Текст книги "Fighting the Fall"

Автор книги: Jennifer Snow

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 13

This was the first fight of his life he wasn’t prepared for. His walk-out music usually set his adrenaline soaring but tonight it only gave him an odd sense of foreboding. Five rounds. This championship fight could potentially go five rounds and he didn’t have the energy for one.

Billy massaged his shoulders behind him, repeating the same words he heard before every fight. “You got this. You’re a Reed. You’re a champion . . .”

Only this time the words were coming from one of his training camp fighters and not his coach. His father hadn’t shown up. For the first time in twelve years, he wouldn’t have his mentor in his corner. His voice mail message that morning had been brief, the words “I can’t watch you lose” tearing a hole through him and continuing to shatter his confidence as the door opened and the music and lights grew louder and brighter in front of him.

“Let’s go,” the security detail on his right said, as he began the long walk toward the cage. Fans on either side cheered wildly and arms flew toward him as he passed. He stared straight ahead, ignoring everything around him, jumping from one foot to the other, but not feeling his legs beneath him. He was numb.

The replacement championship belt around his waist felt heavy and he knew he wouldn’t be leaving the fight with it.

At the cage, Billy lifted his T-shirt over his head, and the official checked his gloves, his mouth guard. Tyson hit his crotch—his cup was in place. Everything was exactly the same as every one of his previous fights, except one thing—the only thing that mattered—him.

*   *   *

Parker took her seat next to Walker as Tyson entered the cage. She’d watched all of the preliminary fights on a monitor in the lounge of the Mandalay Bay event center, unsure whether she could bring herself to go inside, but finally, she’d summoned the courage to enter the sold-out arena.

“Glad you made it,” Walker said. On the other side of him, Grace offered a reassuring smile.

“I was in your shoes before. I know it’s hard to watch, but I’m sure he will be fine,” she said, obviously mistaking Parker’s nervousness as concern over Tyson’s welfare.

She nodded, staring at the man she was falling in love with, the man who was intent on pushing her away. He bounced from one foot to the other inside the cage, his eyes locked straight ahead on his opponent. “How’s his shoulder?” she whispered to Walker.

“If it’s bothering him, he’s not admitting it.”

Denial seemed to be his way of dealing with everything. She looked around. “Where’s his father?” She saw only Billy and Carlos in Tyson’s corner.

“He’s not here. It’s the first fight he hasn’t attended. Said he refuses to watch his son lose.”

Wow, nice guy. “Is he going to lose?” Through the ropes of the cage, she studied Tyson’s blank, emotionless expression from ten feet away, and her own confidence for his win waned.

Walker didn’t answer.

After announcing both fighters, his booming voice echoing across the stadium, the ref moved to the center of the octagon and called the fighters in. They touched gloves and the first-round bell rang.

As Parker watched, she wished she hadn’t learned as much as she had about fighting these last few months. Back when she couldn’t tell a good shot from a crippling one, she would have been able to watch Tyson receive several jabs to the ribs and kidneys without cringing. Now, even she could see after the first two minutes he was in trouble. He was favoring the right shoulder, the one he’d dislocated, and therefore wasn’t sticking to his usual game plan, which included the untimely overhand right that effectively put his opponent to sleep each and every time.

“He looks like he’s never fought before,” Walker muttered in amazement next to her.

It was true. In training, his moves were precise, his sense of distance was on point, but tonight he was switching stance and seemed confused by his opponent’s circling. He continued to throw single-strike attacks that Calder was countering with better shots.

When Calder dropped his body, Tyson lowered his hands to defend against the takedown.

“He’s faking,” Walker muttered. “What the hell is Tyson doing? This is a signature move for Calder.” Frustration was evident in Walker’s voice as a second later, Calder’s overhand right landed square on Tyson’s unprotected temple. “Damn it. Schooled by his own fucking move.”

Tyson recovered quickly and got to his feet, but his unsteady stance revealed he was rocked. And Calder capitalized on his advantage against the champ. Closing the distance, he threw a jab, followed immediately by a straight right—not hard shots, but both landed. When Tyson responded with his own combination, Calder went in for a real takedown, throwing Tyson’s body to the mat just as the end of the first round bell rang.

Parker stood, her knees unsteady. She didn’t even recognize the guy inside the cage.

“Where are you going?” Walker asked, looking as disappointed by his coach’s performance as the rest of the booing crowd.

“I’m sorry. I can’t watch him lose either,” she said sadly.

He stood and gave her a quick hug. “He might need you after this fight,” he whispered.

She gave a sad smile as she broke away. “You know him better than that. It’s Tyson we’re talking about. He doesn’t need anyone.”

*   *   *

Her grandmother hugged her tightly the next morning at the airport. “Call as soon as you get settled,” she said.

Parker forced a smile as she pulled away, readjusting on her shoulder the weight of her oversized purse she was using as a carry-on. “I will, Grandma.” She checked her watch. “I should go. They’ll start boarding in five minutes.”

Her grandmother nodded.

Still, she hesitated, scanning the busy airport. Passengers hurried toward their gates and through security—business people in suits, families going on vacations, couples saying good-bye . . . She sighed. The faster she could get out of there and on a plane, the faster this crushing weight on her chest would go away.

“Parker, darling, are you okay?” Abigail asked, looking concerned enough to risk her recent Botox injection by frowning.

She nodded and forced a smile. “I’m great. I just thought . . . Never mind.” Tyson obviously had no intention of saying good-bye to her that morning and she was crazy to keep hoping he’d be there. He’d lost his fight the night before. She knew he had his own problems to deal with and she wasn’t on the list of things he cared about. He’d made that clear.

“You fell hard this time, huh?” her grandmother asked, touching her cheek.

The rare gesture brought tears to her eyes and she blinked them away. She shrugged, not trusting her voice.

“Use this. All of it—the passion, the heartache—put it all into this role and you’ll be fantastic.”

She suppressed a sigh. Unfortunately, there was nothing else it was good for. She hugged her grandmother quickly once more. “Thanks, Grandma. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

The older woman waved as Parker disappeared through security and, a few minutes later, Parker lingered at the gate as the last of the passengers boarded the flight to Los Angeles.

She really had spent too much of her life living in a fantasy world, Parker thought. What was she expecting—Tyson to come running into the airport, past security, to tell her he loved her?

Bah! As if.

No. Tyson Reed had done a lot for her these past months, but none so much as teach her the reality of the world. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he wasn’t a forever kind of guy. She’d been the one to take a chance on him anyway. Not that her heart had given her much choice. She’d fallen in love with him.

She sighed, her foolishness making her dizzy. Hadn’t she learned her lesson the hard way before? But she’d been so successful in breaking down Tyson’s walls; he’d let her in. Therefore, she’d thought maybe . . . just maybe . . .

“Ms. Hamilton, we need you to board,” the airline attendant at the gate’s door said.

“Right, of course,” she said, handing the girl her boarding pass and identification.

“I’m a big fan,” the girl said. “Are you on your way to LA to start filming a new movie?” she asked quietly.

Parker nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s so exciting. I wanted to be a performer . . . Guess that’s why I’m in Vegas. Everyone here is a performer just waiting to be discovered. I guess we’re not all as good as we’d like to believe,” she said with a laugh and a shrug.

And others could win an Academy Award for their performance without even trying, she thought. With one final glance over her shoulder, she boarded the plane.

*   *   *

“How long are you going to waste away up here?” Walker asked, opening Tyson’s apartment door a few days later.

“Get out.”

“No.” Walker came into the apartment and looked around. “This place smells. You smell. It’s time to get your shit together, man.” He opened the window curtains and the blaring sun nearly blinded him.

Tyson covered his eyes with an arm as he lay on his couch. “Walker, I will knock you the fuck out if you don’t get out of my home right now.”

Walker laughed. “Bring it. You haven’t moved off the couch for almost a week. I might actually be able to take you.”

Sighing, Tyson sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, wiping his face. Obviously Walker wasn’t going to let him wallow in peace.

“Look, you lost. Get over it,” Walker said, collecting empty water bottles from the floor and end tables and carrying them to the recycle bin in the kitchen. “And clean yourself up. Seriously, what is that smell?”

Tyson stood. “Okay, I’m up. Stop cleaning my apartment,” he grumbled, picking up discarded chocolate bar wrappers and an old pizza box and tossing them into the garbage.

“I know you’re pissed off right now and disappointed in that shit performance you gave out there . . .”

“Are you here to cheer me up or convince me to slit my wrists?”

“Neither. What was it you said to me once? Oh, right. I’m not your therapist. I just need my coach back because I have a fight in six weeks.” He opened the fridge and then shut it quickly. “Okay, that smell of rotting feet is coming from something in there.”

Tyson glanced around his home—or what used to be his home. Walker was right. It was a mess. He was a mess. The decision loss after the fight had put him into a depression like he’d never felt, but the thing that had broken him was the fact Parker was gone. He cleared his throat, as he picked up several beer bottles from the coffee table. “She left after the first round, huh?” he asked.

Walker nodded.

That was good. At least the woman he was undoubtedly in love with hadn’t watched him go down. He let out a deep breath. “Okay. Tomorrow. We start your training camp tomorrow.”

Walker tapped him on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “Great. See ya tomorrow, Coach . . . Clean yourself up.”

*   *   *

The noise outside his apartment woke him as he slept on the couch later that evening. Tomorrow, he’d return to the gym; tonight he was continuing his self-pity act and the interruption pissed him off. Grabbing his trusty bat, he swung open the door and stormed outside.

Connor stood at the bottom of the stairs, jiggling the handle to the back door of the gym. “What are you doing?”

“You changed the code,” Connor said.

Damn right he changed the fucking code. Pretty soon, he was going to start locking anyone out of the gym who didn’t have a good Goddamn reason to be there. His father was right. He’d let so many other things take away his focus. He’d lost that fight because of his own lack of judgment. That wouldn’t be happening again.

“I’ll give you four seconds to get away from my gym.”

“I wanted to return this,” Connor said, picking up the championship belt off of the ground next to him.

The sight of it made him ill. Perfect fucking timing once again, Connor. Pouring salt into wounds seemed to be his older brother’s specialty. He turned to go back inside but Connor’s footsteps on the stairs made him stop. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“I told you, I wanted to bring this back . . . I’m sorry.”

Running down the stairs, he grabbed the belt from his brother and threw it across the parking lot. “Go! Take it, sell it, get your next fix, but just leave me the fuck alone.”

“I saw the fight. You should have had him.”

Should have had . . . What the hell did Connor know about it? Five brutal rounds of the guy schooling him because he’d let everyone else’s problems become his own. No more. He’d let down his father, but more important, himself. “I said, leave.” He dropped his gaze to the stairs.

“You were fighting injured. I saw you favoring that right shoulder, avoiding your overhand right, which usually knocks them out . . .”

He didn’t want to hear any of this. He’d lost because for the first time in his life he hadn’t been prepared, he’d been stupid and cocky, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He climbed the stairs and grabbed the bat.

“I’m going to rehab. I’m done messing up.”

A part of him wanted to ask his brother if he needed cab fare, if that was why he’d shown up . . . but the humbled, depressed, and angry person inside couldn’t do it.

He went inside.

Connor’s voice drifted through the closed door. “This loss is a good thing Tyson,” he said. “You’ve been winning in the cage so long, you didn’t realize you were losing at life . . . Now’s your chance to change that. Start winning at life, man.”

He shook his head as he collapsed back onto the couch. Right, cause his brother was such an expert in that department.

Chapter 14

“Okay, I think we are ready to start taking questions. Guy in the back—gray tie, red shirt,” the movie’s publicity rep, Angel, said, pointing to the reporter in the back of the standing-room-only conference room at the Beverly Hills Marriott a week later.

Parker had never seen so many media personnel show up for any of her previous movies. Obviously, everyone believed, as she had, that this movie was going to be a success. The pride she felt about it returned, tainted only by the fact that Brantley Cruise sat at the end of the table, beaming as though this was his creation, his baby . . .

“My question is for Parker,” the guy said.

She smiled and sat straighter. “Go ahead,” she said into the microphone.

“Why did you decide to take the role of Jessica ‘The Crusher’ Carlisle?”

Good, they were starting with an easy one. “Well, I read the script and fell in love with the story, the main characters . . . the writers really did a fantastic job with the emotional portrayal of the struggles women fighters still have to face, even though the sport is becoming more accepting of them as athletes. Um . . . combined with the struggles my character faces in her personal life with the loss of her husband and raising her son alone, the role was too dynamic to pass up. I’m fortunate that I was able to get the opportunity to play such a powerful role.” It no longer mattered to her why she’d gotten the part—she was just eager to start filming to bring the story to life.

The reporter nodded. “Thank you,” he said as he sat.

Hands flew upward in the room, and questions were fired at everyone on the panel. Brantley explained why he’d decided to take on the project and the writers discussed the inspiration behind the story. Her fellow cast members answered questions about their motivations for being a part of the film, and Parker started to tune out, her thoughts far away from LA and the movie.

Then a young female reporter in the back of the room stood. “My question is for Parker.”

She sat forward in her seat. “Yes?”

“First of all, I just have to say, you look incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“My question is, What was your secret? How did you transform your body so drastically in such a short period of time?” she asked.

Tyson. He was the reason she’d accomplished the look she’d needed for the role. He was the reason she was confident she would deliver a realistic and compelling portrayal on set.

And she should have known she wouldn’t get through this media press conference without talking about him. She swallowed hard before answering. “Well, I trained MMA at Punisher Athletics in Las Vegas for the last several months,” she said simply, hoping that was enough to satisfy the reporter.

It wasn’t. “Under head coach and former MFL champ Tyson Reed, isn’t that right?”

Former MFL champ . . . it still ached to hear those words. She wondered how he was doing dealing with the recent defeat. She shook the thought aside. “Yes. I trained with him and his camp.”

“You were also photographed with him at a Vegas nightclub. Were you two an item?” the woman asked.

Parker’s mouth went dry. She glanced quickly at Brantley but the smug jerk wasn’t coming to her rescue. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying watching her squirm. The room was silent as everyone waited for her response. She hesitated, but recovered quickly. “Tyson Reed and I were . . .” She blinked as the room started to close in around her. Hundreds of eyes stared at her, awaiting her response, like hungry hyenas waiting for their prey to weaken so they could pounce. Her mouth was dry and she took a sip of her water, before forcing a playful smile. “Well, I mean—come on—look at him. Who wouldn’t fall for him?”

The room filled with laughter but the young woman still didn’t look happy with the vague response.

Thankfully Angel moved on. “Next question.”

Another woman in the front row stood. “This question is for Brantley . . .”

No longer on the hot seat, Parker slid to the back of the chair and tuned out again as Brantley went on and on about how he’d immediately knew the film was different, unique blah blah blah . . . All those words and not one of them meant anything.

Unlike Tyson’s silence—which spoke volumes when he was loving her and letting her go.

*   *   *

Tyson’s cell phone rang and he ignored it. The Desert Hope Treatment Center number was one he’d been ignoring all week. So, his brother had made it to the drug addiction therapy center. Good. That didn’t mean he wanted to have any part of the healing process and twelve-step program to recovery. If Connor needed forgiveness, he could start with the other people in his life that deserved an apology. He just wanted to be left alone.

Silencing the call, he stared at his fighter roster, looking for a replacement fighter to offer Erik Johansen for the December match that Dane wouldn’t be fighting in. After the recent headaches he’d caused the organization, he felt as though he had to make things better somehow. As he reached for the office phone, it rang. Desert Hope again.

He sighed as he answered. “No hablo Ingles.”

“I taught you that one,” his brother’s voice said.

“Look, man, I’m kinda busy . . .”

“I know. I won’t keep you. I just wanted . . . I mean, here at the center, they encourage us to reach out to family. They are having a family dinner tonight and I thought maybe . . .”

“Thought maybe what? That I’d come?” His brother couldn’t be serious. The front door to the gym opened and his father entered. Perfect timing. He hadn’t seen his dad since their argument about Dane and now he was showing up while he was talking to Connor?

“No. You’re right. That’s too much to ask. I. . .uh . . . I’m sorry, man.”

His brother hung up just as his father entered the office.

“Hey,” he said, stacking the fighter files on the corner of his desk.

“Hi.”

“So, your brother’s in rehab,” he said.

“I heard.” About four seconds ago.

His father looked uncomfortable as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I thought maybe I’d drive out there tonight.”

Tyson’s mouth fell. His father was going to go to the Desert Hope Treatment Center’s family dinner?

“The lady from the support group called. She said it helps when the family offers support throughout the process.”

His jaw tightened. Wasn’t that what he’d tried to do? Wasn’t that what his mother had tried to do? They’d all failed. What made anyone believe Connor was serious about this now? Hadn’t his brother’s failed attempts cost their family enough?

“Anyway, I wasn’t sure if you planned to go or not.”

“No.”

He nodded. “That’s fair. You tried already; no one expects more from you. I’m the one who stood back and let everyone else shoulder the impact this has had on our family over the years. It’s time I stepped up . . . for my son.”

Tyson’s gaze fell to the desk. “Dad, about the fight . . .”

His father crossed the room and placed a hand on his head. “Don’t. I’ve failed both of you over the years and it’s me who should be sorry. I forced you to become something I wanted you to be and I pushed Connor away because he was a distraction who could never be the idea of perfection I thought our family legacy needed. Fuck family legacy—it’s time to focus on family.”

The lump in his throat at his father’s words preventing him from speaking, so he nodded.

“We will get the belt back. That is, if you want it back.”

“Of course I do.” It was the only goal he’d ever worked toward. He didn’t know anything else.

“Anyway, I should go if I’m going to make it on time.” He hesitated for a second at the door, then nodded. “Okay, see you later, son.”

“Hey, Dad,” he called as he father left the room. “Uh, tell Connor . . .” What? He had nothing. He shrugged.

His dad nodded. “Will do.”

*   *   *

A week later, Tyson scanned the crowd inside ShadowDancers at Walker’s bachelor party. Billy and Carlos were at the bar doing shots off of one of the dancer’s chest and he grinned. They better enjoy it while they could. Starting the following morning, they were training twenty-four-seven in preparation for their upcoming fights. His loss had already done enough damage to his camp’s reputation. His fighters were going to be ready for their fights.

Across from him in the booth, the groom-to-be was texting, a goofy grin on his face.

“You know, I thought the point of a bachelor party was for a final hoopla before you cut your balls off and yet all night you’ve been sitting in this booth texting Gracie,” he said, but he understood. Walker had found a good one; you didn’t mess that up.

At least his buddy was smart enough not to.

“She’s in Lovelock at her bachelorette party,” he said.

“And you’re keeping tabs on her?”

Walker laughed. “There are exactly three single men in Lovelock—none of them under the age of fifty. She’s with her mother, my sister, and my grandmother at the tiniest bar imaginable. I’m okay with this.”

Tyson nodded as he checked his watch. “Well, I think I’m going to head out.” He tossed enough money onto the table to cover the evening’s tab and offered a fist bump to Walker. “Congrats again. You got a good one.”

Walker shot him a look. “You had a good one too.”

Tyson just shook his head. “See you tomorrow morning at the gym. Make sure those two make it into a cab, okay?” he said, nodding toward the young fighters at the bar.

He couldn’t stay any longer, pretending to have a good time. His thoughts continually drifted to Parker and the night they’d been there together, when she’d come on to him and he’d refused her. He should have continued to refuse her—for both of their sakes.

On his way to the door, a pretty redhead touched his arm. “Hi, aren’t you Tyson Reed?”

He nodded.

“I’m a big fan,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger.

Obviously she hadn’t seen his last fight. “Thank you,” he mumbled, looking past her longingly at the door. So close.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” she asked, sliding out of the booth.

Her short skirt and knee-high boots were exactly the kind he used to take home, but tonight he shook his head. “Sorry. I was just leaving.”

“That’s cool,” she said with a shrug, grabbing her purse. “I was ready to go anyway.”

Shit. For once that wasn’t what he meant. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m leaving alone.”

She pouted. “Really?”

Really. He nodded.

“Fine, well, can I at least get your autograph?”

He wasn’t sure it was worth much anymore. “Sure.”

He waited as she opened her purse and retrieved a pen. Then almost predictably, she lowered the edge of her shirt, exposing a freckled breast. Once his former self would have kissed every inch of her into all hours of the morning. Now his body offered no reaction to the sight. Parker had somehow managed to break his heart and his dick.

Fantastic.

He hesitated, then ignoring her chest, he reached for a napkin on the table. He scribbled his name quickly and handed it to her.

She looked disgusted as she took it. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Have a good night,” he said quickly, once again dashing for the door.

This was just great. He couldn’t be with the woman he wanted, and now he didn’t want to be with anyone else.

At home an hour later, he turned on his television and flipped on his Netflix. He scanned the list of movies until he found the ones he was looking for.

When Parker’s face appeared on his flatscreen moments later, he leaned forward, not hearing the words she said, just mesmerized by her presence. Not seeing her the last few weeks was driving him mad. And if he had to watch and rewatch all of her old movies just to see her, that’s what he planned to do—pathetic and a perhaps a little psychotic—but he didn’t care.

He missed seeing her every day at the gym . . . in bed together at night. He missed the way she argued with him over everything he instructed her to do but did it anyway. He missed the laughter she brought to the otherwise intense, fierce environment of the gym. He missed the way she smelled, the way she felt . . .

Damn, he knew he never should have let her into his gym, into his life, or into his heart. Now, all three felt empty and the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that things may not ever feel the same without her made him feel desperate and alone.

He leaned back on the couch and rested his head against the cushions. She was gone and all he had were these movies to try to fill the void she’d left. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice . . . then the sound of the leading man saying, “Being with you is what makes this decision the right one. I didn’t know what it was to love—really love someone—until I met you.”

Wow, an actor’s words had never resonated with him before. But now, on screen some make-believe character in a make-believe world was saying everything he felt for real, for one very real woman.

Get better at pretending, she’d said when he’d claimed no real guy spoke this way. Well, he didn’t need to pretend. He just needed to somehow grow balls big enough to find a way to say it to her. To tell her not only what she wanted to hear, but what he wanted—needed—to say. To tell her his life had been empty without her. His days had been full and busy chasing a fleeting, cruel goal that didn’t matter in the end. That she’d changed things.

She’d changed him.

He needed to tell her he loved her and he was wrong. He was the right man for her. Because she sure as hell was the right woman for him.

The only woman for him.