Epilogue
Eighteen Months Later
Val
"Oh my God, can you believe it's graduation day?" Lucinda danced around in the line in front of me until a professor with a sour expression barked at her to get back in line and stay still.
I laughed and glanced back at the guy. "Someone peed in his Cheerios this morning."
"Right? Jeez." She got in line, but turned to face me instead of the front. "Let me see the ring again."
I lifted my hand as butterflies danced in my stomach. The small diamond on my hand was far less than what I would have expected to get being raised as one of the great David Scott's daughters, but it was fitting. It was more than I could have ever desired because of what it meant.
"I love it," she squealed when she noticed it. "He did it last night?"
"Yeah. It was so romantic, too." I smiled as the memory of Tate proposing ran across my vision. "It was on that same patch of land that I broke down on two years ago when we met."
"No way." She reached out and took my hand, lifting the ring to her face to study it more.
"Yeah," I laughed. "He took me out there on the bike, and my car was sitting out there broken down. He told me that he'd tried to take the car out earlier that day and had to walk all the way back to town. I felt like shit, but I'd warned him not to drive the lemon. It's always acted up, you know?"
"Yeah. I'm surprised your dad let you keep it after leaving Allison's wedding." She lifted her eyebrow and shook her head.
"Me, too, but anyway, the car was idle, and he reenacted every part of that first night." I laughed and glanced back to see Amy farther down in the line and Katelyn beside her. "When I walked around to look at the engine with him, the engine was missing, and instead there was a small table with beautiful battery-powered lights and the ring in the middle. There were rose petals everywhere, too."
Tears filled my eyes, and I fanned my face.
Lucinda was doing the same thing. "I want Sam to do that. Tell Tate to make him do that for me."
I laughed and pulled her into a hug. It had been a long 18 months of change, but a good 18 months. She and Sam had grown impossibly close, and his father had even accepted her as a vital member of the family. I figured it wouldn't be long before they decided to get engaged. Sam should have been in the crowd, but his plane was running late from Boston, so we weren't sure he would make it in time. I could tell that it was upsetting Lucinda a little, but we both knew that if there were any way at all for him to be there, he would.
Tate and I had moved into a small studio apartment near the campus where he was given an associate professor job while he worked through his Masters in Psychology. He still helped at Jerry's garage on the weekends from time to time, but most of his free time was spent in my arms or preparing for another swim meet.
He and Martin both made the Olympic swim team a while back, and they'd been practicing for the last year and a half for the summer Olympics, which were coming up in the next month. I'd never been happier in all of my life, and it was all owed to him. He taught me how to live for my future and not my past, how to let the idea of love carry me through some of the shit we suffered with my parents, and the heartache of helping my sister through her divorce.
Life had been violent ups and downs, but at the end of the day, I found my rest and reprieve in his arms.
My name was called just after Lucinda's, and I was awarded my degree in Business and Kinesiology. I was headed to start training with the Minnesota Lynx after spending the summer free to do what I wanted. I would play in the WNBA as long as my legs would hold me up. Tate was good with it, but he was crazy supportive of anything I wanted to do. Almost too much. After that, I'd be looking for a coaching position as UMN so that I could be near my future husband and our friends.
His mother was doing great, and I couldn't help but notice the pride in her eyes as I walked down the stage at graduation. She was standing next to Tate as they cheered louder than anyone else for me. My sister was beside them looking better than I had ever seen her look. She was dating Kade, funnily enough, and though it was awkward at first, we all grew close within a short period and he became like family, too.
I moved back to my seat and cheered for my friends as they walked across the stage. Anticipation of getting back to Tate drove through the center of me, and I closed my eyes and pushed back tears. Gratefulness was the only feeling I could separate out of the torrent of emotions pumping through me. I almost wished my parents were there, but it was a good thing they weren't. They'd have nothing good to say, anyway. They were stuck in their ways, and quite upset at both Allison and I, but it was their loss.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the graduating class of 2017."
The crowd went wild as we all stood and threw our hats in the air. The yells and shouts of excitement filled the air around us, and I turned as someone tapped me on the shoulder. Tate.
"Hi, baby." His smile was radiant as he reached out and pulled me into his arms, only to squeeze me tightly and lift me off my feet. He spun me around once as I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.
"I'm so damn proud of you, Valentine." He kissed me again and breathed in deeply, sending chill bumps along my exposed skin.
"I couldn't have done it without you." I smiled up at him and lifted my eyebrow. "We should get out of here and celebrate the way we do best."
"Beer and s’mores?"
"Sex and strawberries." I popped his chest. "That so old school – beer and s’mores."
He laughed and picked me up as I yelped. "Whatever it is, as long as I'm doing it with you, I'm in."
His mother moved up in front of us as he sat me down.
"Oh, Val, I'm so proud of you." She pulled me into a long hug. "I wish your parents were here today, but know that I've already adopted you as mine, so one of us is here!"
I laughed and moved back to wrap my arm around Tate's waist. "You guys are my family, now. I couldn't be more blessed."
"So what's next? You two want to come out to the house for lunch?"
"Um, yeah, sure." Tate glanced down at me as Sam bounded up next to us.
"Yeah! Congrats Miss WNBA. What the hell? No one has my number? I had no idea you guys got engaged, either. Wow. This day is just full of surprises."
His excitement caused my heart to race with anticipation of all we had to look forward to. I didn't have much time to think about it as the rest of our friends crowded around us tightly.
I turned to Tate and gave him the look.
"Getting claustrophobic?" He lifted his eyebrow.
"Yep. Get me out of here." I slipped my hand into his and ducked through the crowd behind him. We'd gotten good at getting out of places and finding somewhere to hide out. The hiding out usually turned into making out, which led to hot sex in a lot of unconventional places, but I wasn't the girl I used to be. I was a biker chick now. I had to be tough, ballsy, and ready to drop my panties in most places.
I smirked at the thought as he picked up our walk to a jog. His bike was just up ahead, and the thought of driving through the country for hours wrapped around the back of him sounded like bliss.
"Where we going?" He handed me my helmet and gave me a wicked grin.
"Anywhere, as long as I'm with you." I got onto the bike as he offered me his hand.
"That's my girl. Hold on. It might get a little bumpy."
"I'd expect nothing else from a guy like you." I slipped my hands around his waist and cupped his package tightly.
"So naughty, Val." He started the biked and pulled it onto a long stretch of road just outside of the college. I closed my eyes and snuggled against him, losing myself in the promise of today. Tomorrow would come soon enough, but I didn't want to waste a minute of my time with him.
Besides, forever wasn't nearly long enough.
THE FIGHT
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Fenton
The bells and buzzes of the slot machines reminded me of the game shows my mother used to watch. Not that she ever had time to sit and watch television. It was the soundtrack to dinner, dishes, laundry – all the things a single mother did when she got home from a double shift. There were no jackpots or double bonuses for my mother. There were no giant checks or sudden floods of gold coins. I thought about the charity ward at the hospital, with those same game shows on the tiny television mounted in the corner. The casino floor depressed me.
Then, as always, I thought of my father – how he could decide one day that he could walk away and never look back. He must not have had a conscience or a spine. It took hard work to have a family, and harder work to keep it. Maybe they were too young when they started, too poor. All I knew was I would never be him. I'd take the punches he taught me to throw and I would fight my way to the top.
I stopped at the video poker machines and turned around. The damned casino was a maze. I was supposed to be near the entrance, not halfway to the wedding chapel. It was unreal how every row of flashing screens funneled me toward food, alcohol, or matrimony. I peered over the rows but could see no clear path, except toward the Vegas-style altar. Neon lights, stereo bells, and a worn aisle that used to be white.
I spun back the way I had come and saw a flood of powder blue and white. A wedding party in retro tuxes and wide, fluffy skirts blocked the way. They paused to have a picture taken with an Elvis impersonator, too short and swarthy. While the groom hooked his lip up and pointed to the sky, his groomsmen padlocked a fake iron ball to his ankle.
They were too young, but maybe the groom had money. Or maybe her daddy had a bank account she could access during the lean times. Or maybe I was witnessing the makings of yet another divorce statistic. She laughed, swatted away the groomsmen, and held up the ball and chain like a trophy. Cameras flashed again and the happy couple laughed. He sneaked in a quick kiss and she smiled against his lips, her bouquet of cheap carnations crushed between them.
"Oh my God! You're that fighter! The one on the poster in the elevator, and the lobby, and the giant billboard outside," the bride cried as she escaped her groom's embrace.
"The one you've been drooling all over," a bridesmaid said.
"We all have," another bridesmaid smiled.
Fluffy skirts surrounded me. The bride grabbed my arm and wriggled as close as her double-fluffed white dress allowed. "Fenton Morris," she said.
"His eyes are as blue as the posters," the shortest bridesmaid said.
"Don't let me keep you from your happy day," I said.
"Come on, Trish, our turn's in 10 minutes," the groom said.
"Yeah, Trish, don't be late on my account." I gave the arm she had looped through mine a squeeze. "What would your husband say if he saw us together?"
"Technically, I am still single," Trish said.
Her groom looked me over and swallowed hard. Then, he remembered his posse of groomsmen. "Don't make me fight him for you, honey."
"Oooh, that would make a great picture!" Trish let go of my arm and clapped.
Her husband-to-be took a ridiculous stance. I could have knocked him flat without taking a step. Trish threw her hands up in mock terror. I gave in and held a fist near my smile long enough for the camera to flash.
"Thanks, man. Good luck in the big fight," the groom said.
I decided the hell with navigating the impossible casino floor. The next bank of slot machines led me to a bar. I ordered before I sat down.
"On the house, Mr. Morris," the bartender slid me a beer.
"Suite comp?" I asked.
"Personal opinion," the bartender said. "I'm not a big fan of that Mario Peretti. Too much show and not enough fight."
"Thanks," I said. "All I want is the fight."
"Exactly why you've gotten this far this fast. No hype, no branding, no flash. Just fast combinations and a killer instinct." The bartender poured us both a shot of whiskey.
"Suppose you see a lot of fights working here," I said.
"Almost makes it worth it." He leaned his elbows on the bar and scanned the crowd.
A man with a fanny pack had broken from his bus group to grab a quick drink. The umbrella poked his eye as he tipped it back. A couple with matching rotund waistlines perused the happy-hour specials. A clump of young men ordered too much and drank too fast, about to lose all the cash they brought in just one night.
"Next one's on me."
Kevin Casey, my slime ball manager bellied up to the bar. The bartender frowned, but went to get the gimlet Kev ordered.
"Guess I'd be surly, too, working here," Kev said. "That's why I've got you, right, Fenton? Fight our way to the top."
A quick jab to his throat and he'd be gasping for air and flopping like a fish on the casino floor. I curled my hand around my beer instead. Kev was worth the irritation, because he got things done. Somehow, he disgusted everyone, but still lined up the best fights, the top suites, and the sweetest deals.
"Speaking of my bank account," Kev said. "How about you sign off on a few endorsement deals while we're here?"
"Why are we always talking about your bank account?" I asked.
"‘Cause my happy bank account means your career is healthy." Kev took his gimlet and sipped from it with a loud lip smack.
"I don't fight better with someone else's name on my shorts," I said.
"Not better, but smarter. You gotta work this thing for all it’s worth right now," Kev said.
He was right – his most irritating habit. I would make a hell of a lot more money fighting with sponsors and slapping my name on any product line that came along. The two heavyweights of my thoughts slogged around the ring again – make a lot of money versus do it all alone and keep my name for myself.
I was glad when the woman at the front desk rolled her suitcase over a Chihuahua's foot. The yapping pet was snapped up into the arms of a platinum blonde, reality show star. As beautiful as she was, with curves that barely stayed within her stretched lace dress, it was the other woman I looked at again. She gave the dog a prim look and then apologized to it, ignoring its owner.
"I'm sorry. I was not expecting a dog in a casino, especially not under the wheels of my suitcase," she said. "You poor thing."
Before the B-list star could react, the woman turned back to her place in the check-in line. She smoothed down the collar of her white blouse. Her pursed lips did not hide her full mouth. I liked the way her curves pressed against the cotton of her shirt. Her black pencil skirt was as stiff as her posture, but the rounded silhouette made my mouth water.
"Yeah, I'll give you – she's a looker," Kev said.
"The reality show gal?" I asked.
"No, the Ice Queen there. You know, half the guys in the industry have a bet running on who beds her first."
"You know her?" I kept my eyes on her as she folded her hands on her suitcase handle and waited her turn.
"I wish, if you know what I mean." Kev made an orgasmic face that soured my stomach. "She gets all the white-collar athletes, you know, tennis and golf, even bowling. Guess she comes from ivy league stock and has been making a killing for some vitamin supplement company."
"What do you mean she gets all the white-collared athletes?" I asked.
"They're happy to sign with her, like I said, because of the bet. Kya Allen is a career good girl. Not your type at all," Kev said.
"Really. You know my type?" I asked. "What if my type of woman is 5'5", copper blonde hair, curves, and sensible cotton?"
"Nah," Kev slid off his barstool and slapped a few bills next to his empty glass. "I'll introduce you to your type. She's waiting for us over near the craps tables. Wants to blow on your dice."
He gave me no choice but to follow. Kev set me up at the head of a craps table and would not take “I don't gamble” as an excuse. Within minutes, I lost $100 and then won $75.
When my luck changed for the better, I met Talia. She pressed an impressive display of cleavage against my arm and blew on my dice, as Kev predicted. Her silky black hair tickled me a lot lower than my shoulder.
"Any chance you know the way to the bathroom?" I asked. "I don't want to end up in line for the buffet."
"This way," Talia said.
I followed her swaying hips all the way into the men's bathroom and into the large stall at the end of the row. Her teeth nipped my neck before I got the door shut. I slipped the latch into place and she had my belt unbuckled.
"Mixed Martial Arts gets me all hot," she said.
Her breasts bounced free of her strapless sheath dress and I cupped them with both hands. I teased her dark nipples to hard nubs and then had to taste them. A few licks, and she shimmied her dress to her waist. There was nothing in my way above or below the crumpled band of fabric. I trailed a hand up her smooth thigh to find her ready and wet.
It was too late. I had been all charged up before she wriggled up to me and let me grip the generous curve of her ass. Now, as much as I wanted to be better than horny in a bathroom stall, Talia had me hard and pulsing in her hand. I tore open the condom wrapper with my teeth and let her expert hands take care of the rest. Whatever had got me going, I needed this release.
I slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned. Her lips tasted like cinnamon gum. Removing my probing finger, I hitched her up against the stall door. Her legs wrapped around my waist and pulled me hard inside. I concentrated on her bouncing breasts as we heaved together, up and down. Her hair was black, not copper blonde, but this was easy.
"Oh, God, you are so strong," Talia moaned.
A urinal flushed and a faucet started running. I paused, the pressure building as I pressed deep into her. I needed the release – I needed to clear my head.
"Oh, don't tease me, Fenton, just do me."
I heard the bathroom door open. As soon as it closed, I resumed my rhythm, speeding up until we both panted. Talia came with a shuddering giggle. I squeezed my eyes tight and let my body push itself hard over the edge.
Talia gave me a long, cinnamon-spiced kiss before she unwrapped her legs. She teetered on her high heels, but giggled again and slipped her dress back into place. Before she slipped out of the bathroom stall, she plucked my phone out of my pocket and entered her number.
"Call me, you bad boy," she said.
I waited until the clicking of her stilettos disappeared. I buckled my belt, washed my hands, and finally looked in the mirror. My head was clear, but it did no good. I knew I wanted more than a bathroom romp, but I couldn't have it. Not yet.