Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (9 page)

Wrecked.

"It was like, when I saw him, something in my brain tripped. I tried to hold it in and I almost made it all the way to the room without blowing up. Until he Scout's Honored me."

She gasped and her eyes went wide. "No, he didn't."

That's what I loved about Ash. I didn’t have to explain what that meant or why it broke me. She got it.

"He did. And I don't know what happened. I lost my mind. I started crying."

She polished off the last of my toast and eyed my plate. "You going to eat any more?"

"Nope, it's all yours."

She tucked into the eggs as she peppered me with more questions. "So did he apologize for interrupting you? Or for cheating? Or for dumping you?"

"Yeah, but what else do you say when someone is basically sobbing at you drunkenly, you know? He probably couldn't wait to get out of here. And then I asked him to stay."

She seemed like she was about to respond and then stopped herself, shoveling in a forkful of home fries.

"What?" I demanded, sitting up a little straighter and trying to read her guilty looking face. "What is it?"

She chewed for way longer than she had to and then swallowed before meeting my gaze. "Just...I don't know. He looked really...sad, is all. Don't get me wrong. He's still a dick," she rushed to add. "I think he probably does feel bad for hurting you, though. That's not to say that you should care one way or another. He deserves it. He made his choices and now he has to live with them. I guess I just thought all these years that while you were struggling so much with the reality of the break up that he'd been just fine. I'm going to say after seeing him last night, that's not true."

I let the words marinate for a while, taking it all in. "That doesn't make any sense. If he still cared about me then why did he break up with me in the first place? Granted, I probably would’ve dumped him once I found out about what’s her face…but if he hadn’t told me? I’d probably still be clueless. If he wanted to stay together, why tell me at all?"

I recalled the day it had happened and the memory of his face was etched in my mind. It had been like he was made from marble. Ice cold, calculating. So matter of fact. Even as I begged him to explain himself, tell me why he’d cheated and where we’d gone wrong, his face had been impassive. The face of a stranger.

"No, I'm pretty sure you have it wrong, Ash. If he looked rough when you saw him it was only because he was either still jet-lagged or irritated about having to carry me back to the hotel."

"He carried you?" she demanded, tossing my fork onto the empty plate with a clatter. "When were you going to mention that part?"

"Uh, yeah, well…" I muttered miserably.

"Look, I don’t care what you said. After the way he left things back then, you had the right to vent a little or whatever. And people do stupid stuff when they’re drunk. It happened, let’s move along. I told him to stay out of your way. If he sees us, to back it up and go somewhere else. If you need looking after, I'll be the one to do it."

I nodded, forcing a smile as I drained the rest of the soda from my glass. She was right. Surely we could avoid running into Robbie for the rest of the trip. I’d be busy soaking up the sun and enjoying the casino and he’d be busy prepping for the fight.

The fight that he had invited me to.

The fight that I
definitely
wasn’t going to.

No matter how badly I wanted to…

T
hree days later
, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the stranger glaring back at me, green eyes blazing with defiance.

“What are you doing, you idiot?”

The muttered question was to myself, but I felt so split in two, I was half-surprised the mirror me didn’t reply.

On the one hand, I knew I should just get it out of my head. Forget all about Robbie and his thoughtless invitation. On the other…well, there was no frigging way that was ever going to happen. In fact, I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since that morning. And now, as I stood in the bathroom of the boxing venue dressed in a cheap white-blond wig, a pair of ill-fitting glasses, and a skin-tight dress I’d never wear in real life, I knew one thing for sure.

There was no way I was leaving this place without watching that fight. I physically couldn’t bring myself to do it, no matter how many names my brain called me, no matter how much I castigated myself. I was here, and I was staying. I was an addict, and Robbie was my drug.

“One last fight,” I murmured to mirror me, a sick feeling settling in my gut as I said the words and noted the glassy gleam in my eyes. Lies. I was lying to myself, and rationalizing what I knew was bad behavior.

And even that wouldn’t stop me.

I tugged my cell phone out of my purse and glanced down one last time to make sure Ash wasn’t looking for me. The screen was blank and I blew out a sigh that was half relief, half resignation. That would’ve been my last shot at freeing myself from Robbie’s hold. If Ash’s date had turned out to be a bust and she needed me. But this was the third day we’d spent time with one of the guys we’d played volleyball with and things seemed to be going really well between them. He was a little nerdy, a little sexy and a lot sweet. Best of all? He thought my friend was the most awesome, gorgeous, funny human being he’d ever met. Exactly what she needed right now.

We’d been spending our time together as a threesome, with various buddies of his rotating in and out depending on our activities, but she didn’t even question it when I had bowed out of tonight’s plans. Which was good. Saved me from having to lie to her.

I jammed the phone back into my purse and straightened my spine. Robbie’s bout was scheduled to start any second, and I wasn’t about to miss a second of it. And when it was over, I’d walk away for real this time. True closure.

My heart gave a squeeze as I headed to the will-call window. Had he even remembered he’d asked me? What if, after all this, I showed up and there was no ticket?

“Melissa Halpern…there, um, there might be tickets here for me?”

I waited as the woman behind the window thumbed through a sheaf of paper before slowly shaking her head. “No, sorry, I don’t see—Oh, yup. There you are!”

She shot me a smile and handed me a pair of ticket stubs, but I slid one back to her with a shaking hand. “I’ll just need the one.”

I almost didn’t even need that, because when she hadn’t seen my name, I’d almost died. With every passing second, it was becoming more and more clear just how badly I wanted to be here tonight. How much I needed to see Robbie fight. He’d been through countless battles in our time apart, but there had always been some weird connection between us that made me feel like I was a part of it all. That, when he could feel me there rooting for him and absorb my strength or something.

I knew it was silly, but as I pushed my way through the crowd to find my seat, it felt true to this very day. If I wasn’t here tonight and Robbie lost his big break, I’d never forgive myself.

Ironic, considering how badly he’d hurt me.

When we got back home, I seriously needed to look into getting a therapist, because I had some major masochistic issues to work through.

I ignored my empty seat in the first row and headed for an open one in row five instead, trying to block out the chatter around me. Lots of talk about how fast Robbie’s opponent, Paul O’Malley, was. Even more talk about how one clean uppercut would end it in round one in favor of the Irishman due to his precision.

I’d barely had time to add those worries onto the pile when the announcer came into the ring to the roar of the crowd.

He started speaking but the blood was rushing so hard in my ears, I couldn’t make out the words.

It wasn’t until he got to the important part, that it finally started penetrating.

“In this corner, weighing one hundred ninety pounds, with a professional record of 12 wins, 9 of them by way of knockouts, and 1 draw, Robbie “Sledgehammer” Stevens!”

I didn’t turn to watch him walk in. I couldn’t. I was frozen there, like a block of ice, as the music blared through the speakers.

Our music. The same fight music we’d picked together four years ago after spending an entire snowy day shut in my room listening to song after song and compiling a “short” list of thirty potential options for when he finally went pro.

We’d finally settled on an Eminem track. And now, four years later, here it was. Actually playing in the first professional bout of Robbie’s that I’d ever attended. I kept my tear-blurred eyes locked on the ring as the procession moved forward to cheers and jeers from the crowd.

It wasn’t until he climbed between the ropes that I lifted my gaze, unable to stop myself.

He looked amazing. A light sheen of sweat coating his muscular body. The set of his lean jaw, eyes narrowed with the intense focus that made him as good of a lover as he was a fighter. He bounced easily from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders as he settled in his corner of the ring.

His music faded out and the announcer introduced Robbie’s opponent. Death metal filled the air and he bounded into the ring like a ball of unleashed fury. He and Robbie were built similarly, but for some reason, this guy’s shock of red hair and the glint in his wild, blue eyes was enough to send a shaft of terror through me. He looked like he was out for blood.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. One second I was sitting there, trying to get my head together, the next, the bell was ringing and the guys were stalking across the ring toward one another.

I scooted to the edge of my seat, breathless as they circled one another. Robbie looked so much the same as he ever had. Tentative. Thoughtful. Keen eyes taking in every move, every feint, as he looked for a weak spot. A hand just a hair lower than it should be. A break in concentration, or a move that left him with an opening.

O'Malley was the exact opposite. He was like a raging bull in a china shop. All power and brawn, ready and waiting to let those twitchy hands fly. It was like he'd harnessed the pain of every second of his life to use in these moments between bells. And it scared the shit out of me.

I whispered a prayer under my breath and wrung my hands together.

It would be okay. It had to.

"Come on Robbie, you can do this."

Just as the words left my lips, O'Malley let fly a screeching blow that came so fast and so hard it was a blur to me.

It had clearly been one to Robbie as well, because he took it straight to the face, absorbing every pound of pressure behind it with his cheekbone.

The crowd cheered even as some of them let out muffled "
Oofs
" of empathy.

Me? I sat there with my eyes squeezed shut trying not to throw up.

This was a terrible idea. How had I not remembered this part? In all my fantasies, I kept thinking about how much I'd enjoyed it all. Watching him do what he loved. Witnessing him grow from fight to fight. The roar and energy of the crowd. It was both addictive and all-consuming.

But the memory of this part came back in one, giant wave. Watching the person you love getting hurt, over and over again. Lying next to them in bed, trying not to squash his sore ribs or bruised shoulder. And worst of all, sitting on the side of an ice bath as he tried to get the swelling down. It was bad back then when he'd been fighting other guys his size and weight. Now, though, he was still fighting guys his size, but his size had gotten exponentially larger.

I let myself peek in time to watch Robbie crick his head one way and then the other, before settling onto the balls of his feet again. If O'Malley had hoped he'd unseated Sledgehammer with that one shot, he was sorely mistaken. One thing I remember Robbie's trainer telling him at every sparring match and every fight.

"You've got the best chin and the best legs in boxing. Use 'em."

It was a blessing and a curse. It meant it was really hard to knock Robbie down. In fact, I'd only seen it happen one time, and he'd popped up like a jack in the box not even a second later. But with that super power came increased risk because his opponents dealt with that issue one of two ways.

They either tried to outbox him, and score points with jabs and non-knockout punches or? They rolled the dice and swung with every single ounce of will and strength they had, every single time, in hopes of hitting him hard enough that he went down and stayed down.

I knew from just the one punch and the way O'Malley was circling like a lion with murder in his eyes which tact he and his camp had decided to take.

Blood trickled from Robbie's cheek and I could see already the split over his cheekbone would need stiches. There was no question O'Malley would exploit that injury, and my stomach clenched. He wasn't mine anymore, but damn if I could get my heart to believe it as I watched now.

O'Malley crabbed around the ring, arms in constant motion, feet flat on the floor as he sized Robbie up for his next move. This time, though, Robbie was the one to strike. It wasn't hard. In fact, it was nothing more than a little pop to the jaw. A wake up call that sent O'Malley's head snapping back for just an instant, but it definitely added fuel to the fire. His lips twisted into a smile and he nodded. It was like he was getting off on the whole thing, and that just added another level of fear.

Once someone got that angry, who was to say they'd stop? What if he knocked Robbie down and just kept pummeling him? What if the ref couldn't pull him off like that Tyson v. Holyfield fight that had cost Holyfield his ear lobe?

I had worked myself up into a fine frenzy when Robbie struck again, dipping in and delivering a super clean shot to O'Malley's kidneys that had the other man bent over at the waist just long enough for Robbie to follow it up with an uppercut that sent the Irishman stumbling backward.

My heart pounded and I leapt to my feet as Robbie descended. O'Malley was still unsteady on his feet and all it would take was one more good blow to the--

Ding, ding, ding!

The crowd roared as the room spun. I lowered myself back to my seat, swiping at the beads of sweat that had collected on my upper lip.

Damn that bell. Eight more seconds...maybe even five, and it would've been over.

"I think that's going to hurt ‘em in the long run," the guy next to me said conversationally as he jerked his chin toward the ring. "He didn't go in for the kill fast enough. Now O'Malley's pissed off and he has time to get his legs back. He's going to knock that kid's block off this round, if you ask me."

I was still dizzy with adrenaline and I barely spared him a glance as I snapped back under my breath, "Yeah, well I didn't ask you."

Luckily, the guy was too busy filling in the spectator on the other side of him with his theories, because he didn't deserve my anger. He was just a guy enjoying a fight. I was the one who was acting like an asshole. Too tightly wound, and I needed to relax. Besides, he was wrong anyway.

I watched Robbie covertly through my plain plastic glasses as his team worked on his cheek. He looked totally focused and deep in thought. He knew what he was doing. I was confident of that. Now, if he could just manage to get O'Malley in the same spot in the coming rounds, he'd log a W tonight. I knew it with all my heart.

At that moment, Robbie lifted his head up and turned, scanning the crowd with his gaze. My heart stopped dead in my chest as his eyes passed over me without stopping.

Thank god.

Despite the lengths I'd gone to in disguising myself, I'd been terrified that he would see me even though I'd switched seats with someone further back. Before I could think on why I felt just a tiny twinge of disappointment, the bell rang again and the two men met in the center of the ring. The time for dancing had passed, and this time, they came at each other, guns blazing. Jabs flew, sweat sprayed, and the speckled drops of blood spattered the white ring floor. Robbie was a machine in there, poetry in motion. Each shot calculated and timed with such precision it was hard not to be impressed. But for every punch he let fly, O'Malley was there, throwing five times as many. Granted, they were wilder and he was much more apt to miss than hit, but when he hit?

My own teeth ached as Robbie took another jab to the cheek. I was on my feet again, cheering with the rest of the crowd when he rallied, but right when he was about to throw what looked like a haymaker judging from how far back his arm was, O'Malley came in super close and let off a flurry of body shots that had Robbie reeling back toward the ropes.

"No, no!" I screamed. "Get off the fucking ropes!"

But my words were drowned out with the shouts of a thousand others as the Irishman punished Robbie, pummeling his sides over and over again with his meaty fists. It was all Robbie could do to cover his face and weather the onslaught.

"If he doesn't get off the ropes, he's fucked," my helpful seatmate declared loudly. "Come on kid, show us something!" he called.

There was no sign Robbie had decided to heed his advice, as O'Malley continued bashing him in the ribs. I was eyeing the ref, willing him to stop it. Willing him to see that Robbie hadn't thrown a punch back in countless seconds and couldn't defend himself when suddenly a fist snapped out and clobbered O'Malley in the side of the head, so hard, he stumbled to the right. That gave Robbie the chance to push off the ropes and wheel around.

I lost all sense of time and place as I plugged my fingers into my mouth and let a whistle of delight rip, my whole body shaking with relief. "Yeah, go Robbie, go!"