Fighting to Forget (2 page)

Chapter Two

Ten years later

He was all raw power, hard muscle, and indifference. He was a man that didn’t say much, a man that fought until his knuckles bled, his body was coated in sweat, and to where he couldn’t catch his breath. For the last year Tasha Mackenzie had been watching Larson fight at the gym. She’d gotten the job as front desk receptionist when one of the guys who’d originally held the job left for training.

Tasha didn’t mind being around all the sweat and testosterone, didn’t even mind getting leered at by some of the younger fighters, though the latter did surprise her seeing as she wasn’t thin and toned like the women that worked out here. She was thick, with wide hips, a size sixteen waist, and thighs that were far too big for her liking.

Tasha certainly didn’t mind being able to watch the man that stayed to himself, who others didn’t bother, and a man that fought like he was trying to run from something. He fought with so much emotion coming from him that she knew he had secrets. They had to be deep and dark, had to be painful. She knew all too well about trying to hide emotions with another substitute.

She stood and moved around the wall that blocked off the front desk and the gym. She stared at Larson, who was in a ring with another fighter. She was mesmerized by the sight of him fighting, and held her breath when the fighter tried to bring him down. She’d never spoken to Larson aside from a few hellos in passing, but if he knew how she felt about him, that she had feelings for a man she really didn’t know, he’d probably think she was crazy.

It was hard not to watch, especially when there was so much raw intensity on display, so much execution and precision. Tasha held the papers in her hands so tight she heard them crinkle in her grasp. Larson was a machine in the ring, with his thick, tattoo covered arms, and body corded with muscle. He had a scar that covered one side of his neck, right by his jugular, and continued downward to his chest. It spoke of a past that was probably something he was fighting to forget.

She held her breath as she watched him swing out, move to the left then right, and finally bounce on the balls of his feet. His hits could bring a man to his knees, and she had seen it on more than one occasion. Harlond McGrieve owned the back alley MMA training gym, and his daughter Sunny helped run the business. Harlond trained a lot of legit MMA fighters and ones that ran in the underground circuit. Tasha knew enough about the gym that she kept her mouth shut about what happened here, about why some of the men trained.

Having gone to high school with Sunny, they’d reconnected when they met at a coffee shop over a year ago. And here was Tasha, a year later, working at the gym, and knowing that what these men trained here for wasn’t just for the legal kind of fighting, but also the kind that was bare-knuckle and dirty.

At twenty-three years old Tasha had never really been subjected to the kind of violence these men trained for. She didn’t have a perfect life, was more rebellious than most kids her age, and had made a lot of mistakes in her life. Hell, Sunny didn’t even know why Tasha had left during her senior year, gotten her GED, and finally come back to Absinthe heavyhearted.

Tasha didn’t think anyone aside from her parents knew what happened, and that was for the best. If they knew that she’d gotten pregnant at seventeen years old, had a baby and given it up, the whole town would have probably looked at her overly religious parents as if they’d spawned a devil daughter. But it was the father of her baby that had hurt her the most. It was her senior year chemistry teacher who had seduced her, told her promises that they’d be together, and when he’d found out she was pregnant he’d resigned and moved, leaving her alone and with this huge weight on her shoulders.

She shook her head, trying to get the thoughts out of her mind because they’d do no good.

Tasha leaned against the wall and watched as he boxed with a newer, younger fighter. Despite Larson being over six feet in height, and having enough muscle mass that he looked like a tank, Tasha saw something in him that she could connect to, connect with.

She watched Larson circle Brody, the newer fighter, witnessed him take the powerful hits, but give them just as hard, and felt adrenaline pump through her body as if she were the one fighting. Brody threw a right hook, but Larson dodged it just before contact could be made.

Her heart pounded hard at the sight. Blood rushed through her veins, and she held her breath. There was something exciting and dangerous watching Larson take down a guy, throwing a punch to their face and body, and seeing blood explode outward from the violence. Tasha didn’t feel this adrenaline force when watching the other fighters. No, it was only with Larson, the man so much older than she was.

“Hello?”

The deeply masculine voice came from behind her, and she turned her head and looked over her shoulder at the man who stood on the other side of the desk.

“I’m Brandon. I was told by Harlond to come here and start my training.”

She smiled, composed herself, and pushed the thoughts of Larson out of her head. “Of course. Let me get your paperwork that will need to be filled out.” She grabbed the manila folder that all new members had to complete, handed it over to him, and smiled again. “I’ll let Harlond know you’re here.”

“Thanks,” he said and went over to the table and chairs off to the side. She stared at him as he started filling out the forms. He was a big guy, like everyone that came through the doors to train here. She didn’t know much about him aside from what Harlond had told her. He was twenty-eight years old, and had been fighting in the MMA for the last five years. His dark hair was buzzed close to his head. The gauge in his left ear was big and black, and like all the guys here he had sleeves of tattoos. The ink could also be seen through his faded t-shirt.

She looked over at the ring again, saw Larson and Brody clapping each other on the back once, then watched Larson head toward the shower room. But he stopped right before he entered, turned slowly, and for a second just stared right at her. She was frozen, unable to move as his gaze held hers. Even from the distance she could see the way his dark, almost emotionless, eyes calculated what was happening.

Did he know she was watching him, that she
had
been watching him? God, now she felt humiliated, so embarrassed she felt her face turn red and her body heat. She turned away quickly, sat down, and when she looked at Brandon she saw that he watched her with this knowing look on his face.

Yeah, she wished right then and there that the world would just open up and swallow her whole.

****

Larson pushed the doors open to the locker room, tossed his bag onto the bench, and tried to get his thoughts in order. He was confused, wondering what it was about the receptionist at Harlond’s that had him interested in knowing more about her. In the last decade he’d never felt more for a woman than wanting to have sex with them, use them the same way they used him for a few hours of mindless pleasure.

He went over to the showers, turned one of them on, and then got undressed. He stepped into the water, and closed his eyes. Bracing a forearm on the tiled wall, he focused on the steam surrounding him, the heat and droplets of the water pounding on his back and neck, and didn’t allow thoughts of the receptionist invade his mind. She’d been working at the gym for the last year, that much he knew. He also knew her name was Tasha. He saw her watching him every time they were at the gym at the same time, and he wondered if she was interested in him as a person or in him as the fighter.

The women that he’d been with sexually had only been after him for one thing. They’d wanted sex, wanted to sleep with a fighter, an MMA champion even if that title had been earned a long time ago. And that had been fine for Larson, all he wanted from them.

But there was something definitely enticing about Tasha, something that had his interest piqued, his desires coming forward. He didn’t fuck women that worked or trained at the gym, didn’t even think about it. But with her, for some reason, whatever reason, he did think about it, about her.

After grabbing the soap, he scrubbed it over his chest and hair, and rinsed off. She was too sweet for him, and looking at her, seeing the way she stared at him, told Larson the girl didn’t know half of the person he was, of the dead monster he really was inside. Maybe she saw his scar and wondered what his story was. Some people asked him, if they weren’t intimidated by his size or tattoos, and if they hadn’t been around a decade ago and read the paper. His life had been shit for so long, so volatile, and she was young as hell, and far too innocent and vulnerable compared to him.

Yeah, settling down was not something he’d ever do again, or not something he’d let himself consider. That was a gift, an honor to have a woman in his life that would be his other half. He’d already lost that chance once, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

Now, if she wanted to fuck, even if she did work at Harlond’s, he was interested in her immensely, and could probably break his rule to enjoy her for a night’s time. Even thinking that, thinking about Tasha in that filthy fucking way, made him feel like a bastard.

Chapter Three

He felt something being tugged and pulled on him, heard the distinct sound of people talking, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. Opening his eyes, or trying to at first, Larson blinked, the light so bright it was nothing but this intense whiteness surrounding him. He tried to move, tried to get off the hardness that was beneath him. He thought he spoke, felt his mouth move, but he couldn’t hear himself saying anything, and had yet to see anything aside from the whiteness that blinded him.

Melanie.

He remembered what had happened, the blood, the life he saw gone when he looked at her. Clearing his throat and licking his lips, he tried to rise, but something strong, heavy, pushed him back down.

“Don’t move,” said the distorted voice.

“Where…” He couldn’t form any words. His throat was dry, tight, his lips chapped. He felt weak as hell, like the life had been sucked right out of him. “My wife,” he gasped out. “Where is my wife?” But he knew in his heart she was gone, knew that he’d never hold his sweet Melanie again.

“Don’t move, and just relax,” the voice said again, a little clearer this time. Something went into the crook of his arm, painful, sharp. The sensation of coldness washing through him had him struggling, trying to rise, not knowing what in the hell was going on. And then everything faded and he just let it take him away.

Darkness was better than what he’d face in reality.

****

Larson slowly opened his eyes, stared at the darkened shadows that covered the walls and ceilings, and watched as a car’s headlights flashed along the room. He breathed out slowly. He hated this, hated that all these years later he was still having the dreams about when he’d woken up … when he’d realized he hadn’t died with Melanie.

Getting up, he rested his feet on the cold, hardwood floor beneath him, braced his hands on his knees, and leaned forward. He hung his head between his shoulders, closed his eyes, and waited for his heart to slow down.

“Fuck,” he cursed out low.

Standing, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the light. The harsh florescent bulb above him made this humming noise, but after a few seconds finally shut the hell up. Bracing his hands on the counter of the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. His dark eyes had circles under them, and his short hair was in need of another shave. He kept it short nowadays, didn’t want the hassle of tending to it.

Placing a hand on the puckered, nasty looking scar on his neck, he moved his fingers down the length of it and stopped at his chest. Even all these years later he hadn’t gotten used to the ugly sight of it.

“Damn.” He breathed out, turned the faucet on, and splashed his face with water. After drying off he left the bathroom and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was only three in the morning, but he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He’d just go to the gym, or maybe run until he couldn’t stand up any longer. He needed something to get the anxiousness and energy out of him. Fighting or working out were his options, but a good fight sounded a hell of a lot better to let the steam off.

****

Sometimes Tasha thought about the baby she had given up, what that little boy was doing all these years later, and if the people that had adopted him were being good to him. She had only seen him once, right after she’d delivered him, but she couldn’t bear to hold him. So, she’d sent him away and never saw him again, but remembered every detail on his little face, even all these years later.

What was his name? What did he look like now? He’d had a tuft of light blond hair on his head and this birthmark on his little arm. But she’d never see him again. The adoption was closed, sealed, and she had no clue who had him. Even if she had the means to take care of him now, she wouldn’t know where to find him.

But it was better this way, better because she’d been so young, didn’t have the means or support of her family to raise a child, and she knew giving him up would provide a better life for him.

It had broken her heart, but she’d moved on, or at least tried to, and only when she was sitting in the park, like she was right now, and seeing the children running around, did she wonder about it all.

The playground was off to the left about twenty yards away. A family was walking their dog to her right, and joggers were running around the lake. It was a nice day, early still, but she didn’t have to go into work until later, and eating breakfast in a shaded spot at the park helped to clear her head.

She tossed her trash away in the bin beside her and leaned back on the bench, seeing a man in a hoodie and sweatpants running faster than any of the other people. His body was big, and it was clear under the sweat-dampened outfit he wore that he was heavily muscled. But she couldn’t see his face because of the hood.

What was he thinking about? Was he running to keep in shape, or to get away from something that haunted him? She’d done the latter on several occasions, and assumed others had the same problems, the same worries and bad decisions that clung to them like a second skin.

He came closer. His feet ate up the pavement, and she sat up straighter. There was something about him, something that had her interested and curious as to who this man was. The closer he got, the more she tried to look at his face. But the hood he wore was on the longer side, and all she saw was part of his mouth.

He stood a few feet from her, now braced his hands on his thighs, and breathed in and out heavily. He stood to his full, impressive height, pushed his hoodie back, and she parted her mouth slightly. It was Larson, in all his big, muscular, and sweaty glory. He hadn’t noticed her, didn’t even look her way. He started stretching, and she watched the way his muscles flexed and contracted under his clothes.

Tasha started bouncing her leg up and down, thinking she should go up and talk to him. Heck, they’d seen each other at the gym enough times that she should just go up and strike a conversation. And then he turned and looked at her, stared right into her eyes with his deep, dark gaze, and she was at a loss for what to do.

He took a step toward her, stopped, and shook his head. When he looked to the side she caught a flash of his scar, but the darkened expression on his face had her stalling and not moving toward him. She wanted to, wanted to introduce herself finally, but she was feeling this cement sensation fill her, this hardness that told her now was probably not the right time. Hell, maybe never was the right time.

But she grew a set of balls, and stepped toward him. They stood there for a moment, but when she opened her mouth to say something, she saw him take a step back, and she snapped her lips together.

“Hi,” she forced out.

He scrubbed a hand over his hair, but didn’t say anything. She felt like an ass, especially when they stood there for several moments, neither speaking again. He shook his head and turned to leave.

Tasha stood there, not sure what in the hell just happened, but feeling humiliated.

She turned and looked around, seeing a young couple sitting on the bench a few feet away. They smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that was pleasant, but one that said they’d seen the awkward as hell encounter. God, she just needed to either forget about this, about Larson, or garner some strength and go after what she wanted.