Banging Reaper (16 page)

Slipping into a routine now is far too easy and miserable at the same fucking time. I have gotten used to having Avery around my house. And I still have fucking cat hair everywhere! I miss the little furball, having him around was really cool too.

The only reason I didn’t get her a ring was because I didn't really have the time to go and look for one yet. The image of her hand in mine with wedding bands on them was a pretty strong one. I could see getting old with this girl.

“HEAD. OUT. OF. ASS!” bellows Dale as I am tossed to the floor by my sparring partner. Fucker has a grin on his face about a mile fucking long.

Dale stands outside of the practice cage ranting loudly as he clutches the chain link, his fingers turning white. “Two fucking weeks left! Two fucking weeks. AND. Every single week you start focused and turn to shit towards the fucking end because you can't keep your fucking head out of your own ass!”

I tune Dale out as I stand up and square off against Brett. He's an up and coming light heavyweight. Good guy and good fighter, but Dale is right, I have been fucking around too much with thinking about Avery. I start up our sparring exercises and remain focused on working with Brett.

***

I am giving Avery her space. I sent her a couple of texts over the last few weeks only making sure she is okay. It would fucking kill me if anything happened to her because I wasn't there to keep her safe.

The last one goes the exact same way as the only other one I’ve sent to her.

Me
: Are you ok?

Avery
: Yes.

I am dying to say I love you in each one of them, but I haven't. I want to so badly. But I don't. I am keeping my word. I will give her the space she needs.

Training has been going well despite all the ranting Dale has been doing. I think he's stressed out that I am upset about something beyond fighting. Not that he or I can fix the situation. It's in her hands right now. But I don't know for how much longer. I will only wait for so long before I go back to her apartment, break down her door and try to drag her home, bringing the furball with me.

I haven't heard anything from Ethan except the same rhetoric he has been spewing since he was given a rematch shot. He was cheated, he has to take me down to show who’s the king of the cage. I am scared of him, I got lucky. Same shit, just over and over again.

I think the fighting media has even gotten tired of his whiney voice.

We have to cut some promos in next week about the fight coming up and I just do not have the patience for it. I want to talk some shit back, not with pitiful words but with my fucking fists.

I am going to punish the little fucker. I haven't seen Avery in over two months. I haven't felt her warm body in my bed. I haven't been able to pin her down on the mattress and fuck both of our brains into the fucking oblivion this whole fucking time. I haven't heard her voice, this has been fucking hell and miserable.

Before Avery, I wasn't the best of people. I was the quintessential bad boy. I filled the lonely spots in my life with lots of women and lots sex. Most of the women I was with were there for a little while, and then gone once they figured out I wasn't a free ride and training came first. Well hell, I think I even told most of them that training would always come before them.

The house is empty now, most of the guys who were always stopping by to hang out are gone now. I just don't have the state of mind to party. I was beginning to think I liked the idea of settling down with Avery. I liked movie nights and cuddling on the couch while Sebastian snoozed on our laps. Shit, I was even getting ready to give up the bachelor look in the living room and have Avery help decorate the home she would be living in.

My days are filled with training and my nights are filled with either working on the house or harassing Dad. I’ve taken up repainting the house, something I’ve always put off, something I could never find the time for. Well now I’ve got fucking time. I’ve got time to paint. Time to think. Time to drive myself fucking crazy. This shit is killing me. I fucking miss Avery.

Her hair is everywhere.

I wish Chase would stop texting me and asking me if I’m okay. Every time he does, I’m far too tempted to ask him to come back. Far too tempted to tell him I’m a dumbass and I don’t deserve him but I want him. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for being an ungrateful bitch. But I don’t tell him that because that would be selfish of me to do.

Especially since what was supposed to be only two weeks working for Ethan has somehow morphed into six.

I can’t find another job. Lord knows I’ve tried. I’ve put in applications across the city, anywhere and everywhere I can but no one is calling me. Ethan must somehow be behind it. He must be doing something to sabotage me, but I have no evidence to prove it, nothing but a gut feeling. It just makes no sense. I’ve applied everywhere, for anything and everything. I have absolutely no problem cleaning toilets or walking dogs. Whatever Ethan is doing, he’s insured that I’m stuck with him. It sucks.

Working for Ethan, it’s not awful in and of itself, it just feels weird. I rarely have to do anything business related. He has me doing mostly small errands such as taking messages that come through the phone he gave me and picking up his coffee and dry cleaning. Mostly though Ethan requests I spend my time with him assisting him in the gym and watching him train.

I feel like a traitor doing it even though we’ve been friends before I ever heard of Chase. There’s just something about watching Ethan train for his match against Chase that eats at my soul. Like I’m literally selling out. So every time Ethan asks me to go to the gym with him I try to find a way out of it.

Today he wasn’t buying my
I have a headache
excuse. He needs me to bring him his favorite blue hoodie he left in his office then he needs me to drive him home when he’s finished this evening. So, until I can find something else that will pay me enough to make rent, I have to do what he asks of me. I drive the company car he’s assigned me over to his office, pick up the hoodie he left right next to some chick’s nasty panties on the floor and drive it over to the gym.

“Avery,” Ethan greets me with a smile as I walk through the gyms door. “Watch this!”

He does his one armed pushup trick and I do my best to smile and pretend I’m impressed. I’m not.

“That’s awesome,” I say and walk over to my usual bench. I wave his hoodie at him and take a seat.

“I’m up to fifteen,” Ethan grins, hopping to his feet. He grabs a towel, wipes the sweat from his face and walks over to me. “Thanks for picking up my hoodie, you’re the best.”

I reach down and grab his water bottle, handing it up to him. We’ve made a little routine of this. “No problem,” I fib and check my phone for the time. “How late are you planning on staying tonight?”

“You got plans tonight?” Ethan asks without answering me.

I nod, glancing up at him. “Yeah, I’ve got to study.” I always have to study.

“Study while I finish up. Then we can grab some dinner.”

I make a face and he laughs. I hate trying to study here. It stinks, it’s noisy, and distracting. And no matter how hard I try, I just can’t get comfortable. Ethan is supposed to be training but it feels like his eyes are always watching me, especially when I’m trying to focus on whatever book I have in my lap. And when I put my headphones in to drown out the noise, I swear he’s talking about me to his friends that hang around like groupies.

Ethan drops his hand to my shoulder and gives me a little squeeze. I bite my lip to keep from slapping his hand away. “You know, I could cut out early for you.”

“Oh?” I ask, probably too eagerly.

“Yes,” Ethan says and his lips spread into a slow smile. “You can study at my place. We can pick up some takeout and play some Rabid Zombie Hunters. Sound good?”

I frown at Ethan and shake my head. Before I can even tell him why I don’t want to hang out with him, he starts getting upset. His face turns red and his brows pull together. “Why not? We never hang out anymore.”

I sigh, “I’m tired from school and work.”

“Am I working you too hard?” he asks, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “Do you need more time off?”

“No,” I frown at him. Damn it, I hate when he does this. He somehow turns things around until I feel like an ass. “It’s just school. School is tiring and hard.”

Ethan’s face softens. “Maybe you should take some time off of school.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I don’t even know why you bother with school. You’re wasting your time and money.”

“I’m wasting my time and money?” I repeat in disbelief.

Ethan nods. “Yeah. You’re wasting your time and money. You don’t need to go to school, you don’t need a degree. You know I’ll always take care of you.”

Oh, hell no, I can’t even do this right now. I reach up and grab Ethan’s hand, pulling it off me.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I grit my teeth together and hiss, “I need to go.”

Ethan’s eyes narrow and instead of letting me up he brings his left hand down on my right shoulder. “Why? Why are you so angry? Fuck. What have I done now?”

I try to stand up but Ethan pushes me down. “Get your hands off me,” I demand.

Ethan bends down, his pissed off face coming close. “Stop trying to make a scene.”

I snort, not caring who is watching. He’s not pinning this on me. “You’re the one making a scene. Let me go.”

Ethan growls and his hands squeeze my shoulders. “Fuck, Ave, what do I have to do? What will it take to get through to you?”

Something about his words and the way he looks at me chills my blood. Is he going to admit he loves me or something? Or is it something even worse?

I’m saved by the phone. The phone in my pocket starts ringing loudly and vibrating. Ethan scowls but then his lips curl up into an amused smile.

He gives my shoulders one more squeeze then orders me to, “Answer the phone.”

I glare at Ethan. “Let me up.”

His hands pop into the air and he takes a step back, still smirking. I stand up and dig the phone out of the tight front pocket of my jeans.

“Hello?” I ask as I press the phone to my ear. I should have been petty and let it go to voicemail, but answering it gives me an out of the situation Ethan was pushing me in. It’s a situation I just don’t want to deal with right now.

“Hey, tell Ethan it’s on. Four on one at six. I’ll call back when it’s done,” a deep male voice on the other end says.

What kind of message was that?

“Who is this?” I ask. “Who should I say is calling?”

The line goes dead with a click.

I look to Ethan, what the hell?

He only continues to smile. “Well?”

“They said to tell you it’s on, four on one at six,” I say, closely watching his reaction.

He seems to perk up. “Excellent. That’s excellent.”

“What’s excellent?”

Ethan shakes his head and turns away from me. He walks away, as if forgetting he’s angry with me and calls out over his shoulder, telling me to, “Stick around for a while.”

This last week has been pretty rough on me, not just with the training but with keeping a tight focus on everything leading up to this match. I want to obsess over every little detail, something I don’t usually do. I usually let Dale handle a lot of the little things with the fights. He's my manager for a reason, I have never been that fond of that side of the business. I don't like doing the scheduling for interviews, weigh-ins and all the other shit that’s just for show. I’m here to fight, and with all the hard work I put in, earn a large sum of money. Every little penny goes into the bank. I may have a few toys, but I’m seriously saving for when I don't make money fighting anymore.

Not fighting anymore... To say I am not going to fight again is strange and alien feeling. This is what I do, it’s like real estate with my father, it’s in my blood. I love this sport with all of my heart and with all of my fucking soul. I love everything around it. I love training, and I love teaching the newcomers to the sport, and I love teaching kids. I don't like losing, but it’s a part of the sport as well, and I try to reinforce this with the new guys so they don't stop trying their best after a loss.

But I’m tired, and I’m very aware that I’m hitting an age where I can be considered past my prime. I've fought for a long time and I am proud of how far I have come, but I might be getting close to being done. I think about it almost as much as I think about Avery.

I swing open the back door of the gym and shoulder my bag. The sun is still up and I can't see a single cloud in the sky. It’s another beautiful night. I guess I am going to go home and enjoy the silence of being completely fucking alone.

Completely fucking alone, I hate those words right now.

“Hey, Reaper!” a voice shouts at my back. Turning around, I see four guys advancing on me quickly.

I don't even bother raising my hands in a questioning manner, this is one of those times where I look into someone’s eyes and just know they are coming for me. Why doesn't even matter. I bellow out, “Dale!”, as loud as I can before throwing my arm up to block the punch of guy number one. I block that punch and the second one he snaps out at me.

It’s the other guys’ punches I don't block because I can’t.

I hunch my body and turn to the side, trying to limit how much of my body is exposed. My arms come up in the classic boxers block and backing up, I try to get to the wall as fast as possible. If they circle me, it's fucking over.

It’s bad enough that there’s four of them against my one, what punk ass bitches. Not a single one of them could bring me down by them self. But now I can see a glint as a blade flashes in the light. Fucking great, just what I need. I’m already outnumbered and one of the assholes brought a knife to this fucking show.

“Ah, so it’s that kind of deal boys? Well, knife boy you first,” I say as I motion to the punk. I bellow out, “Dale!” one last time before the guy charges at me.

Turning to the side, I narrowly avoid a slash of the blade at the last moment thanks to luck. Seriously, it was a fucking miracle. Then I lash out with my fist and connect solidly with the side of the punks’ head. Fucker is barely fazed though, he must have some fighting experience. He pulls back from me and switches his knife to the other hand.

Time seems to slow as I focus on the blade coming for me while his friends are trying to punch me at the same time. I take the blow to the head and thankfully push the blade past me. What almost brings me down is a hard blow to my ribs that robs me of my breath. Fuck, someone’s hit me hard enough it actually fucking hurts.

“What the fuck!?!” I hear as I see them pull back for another go. Then I see punk ass knife boy fly past me and hear a sickening thud as his head connects with the wall. The others are quickly pushed towards the side of me as Dale, and what looks like an army of half-dressed men, charge out of the gym doors.

“Someone call the cops!” I hear a shout as tons of guys circle the four thugs.

“What the fuck?” I bellow at them as I edge up to the first guy who tried to hit me. The guy with the knife is completely dazed as he lies there, sprawled on the ground by the fucking wall.

Raising their hands, the other guys try to barrel their way past us but it’s not going to happen. Some of the guys from the gym absolutely do not like each other, but this a club kind of thing and they aren't about to let anyone fuck with one of us.

“Time to take a seat gentlemen,” an old man says as he walks into the crowd. He has a wooden baseball bat in his hands and it he looks like he might just use it regardless of whether or not the punks decide to stick around.

***

“Chase, we need to get that rib looked at,” Dale says as he prods my side.

I wince and lower my arms, it's a bit easier to breathe that way and I don't hurt as much. Fuck me! It’s fucking fractured, I know it. I’ve had this before, and I pulled out of a match because of it. Fuck!

“Nah. I'm good,” I say with a grin. It even hurts to do that.

“No, you’re not. That ribs fractured at the least, look you are barely...” he growls.

“Dale. I'm good,” I say quietly.

“But…”

“No buts Dale, I'm good. I’m fighting tomorrow as planned. Everything is fine.” That’s all I will say. I know he won't want me to fight but I have fought with worse injuries. Normally, that just means I won't take a fight again so soon. Never done it with a fractured rib though. It's going to make things rough. I need to breathe to fight and right now just breathing is a painful chore.

“What if...”

Again, I shake my head. I am not going to deviate from my plans. I fight and then I make my announcement. That’s it. After that, I’m going to Avery's apartment and I’m going to camp out on her doorstep until she forgives me.

“Fuck!” I groan as I pull a broken cell phone from the pocket of my hoodie. The cell phone had Avery's number in it.