.

“Liana’s down. Don’t you want to see to her?” he suggested. His breath was coming hard and fast.

“She can look after herself,” Vandenburg said, spitting bloody saliva to one side.

“You always were a stupid bastard,” Cooper said as he moved in for the kill.

Ruthless, he slammed a fist into the side of Vandenburg’s neck. It was an old street-fighting technique, and it sent Vandenburg to his knees, gasping for breath.

Game over.

Wiping his bloodied knuckles on his jeans, Cooper turned to look for Jamie. She was hunkered down on a nearby curb, trying to catch her breath. Liana was being attended to by one of her friends, a bloody T-shirt held to her face.

“Think I broke her nose,” Jamie said. She shook her right hand as though it hurt.

She had a cut across the bridge of her nose, a fat lip and one of her eyes was badly swollen.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. He held out a hand to pull her to her feet.

She reached out to take it. Then her gaze slid over his shoulder and her eyes widened with fear.

“Cooper!” she screamed.

He started to turn. He was too late. Something hard and heavy slammed into his skull.

Quicker than he could ever imagine, the world went blacker than black.

J
AMIE WOKE WITH
a crick in her neck from sleeping curled across three waiting room chairs. Rolling into a seated position, she rested her head in her hands and scrubbed her face with her palms.

The stunning blow to the head that Vandenburg had delivered with a stray piece of metal piping had given Cooper a concussion. It had also torn the retina away from his bad eye again. The doctors at Dubbo had been reluctant to operate on such a complicated injury, especially given Cooper’s medical history. He’d been airlifted to the Sydney Eye Hospital the moment he had been deemed fit for transfer. Her grandfather had driven her back to Sydney in Cooper’s four-wheel drive as soon as the hospital chopper had left. She’d paced the hospital corridors for hours ever since, waiting for word on Cooper’s condition.

She hadn’t been allowed in to see him. She wasn’t family, she wasn’t anything to him. So far she’d only gleaned the barest information: he’d had a restless night, and first thing this morning he’d gone into surgery. He’d been under the surgeon’s knife for five hours. Five long, dark, terrifying hours.

She’d sent her grandfather home long ago. He’d been pale and shrunken with fatigue and she’d insisted he go, firmly ushering him into a taxi.

She checked the wall clock. Enough time had passed for her to ask after Cooper’s condition again. There was a new nurse on the desk, a younger woman. She frowned when Jamie stopped in front of the nurse’s station.

Jamie had a fair idea what she was staring at; when she’d examined herself blearily in the ladies’ bathroom at 5:00 a.m. this morning, she’d been shaken by her own appearance. She could only imagine what the other woman was thinking.

“I’m sorry, but Emergency is the next level down,” the nurse said.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to check and see if Cooper Fitzgerald is out of surgery yet.”

“I see. Can I ask what your relationship to Mr. Fitzgerald is?” the nurse asked.

Jamie took a deep breath and reached for patience. Couldn’t these people see that she was dying inside, waiting to find out if Cooper was going to be all right, if his life was going to be blighted because of her?

“He’s my trainer. I’m a boxer,” she explained, as she had several times over the past few hours. “Please. I need to know he’s all right.”

The nurse looked torn. Then her expression softened.

“Give me a minute,” she said.

She disappeared. Jamie rested her aching head in her hand. When the nurse returned, she was accompanied by a short, gray-haired man wearing a doctor’s coat.

“You were asking after Mr. Fitzgerald?” he said.

Jamie waited for the usual brush-off, but to her surprise he took her gently by the elbow and steered her toward the chairs where she’d been waiting.

“I’m Dr. Samuels. I take it you’re Jamie? He’s been asking after you,” the doctor explained.

She ignored how much her stupid heart swelled at his words and concentrated on what mattered.

“Is he going to be okay? Was the surgery successful?”

She allowed him to guide her into a seat.

“The operation was complicated because this is the second time he’s suffered an extensive detachment, but all the signs are good so far.”

“So far. What does that mean?” she asked. Her hands gripped her knees tightly.

“It means that with eye surgery there are always risks. There are complications that may arise in a few days’ time that we might have to deal with. But at the moment he’s had the best treatment possible and he’s resting comfortably.”

Jamie swallowed the hot rush of tears that clogged the back of her throat.

She would never, ever forget the image of Kyle swinging that length of pipe down on Cooper’s head, or the way Cooper’s body had crumpled, his knees buckling, his head lolling on his neck. The memory of it alone was enough to make her feel sick and weak. She’d lunged forward in time to cushion Cooper’s head before it hit the ground, but it had been too little, too late.

“My major concern at the moment is Mr. Fitzgerald’s agitation. He keeps asking after you, wanting to know if you’re okay,” Dr. Samuels said, his brown eyes scanning her battered face.

Jamie shrugged, as she had every time one of the hospital staff suggested she seek treatment for her injuries.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“How about we let me be the judge of that? I’d like to take a look at you. That way I can assure Mr. Fitzgerald that you are in one piece and largely uninjured.”

Jamie opened her mouth to object. Then she thought of Cooper. If he was genuinely worried about her, being offered reassurance might help him rest.

“Okay. Whatever,” she said gracelessly.

The doctor led her to an examination room where he checked her over briskly, testing her pupils and other reflexes, examining her hand, palpating her stomach.

“That’s a nasty eye you have there, but I don’t think you’ve sustained any permanent damage. And the hand is bruised rather than broken, fortunately.”

“Can I see him?” she asked.

“He’s sleeping off the anesthetic still.”

“I don’t care. I need to see for myself that he’s all right.”

Dr. Samuels checked his watch.

“Just a few minutes, then. But I’d like you to go home and get some rest yourself, put some ice on that eye.”

“When can he go home? What happens next?” she asked, stubbornly concentrating on Cooper.

“He’s going to be effectively blind for the next few days. If he wants to go home, there’s no medical reason why he can’t do so tomorrow. But he will require full-time help. He may wish to remain in the hospital. Many patients do.”

Not Cooper. She knew that without asking. He would hate to be anywhere where he felt more powerless and weak than he had to. She knew, because that was exactly how she would feel.

The examination over, Dr. Samuels led her along the corridor to a private room. He held the door open for her.

“Two minutes,” he warned.

“Yes. Thank you. I appreciate you bending the rules for me,” she said.

He gave her a faint, kind smile and she slid past him. The room was dark, the curtains drawn over the window. Only a small light directly over the bed was on. Cooper’s dark hair stood out starkly against the white of the sheets. His eyes were bandaged shut, a thick pad of gauze resting over his left eye. A drip fed into his right arm. The only sound was the faint hush of his breathing and her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She was afraid to touch him. He was in this condition because of her. Because she hadn’t walked away from Liana’s stupid challenge. Because she’d been angry and frustrated about not getting what she wanted from Cooper, and angry and frustrated because he’d asked for something from her that she’d been unable—unwilling—to give.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Tentatively she reached out to touch his arm.

His skin felt warm and familiar. She curled her fingers around his forearm.

If he’d died…

She couldn’t complete the thought.

She stared down into his face.

“Please be all right,” she said, low and intense.

The door opened behind her.

“Jamie,” Dr. Samuels said.

She wanted to tell him to go to hell.

Instead, she lowered her head and kissed Cooper’s bruised knuckles, brushing her hand up his forearm in one final caress. Then she left the room and the hospital and went home.

He’d need a home nurse to make it possible for him to leave the hospital tomorrow. As soon as she swung in the front door, she grabbed the phone book from beneath the kitchen counter and reached for the phone.

Her grandfather came in from the bedroom, tying the sash on his dressing gown.

“How is he?”

“Out of surgery. The doctor said it went well, and that he can come home tomorrow. I’m organizing a nurse for him,” she said. Her finger was already running down the column of advertisements in the phone book.

She could feel her grandfather watching her. She ignored him and reached for the phone.

“Did you get yourself checked out?” he asked.

“I’m okay. A couple of bruises.”

She picked an agency at random and called, explaining the situation. The woman asked a series of questions—was twenty-four-hour coverage required, would it be a live-in role, what was the location? Jamie realized she didn’t even know where Cooper lived.

Her mind racing, she apologized to the woman and told her she would call her back with the details. Then she phoned Ray.

“I need Cooper’s home address,” she said.

“Jimmy! Man, I have been trying and trying to get through to you on your cell phone. What a fight, girl! Have you seen the papers? You’re all over the place,” he said.

Jamie frowned, confused.
Fight? Papers?
How had the media got hold of Cooper’s story so quickly?

Then she remembered her bout last night, being outed as a Sawyer, the media scramble. It all seemed so distant and unimportant now.

“Listen, Ray, I really can’t talk. I just need Cooper’s address,” she repeated.

Bemused, Ray reeled it off to her. Jamie jotted it down, called back the agency, then scooped up Cooper’s car keys again.

“Where are you going?” her grandfather asked.

“To Cooper’s place. I need to make sure he’s got everything he needs for when he comes home,” she said.

“You can do that later. You’re exhausted. Grab some shut-eye. Cooper’s house will still be there in a few hours’ time.”

She shook her head. She had to do this before she did anything else.

“At least have a shower, get rid of those bloody clothes.” Her grandfather’s voice was rough with frustration and concern.

Jamie looked down at herself. The knee was ripped out of her jeans, and blood and dirt were smeared across the front of her top.

She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Cooper, making him comfortable, making things right for him.

“I’m fine,” she said. It was becoming a mantra, she’d said it so often to so many different people today.

Her grandfather made a disgruntled noise but she ignored him and swung out the door. Cooper’s house was in Annandale, only five minutes’ drive from her own apartment. She tapped her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel the whole way. She’d taken two days off work for the fight, the Friday and Monday, to make a four-day weekend. Today was Sunday, so she had two whole days to get Cooper settled.

She made a mental list of the chores she would tackle. She would change Cooper’s bed and make sure he had clean sheets and towels to come home to, stock up his fridge and pantry with groceries. She’d pack a bag for him so he could leave the hospital in his own clothes, and she’d make sure that the staff at the gym knew what was going on.

Following Ray’s directions, she pulled up in front of a gracious, wide two-story Victorian terrace house. Painted a sandstone color, it had shiny black shutters and was surrounded by lush tropical landscaping. Barely sparing a glance for any of it, she let herself inside.

Polished floorboards and clean cream walls greeted her in the hallway. She ducked first into a spacious formal living room, furnished with warm modern furniture in dark brown leather. The dining room was next, then a granite and stainless steel kitchen opening onto a spacious casual living zone. Realizing there were no bedrooms downstairs, she made her way upstairs and found his bedroom. At the front of the house, it featured a king-size bed and smelled of Cooper.

Clothes were discarded in the corner, and the quilt was thrown back on his bed as though he’d rolled out of it and never looked back. There was still an indent on his pillow from where his head had rested. She curved her hand into it as she took in his most private space. Photos from his boxing career filled the walls on either side of the windows, stylish black-and-white shots in thick, square black frames. The carpet was dark chocolate-brown, and his bedroom furniture was simple—a walnut headboard and clean-lined tables with old-fashioned swing-arm lamps on either side of the bed. His quilt cover was wide wale corduroy in a rich coffee color, and his sheets were dark chocolate, the same as the carpet. It was a man’s room, unpretentious, masculine, simple. Most importantly, it was Cooper’s.

She swayed on her feet, weariness catching up with her. Shaking herself awake, she searched through his cupboards until she found his sheets. She stripped the bed, remade it, fluffed his pillows and carried the other sheets downstairs to the laundry. Unable to stop, she shoved them into the washing machine and turned it on. Then she turned to the kitchen. By the time she’d returned from the supermarket, the washing was done. She put it on to dry. Only when she’d packed away the groceries and run out of other tasks to occupy her did she come to a halt in the middle of Cooper’s rear living room.

She couldn’t think of a single other thing to do except wait and hope.

She closed her eyes. Her chin wobbled in a way that it hadn’t since she was a very little girl.

She took a deep, shaky breath. This wasn’t the time to indulge herself.

He had to be all right. He had to regain his sight. He had to walk away from this as whole as he’d been before he’d come back to save her from herself.

Sinking onto the couch, she held a cushion to her chest and gripped it hard. She was so tired, a weariness that went more than bone deep.

Promising herself she would steal only a few minutes’ sleep, she lay down. Curled on her side, she closed her eyes.

When she next woke, clear morning light was pouring in the rear windows. She sat bolt upright and checked the time on the microwave in the kitchen. It was nearly 9:00 a.m. She’d slept around the clock.

Her mouth felt disgusting, her hand still ached and there was a feeling of heaviness around her bad eye. Apart from those minor concerns, she felt clearheaded for the first time since the attack.

She walked into Cooper’s kitchen. The overnight bag she’d packed for him sat waiting in the hallway. A long supermarket receipt was curled on the counter. Flowers filled the vase she’d found under his sink yesterday.

She pressed a hand to her mouth as she suddenly realized what she’d done—invaded Cooper’s home and life without any thought for how he might feel.