Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (27 page)

“I always wanted to be a mom, have a few kids, make
brownies and cookies, maybe even learn to knit a sweater or something.”

His chest ached at the thought of her kissing a little
girl on the cheek and sending her off to school.

“Kinda opposite from the cover model fantasy,” he
said, recovering.

“I know. Dumb, huh?” She glanced down.

Slipping his finger under her chin, he raised her gaze
to meet his. “Nothing to be ashamed about, sweetheart.”

“It’s a silly fantasy. My career will always come
first.”

His heart sank. “Why’s that?”

“I could never be completely dependent on a man. Not
after growing up the way I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad was AWOL most of the time. Gambling,
philandering, who knows what. He sent money home, barely enough to cover the
bills. Uncle Joe helped out a lot.” She looked at Jack. “I still can’t believe
he was behind what happened to you tonight.”

“Maybe he wasn’t.” He couldn’t believe the words
slipped out of his mouth. “You’re supposed to take my mind off my injuries,
remember?”

“Right.” She smiled.

“So? Kismet brought you and your fiancé together to
make this perfect union?” Maybe if he kept referring to him as her fiancé, he’d
be able to shake himself of her.

“Actually, YAR brought us together: Young Accountants
on the Rise. I joined the group to network, make some contacts, and I ended up
making the most valuable one of all. Then we worked together on an audit.
Bradley and I share the same belief system and moral code. He plans out his
activities three weeks in advance, just like me. Can you believe it?”

He shook his head. Why would anyone want to?

“Oh, I have a picture.” She snatched her purse from
the floor and fumbled through the contents.

Good. That should make it real.

She pulled a small snapshot from her wallet and handed
it to him.

“That was taken at the Northeast Accountants
Convention last year.”

Jack studied the pair. Frankie cracked a warm, yet
business-like smile while her fiancé’s nose was turned up a bit too much for
Jack’s taste.

“It’s such a good, solid relationship. He’s so capable
and focused.”

He handed her the photograph and she tucked it away.

“Bradley wants the same things I want, like financial
security, career success. Someday, maybe, I’ll take a few years off to have a
child. We decided one would be financially prudent.”

But does he make
you laugh? Does he brighten the golden specks in your eyes when he makes love
to you
?

“We picked out the perfect ring. Pear-shaped, clear, a
white diamond in a white gold setting.” She extended her hand as if seeing it
on her finger. “When he gets his promotion he’ll give me the ring and I’ll have
everything I’ve always wanted. A stable, secure life.”

“Sounds great.” And it did, he thought. What he
wouldn’t give to have been raised by a mother like Frankie. So giving, caring,
and selfless.

Too bad Jack wouldn’t be there to see it.

“Feeling better?” she said.

“Yeah, thanks.” He struggled to breathe against the
tightness in his chest.

“Water?”

“No, I’m—”

“To be safe, to keep the nightmares away, okay?”

She released his hand to pour fresh water in a cup. A
chill blanketed his knuckles.

“Here, drink.” She placed the cup to his lips and he
reached out to steady her hand.

He never wanted to let go.

But he had to.

He downed the water in two swallows and placed the cup
on his nightstand.

“Try to get some sleep.” She shifted off the bed.

“Where are you going?” He hoped she didn’t hear the
desperation in his voice.

“Getting comfortable in my trusty chair.” She settled
into the vinyl chair, leaned forward, and laid her head across folded arms on
the bed.
 

“Frankie?” He had to tell her how he felt, how special
she was, how much he wanted her in his life.

The words caught in his throat.

She glanced up, into his eyes. “Don’t worry, Jack. I
won’t leave. Promise.”

He closed his eyes, the pain in his chest consuming
him. That was one promise he knew she couldn’t keep.

“Thanks for the call, kid, but the worst part of the
match was the wounded ego.” Jack shifted into a more comfortable position on
his couch, his knee resting on a thick pillow. It felt good to be home.

“You actually spent the night in a hospital?” Marco
asked.

“Didn’t have much choice.”

“We thought you were really hurt, I mean for you to
spend the night.”

“Nothing serious. I’m fine.”

“Sully’s niece didn’t look fine when she stormed into
his office this afternoon. What the hell did you do to her anyway?”

“I didn’t do anything. I told her to fly home. No
sense in both of us losing a night’s sleep. But she wouldn’t budge. Felt
responsible for the talent, I guess. I woke up and found her bedside.”

“No wonder she looked like that.”

“Like what?” His fingers tightened around the
receiver.

“She was scarier than Tiger Lady. She screamed so loud
we could hear her all the way down in the gym. I thought the old man would have
a heart attack. She was one crazed puppy. But then I guess lack of sleep will
do that to ya’.”

Lack of sleep and worrying about someone you care
about.
Dream on, Hudson
.

“Yeah, well, I’m okay. Taking some time off. Nursing
the knee back to working order. What’s the word on Tiger Man?”

“Canned.”

“No kidding?”

“Right after the niece lit into Sully.”

“Interesting.”

“Who’s running this show, anyway?”

“Fate, kid. Fate,” Jack hushed.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. I’ll see you later this week.”

“Yep.”

He hung up and sank back against the thick cushions.

It was spinning out of control. His whole world was
racing at mach speed and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Typical.

It didn’t have to be that way. Look at Frankie. She
planned things right down to the type of crib to buy for a baby that hadn’t
even been conceived yet. She didn’t wait for chance to step in and aim her in
one direction or another.

Or nearly cripple her.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. During the
chaos, the excitement, he hadn’t let it sink in—fate nearly took it all
last night. Only later, in the middle of the night, did the horror of his
temporary paralysis awaken him, snake its tentacles around his throat and
squeeze until he thought he would suffocate. He’d gone too far, abused his body
once too often, and he would pay the price with his legs. What then? He’d been
so scared, he couldn’t even see straight. But something had calmed him, chased
away the madness.

Frankie.

He’d ordered her to leave and threw her out of his
room.

Yet he hated to consider what would have happened if
she hadn’t come back. With a soothing tone and soft touches, she’d eased the
panic, slain the demons he couldn’t fight by himself. When sleep eluded him
she’d shared her hopes and dreams, and expected Jack to share his deepest
desires as well. He’d shared a few, but not all of them, not the ones involving
Miss Frankie McGee.

It was only normal to dream about the woman. She was
an angel, a gentle wave in an ocean of turmoil. She’d done more for him last
night than she could ever know.

And he hadn’t even thanked her. When he’d awakened
this morning to find Frankie sprawled across his bed clutching his hand, he
didn’t know what to say. He could have started with an apology for being such a
jerk.

Instead, humbled by her presence, words eluded him.

It had been such a long time, maybe even forever,
since he’d depended on someone like he had Frankie. She’d helped him dress,
made all the arrangements to and from the airport, and babied him all the way
home.

The babying part wasn’t so bad. She’d fussed over him,
repeatedly inquiring about his knee and his back. No one had ever cared for him
like that and probably never would again.

Jack tapped his still swollen knee. “It’s almost
over,” he whispered.

Melancholy settled in his gut. Of course he’d feel
some kind of sadness. Wrestling had been his life for nearly twenty years. You
don’t walk away from your life, no matter how pathetic, without a little angst.

Angst driven by the fact he hadn’t a clue what was
coming next.

“Francine. How do you do it?” he said.

She’d probably had her life figured out by age seven.
He could picture her as a little girl, ponytail swinging as she walked, telling
her mom that she wanted to be a financial consultant and marry a successful
CPA. Yes, she probably used those very words. At age seven.

And here Jack was, thirty-seven with no clue where to
go. He knew he wanted to live in the mountains, but beyond that he drew a
blank. Sure he’d had dreams once, a long time ago. Dreams squashed by an
overbearing father.

Jack’s frustration grew ugly and self-destructive the
night his father trashed his paintings. Luckily Butch stepped in and challenged
Jack’s anger. Butch believed in the human spirit. He always said if you wanted
something bad enough, and worked hard enough, it was yours.

Jack wondered if that translated to people.

“Damn, I’ve got to let this go,” he muttered, covering
his face with his forearm. It was clear from “true confessions” last night that
Frankie needed stability and security more than anything. Things Jack didn’t
have to offer.

She made a science out of planning and controlling,
whereas Jack kicked back and let life take him for a ride. She hated everything
he stood for, and he couldn’t understand why someone would want to be cooped up
in an office crunching numbers five days a week. He knew when he quit wrestling
he wouldn’t become a suit like Frankie’s husband-to-be. No, this time around he
would do what he wanted. He’d find happiness and peace traveling and eventually
settling in the cabin.

He had enough money to carry him for a while. Who knows,
with a little luck, the youth centers might even start to show a profit,
although Jack wasn’t counting on it. One thing for sure, it was time to paint
again.

Taking a page from Frankie’s book, he mapped out a
plan for the next ten years. It would feel so good to be in control for once,
to take charge and move in the right direction.

Even if that direction was away from Frankie.

A loud knock shook him from his thoughts.

“Yeah!” he called out, not eager to use the knee.

“It’s Frankie. Open the door.”

“Hell,” he muttered, rolling off the couch and groping
for his crutches. He hated using the things. They made him feel weak and
dependent.

“Coming!” he shouted, navigating through the mess of
clothes, magazines, and scattered mail. He didn’t have it in him to be Mr. Tidy
today. It had taken every ounce of energy to climb the stairs to the second
floor this morning when the limo dropped him off.

“Jack, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Fine, give me a minute.” He made his way to the door,
shoving his overnight bag aside with the tip of his crutch.

Leaning heavily on the crutches, he flipped the dead
bolt and opened the door. A brown paper bag stared back at him.

“Frankie?”

She peeked around the bag. “Brought dinner.”

He stumbled out of the way as she marched straight to
the kitchen acting as if she lived here. She looked beautiful tonight, her hair
pulled back in a braid, her cheeks creamy white, and her eyes…they sparkled
more than usual.

Sure they did. Wasn’t tonight her date with Mr.
Perfect Accountant?

Jack’s heart sank. He suddenly wanted her gone.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, hobbling toward
the kitchen. He might want her gone, but he wasn’t going to be a jerk...again.

“Frankie?” He leaned against the breakfast bar.

She buzzed around his galley kitchen, opening drawers
and slapping utensils on the counter.

“Pots and pans?” she asked.

“There.” He pointed to a cabinet.

“Great.” She pulled out a pot, filled it with water,
and put it on the stove.

“Listen, Frankie—”

“I talked to my uncle today. He claims he didn’t know
what Tiger Man was up to last night.” She paused and glanced at Jack. “I’d like
to believe him, but sometimes, I don’t know. There’s something he’s not telling
me and it has nothing to do with owing people money.” She busied herself
cracking eggs, thawing frozen spinach, and shredding cheese.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“Stuffed shells. Hope you like Italian. Even brought
the wine.” She plucked a bottle of merlot from the brown grocery bag.

“Stop.” He grabbed her wrist, and she released the bottle,
letting it clunk on the counter. “Listen to me. I’m trying to talk to you.”

Her eyes widened, her pulse beat in her throat, making
the sunflower charm she wore dance with each beat.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I want to thank you. That’s all.”

“Wait until you try it first. I’m not a great cook.”

“No, not for dinner. I want to thank you for last
night, for today, for taking care of me, all of it.”

“It’s the least I could do considering what my
family’s done to you.”

He squeezed her hand. “You’re not a part of that.
Don’t try to make up for something that isn’t your fault.”

“But I feel responsible. You’re one of Sully’s guys
and—”

“I don’t want you helping me because it’s in my
contract. If that’s why you’re here, then just go.”

Stabbing the crutches against the hard wood floor, he
hobbled to the couch and collapsed.

Well, Hudson,
you’ve done it again.