GRAYSON

 

The feel of Adriana against him is what he thinks Heaven must feel like. He sifts his fingers through her dark hair; it feels just like he had imagined it would, like silk. This sense of peace, of calm, he hadn’t experienced it in such a long time, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. Being with her quieted all the fears, doubts, all the memories in his mind. He had never been able to talk to anyone like he could to her; it was like she understood him, even when he didn’t say anything.

 

When she had touched his scars, it was like she was taking the pain away, tuning out the memories that always sat just over his shoulder, infiltrating everything he did, everything he was. She made him feel less broken. She awoke all kinds of emotions in him; he wanted to keep her safe, to protect her from anything that might hurt her or cause her pain. One of those things would be you, genius, his brain reminds him uncharitably. Not this time, he swears to himself, not this time. He thinks back to Willow’s question that morning, Do you believe in soulmates, Grayson? He was starting to.

 

His cell vibrates from inside his jeans somewhere at the foot of the bed. He doesn’t get up; he’s not in any hurry to move; and, he doesn’t want to wake Adriana, she’s only just fallen asleep. But it starts ringing again almost as soon as it’s stopped. He flicks a glance of annoyance at the time on the clock radio, it’s still early, and the sun’s only just set. It could be West setting up a time for training in the morning.

 

Reluctantly, he slips out from underneath Adriana, careful not to disturb her and digs in the pocket of his jeans to find his cell. He answers without even looking at the screen, padding quietly into Adriana’s kitchen so his voice doesn’t wake her.

 

“It doesn’t look like you’re busy training, kid.” The voice on the other end of the line makes Grayson’s blood run cold, as does the nickname that’s a reminder of a night he only wants to forget.

 

“How did you get this number?” Grayson had always been careful about who he gave his cell number to, and he changed it every six months just to be sure. Only a handful of people should have it.

 

“You shouldn’t be worried about that. What you should be worried about is winning your match next week, and your little extra-curricular isn’t going to help to keep you focused, is it, kid?” Morrison’s tone could be mistaken for solicitous or even kind, if you didn’t know him. But Grayson knew him better than most, and he knew that the bookie was neither of those things.

 

“Don’t call me that.” He hates the reminder that Morrison always crowbars into their communications. It’s his way of not-so-subtly telling Grayson that he knows about his past, he knows what happened in the ring that night and a word from him could ruin all of Grayson’s chances at going straight. “What do you want, Morrison?”

 

“I want you to be in the best shape of your life. You’re going to need to be to fight Kong. That means no nookie my horny young friend.” The bookie chuckles to himself.

 

“What? You’re having me followed? What the fuck, Morrison? What does my private life have anything to do with you?” Grayson clenches and unclenches his fist, trying to get his anger under control. “It’s never been an issue for you before.

 

“That was then, kid, this is now. You bring your A game to the fight or the deal’s off. And from the moony way you’ve been looking at that piece of tail you’re with, your mind is not where it needs to be.” Morrison lets out a sigh as if he’s disappointed in Grayson.

 

“You let me worry about where my mind is. If that’s all you called to say…” He feels the old hate for this man bubble up to the surface.

 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want her to find out about a certain underground fight that you were involved in. I bet a nice girl like her would be horrified.” Morrison’s tone is bored.

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Grayson’s voice would cut glass.

 

“Try me. You cut her loose, focus on the match, and I don’t tell her who you really are.” The threat in Morrison’s voice is clear; there’s no mistaking it now.

 

“Why are you doing this? Why now?” Grayson grips the cell hard, resisting the urge to throw it to the floor and destroy it.

 

“Why does anyone do anything? Because I can, kid.” Morrison ends the call, typically needing to have the last word.

 

Grayson cradles the cell in his hand, cursing Morrison in every way he can think of. He had always had a way of corrupting anything good that came Grayson’s way. But this is one step too far. He can’t give up Adriana, not again, not just because of Morrison’s control-freakery. But he knows that Morrison doesn’t make idle threats; he never has. There’s no doubt in Grayson’s mind that if he doesn’t do what he’s been told that Adriana will find out the reason he had to walk away from her…that he’d killed a man.

 

Perhaps she would understand, if he could explain to her that it was an accident. But even if she did, he was afraid that she’d never look at him in the same way again and that would be worse than not seeing her, knowing that she thought of him as a killer. He’d known that getting involved with Adriana could be dangerous, that he was involving her in the mess he’d made of his past. It was Grayson who had put Adriana on Morrison’s radar; he’d brought this on himself.

 

There is only one decision to make, no matter how much it hurt him and no matter how much she will hate him for it. However, that was preferable to something happening to her. He couldn’t have that on his conscience. Grayson stands in the kitchen for a few more minutes, working up the courage to do what he knows he has to.