Twenty-two
Layla
Stuck in rush hour traffic on a Monday morning is not where I wanted to have this conversation. But after an hour-long session with the therapist turned into two, we’ve been unable to look each other in the eye. My stomach pitches. I had no idea how much she knew. I thought I’d hidden the worst of it. I was wrong.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Her gaze remains steady out the passenger side window. She doesn’t respond.
“That must have been…” Difficult? Agonizing? Mortifying? My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles paling with anger. He promised me she couldn’t hear. Now I know that she was angry that I didn’t leave years ago, to protect her from having to experience that. And all this time I thought I was doing what was best for her, when really I did the most damage by staying.
The truck inches along the clogged freeway. I check the clock. “You’re going to be about forty-five minutes late. Do I need to sign you in?”
“No.” She looks out the front window.
I take a deep breath. There’s so much to say, so much to confess, but where to start? “I’m sorry I let that go on as long as it did.”
That gets me her eyes for a few seconds before she goes back to staring out the window.
“If I’d have known that you… you… heard, um, that—”
“Dad raping you.”
I suck in a painful gasp at the lifeless way she mutters those disgusting words.
“I wouldn’t call it that, I mean… that’s something that happens between strangers and—”
“Oh my gosh, Mom.” She glares at me. “Just say it. He raped you.”
I swallow hard and shake my head.
She thrusts her hands into her hair. “This is what I’m talking about. How can we get through something you can’t even admit?”
“I’m sick about what happened. If I’d have known then—”
“It’s over. All that is over. But you’re never going to be able to work it out if you can’t even admit it happened.”
“I hate that we did this to you.”
“I hate him. I always have, far back as I can remember. All those times you asked me if I was upset about leaving, I wanted to scream that I’ve never been so glad to be gone. I hated our life in Seattle.”
“So that whole time I thought you were pissed that we left, when really…”
She sets her crystal-blue eyes on mine. “I was pissed we never talked about why we left. It was like we left living one lie to go live another.”
I take a moment to let that sink in. She’s right. Accepting what was really happening was one thing, but talking to her about it seemed wrong on so many levels. That was before I found out that she already knew.
I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “You’re very wise. From here on out, no more secrets, okay? We talk about anything and everything. No judgment.”
She squeezes my hand back. “That sounds good to me.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
With a secure bridge built between us, the knot in my chest eases up. She’s almost seventeen, and with her life experiences, she’s a lot older than that. I’ve always tried to protect her like I would a child. But it’s clear she’s blossomed into a woman.
“What did you need to talk to me about?” she says, still holding my hand.
I retrace our morning and the afternoon before. We’d spent Sunday afternoon cleaning the apartment, grocery shopping, and doing laundry for the week. I’d mentioned that I had to talk to her about something. More like someone.
“Yeah, I uh… what do you think about Blake?” I try to keep my voice casual.
“I like him. He’s super cool, funny, cooks really good food.” She shrugs. “He’s good looking. I mean, what’s not to like?”
“What would you say if I told you that I agree?”
“I’d say that’s good, because if you didn’t I’d think something was seriously wrong with you.” She giggles.
“Okay, and what would you say if I told you I like him? A lot. And he likes me too?”
She cocks her eyebrow at me and smiles. “I’d say, no shit, Sherlock. Welcome to the party.”
“What?”
“Oh please, Mom. It’s so obvious. You guys are both all goo-goo eyed when you’re together.”
“We are not.”
“You so are.”
I laugh and think this is the longest conversation we’ve had in a long time. “We’re kind of…”
“Dating?” She smiles big, and her eyes sparkle.
“Yeah, er… if you’re okay with that.”
“You’re dating Blake “The Snake” Daniels, and you want to know if I’m okay with it?” Her high-pitched squeal fills the truck’s cab.
“Is that a yes?” I laugh.
“Hell yeah, it’s a yes! Killian is going to freak out when I tell him.”
I shake my head and wrestle against a grin.
Who knew a little honesty and communication could change our future outlook? It doesn’t mean that we’re fixed. But healing is ahead, and we’ve just taken one step closer to it.
Blake
“Take him down.”
“Get his leg, slam him.”
“There it is. Down, down, down.”
The shouted instruction from my camp pushes me on. Rex attempts to lock my legs. I’ve got half-guard and side control. He wants me off. Good luck.
Constricting my legs, I elbow his headgear. “Tap, bitch.”
The fucker laughs. “In your dreams.” He tries to land a punch to my head.
I tighten my hold. “If this was a dream, you’d be a lot prettier and have bigger tits.”
He pushes off the mat, forcing my arm to let go. I rear up, slam him back, and get full-guard. I can’t believe how strong I feel. My muscles are pulled taut, with energy to burn. The fight with “The Fade” is setting up to be the best of my life. I’ve never been so ready. As prepared mentally as I am physically. And Layla there cheering me on is going to push me past the point of excellence.
“All right, boys. Back to your feet. Let’s work on take downs,” Owen calls out from across the octagon.
We jump up and fist bump before we take our fighting stance. The shouts from Jonah and Caleb beyond the chain link resume. I’m focused on Rex, waiting for him to lunge or attempt to sweep my legs.
Sparring is my favorite part of training. It’s my chance to get in the octagon and put all the pieces together. To use the different fighting skills as an integrated weapon. And with my fight around the corner, spars like this are a dress rehearsal.
Seeing my opening, I lunge. My shoulder hits his thigh, and he buckles. Dropping to my knees, I flip him to his back and get the full-mount.
“Way to go, Blake.” The female voice, shouting encouragement, robs my attention. I look up to see Layla standing with the guys, her fingers curled around the fence, a wide smile on her face. Fuck, I’ve missed—my head slams to the side. The powerful punch to my headgear makes my brain sing. Damn.
“Who’s dreaming now, lover boy?” Rex throws me to my back, grinning.
“Ha ha, assface. Now get the fuck off me.” I shove him back, and he rolls to his feet. I pull my headgear off and move toward my now worried-looking girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
Owen throws his hands in the air. “Looks like Blake’s callin’ a time out. Five minutes and we’re back at it.”
I ignore him. I haven’t seen my Mouse since Sunday morning when she left after we had breakfast and a seriously hot naked clean-up session in my kitchen. No way I’m rushing through this. I step up to her from the opposite side of the dividing fence. She grips at it impatiently.
“Mouse.” I hook my fingers over hers.
“Hi.” Her whispered greeting comes with a smile.
“How was the appointment at…” My skin prickles with the weight of my training team’s stares. They’re standing around with their eyes plastered to our hands, eyes huge, smiles too fucking knowing. “You guys mind?”
“Nah, we’re good.” Rex rolls his gloved hand. “Continue.”
I swing my gaze back to find a red-faced Layla. She tucks her chin and giggles.
“They’re worse than women,” I say, earning me a glare from Jonah. “I’ll take a break. I want to hear about your morning.”
Pushing back from the fence, I move to exit the octagon. “I’ll be back in fifteen.” My eyes rake over her body. She’s wearing skin-tight leggings and a draped shirt that hangs off one tan shoulder. “Make that forty-five.”
The guys grumble something that I’m sure is filled with all kinds of pussy-whipped implications. And I don’t give a fuck.
I grab her hand and lead her to an empty conference room. Shutting the door behind her, I drag her to me. “Missed you.”
My arms burn to wrap around her, but after three hours of training, I’m a sweaty mess. Instead, I lean down and drop a soft kiss against her lips, waiting for her permission.
“Yes.” Her gentle consent is followed by the pressure of her mouth against mine. She glides her tongue along the seam of my lips and slips her hands up my shirt.
“Mmm, I want that, Mouse. But I’m all sweaty.”
She smiles against me. “I like you sweaty.”
Her wet mouth muffles my answering groan as I sink into the kiss. Vanilla and sugar, sweet and tempting, fills my senses. The large conference table that sits a few feet away calls to me. But that’s not why we’re here. Dammit.
“Tell me about the meeting.” I’m still holding her hand. I pull out a chair for her to sit in, and drop my ass on the table.
Without giving details, she tells me that it was difficult going into the horrors of the past, bringing up the old hurts and discovering new ones, but that they’re moving forward together and will be stronger because of it. My chest warms with pride. To think of the impossible obstacles this woman has faced, and yet she holds on, walks through her fears, and makes it to the other side unscathed.
“In the car on the way home, I told Axelle about us.” Her expression is solid, unreadable.
“Yeah? How’d that go?” My stomach rolls, and I lock down my leg to keep my knee from bouncing.
I need Axelle’s approval if I’m going to be hanging out with Layla on a regular basis. And needing someone’s approval is not something I’m used to.
She picks at a piece of nothing on her shirt and peeks up from beneath her eyelashes. “She’s cool.”
A waterfall of relief washes over my shoulders. “No shit?”
Her eyes sparkle, and a big smile pushes her lips wide. “No shit.” She jumps up and throws herself into my arms.
I put back a hand to keep from going horizontal on the table. “Careful, Mouse. Sweat, remember?”
“I don’t care.” She wraps her arms around my waist and nuzzles in.
The sound of her deep breathing against my neck has me reaching for her ass. “All good news, sweetheart. I’m happy for you girls.” I grab a handful of her bottom and squeeze. “How’re we gonna play this? I don’t want to freak her out, but I’m not stoked on the idea of sleeping without you in my bed.”
She pulls back and meets my gaze, her eyes tempered with lust. “How about you in my bed?”
“Bed’s a bed, Mouse. As long as you’re in it, I’m there.” It’s not the first time that I’ve been hit with a big fat fucking reality check. I’m dating a woman. She has a kid and a ton of baggage.
And none of that means anything.
“Blake? I want—”
“Layla, thank God you’re here.” Gibbs pushes through the door. “We need to go over the schematics for UFL 94.” He flips through papers, pulling out a few and shoving the rest aside. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that we’re wrapped up together in a room alone. “Oh, and we need to go over…”—he flips a few more pages— “the promo party at Flesh. Went well, and looks like you managed to stir up some gossip.” He finally looks up and notices what’s going on. He studies us for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yes, this is good.” He motions between Layla and me. “This is very, very good.”
Gibbs thinking the two of us together is good is most likely bad. All my protective instincts flare, shining bright with warning. I hop off the table and pull Layla behind me.
He chuckles and steps farther into the room, tossing a folder to the table. “I wanted to talk to you two. Guess this is as good a time as any.” Pulling a paper clipped stack of papers from the folder, he flips through them with a smirk on his face.
“You mind making this quick? I’ve got your paycheck to train for.”
He tosses a stack of online printouts on the table in front of us. “This is the story circulating.”
“What the hell?” Layla flips through page after page, handing them to me.
The photos are from Flesh. All at different times, but each one is of me with the busty brunette in various stages of our brief encounter. The headlines all speculate that we’re a couple. Annoying, but nothing new. Making something out of nothing to sell a story is what they do.
“Oh my God.” Layla’s face pales, and the paper in her hand trembles.
I look over her shoulder and read the headline: “Desperate Woman Tempts ‘The Snake’ With More Than a Flute”.
Snagging the page from her hand, I stare at the accompanying photo. It shows Layla and I in our standoff, right before she—oh shit. How they managed to snap a picture in the split second that Layla removed her top is a fucking miracle. They pixelated her bare breasts, but still.
“This is bullshit,” I growl and ball the offending paper in my hand.
“Mr. Gibbs—Taylor, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembles with emotion. “I didn’t mean—”
“Sorry? Are you kidding? This is publicity gold.” He laughs hard and slams a pointer finger to an identical picture on the table. “You can’t pay for this kind of attention. I’ve made sure these photos stay viral—”
“You did what?” My snarled question makes Layla jump.
“It’s good business. And it’ll get a hell of a showing for your fight.” He claps slowly, still grinning, and my palms itch to wrap around his neck.
“Is this legal? I mean, how can they print a picture of me without my permission?” The panic in her voice escalates with each word, along with my anger.
Gibbs drops back into a chair and props his feet up. “Public place. The moment you walked in, you gave us the right to photo ops.”
I swallow the roar that’s clogging my throat. “Get the lawyers on it. Take the pictures of Layla down. She’s got a teenage daughter. The pictures of me should be enough.” My teeth grind down hard.
“No way. Her blurred chest is the money shot.”
I clench my fists and glare at Gibbs. The pounding of my pulse hammers in my ears. “Taylor—”
A warm hand rests against my forearm. “Blake, it’s okay. I’ll talk to Axelle. She’ll understand.” Her caress glides down my arm, forcing me to loosen my hand. She interweaves her fingers with mine. “Relax. She’ll never see these. I mean, maybe high school kids don’t read gossip magazines.”
Gibbs muffles a chuckle. He’s thinking the same thing I am. That every high school boy out there would absolutely be interested in this kind of gossip. Fuck.
“This one’s my favorite.” Gibbs tosses a sheet of paper across his desk.
It’s from the national gossip website In the Loop. The picture is of me leaning away from the topless brunette, pulling my hand from hers. The headline reads, “‘The Snake’ Slithers Away From Pregnant Girlfriend”. And Gibbs says this is his favorite.
“No fucking way.” My nostrils flare, and I suck in deep breaths. “I’ve never seen that girl before.”
“Doesn’t matter. This shot makes you two look familiar.”
“This is so wrong. So, so wrong,” Layla mumbles from my side. “She gave these people an interview saying that she’s pregnant with your baby.” Her gaze swings up to me. “What kind of person would make up a story like that?”
“Desperate.” I spit the word through my locked jaw. Fucking bitch.
“This is great stuff. I don’t see what you’re both so worked up about. As soon as the fight’s over, these rumors will disappear. Until then, we’re about to sell out UFL 94.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I jerk away from his touch.
He doesn’t pick up on my hostility and strolls out of the room like a man who just found out he owns China.
Layla spins to me, her eyes wide.
I bring her in for a hug, not only to hold her close, but because I don’t want her to see the violence raging behind my eyes. “It’ll be cool. I’ll take care of this.” I’m a lying bastard, and I know it. I have no idea how to fix this. What I want to do is pound Taylor’s ass, but that doesn’t guarantee anything except that we both lose our jobs.
I pinch my eyes closed and push back the fury, trying to think. Think, dammit. Foggy visions of a bloody beating and the satisfaction of squeezing the breath from Gibbs’s piece-of-shit body flood my thoughts. I try to shake it off. My bones feel hot, searing my veins and fueling my irritation.
“Blake, you’re… I can’t breathe.”
“Shit.” I release my death grip. “Sorry.”
Fuck. I’ve got to get a handle on this. Exercise the acid from my thoughts so I can think clearly and figure this out.
“I’ll see you later. I’ve got to get back to training.” I pity the poor bastard that’ll be on the receiving end. “Tonight. We’ll figure this out tonight. I’ll, uh…” My head is a tumble of nonsense. “Your place.”
I kiss her forehead and leave the room before I start tossing chairs and ripping doors from their frames. Heading back to the octagon, I shove past a group of guys, not taking the time to identify them. I see my team in a huddle around the heavy bags.
My feet move me closer. They stop talking and face me.
Jonah steps between the boys and me. “What the fuck? You okay?”
“Need to spar.”
“Shit, Blake. You look like you’re gonna fuck someone up.”
I nod. He’s right.
His narrowed eyes move from my face to my fists. “Shit.”
“Step aside.”
“Shit.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Fine. Gear up and I’ll meet you in the octagon.”
“Not you. Rex. He doesn’t have a baby on the way.” I know what’s about to happen. I don’t want to hurt Jonah. Rex likes the pain.
“Fuck no. I owe you.” Our eyes meet in a non-verbal tell. He’s referring to the cabin.
I shake my head.
“Don’t make me say it.” He thinks that because I let Raven go back into that cabin, I saved his life. No matter how many times I tell him it was Raven who’s the hero, not me, he won’t let up.
For the first time since my little pow-wow with Gibbs, my heart rate slows. He wants to return the favor. He doesn’t owe me a thing. But if I was standing in his shoes, I know he’d do it for me.
“Fine. Let’s do this.” I turn and head for the octagon, reminding myself that Layla and Axelle are my priority.
Jonah’s wounds will heal, but the scars my woman carries never will. And the scandalous crap out there is a jagged scalpel that cuts deep.
They can’t take any more. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure they don’t have to.
~*~
Five minutes later, Jonah and I stand face-to-face in the octagon. Headgear, mouth-guard, and gloves in place, we bump fists. It’s on.
This isn’t about training. This is about burning shit off. Rex hangs nearby, probably to jump in if this gets ugly. And the way I’m feeling right now, shit’s definitely going to get ugly.
My eyes fix on Jonah’s, and my fists burn to make contact. Right now, he’s not my friend. He’s the answer to finding some fucking peace.
We circle around each other, and he waits for me to make the first move. Muscles clenched tight, my mind goes back to the conference room. The headlines. Layla’s body exposed. The UFL’s plan to capitalize on her embarrassment.
I throw my left fist. He dodges. I balance my weight. Flashes of Layla, her big brown eyes shining with tears, fill my mind’s eye. He moves. His arms wrap around my waist. My back hits the mat. I push with my leg, rage fueling my body.
He positions to lock my shoulders. “Fucking shit, man.” His grunted words sound strangled against the force of my hold.
Visions of a faceless man taking Layla against her will flood my range of view.
I flip on him. He’s down. I take full mount and rain punches to his headgear. A tiny voice whispers that this is dangerous. That Jonah can’t hold back once he gets pushed too far. And that’s exactly what I want.
I picture Layla alone at sixteen. Scared. Pregnant. Abandoned.
Anger, frustration, and helplessness swirl behind my chest. I swing my arms, kick my legs, and lock down on limbs. Our movements are a blur. Nothing is coherent, only the sound of our pained grunts filling the silence.
Someone calls to me. I ignore the interruption and push my body harder. More hits. Tighter holds. Another yell. My fists fly. Power infuses every cell. I’m lost in a fog that feels so fucking good.
Left-right-left-right
I’m on fire. Flying high and nowhere close to being finished. The violence rips through my body, doling out punishment. No one will fuck with her again.
I lose my breath. My throat constricts. The voice yells, but it’s distant. My arms are immobile. I’m pinned down. I thrash, fighting to get free.
And then it happens.
I’m fifteen again. Knocked from my bed and kidnapped. Blindfolded and thrown into a car. And all with the permission of the one person who’s supposed to protect me.
The fear is so real. A guttural roar rips from my throat. I throw my body forward, breaking free and swinging hard.
Another voice. Shut the fuck up. I throw a punch. Then another. I hit the floor, face down. Legs, arms, neck, stomach. I can’t move.
“Get off.” I buck against my captors.
The voice repeats until the words break through the haze. “Breathe, brother. Breathe.”
I push and arch my back. The alien rage thrives in search of release.
“This is fucked, Jonah.” Rex’s voice is close, but muffled.
“Shut the fuck up, Rex. Give him some time.”
My muscles kick and tremble. I take a deep breath. Blinking, I remember where I am.
How the hell?
I’m on my stomach. Jonah’s across my shoulders with my hands locked behind my back. And from what I can tell, the dick holding my legs is Rex.
I growl and pull to free my arms.
“Calm down, dude. I’ll let you go when you calm your ass down.” Jonah’s words carry a hint of warning. He’s not messing around.
I take in a few deep breaths to slow my heart, and my muscles relax. What just happened?
“I’m good.” I suck down a shaky breath. “I’m good.”
“All right, Rex… on three…” Jonah counts and they push to standing.
I roll to my back, one knee up, and one hand on my heaving chest. Jonah and Rex are standing a couple yards away, alert and ready. Seriously, what happened?
I push up to sitting and toss my headgear and mouth guard aside. “Why the hell did you dicks—oh shit!”
Rex’s left eye is swollen shut, and there’s a huge cut beneath it.
Jonah’s headgear’s off. He steps close, eyebrows slammed down over his eyes. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember? I thought we were sparring.” I motion between us. “Why’d you fuckers double team me?”
Jonah drops his gaze to the floor and shakes his head.
I look to Rex. “What?”
“You went fucking nuts, man. You wouldn’t let up on Jonah’s neck. I jumped in, pulled you off, you came after me.”
No shit? No shit!
I rub my temples. This can’t be happening. How could I go wild on my friends and not remember? I was so lost in the haze, swinging blindly. Rex wasn’t wearing anything to protect his head. Fuck. I could’ve killed him.
I feel the blood drain from my face. I’m lightheaded as I try to make sense of my scrambled thoughts. “I did?”
“Fuck yeah, you did. Some freaky shit. It’s like you weren’t there,” Rex says.
“Blake, dude, what the fuck is up with you lately?” Jonah’s words aren’t pissed, but concerned.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I told you. Something sets me off.” I shrug. “I can’t control it.”
Just. Like. My. Dad.
Jonah gives me a hand and pulls me to my feet. I move to Rex, but have a hard time looking at his face. I can’t believe I did that.
I hold out my gloved hand. “I’m sorry, man.” Nothing I could say would be enough. “I feel like shit.”
He shakes my hand. “No need for apologies, bro.” He licks at the trail of blood that made its way to his mouth. “I like it.”
Jonah chuckles at my side. “Crazy motherfucker.”
“Still, you should have Doc Z check that out. Might need a stitch.”
He wipes at his eye. “Nah, nothing a little ice won’t fix. You guys cool?”
Jonah and I nod.
“The Fade is fucked come fight night. That’s all I’m sayin’.” Rex walks away shaking his head.
There’s something I should say. An explanation as to why I lost my mind back there. “Shit’s getting worse.”
“What?”
“My temper. Think I’m turning into my old man.” A wave of nausea turns my stomach.
“Can’t turn into anything you don’t want.”
I sure as shit don’t want to be like my dad, but this is happening more and more, and I have zero control. Now I know how Jonah must feel. “How do you lock it down? Keep from flippin’ out?”
“Before Raven, I couldn’t. But now it’s easy. I think about her, our baby. Too much to lose to go all psycho on a fool.” A wicked smile tips his lips. “That’s how I kept from killin’ your ass just now.”
I’ve got a woman, but bringing her to mind only fuels the beast inside rather than subdue it. This is so fucked up.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll give that a try.” My voice sounds flat in my ears. “I’ve got to run.” I pick up my gear and head to the locker room. Before I get a few feet from the octagon, Jonah calls my name.
I turn around and he’s gripping the chain link. “We’re even now.”
The corner of my mouth ticks with a grin. “We’ve always been.”
He gives me a chin lift that I return, and I head off in search for some peace. Something to ground me while the tornado rages in my head. I make a plan to swing by my house before I go to Layla’s.
A session alone with the music should do the job.
If not, I’m royally fucked.