Conner

 

I blew out a breath that turned into a chuckle with my tenth rep. “You’re telling me that Lena chick cut Matt’s nutsack and he had to go to the doctor?”

“Dude. Lena stepped on it and ground her heel like she was trying to put out a cigarette. It was funny, but fuck, I almost threw up. You should have seen his face. It was white as a fucking ghost. I knew he was about to lose his lunch.” Tommy shivered, shaking his head.

“They just left after that?” My biceps ached but I continued pushing myself, knowing I only had a few left until I finished.

“They walked, dude.” He chuckled. “Not gonna lie, it was kind of hot.” I started on my push-ups, just as Gage put his gear on. “Who’s sparring today?” he asked.

“I can, but I’ve got to be somewhere in an hour.”

 

***

 

As I rolled up to the stop sign, a small neon light perched on the roof of an older building caught my attention. Perfect. The whole-in-the-wall bar was small, dark, and probably dingy. I wanted to drive past it, to forget about this tradition, but my gut turned at the thought of me leaving it behind. Something inside me wouldn’t allow it.

Giving in, I parked on the east side of the building. Bright colored graffiti covered the exposed brick. The clearest message read: If you’re drinking to forget, please pay in advance.

Placing my keys in my pocket, I took in the nearly vacant parking lot—only three other vehicles accompanied my own. Each step I took toward the front door felt odd, like I’d somehow forgotten the simple task of placing one foot in front of the other.

The dark room pulsed with the mournful wail of an electric guitar. Faces wrapped in shadows turned toward me. Their features were blurred by a smoky haze. The old tickle started in my throat, but I forced it back down with a hard swallow. I took a seat on the last stool at the bar closest to the wall. I didn’t even take my jacket off, knowing I wasn’t there to wind down; and no amount of freedom would help relax me.

“What can I get you?” The older man had gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. He tapped the bar, but did it without a smile. Probably the owner, and probably over drunks. I tried twice before I was able to reply. I despised myself in that moment.

A couple of minutes later, he slid my order in front of me. I nodded my thanks, not making eye contact. I stared at the lowball glass the whiskey was in. There were two water spots around the rim, and a speck of something black at the bottom that I’d only been able to see once I picked the drink up and swirled it around. It smelled like heaven.

If I fell off the wagon, what would be the worst that would happen? I could get back on it tomorrow, right?

“You’re over thinking it.”

I glanced up, annoyed that someone had interrupted my internal battle. My anger subsided upon seeing Willow’s smile. “You think so?”

“I do.” She nodded.

“What makes you think you know anything about me?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I frowned. Reaching around her, my whiskers almost touching her hip, I pulled a wooden stool up for her. An apology. Sort of.

“I’ve seen this before. Been there a few times myself,” she said. Her knee pressed into my thigh as she mounted the stool I’d just offered. The air that surrounded us took on a new feel. The thickness of the atmosphere pressed into me, almost weighing me down. Tightness gathered in my chest; the sting from her touch ignited a reaction in me that I wasn’t sure what to do with. With her right heel propped on the bottom of the stool, her knee bumped my thigh again. But this time, she didn’t move it. I didn’t pull back either.

I circled my index finger around the rim of the glass. Around and around it went. I focused on the slow rhythm, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye. She never looked away, even when I scowled.

“All right,” I finally said. “You told me how you recognize it. But tell me why you recognize it.” It was then I looked up at her. The blue in her eyes damn near swallowed me whole.

A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Are we spilling secrets here, Payne?”

“Didn’t say a word about secrets.” My gaze held hers, not a breath passing between either of us. The intensity we shared at the mention of secrets held me in my place.

“You don’t strike me as the type to pinky promise.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stop the urge to grin at her change in topic. “What the fuck is that?”

“A pinky promise is more sacred than a regular promise,” she said. “You know, people break promises all the time. But pinky promises…those can’t ever be broken.” She shrugged. “The person you promised will drop dead if you break it.” Her eyes widened, and a grin spread wide across her face as she tried to convince me.

“Want to test your theory?” I rested my chin on my shoulder. “Live on the wild side for a bit?”

She gasped. “How could you be so careless? This is the truth. My mom told me when I was six years old, and I’ve never broken one.” She leaned into my personal space, just enough for me to catch a whiff of her floral perfume.

“Hmm.” I hadn’t meant to release the grunt out loud. I also wouldn’t have thought I’d be so keen on flowers. “So, you’re big on honesty.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t trust just anyone.”

Her admission reminded me that I didn’t either. A drop of condensation flowed over my fingers from the drink in my hand. I looked down at it and realized that during our conversation, I hadn’t thought about the alcohol once. Picking up the drink, I examined it thoroughly, then placed it back on the napkin. “I’m not talking to you about the cage. I don’t talk to anyone about that shit, and you’re no exception.”

“Is that what you think?” She leaned back, offended. “That I followed you here to try and get an interview?”

“You tell me. I’ve never seen you here before.” I didn’t mention that I’d never seen the inside of the joint myself.

“Me coming here has nothing to do with my job.” The bartender walked back down to the end of the bar and asked what he could get her. “A pain-killer please.”

Interesting choice.

“I’m Willow, since our introduction the other day wasn’t exactly formal.” She stuck her small manicured hand out for me to shake.

I had both my hands wrapped firmly around my drink, and believe it or not, it was hard to pull them away. “Conner.” The bartender set Willow’s drink down, and I watched it sit there for a whole minute without her acknowledging it was there. “You going to drink that?”

“No.”

“Then why order it?” I knew why I wasn’t drinking mine. What was her reason?

“Liquor makes me gag. I’ll have a glass of wine every now and then, but tonight is not about drinking for pleasure.”

My eyebrow rose, but I remained silent, thinking about what she’d said.

“Do you come here often? Is this your place?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Never been here.”

“Why now?” she asked. “Why tonight?”

“Why are you here?” I deflected.

“It’s November twelfth.”

I shifted my body to face her. “It is.”

Her back stayed stiff and she stared at my drink. Her brow creased in concentration. She’d stopped talking altogether. I felt like an imposter watching her. Her head bowed slightly. Her small fingers traced a ring stain on the wooden bar. The sight of her being locked inside her own head should have made me more curious, but I respected that she seemed all too well with her own thoughts. I left her to her own, and brought my eyes back to my own problem.

We sat side by side, like the strangers we were, in complete silence.

“Conner?” She faced me after five minutes, giving me her full attention. Her legs spread so that my right knee sat between her legs, fitting perfectly.

Dragging my head in her direction, I looked at her.

“You up for a pinky swear?” She smirked. “I’m ready to do something big. I’m giving this ritual up, and I don’t ever want to think about it again. No one knows about this part of my life. I’m ready to release it. It’s held on to me for too long.”

“You’re willing to pinky swear with a dude you don’t know?” It sounded ridiculous, but in that very moment, I knew I’d be willing to share with her too; completely trusting that she’d hold on to my secret, because she was so adamant that a pinky swear was the same thing as trust.

Her body leaned into mine, causing me to take a deep breath. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’re untrustworthy?”

I pursed my lips, thinking that was neither here nor there. Trust was a heavy thing, especially between strangers.

“I’m giving it to you anyway.” Her chest rose and fell, completely calm. “I don’t want it anymore. Once I tell you, I’m done with it. I’m living my life exactly the way I want to—without trepidation. I’ll never fear it again. It won’t touch me, scar me, or hold me back from this day forward.”

“One question, before you spill your guts?” I asked.

“Shoot.”

“Why a pain-killer? You ordered it like it’s something you drink every day.” I touched the rim of the glass. “This is no fruity drink.”

“It sums up my addiction.”

I felt exposed at her admission. The honesty in her blue eyes burst my armor at the seams. Like a piece of thread, holding together the last vestiges of my shield, it unraveled. “Why are you telling me this? We don’t even know each other.”

“I know a kindred spirit when I see one.” She smiled to herself, but it wasn’t a happy one. “I’m sort of addicted to pain. It has stalked me since I was a young girl.”

Agony hit my gut; my senses on overdrive.

“When I was younger, and less intelligent, I opened my heart to someone unhealthy.”

Silence surrounded us again. I didn’t know how to respond to what she was saying.

“Long story short, I left myself exposed and hungry for something that I’m still not sure exists. I have no idea what I was chasing or why.”

I nodded, letting her know I understood.

“I almost lost my life.” She grunted a laugh and shook her head. “I literally threw everything away for a man. Or what I thought he stood for. And tonight…tonight, Payne, I’m giving it to you. I’m releasing it from my thoughts, from my heart, and I want you to scrounge up that intense, overpowering strength you have inside you and destroy it.”

My eyes widened at her proposition. What was I going to do with it? I couldn’t even kill my own demons. The blind faith she had in me boosted my courage as I thought about her words. I licked my lips, deliberating over my insecurities, and the instinct I had to protect her, even though I barely knew her.

 I blew out a deep breath. I’d never confided in anyone before. Never expressed why I did the things I did. Palms clamming up, my nerves kicked into overdrive as I spoke. “I go out every November twelfth, no matter what is going on in my life, and I sit with a glass of whiskey. I note its color, the smell of it, and I stare it down, telling myself the whole fucking time that I won’t drink it. I think about the damage it’s done. I replay everything in my life that I fucked up. And the fact that this,” I pointed to my drink, “has been the reason why, every single time.”

She placed her hand on my thigh. At the comfort, I closed my eyes. She squeezed, and I tensed. She squeezed again, this time rubbing her thumb back and forth. When I glanced up at her, she had her eyes closed. I studied her face, dumbfounded. The action was intimate, and I ate it up like a damn baby.

I needed to hear her speak again. “You never answered my question.” I nodded toward her drink. “Why the painkiller?”

She cracked her eyes open and stared at the bar. “To kill the pain.”

“But you don’t drink it.”

“I don’t need to.” She pulled her hand away. “Why November twelfth?”

I shook my head slightly, signaling that I wasn’t going to share that information. “I’ve got to head out.” Scooting the stool back, I threw enough money on the bar for both our drinks and turned to go. “I train tomorrow.”

“You forgot something,” she said as I took two steps toward the door.

She slipped off the stool, her heels clinking against the wood floor. My gaze caught hers just before she made it in front of me. Blue eyes twinkling, she had a smirk spreading her full lips across her face. Standing at least a foot shorter than me, she held up her pinky.

I stared at it, amused at the thought of what she wanted me to do. Then she smiled and grabbed my pinky with her own. Fingers entwined, she brought them to her mouth and kissed her thumb. A dimple in her left cheek deepened, daring me to do the same. Her right eyebrow lifted, but I didn’t cave.

When she saw that I wasn’t going to play along, she flipped our hands around and kissed my thumb. Her eyes never left mine as her lips stayed cemented on my thumb, forcing me to engage in her stupid promise. As if we weren’t adults, and couldn’t just agree that our conversation would remain private.

Within seconds, her warm, pouty lips left my thumb and she released me, glancing back only once before walking away. I tilted my head to the ceiling and smiled. It would be a long time before the image of her ass in those pants would leave me.

The interaction left me feeling somewhere between relieved and captivated on my drive home. The funny thing was, I’d never felt better about leaving a drink untouched. I’d always, always regretted going out and engaging in an hour-long, self-loathing fest. But this time, I hadn’t. This time, I left with a new temptation, and it didn’t have shit to do with liquor.

Willow Stevens was elusive, yet friendly. Trusting, yet guarded. And even though she hadn’t given me enough details to truly know her situation, I understood her need to look something in the eye and walk away from it, just to prove she could.

Pulling into my driveway, I knew I was screwed. I knew that she wore something on her lips to make them shine. I knew her hair was too wild to stay the way she initially fixed it because it kept moving out of place. I knew that she wore high-heels more than she wore flats, and she was comfortable in them. I knew she wore thongs or went commando because I looked at her ass enough to know there were no lines under the tight black pants she’d worn. My mouth watered just thinking about it.

Unlocking my front door, I stepped inside and leaned against it, letting my head fall back until it made contact. I frowned, knowing my growing infatuation for Willow Stevens was not a good thing. Not on a personal level, and not as a fighter, because Willow was a reporter, which meant she would eventually dig into my past.

I pushed off the door and walked straight to my bedroom, shedding my clothes on the way. I kicked off my jeans at the foot of my bed, and fell onto the mattress. Placing my arms behind my head, I regretted that we’d shared the moment together. But on the other hand, I wished it could have lasted all night.

I sighed and rolled over, pulling the sheet up to my waist. It wouldn’t change anything—her knowing my truth. She’d never love someone like me. A man suffocating under a pile of guilt. A man trying to keep his head above water. Someone who was attempting to form a semblance of peace within himself, knowing that in all reality, he didn’t deserve any of it. He was a killer. A true sucker for pain.