Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (7 page)

“Fuck off, Otto,” I grumbled.

Oscar shook his head at us, strapping himself in. “Let’s go. We’re gonna be late and I’m not trying to hear Flex’s mouth.”

Flex, my ignorant, no-good, selfish Dad.

As much as I hated it, I knew Oscar was right. We had to go. I wasn’t in the mood to curse my so-called father out for arriving late.

Not tonight. Not after passing up the opportunity to really get to know Jenny, a girl I’d somewhat admired since I was ten years old.

But, that, she would never know.

She didn’t need to know because we would never be.

And that’s the way it needed to remain.

* * *

B
lood
.

Sweat.

No tears.

Fuck the tears.

If you cry, you’re a fucking pussy and you get kicked out because you never fucking belonged here.

Bones
crunching
.

Fists
crashing
.

Bodies
collapsing
.

This was what midnights at the Dirty Dawg Pit were made of. A brewing pot full of mean glares, a crazy crowd, and ignorant, hateful words.

Money waved in the air, men young and old, hollering towards the battle cage. Blood spewing from the opponent’s mouth.

I watched my opponents fall down like dead flies, listened to the way their noses broke beneath my fists, how my foot cracked a rib if I stomped down hard enough.

It was fucking terrifying for the guys that’d never been there before. It could have made anyone want to hurl and run home to their mother.

It was dirty.

Fucked up.

Gritty.

But to me, it was fucking
bliss
.

My hands were positioned, and I didn’t give a fuck about anything but winning that thousand-dollar prize.

Fists raised, brows furrowed, anger on full display. It didn’t take much to make me angry—maybe a little taunting here and there.

But there was one main trigger that got my blood boiling—only a few words that really turned my vision red. Flex said them to me every night. He’d spit them in my face, and I’d fucking hate him for it, pretending it was him in that cage with me and not some weak-ass opponent with a corny name.

He’d shout in my face. The sad part was, it worked for me. It helped me win. It helped me
provide
…

My opponent tonight was short and bald, but he was stocky, with tree-trunk arms and a thick torso. The ref told us to touch fists. Fuck that. I didn’t touch fists, but that pussy wanted to. I was going to rip this fucker to shreds.

He growled, baring razor-looking teeth when I didn’t bother paying my respects. Didn’t scare me one fucking bit.

“Beat that motherfucker’s ass, Doom! Let’s go! Fuck him up!” Wildcard shouted behind me.

“Drop that motherfucker, Doom! Come on!” Otto hollered. “Doomsday! Doomsday! Doomsday!” Otto started a chant and everyone that had his or her money on me followed suit. Practically everyone in the Dawg Pit had money on me.

Why?

Because I was Doomsday, and I
never
lost.

I was a champion.

The chanting got to my head, swelling my ego. The ref gave the signal for us to fight, and I stomped across the mat, tired of watching this motherfucker watch me. He was an ugly son-of-a-bitch. Meaty, bald head, crooked nose, beady fucking eyes.

I wanted to get rid of him, toss him out of the Pit like he was a dead rat. I swung, he ducked and tried to land a blow on my jaw. He missed my jaw, but caught my shoulder with strong force. Twisting around with rapid speed, I rushed him, causing him to stumble.

He went wide-eyed. Didn’t even see it coming.

I took advantage of the opportunity—his small moment of weakness—by decking his fucking face, and then slamming his heavy body on the mat.

The crowd went fucking wild, shouting my name. Shouting until it sounded like their lungs would pop. I had no clue how we never got caught in this fucking Pit. Right in the basement of Flex’s rundown boxing gym. Only three blocks away from the police station. With how loud they were tonight, I knew someone was going to rat us the fuck out.

But I didn’t give a single fuck in that moment. I joined in on the thunderous commotion.

“Fucking pussy!” I roared, landing on top of him, crushing hard knuckles against bone. My hands swung and flew. I dropped blows, landing them on his face, butchering what was left of him. He groaned beneath me, a signal of defeat.

He wanted out. But I didn’t stop. I
couldn’t
stop.

I wanted him dead.

Fucking dead.

All I could see was my mother. All I could think about was Grandma Marie.

All I could imagine while pinning that motherfucker down was my father, how I would one day be running the show, proving to him that I was better—that I had always been better—and that he’d hated me for it.

He blamed me for everything, just like I blamed him for every shitty situation in my life.

I hated him.

I wanted him gone.

So I punched.

And punched.

And fought harder.

And growled.

I roared.

I hollered.

I continued hitting until I was finally yanked off of my opponent, my arms held down tight from all directions. I breathed raggedly, my body pumping with way too much adrenaline.

Spit spewed from my lips, blood dripping off my tender knuckles. I barked at my unconscious opponent, snarling—demanding him to get the fuck up.

He didn’t budge.

He just lay there, and I realized that he was nothing.

And I also realized I did this because I was nothing.

I had always been
nothing
.

My eyes went over the frenzied crowd, watching as they all tried to catch my eye. I ignored them, pulling my sight up and focusing on my target. Flex.

He stood in the same spot during every single fight. Up a level, arms folded tight across his chest, his nostrils flared, eyes boring into mine. He stood alone, as if he were the king of the Pit. The ruler.

He organized the fights and got twenty percent of each brawl, but he was no king. He wasn’t shit—a pussy that was scared to fight me, no matter how many times people brought up the idea. I had no problem facing the motherfucker. It was him that always declined.

He had twenty years on me. He was still young himself. There was no damn excuse. He was just afraid of losing to his son. I would give him the ass whipping of a lifetime. One that would make him regret all of the things he did to Mom.

My nostrils were flared as well, my upper lip peeled back in a snarl. I could take him. I could… but I also couldn’t.

Grandma Marie told me not to.

I made a promise to her a long time ago to never harm him. She always told me I wouldn’t get anything out of fighting him—stooping to his petty level.

He was lucky I loved and respected her, because if it weren’t for her patience with the both of us, my fucking father would have been dead a long time ago, and I wouldn’t have given a single fuck about it.

I
woke
up to a pitter-pattering noise, a rather annoying dribbling.

I groaned, my mind foggy, as I turned my head and gazed up. The water was coming from the faucet.

Wait…
the faucet!?

I pushed myself up, palms flat on the cold, tile floor. I sat up, observing my surroundings. Kylie had her arms draped around the toilet bowl, but the vomit obviously didn’t make it to the toilet because it was all over the seat and the sides.

My nose scrunched in disgust, but then I remembered. She’d passed out… well, we’d both passed out. The party had continued but we ended up trapping ourselves in the sanctity of her upstairs bathroom, ranting about the stupid boys in our lives.

For her it was Trace, who we still couldn’t believe tried to push us over, but then she grinned like the Cheshire Cat when she thought of the twin. She said his name was Oscar. I was glad Oscar kept her company during their ten-minute stay.

Unfortunately for me, it was Drake who’d made me livid when he stormed away from the party, leaving me no choice but to drown in cheap beer and salty chips.

Bad combination.

I’d only drank twice before then, and that was a glass of wine that belonged to Kylie’s mom’s. The food, as well as the liquor, didn’t sit well on my stomach. I was supposed to be escorting Kylie to the bathroom to hold her hair, but it was me who hurled before she even had the chance to.

God… this sucked.

Now it was quiet in the house.

I looked up towards the rectangular window, the sun beaming down on us, and my head throbbed. I shielded my eyes, whimpering a little as I pushed to a stand, staggering on one heel.

Jesus, where is the other one?

I’d never, in all my teenage years, gotten so wasted. A throbbing skull, a limp body, dry throat and an even dryer mouth. What was I thinking, drinking until I didn’t care about Drake’s rude departure?

Stupid, stupid idea.

Why? Because it was still bothering me.

I flipped my wrist to check my watch. 10:30 A.M.

“The brunch! Holy shit!”

Kylie groaned after my declaration. I dashed for her, shaking her by the shoulders. “Kylie, I have to go. I only have an hour to get home and get ready.” I shook her again. She didn’t budge. “Ugh.” I couldn’t leave her like this. Hugging the toilet. She would never forgive me for leaving her there like that.

I picked her up, draping her arm over my shoulder, practically carrying dead weight through the next door. I stumbled a little as we reached her bedroom, and then fell forward, flopping on top of her king-sized mattress once my knees bumped the edge.

She groaned, and then curled up as she rolled onto her side. She needed rest. She looked horrible. I knew once she was awake she would put herself together again.

I took a peek at the mirror on her wall, realizing I looked just as hideous—makeup smeared, lips chapped, my brown hair a frizzy mess—but it could wait. My parents were never going to shut the hell up if I didn’t make it to the brunch in time. I scanned the room, in hopes my phone was around.

It wasn’t.

“Damn it. Not now.” Kicking off the other heel, I hurried towards Kylie’s door and fled out with bare feet. There were two people in the hallway, passed out, red cups scattered all around them. I stepped over their outstretched arms, taking the stairs down until I was in the kitchen.

I caught my teal and white phone case on the counter and relief washed through me. Dashing for my cellphone, I snatched it up and checked the screen.

Three missed calls from Mom.

One from Dad.

I found my keys on the key hook where I left them and was at the door in a matter of seconds, but not before taking notice of the damage that’d been caused because of her spur-of-the-moment party.

The house was a disaster. Sticky alcohol on the floors, Solo cups everywhere. Spots on the wall, broken dishes. Toilet paper all over the place. I shook my head as I walked out of the house.

If I thought the inside was bad, the outside was worse. Someone had tissue bombed all the trees. Even more cups lay out by the fountain. Empty tequila glasses crowded the sidewalk and the keg was woefully tipped over on the lawn. Poor thing. Was loved by so many until it was used up, empty, and bound for loneliness.

“This is terrible,” I mumbled, reaching my car. I had the urge to pick up the two cups and the bottle beside my tire, but opted not to. I had no time. I had to go.

My phone buzzed when I started the engine of my BMW.

M
om

I
ignored the call
, but it was followed by a furious text seconds later.

I
rolled my eyes
. I was only a few minutes away from home. I wasn’t in the mood to hear her bitch and whine about my timing. I wasn’t her. I didn’t plan my life a day or even years ahead.

Unlike her, I liked to take things by the minute—maybe by the hour, if I had plans I was actually looking forward to.

Sighing, I backed out of Kylie’s driveway and drove home as quickly as possible. Not above the speed limit, but close. When I reached the gates of my neighborhood, Roger let me in with a quick nod of his head. I waved at him and then took two lefts before reaching Xylon Drive, my street.

Putting the car in park, I hopped out in a bustle, collecting my keys and dashing for the door. I could have blown this whole thing off, but the thing is even though I could hardly stand my mother sometimes, my Dad was the one I wanted to please.

Mom told me about the
books and tea
thing and I declined without even giving much thought to it.

But then Dad came up to my room all sweet and calm and smiley, and I had no choice but to tell him yes. Of course he went to Mom and told her right away that I would be there, allowing her to take charge of things again, including my whereabouts.

Entering the house, I kicked the door shut behind me and dropped my keys on the nearest table. “Dad?” I called as I neared the staircase. “Mom?”

No one responded. I zoomed up the marble staircase, rounding the corner and clumsily bumping into someone. Sue, my beautiful Russian housekeeper, gasped, plucking out her earphones as she caught my upper arms and helped me keep my balance.

My head rattled, the mild run-in causing major harm to my hung-over state of mind. “Oh! Jenny Penny!” She was surprised to see me, those light-blue eyes shining bright.

Sue loved me, and I loved her. I had more of a bond with her than my own mother. Sad, but Sue had been around ever since I could remember. When I was little, I loved her curly blonde hair and brown lipstick; when I got older, I kind of grew to hate the brown lipstick on her, but only because it didn’t look so good with her bright hair.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “I thought you were going to the tea party with your parents?”

“Yeah, about that,” I put on a tight smile as I walked around her. “Kinda in a hurry. No time for chit-chat right now.”

Sue put a hand on her hip, her accent thick as she said, “They are expecting you, you know? And you look really, really bad.”

“Late night. Early morning. Bad mix,” I sighed, entering my bedroom. I cracked the door behind me, hitting my closet for the dress I’d already picked out.

It was simple. A light pink halter dress and a white cardigan. I stepped into my pink wedges, brushed my hair up into a tight bun, and then I brushed my teeth. A totally backwards routine but this morning was already disorderly.

I flipped my wrist. I had thirty minutes to make it to Leighton Cove Club or I was screwed. Well, shit. I was already screwed because it took exactly forty minutes to get there. It started at 11:30.

I bathed myself in perfume and then I was out of the door, shouting a quick goodbye at Sue before rushing out.

In the car I went, on my way to Leighton Cove, all with forty minutes in my pocket and frustration overwhelming me.

* * *

I
pulled
up to Leighton Cove, snatching out my clutch from the passenger seat and slamming the door behind me. I tossed the valet my keys and clomped up the half marble, half cement steps that lead to the spotless glass door.

The door was yanked open, I checked in, picked up my name tag, and finally I reached the door to the books and tea brunch.

As I walked in, a woman with curly red hair, a barely-there neck, and boobs pushed up to her chin, was at the front of the room standing behind a podium, holding up a book with a white and red cover. A smile plastered her face, her eyes giving away her true motive for this meeting…
money
.

I looked around, spotting Mom and Dad at a table in the far corner. Right beside the window. Perfect. I could daydream, stare out towards the lake and ignore everyone playing this friendly charade.

Eager, I made a quick beeline through the tables, bumping into a few chairs and letting out some quick apologies to those who were clearly irritated.

Dad lifted his head, spotting me coming towards him. A smile graced his lips, and I started to smile back, until Mom looked my way with dipped eyebrows and pursed lips.

When I sat down beside Dad, she glared at me then picked up her cellphone. “We have been calling you all morning,” she hissed across the table.

“My phone was dead.”

“Quit your lying, Jennifer. God,” she said as she looked around, “you’re such an embarrassment.”

“Calm down,” Dad butted in before I could respond with what he knew was going to be a rude retort. “All that matters is that she’s here now. No need to be so upset.” He cleared his throat as quietly as possible, looking discreetly at a few people around us, now gazing in our direction, quickly averting their eyes when one of us tried to make contact.

I stared at the ones that didn’t bother looking away, rolling my eyes without hesitation. They all looked away, muttering beneath their breath. I didn’t care. Nosy pricks.

See, this was the world I lived in. Surrounded by people with too much money and nothing to spend it on. They wasted their time at events like this, sipping on expensive English tea and talking about books that I’m certain all of them hired someone to read for them just so they could talk about it later if mentioned.

No one here liked to feel left out. Everyone tried to remain in the loop, even if the topic did bore them to death.

These same people were the ones who pushed Mitchell too far. They said things that made him doubt himself. They said things right to his face, things he could never forget. I despised them. All of them. I blamed them, too.

“What was so important that I had to be here?” I asked Dad, not even bothering to whisper anymore.

Mom shushed me, glaring a moment before softening it to look at the redhead at the podium. I realized the redhead was Mrs. June. A plump lady that loved to bake… and lie.

She probably didn’t even write the book in her hands. Most likely hired a ghostwriter of some sort.

“Well, your mother was up there first. She had a big announcement to make.”

Mom picked something up from the chair beside her and slid it on top of the crisp, white tablecloth.

Brows narrowed, I picked it up, holding the thin, hardcover book in my hand. The cover was Tiffany blue and white. The letters big, white, and curly.

A tiny fairy was on the cover. She had pigtails and braces and big pink and purple wings…. and her name was Jenny.

Jenny the Fairy. My mother’s name was printed at the bottom of the book. Big and bold for everyone to see. This was clearly a children’s book.

“What is this?” I inquired, holding it up.

“The reason you should have been here on time,” she said harshly. “Had you been on time, you would know exactly what it is and what it is about. I wanted to surprise you, Jennifer. I wanted you to see this for yourself.”

I frowned at her and then down at the book. I opened it, flipping through the pages. The subtitle of the book was
Jenny The Fairy Learns To Obey
.

My brows puckered even more as I flipped and flipped. Jenny the Fairy had a mother, a pretty annoying one that I was sure all of the kids were going to despise… just as the true Jenny Roscoe despised her own. One part of the book caught my attention and sparked my anger.

Jenny wanted to go to a different fairy school. The Mama fairy told her no. Jenny was upset for a few hours, but realized it was wrong to want something she didn’t need. And Jenny came to love her original school, and thanked her mom for being right.

I scoffed.

And deep inside, I wanted to vomit. My gut churned. My head ached some more.

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” I dropped the book, thinning my eyes at her.

“Why would it be a joke?” She blinked with her big brown eyes, like she had no idea what I meant. But she knew. I knew she knew.

“You’re kidding, right?” My voice had risen. Fed up, that was what I was. Fed up. Tired of her ridiculing me, mocking me. That stupid smirk on her lips. That dumb, innocent look she tried to give when she knew she was wrong. Making me seem like I was the worst child on earth.