Worth The Fight (Hard To Love Book 1) (3 page)

I hear the microwave beep but even my hunger can’t get me to move from my spot. I close my eyes and lean back against the doorframe, looking up towards the sky to let the sun warm my face. This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while and it’s with the knowledge that tomorrow I might be able to return to the cage. The thought of being able to train again makes my heart beat a little faster and my muscles twitch with anticipation. The fighting, the cage, the burn of my muscles, I’ve missed every second of it. Now that I'm so close to getting it all back, I'm scared that I want it too much and karma’s going to get her claws out and make me pay for all my past digressions. Maybe I need to take a different approach with this new trainer, maybe if I act like his best friend, be accommodating and welcoming he will clear me fit to fight. I laugh at myself, there is no way in this life that I can be that kind of guy. It’s not in my nature to be Mr. Accommodating. I know that when I meet this Bryce tomorrow there is a very good chance that he will be leaving the gym without a job. Coach seems to think that we’re a perfect match but I don’t see how, I don’t think I'm a perfect match for anyone.

My rumbling stomach finally gets me up and walking back into the kitchen. If I'm going back to training then I need to keep my strength and calories up, losing muscle mass is not part of the plan. I have eight weeks until the rematch with Dwayne. Eight weeks to train and get my strength back and then some. Eight weeks to become the fighter that I know I can be. He might have beaten me last time, but I can guarantee that will never happen again. Dwayne Wyatt isn’t invincible, and I’m going to prove it to the world. 

When I arrived at the gym this morning I’d already made the decision that no matter what this new coach was going to say, I was not leaving today without getting in the ring. I would be sparring before the day was out, with or without permission. I need to be able to use my fists to fight again and release the tension that kicking a strike shield just can’t touch. There’s nothing better than feeling your fists connecting with someone’s body and then for their muscles to give way under your knuckles. You need to know how to move and place your body and how to control your own muscles, to tense them to protect yourself from impact, to create enough force to hurt. Anyone can throw a punch, but it takes great skill to control it. In a fight you want to win, but there’s also great respect between fighters, so you don’t want to lose control and cause serious damage. Well unless you’re Dwayne. I hate that motherfucker with every bone in my body. He fights dirty and gives the sport a bad reputation, he has put more men in the hospital than any other fighter I know. That in itself would make me hate him, but he has a way of intimidating his opponents by taunting them and making them feel like they have to watch their backs outside the cage. This is a hooligan’s sport fought by gentlemen, and he's dragging all our reputations into the gutter with him.

Angus is busy wrapping my wrists when I see Coach walking to the front door. I look at the
clock on the gym wall and I’m surprised to see that it’s nearly ten already
. I’d let myself in just after eight after a shit night’s sleep. I’d tossed and turned the whole night, unable to switch my brain off.

“There you go, all done. You’re sure that it’s okay for you to be going back in the cage? You’ve had the all clear, right?” I smile at him before getting up from the bench and moving over to the punch bag. I don’t want to lie to him, so ignoring the question is the best option.

“Zeke, that wasn’t an actual answer.” I hear him shout from behind me and I wave over my shoulder, again not answering him. I'm about to throw my first punch in months when movement from across the room catches my eye. I stop myself and hold onto the punch bag as I watch Coach talking to a guy just inside the main door.
This stranger’s back is to me but I can see that he has large and built shoulders which tell me that he has trained at some point in this life, unlike Ethan.
Ethan was far too skinny to tell me what to do, how can someone train something they have no knowledge or experience in? I knocked him on his ass with one hit more than once. I continue to watch as Coach and who I assume will be my new coach stand there, and I can’t seem to get my eyes to leave the guy. I want him to turn around, I need to see him from the front. I can’t explain the need to see what he looks like, all I know is that the urge nearly has me walking over and turning him around myself. I don’t know how long I stare, but Coach finally points in my direction and my breath catches in my throat as the stranger turns around.

My body stills completely, my blood feels like it’s frozen in my veins as I take in Bryce Tanner.
He’s taller than Coach and probably rivals my six foot four frame. He looks toned and muscular if the tight shirt he’s wearing is anything to go by.
The shirt is tucked into his pants, which highlights his thin waist and wide shoulders. On closer inspection it looks like he trains, a lot. My eyes travel up his body until they reach his face, which I realize is just as impressive as his body. His dark hair is cut into a messy style and it looks like he's spent the morning running his fingers through it.
I can’t see his eyes from across the gym but I can feel their piercing stare. I feel like I’m being scrutinized by eyes that see everything.
He smiles at something Coach says and my heart stutters at how sexy he looks.

I shake my head violently as I listen to the thoughts going through my mind.
What the fuck’s going on?
I'm not looking at some sexy woman here, this is my new coach, my new
male
coach. My reaction to him is freaking me out but I only have a few seconds to try to work out what’s happening before Coach and Bryce walk over to me.

“Zeke, let me introduce you to your new coach. This is Bryce Tanner.” I note that he emphasizes the words ‘new coach’ and his message isn’t lost on me. He's already spoken to me this morning about giving Bryce a chance and I promised not to be my usual dickhead self, but that’s the best I could offer him. I reach out to take the hand that Bryce has offered to be polite. When my skin connects with his an electric current sparks from his hand to mine. It feels like static electricity and it makes me pull my hand away instantly. I look down expecting to see my skin red and marked, but there’s nothing there. I finally meet Bryce’s eyes and see a look of confusion that mirrors my own.
It takes us both a few seconds to recover and it’s Bryce that manages it first.

“Hi, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Zeke.”
I’m shocked when I hear his voice, I was not expecting the English accent that comes out. He sounds like Daniel Craig and the effect it has on me is a little startling. I know I need to speak but my mind has stopped working and my words are stuck in my throat. I’m well aware that I’m standing here like an idiot just staring at the man in front of me.

“Why the fuck do you have wraps on? I thought I told you there would be no training until Bryce gave you the all clear?” I look at Coach, grateful for him saving me, but pissed that he’s breaking the silence by ripping me a new one. I see the corner of Bryce’s mouth curl up and it takes everything in me not to punch him, to show them how well my hand works.

“Yeah you did, but I decided that maybe I knew more than the new guy.” The smartass answer flies out of my mouth without a thought, but I figure the sooner Bryce knows I'm not a pushover the better. He might be here to help me get back to full fitness, but that’s all he’ll have control over.

“Well the
new guy
says that if you hit that bag before I check your hand, you will be on a week’s suspension. That means no cage, no workouts, no gym time.”
What the fuck?
I just stand and stare at Bryce
feeling like my ass has been handed to me
. No way he just tried to lay down the law, he's only been here two fucking minutes.

I'm pulled from my staring contest when Coach lets out a hearty laugh.
I look over to him to see that he’s looking between both of us with an amused expression on his face.

“Well looks like you boys will get on just great so I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” With those parting words he walks away with his shoulders still shaking with laughter.
Fucker
. I turn back to Bryce and give him my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ death stare, trying to let him know that I won’t take any shit. I need him to know that I'm actually the boss, he's just here to make sure I have everything I need.

“I need you to remove the wraps. I'm going to grab my bag and get changed, have them off by the time I get back.” And with that he walks away leaving me standing there open mouthed as he exits the building. I’m still standing there when he returns a few minutes later with a gym bag over his shoulder. I'm shocked with his dismissal but I'm even more surprised when I find myself removing the wraps.

Bryce

I walk into the locker room and rush over to the open locker that Eddie said would be there for me. I drop my bag to the ground before I collapse onto the wooden bench in the middle of the room and lean my head in my hands. The introduction to Zeke hadn’t gone anything like I imagined. When I’d been offered this job I had taken time to get to know the man that the public see. I knew this wasn’t going to be an easy placement and that I was going to have to fight for control, but when I saw the man I’d be training all that vanished from my head. My mouth went dry as I took in all his muscles and tattoos, but it’s his eyes that took my breath away. Those eyes are something I will never forget. Like bright green beacons and in complete contrast to his almost black hair. It took all my control to look away and when we shook hands I swear it felt like someone had just handed me a live wire. The feeling of his skin against mine was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Shit.

When I moved to America to take this job, I’d decided that I wouldn’t hook up with anyone because I needed to give this once in a lifetime opportunity my full attention. I couldn’t risk the fact that I'm gay getting out, not that I'm ashamed, far from it in fact. I just know how people in this profession think, and the fact that I like guys could be a big problem. I refuse to lie about who I am, but if they didn’t see me with anyone then I wouldn’t need to talk about my preferences. It was a great plan and one that I had thought long and hard about, and it would have worked great apart from him. Apparently Zeke Raine is going to be a temptation I don’t need. I just need to remember one thing:
the guy isn’t gay
.

I take a deep breath and stand up, grabbing my workout shorts and vest from the bag at my feet, and get dressed as quickly as possible. I’ve been in here too long and I don’t want to start our working relationship with him thinking I don’t take it seriously. This is the job I’ve been waiting my life for and have moved to another country for so I can’t do something to fuck it up. I throw my clothes in the locker, pick up my water bottle and I stretch my back before walking out of the changing room.

I need to be strong. I need to be professional. I need to be nothing but his coach.

That thought is wiped from my brain along with the breath in my lungs when I see Zeke on the running machine. He’s removed his wraps like I told him to but he’s also removed his t-shirt, giving me the perfect view of what he’d been hiding before. My body is toned and I'm proud of the way I look and it takes a lot of hard work, but I swear he makes me look like I sit on my arse all day. I don’t think there’s an ounce of fat on him and he looks like he's been carved from marble by the Gods. I shake my head and laugh.
Could I sound any more like a teenage girl?
I tear my eyes away from Zeke’s glistening skin, pretending that I don’t want to lick the sweat from his abs. I need to talk to him, I’m pretty sure I won’t be as attracted to him when I listen to him speak. From the little interaction we’ve had I can tell he's a dick and that’s not a quality I find attractive. Once I get my head on board, I'm pretty sure my body will follow.

“Glad to see you’re warming up, but I want to check out your hand.” I call out to him and wave him over to me but he just glares at me and continues to run.
Yeah, definitely a dick
. I throw my water bottle onto the stack of towels that rests on the weight bench and cross my arms over my chest, determined to wait him out. I need to assert some authority so he knows I'm not going to give into him like his last coach did. I'm here to work and I know how to do my job. The sooner he realizes this the better, he won’t be chasing me off like the long list of people before me.

He must finally understand that I'm not going to give into him because he reaches out to slow the treadmill. His eyes never leave mine and I know we’re entered into a pissing contest now and one that neither of us wants to lose. He stops the machine completely, jumps off and walks over to stand in front of me, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his skin on his way. I try to focus on the fact that I must have been in the locker room longer than I thought for him to build up a sweat like that and not the fact that he smells better than anyone else I’ve ever met. There is nothing sexier than a guy who’s worked up a sweat, and with Zeke, his own smell and whatever aftershave he's wearing is not helping the situation in my shorts. Yes, that’s right. This annoying, headstrong guy is causing my incredibly underused dick to harden in my shorts, my extremely thin workout shorts that wouldn’t hide anything under them. Not good, not good at all. I sit on the weight bench, putting some much needed distance between us to hide the bulge in my shorts, and hold out my hand to him.

“Let me see your hand. I’ve read over your notes but tell me in your own words what happened.” I think we’re going to have another standoff because he doesn’t immediately move or acknowledge that I’ve spoken but I'm soon proven wrong as he walks over to me and holds out his injured hand.

“It’s simple. I had a really shitty coach and he made a mistake. That mistake caused me my championship and almost my career.” I look up at him taking in the anger in his eyes. No wonder he has a problem with me being here, he was let down by the one person who should have his back at all times. I know the story, but it was only secondhand information. I wanted to hear it from Zeke, to get his account of the events and gauge his responses. It’s the best way to find out how he thinks, about how he sees what happened in the cage. Once I understand his mind I’ll be able to train him. I take his hand and knead my fingers into the back of it, feeling for any trauma that might still be present.

“And your injury?” Again I’ve read the doctors report but I want him to tell me in his own words.

“Three fractured bones caused by lack of wrist support. I hit the other guy and his face didn’t come off as bad as my hand. Shame really. I probably would have gotten away without too much damage to my hand, but I then punched the fucker that caused this and that was the source of the real damage.” I continue to press over his hand, looking for areas of tenderness but there aren’t any. I think it’s healed well and quicker than the ones I’d seen in my previous experience.