Inked Fighter: Complete Collection (MMA MC New Adult Romance) (5 page)

On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store. When I got home, I took Rose, the groceries, and my fabric inside. I flung my purse on the table and realized I’d forgotten to put the rest of my cash in the bank. I still had over three hundred dollars. After I put the food away and Rose down for a nap, I stored my cash in the top drawer of my dresser. Having that much cash on me made me nervous. I didn’t want to carry it around.

I stared at my fabric on the table and thought about the dying process. My big dying tub sat on the front porch, ready for me to get to work. But I couldn’t think about work. All I could think about was Damien Cruz.

All through lunch, I’d been staring at his soft, full lips imagining what it would be like to kiss them. Kissing a guy I’d just met was the last thing I needed in my life, even though my body seemed to disagree.

I still couldn’t help thinking that there was something wrong with him for being interested in me. Then again, if I thought something was wrong with a guy because he was interested in me, what was wrong with me?

What was wrong with me was a one-year-old baby and an out-of-control sister. Zoe and I were keeping things together as much as we could, but boy drama could mess up what little peace we had. I wasn’t going to let my hormones destroy my family.

Taking a deep breath, I got up from the table and forced myself to get my fabric ready. Out on the front porch, I filled a big aluminum tub with water from the hose and added pink dye. Then I cut a length of fabric and pressed it into the pink water. For twenty minutes, I stirred on and off as the fabric soaked up the pink. When it was done, it had a nice even coat.

I put the fabric into another tub and poured out the dye water. I put the first batch through a quick cycle in the washer and dryer while I dyed the other half of the fabric batch light yellow. When the pink fabric was dry, I put the yellow fabric in the washing machine.

With the first batch of pink fabric in hand, I went to the kitchen table and got my wax ready. I used a technique like batik but less detailed. I melted the wax until it was soft, and then finger-painted the designs into the fabric. I didn’t want a discernible pattern. The messier the better. It ended up looking really organic.

After I’d smooshed warm wax over the pink fabric, I heard Rose crying upstairs. I looked at the clock on the microwave. It was already six in the evening. Zoe would be home soon. There was no sign of Regan. Sometimes she came home stinking of booze. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to think about it.

Upstairs, I opened the bedroom door and found Rose standing in her crib. She was wearing her little onesie with a cute mouse on the chest. It was already tight on her. She grew out of her clothes so fast.

Her face was red and streaked with tears. I picked up my baby girl and held her close to me. I would do anything for my daughter. I kissed her head and smelled her fresh baby scent. Love tumbled out of me uncontrollably and tears formed in my eyes.

Sometimes it was like I was hollow, and there was no light at the end of that tunnel. I wanted to give up, throw my hands in the air, and scream I was done. But I couldn’t. I had to keep going, for her.

A vision of Damien crossed my mind and a seed of hope grew deep in my chest. No matter how hard I fought it, my instincts longed for him. There was something in the tilt of his head, in the way he smiled, that told me everything would be all right. 

I heard the door banging closed and high-frequency conversation from downstairs. One of the voices was Regan’s and the other was male.

With Rose on my hip, I walked downstairs, worried about what I would find. She sat on the couch with a guy. He had shoulder-length dreadlocks, and wore a long-sleeved t-shirt with holes in it and skinny jeans that covered his lean form. I could smell the sharp scent of alcohol.

Regan had her kinky red hair braided in two braids down her neck. She wore a tank top and tiny seventies-style shorts with basketball socks pulled up to her knees.

“Hi, Claire,” she said animatedly. She seemed happy. Too happy.

“Hi,” I said back, sounding far less enthused. “Who’s your friend?” Rose weighed heavily in my arms, but I didn’t want to put her down with the weirdness going on in the living room.

“This is Toby. I met him at The Clutch.” She leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Toby didn’t seem the type to go to The Clutch. The place was mostly frequented by overweight, bald, bearded biker types.

“Is that where you’ve been, Regan?” I asked. My voice revealed my concern.

“Yeah, I go there. Toby is going to crash here. Is that a problem, Claire? Because this is my house too. It’s not like Mom left it to you when she axed herself. Tell me if we are going to have a problem, because if you have a problem, I have a problem.”

“Hey man, it’s cool. No big deal,” said Toby. He got up to leave.

I sighed and put Rose in her playpen. The fact that he was willing to leave after Regan’s outburst made me less worried about him.

“It’s fine. I’ll make dinner. Are you guys hungry?”

“Won’t pass up a home-cooked meal,” he said.

Regan rolled her eyes at me and gave me a devil’s glare. What? I’d offered to make her and her friend dinner. What the hell could possibly be wrong with that? After two years of that kind of thing, I’d learned to let it roll off my back. I couldn’t understand why she did the things she did, and I never would.

I pulled Rose’s playpen into the kitchen and started peeling potatoes. I’d bought steaks and wanted to cook them tonight for Zoe. I looked at the clock and hoped she would be home soon. I didn’t want to cook steak for Regan and her new homeless boyfriend.

I dumped the potatoes in the sink while Rose chattered in baby talk. She’d said doggie, mommy, Zoe, and a few other words, but most of the time she babbled very cute gibberish. The phone rang. Regan was talking her head off in the living room, so I wiped my hands and answered the phone.

“Hey, Claire, I’m not going to make it home for dinner tonight. I’m going out with some friends. Don’t wait up,” said Zoe with a giggle.

“Oh, I was making steak.”

“Don’t worry about me, I ate at work.”

“Regan is here with some guy,” I whispered into the phone. “She’s in one of her talky moods.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s fine. I just wanted to make this steak for you. But I had my heart set on eating it tonight, sorry.”

Zoe laughed. “Claire, you’re such an old lady. Don’t worry about it.”

I laughed back and told her to have fun. I wanted her to have fun. She deserved to have fun. I glanced into the living room, and Toby and Regan were sucking face on the couch.
Gross.
Regan had her leg over his, and it looked like things were about to get nasty. I rolled my eyes and went back to turn on the broiler.

I sat with Rose while the potatoes boiled, trying to avoid looking into the living room. I heard undisguised moans from behind me.
Kill me now.
I considered making some cereal and hiding in my bedroom for the rest of the night with Rose.

The potatoes were done boiling, so I mashed them up and put the steaks in the broiler. After a few minutes, everything was done. I put it all on the table with a loaf of French bread and a stick of soft butter.

“Hey, guys,” I called into the living room, still not looking. “Dinner is ready if you want to eat. Steak and mashed potatoes. Come and get it.”

I heard giggling. Then they came into the dining room and sat on the other side of the table. They managed to control themselves through dinner. From the look on Regan’s face, Toby was probably grabbing her crotch. Rose squished her mashed potatoes into her mouth with her messy little hands. My appetite was ruined. Even though my steak had come out well, it tasted like ash in my mouth. Regan wasn’t being that bad, but every time she brought one of her “friends” over, it never ended well.

After dinner, they went up to her room and left me to clean up. They didn’t even say thank you. As I washed the dishes, I heard loud music pulsating from Regan’s bedroom. Great, it was going to be one of
those
nights.

I looked out the kitchen window over the sink. It had started to rain. When I finished the dishes, I put Rose in her playpen and made myself a cup of tea. With my fragrant herbal tea in hand, I opened the front door and stood on the porch, smelling the rain. Rose babbled and screeched at Bradly as he panted and woofed at her, prancing around the playpen. 

Regan’s music was muffled from where I stood on the porch. I took a deep breath, taking in the fresh, damp scent. I let it sink into my lungs and infuse my skin. There was always so much to do that just a few moments of peace was essential for my continued sanity.

I looked over the front-yard fence and saw a motorcycle cruising up the road. My breath hitched. It was Damien. He stopped in my driveway and kicked down his kickstand. Everything happened in slow motion. My stomach did flip-flops. He pulled off his helmet, and the rain splashed on his hair and rolled down his black leather jacket.

He strode up the stairs to step in front of me under the porch roof. I was speechless. I knew my face was wide open, searching for answers. He looked at me as if he was starving, and I was a banquet. I’d never seen a man look at me like that.

“You’re wet.”

“It’s raining,” he said, moving toward me.

“Do you want some tea?” I held my mug so tight it could have broken. Bradly ran past me out the front door, squeezed around Damien, and sprinted into the rain. Damien’s gaze didn’t move from my face. His lips parted and his eyes blazed into mine. They could have set me on fire.

He stood so close to me, I could feel his breath on my forehead. I could smell the scent of wet leather and damp skin. My heart surged. I looked down and stepped backward through the door. My body protested as if I had declined free chocolate cake after starving for a month.

“You want to hang out for a while?” I asked, acting like I didn’t want to throw myself at him. The music from upstairs pulsed through the house, and pressure pulsed between my legs. He followed me inside, glancing down at Rose. He could hear the pounding music.

“Do you have company?” he asked.

“My sister does.”

“Oh. You said something about tea?”

I sighed with relief and went to the kitchen. He closed the door behind him and slid off his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

His black t-shirt was damp, and it clung to his chest. I could see the outline of his chiseled pecs and rock-hard six-pack, and it made me weak in the knees. I put tea bags in two cups and poured hot water over them. I flavored the tea with milk and honey and handed him a cup.

We moved into the living room, where I put my cup on the coffee table and took Rose out of her playpen to let her play on the floor. She toddled to Damien and did a little knee-bend dance while holding his leg. He chuckled at her. Baby cuteness was hard to resist.

I sipped my tea and watched him watching my baby. She giggled at him while he made funny faces. Rose reached out to be picked up. Damien glanced at me, and I nodded. He lifted her onto his lap. 

He held her against his chest, and the sight of it made me feel like crying for joy. A missing part that I’d buried reemerged like a spring flower. I didn’t know if I could let the tender shoots grow and take root. I should squash it before it was too late.

I sat on her couch and held her baby. Claire was so soft, so perfect, and so insanely cute in her old hippie house. I wanted to know what made her so strong and gentle in this harsh, jaded world. Even in the middle of my personal mess, she was suddenly I all wanted.

“Sorry, I didn’t call. I finished the tattoo design and was in the neighborhood.”

“It’s a little chaotic around here,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

Music blared from upstairs. A door slammed and loud footsteps rolled down the stairs behind me. I turned and saw a redhead in short shorts standing on the stairs.

“Who’s he?” asked the redhead.

“Regan, this is Damien Cruz. Damien, this is my older sister Regan.”

I looked at Regan and back to Claire. They looked like sisters, but Regan was a few inches taller and had very curly, very red hair. Claire’s hair was straight and light auburn.

“Hey, Damien,” Regan said, bending over the arm of the couch. I could see down her shirt. She batted her eyelashes at me. She smelled of whiskey. “Nice tats.” She ran her finger up my arm. I glanced at Claire, and she glared at her sister. The other girl lost interest in me and walked into the kitchen. There was a sound of tinkling and she emerged with a six-pack of beer in her hand. She winked at me and jogged upstairs.

Claire’s eyebrows knit together. I hadn’t known she had another sister. Regan’s personality definitely wasn’t like Claire’s. I was sure she had something special about her, but I was sick of that type.

“Sorry about that. Regan is… Regan is Regan.” She tried to laugh, but I could tell she was holding something back.

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t come here for her.”

Her smile came back and it filled me with sunshine. I wanted to keep that smile on her face as if my life depended on it. I looked at her and let her warmth radiate over me, thawing the frozen cynic inside. I wanted to believe in something other than myself. I wanted to believe in her.

“Let me get that drawing,” I said. I sat Rose on the couch next to her mom and went to pull the drawing from my jacket pocket. The damp had wilted the paper but the drawing was still intact.

I brought it to the couch to show to Claire. She took it as I sat down. Her eyes widened and her face brightened into an awed smile.

“This is so gorgeous. Exactly what I imagined. It’s like you read my mind.”

“I aim to please.”

Rose whined and grabbed for the drawing. Claire’s face contorted with worry again. She glanced at the clock and stood, bouncing the baby on her hip.

“I really should get Rose to bed.”

“I’ll get out of your hair and let you get on with your night.”

“Maybe we can do that tattoo thing soon. When would be good for you?”

“Monday afternoon. I could bring my gear over, if that works for you?”

“Okay. About six? Zoe should be home around then.”

“All right. See you then.”

I flung my leather jacket over my shoulders. Opening the door, I turned to take one last look at her. My hands clutched to keep myself from grabbing her and kissing her hard on the mouth.

I had to go or I wouldn’t leave. I said goodbye and closed the door behind me. Outside, it had stopped raining but darkness had fallen. The damp air smelled of fresh, wet earth and wild, green spaces.

My motorcycle rumbled to life under me, and I made my way back to my cramped room in the clubhouse. I paced my room. My damp clothes steamed over my hot skin. Visions of Claire’s smile, her soft face, and her curvaceous breasts taunted me. I wanted to possess her. I wanted to know all her darkest fears and chase them away so that all that was left was the knowledge that I would take care of her.

She made me want to be a better man. Everything about her screamed integrity, strength, and loyalty. What would it take to be good enough for her? She deserved the best the world had to offer, and I knew that wasn’t me.

No matter what I had to do to make her life easier, to make her happy, I would dedicate myself to being the man who could do it. Maybe if I could do that for her, I could save myself.

In a way, she reminded me of my mother. My mother prevailed through tough times with love and care, the way Claire did. I’d give anything to have that back in my life, to feel that comfortable, unconditional love again.

No matter how I postured, no matter how many MMA fights I won, I was still the kid from North Hollywood who missed his mom.