“Take it high, high, high, low, left, now right. Good, Doherty, good!”

Bridget moved through the combinations, not really registering Junior’s directions, just striking and kicking where she automatically would. She felt more mentally engaged than she had in weeks, maybe even since arriving at DS Fight Club.

“Let it go, Birdie. Let’s see it.”

Bridget let loose, concentrating on the much-taller trainer’s chest, raining the majority of her blows on his torso. She pressured Junior back across the mat with her kicks and strikes, using every combination that came to her. The session ended with Bridget kicking Junior hard enough for him to grunt.

Junior signaled the end of the session, and Bridget sank to the floor, her head down, and panted. When she raised her head, the wide grin on her trainer’s face said everything she could hope for. She’d had a good practice today, maybe even a great practice, which was exactly what she needed. She gulped some air to stave off the unexpected flood of emotion that currently threatened to overwhelm her, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Junior’s.

He huffed a laugh, and suddenly Bridget found herself wrapped in the big bald man’s arms. She tapped him on the back, and he let her go.

“Wow. Yeah. I don’t know what . . .” Bridget wiped an errant tear that dripped down her nose.

Junior nodded in understanding. “Go get a shake. C wants to see you in his office.”

“What for?”

“Do what I said and then you’ll find out.”

“But, Junior . . .”

“Do you wanna know or not? Jesus.”

Bridget trotted over to the kitchen, a million conflicting thoughts running through her head. Maybe C decided she was ready for a fight. Maybe she was going to get cut from the roster. Maybe he just needed babysitting.

“Whoa—what’d that protein mix do to you?”

Bridget stopped shaking the tumbler. “What? Oh.” She leaned a hip against the counter before taking a swig of the shake. “Yeah, I’m a little bit distracted, I guess. What’s up, Tig?”

“Not a thing, Bridg, not a thing. Just doing what needs to get done. And speaking of . . .” Tig whistled. “Girl, you were gettin’ it done today. Damn. You had Junior backed off the mat. That never happens, even during training sessions.”

Bridget shrugged nonchalantly but allowed herself a big grin. “Yeah, I had a good day.”

An ear-piercing whistle cracked through the air.

“Doherty! Stop gossiping with Mashburn and get your ass in my office!” Colin turned to Bridget’s training partner. “Tig, I wanna see you next, so don’t think of leaving just yet.”

“Well then. I guess both of us had —”

“Bridget! NOW!”

“Jaysus,” she muttered. She could hear Tig laughing as she sprinted to Colin’s office.

Bridget bounded into the office, spluttering an apology. “Sorry about that, C—whoa. Um.” She found all four the DS Fight Club principals looking at her.

“Have a seat, Bridget.” Colin motioned to the only empty chair in the room, and Bridget sat. “So, I’m assuming you’ve heard the news.”

Bridget racked her brain, trying to remember whether she’d heard any momentous news. She assumed simply by him being in the office that the news wasn’t about the birth of Colin’s new baby girl. Fuck. Colin’s chuckle let her off the hook.

“Okay, I guess you haven’t. Karina Petrov is out of the Southland Promotion fight. Says she has an ACL injury that’s flared up.”

“Well, shit. That’s not something you can mess around with.” Bridget hoped she looked exactly as calm as she didn’t feel. “But it’s probably good for Petrov. She didn’t need to be looking at a title fight when she’s been out for three years, even if she has been keeping up with her training.”

“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel. That’s not good matchmaking at all.” Paddy Doyle tapped his wedding band on the arm of the chair, a sure sign that he was completely agitated and ready to blow. “Her management needed to push for a warm-up fight to ease her back in. The fight world is a different place than it was three years ago.”

The room fell silent, and the four men looked expectantly at Bridget, who wondered what in the hell they wanted her to say.

“Tell me about your experience with Estes.” Bruce Pryde was the newest member of the DS Fight Club team, a trainer who was the former principal of DS Fight Club’s biggest rival. He was an old-school grappling coach turned Jiu Jitsu instructor, and his control inside and outside of the octagon was legendary.

He intimidated the hell out of Bridget, and now he was questioning her directly about her encounters with Marisa Estes. Damn.

“We fought on the same circuit for a while.”

“You beat her.”

“Yeah.”

Bruce moved to perch on the edge of his chair. “I’ve seen the tape, Bridget. You dominated her, dominated an Olympic wrestler. And then you just disappeared. What the hell happened?”

Bridget’s stomach clenched, remembering that night, that awful, awful night.

“I . . . I realized that I needed to figure out where my priorities were. I made a decision. Turns out it was the wrong decision, but I made it, and I stuck to it for as long as I could. Probably too long.”

“Wow,” Colin said with a bitter laugh. “I told you. I fucking told all y’all.”

“Told them what?” Bridget sat up, jaw tensed.

“That you weren’t ready. And before you get all defensive, yes, you’re ready physically. I have no doubt that you can beat Estes again—she’s a wrestler who can’t take a hit. You’re a pressure fighter who can rain hell down on her with your fists. But you’re not ready here”—Colin tapped on his gut—“and you sure as hell aren’t ready here.” He tapped the side of his head. “That bullshit non-fucking-answer you gave proved that.”

“Do you want a fight, Bridget? I mean, really want a fight?”

Bridget met Junior’s steady blue gaze. “Yes,” she whispered.

He leaned forward. “Do you want this fight?”

“More than you can imagine.”

“Then fucking prove it. Prove you’re hungry enough for this. Be that fighter who came up to me in Buffalo and told me that if I didn’t take you on, I was going to regret it. Make the commitment up here”—he poked at her temple—“and in here.” Junior took her hand and pressed her palm over her heart.

“Okay, then.” Colin sucked on his teeth and squinted at Bridget. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna call Matt at SoPro and propose a catchweight fight at one forty-five. We all know a featherweight division for women is coming—it’s just a matter of time. You know Estes would kill to not have to cut as much as she currently does, and if the brass sees that there’s a market for a featherweight women’s division—”

“Which they will, once we spread that tape of you waling on her,” Bruce interrupted to add.

“No. No tape.” Bridget shook her head so hard she thought she could feel her brain rattling inside it.

“Is there something you need to tell us about that fight, Bridg? Something we didn’t or couldn’t see on that tape?” Paddy laid his hand over hers. “Darlin’, you need to tell us.”

“No,” Bridget lied. “I just think it will be better if people find out about the other fight organically.”

Paddy looked skeptical but nodded.

“As I was saying,” Colin continued, shooting everyone in the room an irritated look. “I’m gonna call Matt and propose a catchweight fight. There’s a local card scheduled for ten weeks from Saturday. That’s a full camp if we start after the weekend. We’re going to operate on the assumption that this fight is going to happen, so camp starts Monday for you, Bridget.  That means you have three days to blow out and let whatever out of your system that needs to get out. Because there’s no . . . tomfoolery allowed, if you get my drift.”

Colin waved a dismissive hand at the group, who had all begun snickering. “Whatever. Y’all know what I mean. Since you’re obviously all twelve.”

Bridget snorted. “I’ll be ready to go on Monday, C. I want this. I need this.”

Colin nodded, stood up to his full height, and stuck out his hand. “Welcome to the big time, Doherty.”

Bridget, who had stood as soon as Colin had, grinned and shook his hand. “Glad to finally be where I belong.”

Colin’s phone beeped. “I gotta get ready for Nolan’s session. Thanks for filling in for me last week.”

“It was my pleasure, C. He’s an interesting guy. I enjoyed working with him.”

They left Colin’s office and headed in opposite directions. Bridget turned around and saw C greet Nolan with a handshake. What a difference between the other night and this afternoon. Nolan was back to his harried, rumpled self, with tense shoulders and no charming grin. He looked defeated, and that didn’t sit well with Bridget at all. Hopefully, C would work all the frustration out of him.

“Uh-huh. I see you checking out Mister Tall, Blond, and Southern.” Nanda bumped Bridget’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t consider him blond.” Dammit. Busted.

Nanda snorted. “Okay, light brown.”

“Maybe. More like sandy-haired.”

“He’s got a good ass. Hell, he’s good-looking, period. Seems really sweet.”

“Yeah.”

“His dad seems like a piece of work.”

“Yeah.” Bridget sucked air through her teeth. Her little interaction with Chet Harper had been bothering her since they met. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she grew up listening to The Harper Family Band. She loved the music, both their interpretations of classic bluegrass songs as well as the newer, original tunes, but now, she didn’t know if she could listen to those songs without recalling the caustic personality of Chet Harper.

“You should ask him out.”

“Fuckin’ A. Gross.”

Nanda blinked and then guffawed loud enough to attract the attention of C and Nolan. Nolan raised his hand in greeting. Then he looked at his uplifted hand like he didn’t know how it got there, and dropped it back to his side, while Colin merely scowled at the two women before miming for them to get back to what they were supposed to be doing.

“I meant Nolan, you weirdo. Jesus,” Nanda spluttered. “I think you need to get laid, lady. There’s only so much porn you can deal with.”

“Man, you’re damn right about that. Especially when it’s live action through the kitchen window.” Bridget slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shit. You cannot say anything to Annie or Pierce, Nanda.”

Nanda cackled some more. “I knew it! I knew those two were freaks. They’re way too quiet to not be.” She hooted and stomped her feet, still laughing.

“Oh, man. Shit. Now I need to work some of this frustration off. I’m gonna go have a session with my favorite Jacob, and you go do your manager stuff before Colin’s head explodes.”

“Ooh, yeah—he’s doing that squinty thing. See ya, Bridget.” Nanda clicked her tongue and made finger guns at Bridget and then scampered off to the front of the gym.

Bridget headed over to the Jacob’s ladder, set the timer for twenty minutes, and started climbing. In the mirror, she could see Colin and Nolan’s workout, featuring Nolan’s broad back and costarring his high, firm butt. Damn, that was a fine-ass ass. She climbed and watched the men until the alarm sounded, and she reluctantly ended her ogling session. She needed to get cleaned up so she could head to Foley’s to see her father and his band perform.

Her father. She and her father were close, and they always had been, and while she was glad to see him during his stay in Atlanta, she wasn’t looking forward to some of the inevitable questions he was going to ask about her divorce and what she was actually hoping to achieve by moving a thousand miles away. And then there was her mother, but she was another situation entirely, one that she didn’t really want to think about right now.

Bridget sighed, and with a final glance in the mirror, was about to head into the locker room to retrieve her gym bag when she noticed that Colin and Nolan had finished their workout. Huh.

“Ask him out,” Nanda hissed as she strolled by Bridget. “Do it. You know you wanna.”

Bridget looked toward the break room and decided she had time to grab a shake, so she headed for the kitchen.