Spent - Part Two (Bad Boy Fighter Book 2) (2 page)

Hastily, I wiggle my butt into a pair of leggings and slip on the new tan flats I bought last weekend therapy shopping. I glance into the mirror, running my fingers through my curly auburn hair. Sighing, I realize nothing is going to tame all that craziness, so I move on to fretting over where I last put my purse.

If Big Mike is right and there’s only one fight this weekend, then with a bit of haste, I’ve timed everything just about right. Regardless of the rush out the door, I realize that I need this fight and for it to be a good one, too. Otherwise, with my focus so off the rails lately, my job could soon be on the line if I don’t start to bring in some decent articles.

Picking up my purse, I dig through the obscene number of items stored in it to make sure I have everything I need. Technically all I need is a notepad and a pen, but paranoid me always keeps snack foods and other travel items incase my car breaks down. Too many years of driving run down old beaters has kept my paranoia high whenever I’m traveling more than walking distance from home.

I check the mirror one more time before heading out. My eyes widen when I realize I was about to walk out the door without a bra. Sighing, I walk over to my dresser and retrieve a light pink sports bras. Strategically putting it on without ever completely removing my shirt, I have everything put into place in under 5 seconds flat. Being notoriously late for class has turned me into an expert emergency bra dresser.

Ever so casually, my mind slips off into thinking about the way Luke would delicately take off my bra. His strong fingers always worked methodically as they teased my skin with their tender touch. A chill runs down my spine as the memory of his skin touching mine reminds me just how good he felt.

Hot tears begin to well up in the corners of my eyes. I know better than to think about him and curse my weak resolve, but the memory his touch has imprinted on every corner of my body is too much to shake off in so little time. Wrapping my arms around my body, I shudder through the chill, knowing that this feeling will linger for many more weeks to come.

Regaining my composure, I quickly grab the last few things that I need and walk out the door. Jack and Big Mike have both put me on a time crunch and I can’t have thoughts of how I screwed up something good in my life invading my fragile conscious right now.

My phone rings just before I reach my car. Pausing, I dig it out of my back pocket, hoping that it’s possibly Big Mike calling to tell me I have more options that are a bit closer.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter under my breath when I see the name, Beto Garcia flash across the screen.

My entire body begins to shake as I stare at the phone ringing in my hands. There’s no way I was going to answer. In fact his name was only in there so I knew specifically
not
to answer if a call ever came. The man who beat me as a child hasn’t bothered to contact me in over 5 years, and I’ve been grateful… but why the hell is my father calling me now?
 

He’s always had notoriously precise timing when it comes to fucking up peoples lives.
 

The phone rings. When the noise finally stops, I let out the breath I’ve been holding in. My lips move inaudibly as I pray to whatever deity who will hear me that the sperm donor doesn’t leave me a message. Even hearing his voice will probably be one of the few things that will totally destroy every bit of closure and defense that I have built up since losing Luke.

When the phone emits the pulse and melodic sound designated for voice messages, the tears begin to fall. My body grows limp as I slink up against my car, then slowly sliding down to the pavement. I let the tears fall as I continue to stare at the screen on my phone through hazy vision. Students walk past me, giving me sideways glances, but I don’t care.

Against my will, my mind flashes through memories of my father. The bruises that he left on mine and my mother’s bodies didn’t leave lasting marks physically, but they have embedded their pain within the depths of my mind. I’ve tried my best to keep those memories buried, never sharing them with anyone, but anytime I hear from him, I break.

I hit the button that will let me hear the voicemail. Despite my better judgement, I want to hear what the bastard has to say, just to see how much more he’s ruined his life. Last time I heard from him, he was in rehab for alcohol for the fifth time. But, as always, he had sworn to me that he was getting better. The only stipulation was he’d needed money to cover his rehab; a whopping $2000. I’d immediately hung up the phone and haven’t heard from him since. Until now.

“Hi… Baby, it’s your Papa,” his Latin voice mumbles from the other end after a pause, I can already tell that he’s been drinking, “I hear you are in a college now and I am, of course, so proud! You know… I would really… like to see you sometime. I’m doing much better now you know…”

I hang up the phone. It’s the same old story that I’ve heard a thousand times. He begins by telling me that he’s doing so much better and would like to see me, then he concludes the conversation with asking me for money in order for treatment or for him to come see me. I’m not in the mood for anymore bullshit, and hearing the same tune he always sings gives me the resolve I need to wipe my tears away and pick myself up from the pavement.

***

With only 15 minutes to spare, I arrive at the arena late enough to manage an escape from having to fraternize with any trainers or fighters I may know and just get straight to work. I’m not usually rude like that, but after the emotional roller-coaster I’ve had today, being overly friendly is the last thing I have the energy for. What little I have, will be reserved for Big Mike and no one else.

Walking through the doors that lead to the seating area, I’m immediately surprised by a lack of spectators and I’m able to spot Big Mike instantly across the ring. For a fight that’s supposed to be featuring a spotlight rookie, it really has a horrible turnout. Sighing, I resign myself to the conclusion that if this is any indication of the fight to come, it’ll be a pitiful article without a little extra creativity when writing it up. Maybe it’ll teach Jack to give me more time than a spur-of-the-moment schedule change like this.

Big Mike spots me. A broad grin eases its way causally across the burly man’s face. I can’t help but smile back. Seeing him and being near him has always given me a sense of warmth that I wish I could have had from a father. Disappointment creeps its way through my veins as I reflect back on that phone call. Shaking my head, I plaster a fake smile on my face and push forward. Thinking about the fiasco of a day I’ve had is only going to make me cry again, and I sure as hell don’t want to do that in front of Mike. He’ll freak out, or threaten to teach my Dad a lesson, or something.

“Tasha!” he bellows with excitement laced in his voice.

I can’t help but giggle. Since no one in
his
family is interested in the fights, Big Mike quickly took me under his wing as someone whom he could bond with, and I imagine protective towards me like a father should be. At any rate, I’ve always felt kind of like his honorary daughter. What he’s never realized is that I’ve needed this far more than he could know.

“Heya, Mike!” I call back as I approach him.

His massive frame leaps up from his seat as I near him; arms stretched out in anticipation of my willing embrace. I wrap my arms across his back, my hands unable to meet due to his huge build.

“Missed ya, girl,” he whispers in my ear as I begin to pull away from the hug.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I choke out, trying my best to hinder a sob.

As Mike and I ease into our seats, static from the speakers sounds throughout the arena, causing the few spectators to quickly throw their hands over their ears.

“I hate this damn arena,” Mike grumbles.

“Me too,” I drone, “I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down when you told me it was here.”
 

“Hey,” Mike smirks,” At least you got a fight in the area. Most of the tournaments are happening well away from the coast right now.”
 

“True,” I smile, “Thanks for finding one for me at such quick notice.”

“No problem. I’ve been following this rookie, Lancaster for a while now and thought you’d like to write one of your articles about the kid.”

“That good?” I arch an eyebrow. It’s not common for Mike to get excited over the fighters, but I can tell from the tone in his voice that he’s expecting a good match today.

“Oh yeah, this kid’s going places, girl,” Mike nods and then for a moment he skips a beat, “And ah… so is the guy he’s fighting, if he could just get his head out of his damn ass.”
 

“Oh? Who’s he going against? What’s his…” I start to ask, but my question is drowned in a sea of noise as the speakers erupt and a man’s voice booms across the arena, announcing a name that locks my jaw in mid sentence.

My heart sinks when I see copper hair shining against fluorescent lights. I feel my entire body stiffen as I stare at the ragged figure of Luke Richards standing in the arena. The sunken look in his eyes makes me want to burst into tears. The muscles deep below my stomach tighten as I look at him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. It even looks like he’s lost a little bit of weight. The sudden urge to reach out and make all of his pain go away rushes through me, but the over amplified announcer talking jerks me away from my thoughts.

Did he know?
 

I turn to look at Big Mike, who refuses to return my questioning eyes. The large, cat-like smile etched across the brawny man’s face causes me to sigh. Of course he knew, goddammit. He set the whole thing up.

I grip the edge of my seat tightly as the fight begins. Luke’s normally strong frame looks so weak compared to the younger fighter. Throwing the first punch, Luke barely even clips the rookie in the chin, hardly phasing the guy. Lancaster smiles, returning a left hook that squarely hits the man I still care so much for, smack across his cheekbone. I wince, almost feeling the pain that’s inflicted.
 

The punch doesn’t throw Luke completely off, but I immediately note that he’s not protecting his face the way he normally would. A lump forms hard in my throat as a series of other punches are exchanged between the two fighters. Luke’s hits are noticeably softer compared to the rookie. I can already tell which way this fight is heading and it’s not going to be good.

Not only is Lancaster agile, he’s absolutely brilliant in implementing every one of his strikes. I see now why Mike was so interested in him. I’ve surely witnessed Luke fighting as well as, if not
better
than this up-and-comer, but he’s certainly not at the top of his game today.

A sinking feeling consumes me when I realize it probably has something to do with me. Silently, I chastise myself for ignoring him the way that I have been these past weeks. He didn’t deserve it, and now, he’s suffering for me being a bitch. Obviously he shouldn’t have lied, but I should have tried harder to figure out the truth, not just simply give up on the first man to finally make me feel wanted.

Even though he’s still noticeably bulky and should have no trouble staying in his heavyweight division, I can tell that Luke is thinner. I think back to the first, (and last), time I ate with him at his house. The fridge was practically bare and even so, sadly in a better state than his cupboards in regards to food. I can only imagine that, if he’s been hurting over our break up whatsoever, he’s gotten even worse about keeping food in his house.

My mind quickly jumps to thoughts of me taking him shopping, helping to fill up his fridge and cabinets, but I shake it off. A tear streaks down my cheek as I watch on, determined to not think about what could have been.

Reaching out, I grip Big Mike’s massive forearm. He looks down at my hand, but the moment he notices my face, he places his free hand on mine in a comforting hold. I don’t know what I look like right now, but I can guarantee that every bit of color is drained from my face.

Right hook. Cross. Uppercut. With every hit, Luke just gets bloodier and bloodier. I don’t want to watch, but I can’t turn away. The urge to jump up and rush to his side is almost too much to bear, but the slight tension from Mike’s grasp keeps me grounded in reality. Big Mike must have noticed my squirming, because his hold, while still gentle, has become firmer.

Watching Luke move around in the arena overwhelms my body with emotions. In one aspect, betraying the gravitas of the situation, my sex is throbbing as I watch his bulging muscles gleam under the stark lighting. Simultaneously, my heart is aching over the hurt that he and I inflicted upon one another. And to top it all off, it’s gut wrenching to sit here watching him get beat to a pulp, even though I am firmly aware that this is a part of who he is and his occupation.

Jab. Jab. Left cross.

My mind drifts off to remembering the finality of the text message Luke had sent me this morning. I’d come to anticipate his messages every day and I had been stupid enough to hope that he would just keep messaging me until I was ready to finally speak to him. Even though the logical side of my brain knew that he would eventually move on, the irrational side just wanted to make him suffer for a few more days until I was ready to stop being a jerk. As per usual, my plan backfired. But watching him, right now, knowing that he’s suffering, but has moved on, makes me feel sick inside.

Luke appears to find an opportunity and lands an impressive hook against the rookie’s jaw, momentarily knocking the younger fighter off balance. At that moment, something I hadn’t anticipated happened. Our eyes lock. Electricity shoots through my body as I stare back into hazel eyes. When his eyes soften as they look back at me, a warmth enshrouds me in comfort. The feeling makes me want to cry, but I can’t look away. Its been days since I’ve felt this warmth and I’ve forgotten how much I need it.

The punch across Luke’s face comes out of nowhere. Cheers and shouting erupt from within the thinly populated auditorium. Every ounce of air feels as if it vacates my body, leaving me weak and dazed. As Luke’s limp body falls towards the arena floor, I feel my legs propel me up from my chair, even though my mind is numb. I jerk my hand away from Big Mike, despite his protests. I barely hear him yelling my name as I make a mad dash for Luke.