"Once a brawler, always a brawler," I said. It should have been my tag line. Ma had said it enough the past fifteen years. "Who knew it would actually pay off and take me to where I am right now?" I gave a little shrug and a low chuckle.

The woman in the tight skirt across from me giggled and touched the side of her throat, scraping her long fingernails over it all the way down to her cleavage. Yeah, I knew what she was thinking. They all wanted the same.

Get in line, sweetheart, and take a number.

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her crossed legs, drawing my eyes to the black lace bra peeking from underneath her shirt. "So, give us a run down of your daily regimen. How much training do you do in a day?" She looked me up and down, then stopped to stare at my crotch. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

If I was allowed to roll my eyes, I would. The questions were the same at each and every interview. I gave her a quick list of what I do in a day—weight-lifting, combat, sparring, any number of martial arts training, a two-hour run, and more sparring.

"Wow, that's impressive." Then she scratched her neck again, her skin turning red. Maybe she should have that checked. "What do you do when you're not training? What's your idea of fun?" I was surprised she didn't wink or lick her lips again.

I gave her my Hollywood-star smile, and I was grateful I hadn't lost all my front teeth, yet. "Training is my idea of fun. Apart from that, I shoot some hoops with friends, party a little, or lounge by the pool." I gave a half shrug and relaxed into the seat, stretching my arms over the back of the sofa.

She quirked an eyebrow and spread her lips into a flat line, a telltale sign she could be up to no-good. "When do you visit your mom?"

My lungs expanded when I took in a silent breath. The smile stayed plastered on my face. "I try every day," I said between clenched teeth. I changed my posture, crossing my arms over my chest, lifted my chin higher and gave her a predatory smile.

And I saw it—the hint of mischief, a crooked grin at one corner of her lip. "Will she ever recover from what your father has done? Have you lost all hope?"

My fingers went numb. My heartbeat switched from slow and steady into an erratic pace. I could hurt her. I could wrap my hands around her itchy neck and tighten it. It wouldn't take much out of me, like snapping a twig.

"This is interview is over!" Patton, my agent, decided to finally interject. He stood beside the reporter, Anne or Annie, I can't remember, and snatched the recorder from her hand.

"Hey!" she protested.

"You've been given directions. You were told what to ask and what not to ask. It's that simple." Patton dangled the recorder above his 6'5" frame, far from her reach.

"I'm only doing my job. I have to ask what no one else has, or the piece won't get notice." The bitch turned to me, fluttering her lashes. "You understand, right? I'm just like you. I just want to be the best at what I do."

"Then come up with better questions," I replied curtly, without a trace of the smile I'd given her earlier.

Understanding appeared in her features. She straightened, wiped her hands over her skirt, and then fixed her slicked-back hair. She stretched a hand to Patton. "I fully understand."

He hesitated but gave her the recorder a moment later. Anne or Annie got her things together, stood, and then walked over to me, ready to shake hands, make peace. "It was a pleasure, Zach. I am truly a big fan." Her eyes twinkled.

I took the proffered hand and gripped it, not hard, just enough to let her know she had crossed the line. She was the type who wouldn't back down. She didn't shake off the ache once I released her hand. She was braver than she seemed. Anne or Annie stepped closer.

She said in a hushed voice, "If you don't have anything going on right now, I'm available for fun." That dreaded wink appeared.

She ran a long fingernail on my gray shirt. I covered it with a hand and pulled her slightly closer to me. My smile stretched and I gave her my best brooding look, regarding her through my lashes.

I leaned my head in and whispered in her ear, "No thanks, I don't fuck old women." I put more emphasis on the word "old."

I didn't have to say she was shocked by it. It was exactly what I had wanted her to feel. She straightened quickly and almost stumbled backward.

"I'm thirty-two!" Her voice rose, and she scowled at me.

I scoffed and shrugged. "Could have fooled me. I thought you're in your late forties."

She narrowed her eyes. Anne or Annie seethed. "Then you better have your eyes checked." She stomped her foot to punctuate her words.

Truth be told, she looked younger than thirty-two. Any other time, I would have been all over that, and she wouldn't even have to ask. But she crossed the line and expected not to get burned.

Plus, I'd learned my lesson. I wouldn't ever sleep with a reporter again. I'd never known when "off the record" truly applied.

She huffed one more time and turned her tight little ass around, heading toward the door. As soon as she was out of sight, I slumped back onto the sofa, leaning my head back on it.

Patton joined me. "Sorry about that, Zach."

"Nah, it wasn't your fault. She's just the type to push." I squeezed my eyes shut.

"A real daredevil that one. I thought you were going to punch her." Patton laughed nervously.

"She's not worth the hassle." And I must confess—no matter how much she poked and prodded, I would never hit a woman. I might feel anger or rage, but I would never hurt her. After all, I'd tried my hardest not to be like him. My father.

I slapped a hand over Patton's leg. "I'm going to step out for a bit."

He nodded. "Grab one of the arrangements and bring it to her." He pointed at a large bouquet of white roses on a table.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll call you later," I said, already out the door with a vaseful of flowers in hand.

* * *

I placed the roses on the table between the bed and the window, and grabbed the old arrangement I brought last week.

"Well that's pretty," Debbie, one of the nurses, said when she entered the room. "Look at the pretty flowers, Lisa."

Ma lifted her head an inch and peeked under her lashes. Her hair was shorter than what I was used to, and the cut made her look younger. She risked a glance my way. I smiled at her, hoping that maybe today she would remember me.

"Hi, Ma. How are you feeling today?" I walked around to help Debbie move her from the chair to her bed. Ma struggled a bit, but I managed to tuck her in tightly under the sheets.

"She's not having a good week," Debbie informed me, brushing a hand over my Ma's hair.

I stepped back. It had never boded well for me when she was not "having a good week." Last time, she'd thrown a mug at me and called me by his name.

"Will it be okay if I sit here for a while?" I glanced at Debbie.

"Of course, dear," Debbie patted the chair beside Ma's bed. "She won't bite."

I snickered, walking toward the chair. "Are you sure about that?"

"You just make sure you don't piss her off. Here—" she handed me a book "— she loves being read to a lot lately."

I stared at the book. It didn't look threatening, but it terrified me anyhow. The cover was blue with a flower on it and white, curly letters. I turned it over and saw a photo of the author, smiling at me.

"What's it about?" I scrunched my forehead.

"It's a story of unrequited love. She really likes it." Debbie walked out the room, leaving me alone with Ma, the woman who bore me for "almost ten months," she’d said too many times, yet she barely recognized me now.

She was terrified of me. The fear was present behind her eyes. I gave her my warmest smile and raised the book for her to see. "You want me to read this?" She didn't give me an answer. "Or I can tell you another story about a mother and her son, and their travel adventures?"

I made it sound intriguing and delightful, although it had been far from it. Ma lifted a hand and with a trembling finger, pointed at the book.

Sighing, I opened it to a page with a folded corner and worked on something I found painful to do—more painful than an arm around my neck, or trunk-like legs crushing my ribs, or numerous punches on my face. But if it would bring joy and happiness to the only woman I trusted and eternally loved, I would do so, over and over again, even if it killed me.