Home > Fighting to Forgive (Fighting #2)(25)

Fighting to Forgive (Fighting #2)(25)
Author: J.B. Salsbury

“Blake? You okay?”

Her weak voice drags me back from my thoughts. I nod and drop some pills next to her juice. “Fine.”

She stares at me through narrowed eyes as if there’s a question she’s contemplating, but instead, she takes another bite. “So, you made this for me?”

“Sure. It’s good and… you know, you’re sick.” I shrug one shoulder, a little worried that my cooking might come off as seriously desperate and pathetic. “I take it you and Axelle haven’t spoken since last night.”

Dropping her spoon into her bowl, she shakes her head.

I tell her about my brief convo with Axelle in the kitchen. “She’s a good kid. Don’t be too hard on her.”

I move the empty bowl to her bedside table and hand her the juice.

“She’s a great kid.” Her eyes sparkle more than they did earlier. She swipes at her cheek. “I just want her to be okay.”

“I know. And she will be.” The vulnerability in her eyes is almost unbearable. I run my thumb along her cheek. “But first, you need to get better.” Snagging the pills off the table, I hold them up. “Open.”

She licks her lips and they part slightly. Her tongue rests against her lower lip, and I fight the urge to lean in and suck it into my mouth. Blinking away my inappropriate thoughts, I drop the pills onto her tongue and watch her throat work as she gulps them down. The simple movement reminds me of what it felt like to run my lips against her neck. So soft and sweet.

“I hope you don’t get it,” she says, yanking me from my memory.

“Huh?” Damn, I sound like a dumbass.

“My cold. We um… you know, kissed yesterday. Remember?”

Do I remember? Fuck yeah, I remember.

I rub my hand over my face with a groan. That kiss.

“Don’t worry, Blake. I’m a big girl. You don’t have to worry about me getting, you know, clingy, or having expectations.” She slumps down onto her pillow and pulls her comforter up to her chin. “It was a mistake.”

What the hell?That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t think I’d mind her having expectations. Nope, wouldn’t mind at all. But a mistake? She regrets it.

My chest cramps, pain blooming behind my ribs. “Doc Z has me on every herbal concoction there is. I think I’ll be cool.”

That’s all I have to say? How about, f**k no, it wasn’t a mistake. And expect it to happen again. Soon.

I don’t know what this feeling is. It’s so new, foreign. Is it… rejection?

Fuck this. Why the hell do I care if she regrets our kiss? This was never supposed to be anything more than attraction and a little harmless flirting. My head feels like it’s about to explode. I need to get the f**k out of here. I busy myself with gathering up her dishes.

She sinks deeper into the bed. “Blake?”

“Hmm?” Snap out of it, p**sy.

“I owe you. A lot.”

“Sure, Mouse. I’ll let you know when it’s time to pay up.”

She flashes a tiny smile. “Thanks.” Her eyes drift shut, and she snuggles under her comforter.

I click off the light and rush out of the room like I’m being chased. Axelle’s in the living room watching TV. I clean up quickly, throwing the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and the leftover soup in the fridge. I decide against a last peek in on Layla and grab my keys. “I’m out, kiddo. You gonna be okay?”

She nods a few times and waves goodbye. Not hung-over, my ass.

“Lock up behind me.”

She nods again. Shit, what is it with teenagers and eye contact?

“Axelle.”

Her eyes dart to mine.

“Lock up.”

“I will.” She doesn’t move.

“Now. Up.”

She groans and pushes off the couch.

Fuckin’ teenagers. How does Layla do it? “Good girl.”

After leaving the apartment, I stand outside the door until I hear all the locks click. Shaking my head, I walk to my car, wondering for the dozenth time in as many days what in the motherf**king hell is wrong with me.

Fourteen

Layla

“Mom?” Elle’s voice pulls me from sleep.

I sit up and swallow, relieved that the burning ache in my throat has died down. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Seven-fifteen.” She’s dressed for school with her backpack on. “I was just leaving and wanted to say bye.”

“Do you have a minute?” I pat the spot next to me and smooth the knotted bed sheets.

She sits, and from the way she’s hanging her head, my guess is she knows what’s coming.

“Elle, I’m sorry.”

Her wide eyes flash to mine.

“Things have been difficult for you. I know that. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

She drops her gaze to her lap.

“You know, when I was your age, I got drunk at parties.”

“You did?”

I hate telling her what a fuck-up I was, but pretending to be someone I wasn’t is what got us here in the first place. “Yeah. I wanted to stand out, be different, make my own rules.” I shrug. “Thing is, drinking never gave me any of those things. It only led me to make horrible choices that hurt my parents, and myself.”

She nods behind the thick veil of her hair, but doesn’t offer anything else.

“You remember Raven from the garage?”

Her head tilts back, and she looks at me. “Yeah.”

“She has a place, I guess, where we can go. Talk to some people that might be able to help.”

“That’s my punishment?” A grimace tightens her pretty face. “You’re sending me to therapy?”

“No, not you. Us. Together. And it’s not punishment.” I know from experience that when parents pull in the reins, it only makes the child fight harder to get free. “I think it might help.” I want her to be on board, so I throw out a last ditch effort to win her over on the idea. “Blake said it might help.”

“Really?” The wonder in her voice makes me smile. “He said that?”

“He did.”

She chews on her lip.

I sift my fingers through the ends of her hair, and for a second she’s five years old and still my baby. “It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try.”

I blow out a long breath, the relief relaxing my shoulders. “Great. We’ll talk more tonight, after dinner. I’ll make that pasta you like.”

She stands and shrugs on her backpack. “Okay, but we should probably use all the stuff that’s in the fridge first, you know, before it goes bad.”

“What stuff in the fridge?”

“Blake stocked the fridge.” For the first time since she walked in, I catch the ghost of a smile. “He even got ice cream. Nice guy.”

“He is.” The car, then the soup, and now the food. And to top it off, he’s responsible for her smile.

A flutter of excitement jumps in my belly. Blake is so different from what I’d originally thought. Behind the hot guy with the tough-as-nails, fuck-the-world attitude, there’s a caring man who buys ice cream and makes his mom’s soup.

Last night, when he was talking about his dad, I was reminded of Stew. The taunts, the verbal abuse, and the control. A heavy feeling settles in my chest. Maybe Blake and I aren’t that different after all but are bonded by our struggles, like two sides to the same destruction.

Or maybe I’m just desperate to make sense of the dangerous feelings that swirl just below the surface when he’s around.

In the words of Ozzy Osbourne, I’m going off the rails on a crazy train. And crazy never felt so good.

Blake

There’s usually nothing fantastic about a Thursday at the training center. Most days start with a workout, followed by sparring and an occasional meeting thrown in the mix. But this particular Thursday is different.

I’m grinning like an idiot as I dig clean clothes out of my gym bag. My back is numb, and the sparring session I just had with Jonah was one of the best I’ve had in a long time. But that’s not what’s making this day better than most.

It’s Layla. She’s back.

After three days without seeing her face, I’m jumping out of my skin for a glimpse. Leaving her house after the night I dropped off groceries and made her soup, I gave myself a grade-A mental bitch slap. I stayed away from her after that, but getting an update from Killian as to how she was feeling fueled my unhealthy obsession. I still plan on keeping my distance, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy watching her from that distance.

Shit, I’m a stalker. Disgust curls in my gut.

“You ready to head to the meeting?” Jonah’s showered and throwing on his shirt.

I stuff my sweat-soaked training clothes into my workout bag and toss it into the locker. “I am now.”

“Wade’s camp will be here in a week. Think you can keep it cool until the fight?” He slams his locker door shut and turns to lean against it.

“As long as the fuck-stick stays out of my way, I’ll be good.”

We head to the conference room. Rex and Owen are already there. My stomach flips as I search the room for the familiar face that’s been making a guest appearance in my dirtiest dreams. She’s not here yet.

We all drop into our seats around the table. After a few minutes of talking about nothing important, Gibbs strolls through the door. Following behind Gibbs and looking sexy as hell, is Layla. I tilt my head for a better view, and she gives me a shy smile.

She’s rockin’ a pair of black dress pants and a red silk shirt. The torturous top is unbuttoned just enough to tease my dick to life. Professional and fuckable. I shift in my seat and try to squelch the urge to stand up and pull her in for a hug. My eyes keep getting drawn to her hair. She left it down today, the way I like it.

Gibbs starts off talking about the fight week agenda. Layla pulls her lip between her teeth as she scribbles notes into her planner. Just watching her, I can feel a tooth-baring grin pull at my lips—Ouch!

I rub my shin that Owen kicked beneath the table. He mouths, “Pay attention.” I glare at him then swing my gaze to Gibbs, wrestling to keep my focus on what he’s saying.

“We’ve got some promotional stuff coming up,” Gibbs says, and grabs a sheet of paper from Layla. “I’ll need you guys to put on your attention-getting best, if you know what I mean.”

Jonah, Rex, and Caleb all grumble their response.

Rather than sit here and listen to Gibbs talk about how badly he needs us to make fools out of ourselves in public to get in the hottest gossip magazines, I’m back to staring at Layla.

She was gorgeous when she was sick in bed, but she looks even better now that the glow of health is back. After I got home that night, it took forty-five minutes in the room to take the edge off my lustful imaginings. Usually a quick trip to Zeus’s Playground would do the job, but the thought of being with another girl feels dishonest. Not dishonest toward Layla, but like I’m cheating myself. Like using a breadcrumb to satisfy starvation. Which is ridiculous, but no less a fact.

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