Inked Fighter: Complete Collection (MMA MC New Adult Romance) (15 page)

Chapter Eleven: Damien

I rode away from Claire’s house. Dusk settled over me. I was lost. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. The main reason I stayed in this town was because of her. She had to come around. I couldn’t take it if she didn’t. I needed her. She’d become my world.

I went to the gym. Working out usually helped me clear my head. I parked my bike and went to the locker room.

My gym clothes were stale from my last workout, but I put them on anyway. In my shorts, top, and tennis shoes, I went out onto the gym floor. The girl who worked the counter, with the fake blond hair and fake boobs, jogged on a treadmill.

I took the treadmill beside her and started to warm up. She gave me a big smile, showing bleached white teeth. I let myself watch her body as she ran.

Turning up the speed, I sprinted for two miles. The girl looked over at me as she slowed her machine. She hopped off and threw a towel around her neck.

“You’re an animal,” she said suggestively.

I stared at her breasts as she leaned against the front of my treadmill.

“I’m training,” I said, trying to keep my breath even.

She ran her hand over the top of my machine and said, “What for?”

“MMA match this weekend.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, and she stretched into a suggestive yoga posture. Her body was tan and toned. She smiled at me, knowing I was looking at her.

“That’s so cool. I’d love to see you fight.” Her perfect white teeth clicked together as her big hazel eyes flashed.

“Sacramento. Saturday.”

“My car is in the shop. Maybe you could take me.”

I stared at her, considering. My eyes drank in her sex appeal. My dick moved even though my energy was entirely extended at a full run. She would be so easy. I could probably have her tonight. I imagined bending her over on the floor and pushing my cock inside her wet pussy while her breasts jiggled underneath her.

“Maybe,” I said noncommittally. Frustration was making me weak. I looked away.

“Well, you’ll have to give me the details.” I watched her ass move under her tight yoga pants as she walked away. Lust and guilt flooded my veins and fueled my workout.

After I finished with my cardio, I went to the weight room and lifted for an hour, pushing myself as far as I could go. My strength and dexterity were at top performance, but working with a punching bag didn’t give me the practice I needed. I would be completely lost if the cage fight went to the floor.

When I was done with my workout, I showered and changed. On the way out of the gym, I stopped to talk to the guy at the front desk. I asked him if he knew of any other fighters in town. He told me the only person he knew was a fifty-year-old ex-amateur boxer. That wouldn’t help. I needed someone who would challenge me.

At home, I sat on my bed and ran my hand over my head. I missed her already. We’d just been together earlier that day. It felt as if it were a million years ago. I wanted her back. I wanted her to smile at me again. I should have found a way to tell her the truth, and I hated feeling that it was too late. My cell phone lay on the bedside table. I stared at it, wondering if I should call.

It grew dark outside, and I lay on the bed. My stomach grumbled, but I didn’t want to get up to make food. Darkness ran over my shoulders and down into my heart. I had to prove to Claire that I’d never put her sister or anyone else in danger. The only way to do that was to get the drugs out of Leggetville. I had to win this fight.

I sat up, feeling determined. I grabbed the phone and dialed.

“Yeah,” said a husky male voice.

“I’ll do it,” I told Martel. “I’ll fight.”

I spent the rest of the week working out for long hours at the gym. I had to make my body a fighting machine. The gym manager found me a few dudes to spar with, but neither of them was even close to my skill level. They didn’t give me the kind of practice I needed.

The girl at the gym hung around me while I practiced. I could have fucked her if I’d wanted to. I was tempted. Believe me. I was tempted. Instead of fucking her, I just talked to her. I told her about the fight, and all the things I wanted to tell Claire. I told her how I was going to fix everything.

I tried to call Claire almost every day. We shared a few tense words and she hung up on me before I could explain anything. It motivated me: win the fight on Saturday. It was the only way I could prove to her I was on her side. Then I would make her listen to me. I would return triumphant.

The day of the run came too fast. The drive to Sacramento was hot and dusty in the midsummer sun. We drove south down 101 and then east past Clearlake. The land was full of walnut trees and rolling yellow hills that looked like the breasts of a sleeping giant goddess. My mind shifted to Claire.

We made it to Sacramento at dusk and stayed in the clubhouse of a group under the same charter as the Black Blades. It was a warm greeting. Some of the guys came out and sized me up. Martel made sure I had my own room.

Since I’d learned the full extent of the Black Blades’ involvement in Leggetville, my feelings toward them had done a one-eighty. I saw them as my brothers-in-arms — hometown warriors defending what was ours. I’d never been more proud to be part of something. I needed that camaraderie more than ever, before my hour of reckoning.

I’d trained as hard as I could under the circumstances, but lacking a sparring partner or coach, I knew I was at a disadvantage. I should have gone to San Francisco to train, but there was so little time. Part of me wished I’d told Martel to hold off. I’d been so motivated to prove myself to Claire, I hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Chapter Twelve: Claire

I spent all week sewing and missing him. He called a few times, but I still couldn’t talk to him. He kept trying to explain himself, but I didn’t want to hear it. If he had been lying to me all along, what was to stop him from lying to me again?

Still, I couldn’t help feeling empty and alone without him. All the time I spent depending on myself, and taking care of everyone else, seemed like a distant memory. Whenever something felt stressful or happy, my first thought was that I wanted to tell Damien. That bastard.

Why did he have to come into my life and turn it upside down? I sat in front of my sewing machine stitching a seam. I’d finished the eight dresses in record time and was sewing a custom order for Emily at Dream Weavers. She agreed to raise her prices if I did a publicity shoot and an interview for her website.

Getting dolled up to have my photograph taken in the shop had been fun. She hired someone to do my hair and makeup. I needed all the help I could get in that department. When I saw myself in the mirror wearing one of my dresses, with my hair and makeup done by a pro, I was amazed at how good I looked.

That was another moment when I wished Damien were there. I finally realized what he saw in me. He saw me without any of the glamour. He saw me when I was in baggy pants and no makeup.

By the weekend, I’d made a thousand dollars, with plenty more coming on top of that. It was the biggest windfall I’d ever had in my entire life. The money from my online sales was set to hit the bank that day. I’d made a separate business account just in case anything happened with the joint account Zoe and I shared for living expenses. I’d examined it closely for the first time in a long time and saw that there were mysterious withdrawals that neither of us could account for.

Usually, they happened on Zoe’s day off. We thought that maybe Regan had taken Zoe’s card and gotten cash from a store to buy drugs. Zoe opened a new account too, and we both became much more careful about hiding our purses.

Regan had been quiet most of the week. She came and went without telling me what she was doing. As long as she didn’t take the car, steal my money, or destroy the house, I was fine with her for now.

I couldn’t deal with her yet. I was too busy with my business. Zoe and I wanted to have an intervention. I felt guilty for ignoring it, but I finally had money coming in. I had to focus on that for just a little while longer.

I drove down south with Rose in the backseat on a warm Saturday morning. Rose called every animal she saw out her window “doggy,” and I couldn’t stop laughing. I’d bought myself a new pair of sunglasses at Dream Weavers, was jamming to the car radio with Rose, and felt pretty good about myself.

I was a businesswoman. Every time I thought about it, it made me want to giggle with delight — even though underneath my happiness was the bitter sting of my aching heart.

I parked in front of JoAnne’s Fabrics just after noon. I practically strutted to the door with Rose babbling in my arms. I struggled to get her into a cart and strolled through the aisles until I came to the rows of sewing machines that nearly made my mouth water.

It was like heaven on Earth. I’d been eyeing a professional Singer model and found it on sale in the store. With my heart racing like a little kid at Christmas, I pulled the box from the shelf and put it in my cart.

Down the aisle, I spied a series of dress forms that would make my life so much easier. I popped one of them in the cart as well. It was getting heavy to push, but I felt like some kind of big shot wheeling it around the store. I still needed a bolt of white cotton, dyes, zippers, thread, and a few other small supplies. I quickly put them in my cart and headed for the checkout line.

The woman at the checkout rang me up, and I had a manic smile on my face. Then I saw the total. My throat went dry, and I had to swallow over a hard lump. Reminding myself that I had to invest in my business, I handed her my debit card.

The seconds between when she slid the card and when the register said “Accepted” felt like an eternity. When the receipt printed out, I exhaled a breath I’d been holding and accepted it with a smile.

“Have a nice day,” the checkout woman said.

“Oh, I will!”

I carted everything out and put Rose into the car before unloading the rest in the back of the cab. A list of things I needed to do ran through my head as I drove home. One of them was to register my business with the city and state. I was still operating without a license, and I wanted to fix that as soon as possible. With a thousand dollars of income a week, I could safely say I was operating a real business.

The thought that my sales might dry up at any second gripped my chest as I crested the last hill before descending into Leggetville. Self-doubt swirled in my brain. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent so much money on new stuff. Maybe I should have saved it for the roof repairs or the electric bill.

I made myself stop worrying. I wanted the new sewing machine so badly, I almost didn’t care if I went hungry for a week to keep it. I parked and greedily brought all my new things inside. I looked at the dining room table that operated as my studio, and put my hand on my hip.

This wasn’t going to work anymore. I needed more space. Rose dumped a bucket of toys on the floor. One of them started to sing “Ring Around the Rosie.” I turned down the dark hallway to the room we never used.

Ashes, Ashes.

I opened my mother’s door, letting it slowly creak while I stood in the doorway. I peered into the darkness and turned on the light.
We all fall down.

We’d left it untouched. It was as if she was still here, haunting us. My brain burned. The money in my bank and the new sewing machine made me feel braver. I wasn’t going to let life walk all over me anymore. It was time for a change. All Mom’s shit had to go.

Rose’s toy changed songs. I could hear her singing along.

I walked into the big master bedroom that smelled of mold and dust. The bulb overhead burned weakly, casting the room in a dim, flickering orange glow.

Take the keys and lock her up, my fair lady.

Mom had a handmade, queen-sized bed that had been handed down from my grandparents. They’d lived with us until they’d passed away when I was a kid. We’d moved in with them after Dad left, and stayed in this house ever since. Zoe had been a baby. I barely remembered my father.

I slid my hand over my grandmother’s patchwork quilt, and then turned slowly around the room. It was packed full of knickknacks and clutter.

Pulling open the built-in wooden closet, I prepared myself for the sight of her clothes. There they hung, outdated and dusty. She dressed like a typical redwood coast mom: jeans, flannels, a few summer dresses, long skirts, and the requisite tie-dyed garments.

My fair lady.

I remembered the way she moved through life. She was a staple in this community. When she’d died, people were shocked. My mother was only forty-eight. She had hidden her depression and her mood swings from others. But she couldn’t hide them from us.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.

A tear threatened to fall down my face, and I felt anger surge in my throat. Storming to the kitchen, I pulled trash bags from under the sink. The music had stopped. Rose pulled the couch pillows onto the floor in an attempt to corner Bradly as he barked and wagged his tail. I rolled my eyes at them and stomped back to my mother’s room.

I tore open a bag and crammed clothes into the thin white plastic. Hangers flew around me as I worked. I didn’t want to look at her things. I didn’t want to go through any of it. I didn’t want to check if there was something sentimental to keep and treasure. I just wanted it gone.

She’d left us. She’d taken herself away and left us to fend for ourselves. “Mother, you crazy, selfish bitch.” I filled half a dozen trash bags with just her clothes and proceeded to carry them to the living room.

Rose giggled and jumped on the bags. Bradly barked at the door. If it was Damien, I’d be pissed. He was the last person I wanted to see right then. The handle turned, and Zoe walked inside.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, looking around. Rose climbed on the bags, hysterically laughing while Bradly pounced around her. 

“Take a look,” I said, leading her down the hall. She stood in Mom’s doorway, her face blank.

“Are you mad?”

“I’m just surprised.”

“When I got back from buying my new sewing machine, I took one look at the kitchen table and was like, ‘Nope, I need more space.’ There’s no point in leaving this room vacant.”

“I know, it’s just, I mean, I haven’t had the guts to do it. I’m glad you did.”

“I was a little worried you’d be angry.”

“I’m relieved.”

“Want to help?” I asked hopefully. There was a lot to pack up.

“Okay. What are we going to do with all this stuff? We can’t leave it for the trash pickup.”

I laughed at the idea of leaving dozens of trash bags next to the garbage can. “We can just put it in the shed. I don’t want to go through it now, but I might want to later. We can just throw out the clutter.”

Zoe picked up a garbage bag and shoveled papers and other garbage into it. After I cleared out the clothes and carried them to the shed, I started packing the knickknacks. I’d brought in a few boxes from the shed and taped them open with packing tape. I wrapped the things in newspaper as I moved them into the box.

Among the items, I found a picture of our family before Dad left. It was in a frame, inside a drawer. Zoe was just a few months old. I was two, and Regan was four. Mom and Dad looked happy.

“Look,” I said to Zoe. “It’s Dad.”

“Wow. He was good-looking.”

Dad looked like a grunge rocker, with shoulder-length wavy blond hair and a flannel shirt over ripped jeans. Mom wore a flower print dress with black boots; her red hair flowed around her shoulders. Zoe sat on Mom’s lap, and I sat on Dad’s with Regan in the middle. It was a candid shot of us on a couch, maybe from a holiday or a birthday. It was hard to tell. All I knew is that we looked like a family.

“I wonder why he left,” I said in almost a whisper while Zoe and I stared down at the picture.

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Claire, Mom was so much like Regan. I’m surprised you have to ask.”

“Not nearly as bad as Regan.”

“Well, no, but her moods were off the charts. She used to storm around the house yelling at us with a belt in her hands. We were scared as hell. I remember hiding under my bed, waiting for it to be over.”

“It was usually me that she found.”

“You mean, you let her find you,” said Zoe.

I sighed. Maybe I did let her find me. It meant she would leave the others alone. Classic middle child behavior. And they said Regan needed a shrink. I took the picture from Zoe and put it aside. I didn’t want to think about Mom’s moods anymore.

We cleared out the rest of the room, taking turns fielding Rose’s catastrophes. We stripped the sheets and quilt from Mom’s bed and threw them in the washer. Amongst Mom’s things, we found a few items that could be valuable: her wedding ring, jewelry of Grandma’s, a few collector’s items. Zoe went to work finding out how much the collector’s items were worth on the Internet and left me alone in the room.

With all Mom’s stuff cleared out, there was a ton of space. I could easily create a corner for my workstation. The room had ample storage where I could put my fabric and supplies.

I finished dusting, and tore down the thick blackout curtains she used. No wonder she was depressed. People needed sunlight. I shoved the curtains in the laundry room and dusted off the yellowing blinds. When I was finished cleaning, it smelled like lemons and pine.

After I put Rose to bed for the night, Zoe messed around with social media for my shop. I went to finish setting up my new bedroom. The best thing about the new room would be not having to sleep next to my baby. I pulled the blankets and sheets from the dryer and put them on the bed. I brought in all my sewing equipment, set up the dress form and my sewing machine, and folded the fabric into one of the storage drawers.

In the morning, I would bring down the rest of my things. That night, I wanted to enjoy the freedom of having my own room. I flung open the windows and let the warm night breeze blow through the long-stagnant space.