Against the Ropes (31 page)

“What’s she doing here?” Pinkaluscious asks, her eyes flicking to me.

“You know why she’s here. She’s Max’s girl.”

“I’m Max’s girl,” she snaps. “He told me he broke it off with her. He was coming home with me tonight.”

I hold my breath hoping her mascara will run as she fake sobs beside Max’s bed. Or maybe one of her false eyelashes will come off. Better yet, she might trip over her four-inch stilettos and chip a tooth.

“You were,” Colton says quietly. “You aren’t now.”

“She’s the reason he’s lying in that bed.” Pinkaluscious glares at me. “She drove him to it. He couldn’t deal with the stress. Normal fights weren’t enough.” She looks over Colton’s shoulder and gives me a self-satisfied evil bitch grin. “She sent him back to me.”

My hands clench into fists and my jaw twitches. I will not lower myself to her standards. I will not catfight. I will hold up my head and walk away.

“I hope she suffers,” she continues as if I wasn’t standing in the room. “Look at Max. Look what she did to him. She should crawl back under her rock and leave Max with his own kind.”

“What kind is that?” My seething and inquiring mind wants to know.

“The better kind. Society.”

Colton excuses himself and leaves the room, mumbling something about catfights. I should have told him Makayla Delaney does not do fights—catfights, fistfights, or otherwise.

Or maybe I do.

“He told me he wanted no part of it,” I say.

“That’s why we should have been together.” A tear trickles down her rosy cheek. “We were perfect for each other.”

“So what happened?”
Please
tell
me. Please tell me. Please tell me.

“He said I wasn’t the one. I wanted more than he could give.”

“What could you possibly want that he wouldn’t give?”

She turns to face me, her eyes devoid of expression. “Pain.”

“Pain?”

She sighs. “Never mind. You couldn’t possibly understand. He just…couldn’t hurt me.”

Gah. TMI. Where’s the bleach?

“To be perfectly honest,” she continues, “I don’t know what he sees in you. You have nothing to offer him. You don’t have a pedigree or money or even connections. And I can tell by looking at you that you sure as heck can’t give him what he needs in the bedroom.”

“I can give him love.”

She rolls her eyes. “And how’s that working out for you?”

“I’ll let you know.”

She searches through her insanely expensive Birkin handbag and pulls out her phone. A piece of paper falls out. She bends down to pick it up. Her bony ass waves in front of me. I whip my old phone out of my jacket pocket. The antiquated camera takes grainy pictures at best, but I don’t need twenty megapixels to get my point across.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
SNAP. I do it.

She kisses Max lightly on the forehead. “Tell him I said good-bye. I found a way to break with the family. He knows how to find me.”

“He wasn’t going home with you tonight, was he?” I say on a hunch.

Pinkaluscious shoves aside the curtain and then looks back over her shoulder and sighs. “He said there was no chance we would ever get back together. He said he loved you.”

I wait until Pinkaluscious is gone before I tweet her ass. I’ll bet it doesn’t trend.

***

I sit beside Max and stroke his hand, careful not to touch the IV tube taped to his wrist. A warm orange glow from the hallway streams under the privacy curtain, and the fresh, sharp smell of disinfectant assails my nostrils. Machines beep. Nurses murmur. Crocs squeak on the tiled floor.

Max stirs and I jerk my head in his direction. I have never watched him sleep before. His face is relaxed, peaceful, and more sensual in its softness. I brush my hand over his cheek and his head moves. My heart pounds wildly. I glance up, hoping to see him looking at me, but his eyes remain closed, and his heart monitor continues to beep in a steady rhythm.

“I know you can hear me,” I tell him. “I’ve read about the unconscious mind. You might not process the information in the same way, but you understand.” I wait for a response, but when it doesn’t come, I continue talking. Words spill out of my mouth, tumbling over each other so quickly they are almost unintelligible. I tell Max about my childhood and how the happiness of each day was dependent on how much my father drank. I tell him about hiding with Susie in the closet on the bad nights and listening to the sickening thud of fists hitting flesh, knowing the next day Mom wouldn’t be able to go out because of the bruises.

My stories run together: Christmases good and bad; the happy days when my dad took us to the beach and played with us in the waves; and the few times Mom smiled. I tell him about the thrill of sneaking away into the night and the years of hardship that followed until Steve came into our lives. I tell him how Mom was so focused on supporting us financially that she forgot all the little things that hold a family together. I tell him how I tried to hold our family together with humor and how Susie drifted away. I tell him how I always longed for a big family full of warmth and laughter. Sort of like Redemption.

Finally, I tell him I remember what happened the day we ran away. I tell him I didn’t give up. I am a fighter, just like him.

“I love you,” I whisper into the stillness.

The monitor beeps and the green numbers rise slowly, indicating an increase in heart rate.

I giggle. “I knew you were there.”

I pretend he is really listening. I sing him a few songs. I tell a few jokes. I share my brief and few sexual experiences. I ask him to tell me his secret.

Who is Max Huntington?

I trace my finger over the tattoos on his shoulders, and then slide the sheet away to follow the lines and swirls over his chest and down his abdomen. Failures to him. Beauty to me. His heart rate rises again; the machine beeps a faster rhythm.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I murmur.

My fingers run over his tattoos again and again. The longer I stare, the more I see. Here and there, little embellishments have been added to the lines. I lean forward and trail my fingers across the tattoo running over his shoulder. Are these feet? And a tail? I tilt my head and look into the face of a dragon, hiding in a wavy sea.

I know this dragon. The last time we met, he was green and hanging in Max’s office.

Hands shaking, I tug up the sheet. Only then do I notice the skin on the unmarked side of his body is red and inflamed—a small square just over his heart. I walk to the other side of the bed for a better look. He has a fresh tattoo—a new failure. Two stylized lines forming the rough shape of a heart, and inside is written “Makayla.”

Shhh. It’s me

Utterly drained after spending twenty-four hours straight sitting by Max’s bed, I take Amanda’s advice and go home to eat, shower, and change, confident that the nursing staff will heed both my instructions and my threats and call me immediately when he wakes. By the time I’m finished, it is dark and I decide to splurge on a cab. The driver’s arms are covered in tribal tattoos, very similar to the tattoos on Max’s body…and the paintings in his office.

On a whim, I redirect him to Redemption for a quick look at the paintings before I go to the hospital. We make good time through the city, but when we arrive, the parking lot is empty and yellow police tape crisscrosses the front door.

“You sure you want me to let you off here?” the taxi driver asks. “Looks like it’s closed.”

I open my mouth to tell him to drive away when Rampage and Blade Saw walk across the parking lot.

“Could you wait just a minute?” I slide out of the taxi and race toward them.

“Hold up. What’s going on?”

They look up and their grim faces tell me everything I need to know. “Permanently shut down?”

Rampage nods. “Ambulance crew and hospital reported the use of an illegal weapon and an unsanctioned fight. The police arrested the Pulverizer before he got on the plane. CSAC shut us down last night.”

“So what are you doing here?”

Rampage grins. “Sneaking in.”

“Can I sneak in too? There’s something I wanted to see in Torment’s office.”

“Good thing you’re here,” Rampage says, nodding. “After I’m done with Blade Saw, he might be in need of medical attention.”

I pay the taxi driver, and we wait until he has disappeared before we head around the building to one of the back doors. Rampage pops a key out of a compartment in the door frame, and we hurry inside. When I reach to close the door, Blade Saw grabs my hand.

“Leave it open. Obsidian, Hammer Fist, Homicide, and Jake are joining us. Jackhammer is bringing a keg. We’re gonna toast Torment, get pissed, and beat the shit out of each other.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Rampage raises an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to join us. Torment’s girl should know how to fight.”

I give him a half smile. “Maybe later. I have stuff to do first.”

I walk through the silent warehouse to Max’s office. The door is unlocked, and I flip on the light switch. Empty. A week ago Max sat in that chair. He told me he trusted me, and I let him down. My chin quivers and I close my eyes, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne and the fainter scent of him. I miss him so much. I never knew hearts could really hurt.

But I have investigating to do. I walk behind the desk and lift one of the paintings from the wall. Now that I’ve had time to study Max’s tattoos, the similarities are remarkable. The same swirls, curlicues, and patterns from his tattoos appear in the painting, even the dragon’s face. I flip it over. A small printed card on the back identifies the artist as Suzanne Morgan Huntington. His mom. He inked her into his skin as the biggest failure of his life. My poor Max.

I replace the painting and take down the other one. The designs on this one match the tattoos on Max’s back. When I flip it over, I find the same card, but this one has the word “Dallas” penciled in beside the name. My Max is a Southern boy after all.

By the time I leave the office, the illicit party is well under way. Homicide and Obsidian are wrestling on the mats. I take a seat on the bleachers, and Rampage hands me a cup filled with warm beer.

“I used to think I didn’t have any fight in me.” I sip the beer, and the warm, bitter liquid slides down my throat. “I thought I had no fire. I drifted through life never knowing where I was going or what I wanted. Then I met Torment. He made my life exciting. He opened my eyes. He made me see I had fight.”

“You’re a fighter to the bone,” Rampage says. “The way you climbed into the ring on the first day you were here…not a hint of fear…hell, that’s when I knew you belonged here. Torment saw it. We saw it. I’m glad you finally see it too.”

I rest my palm on his massive shoulder. “I want to learn how to fight. Really fight. I don’t want to be afraid. I want to know I can hold my own against anyone. I want to be able to watch Torment fight and know when he pulls a punch and when he lets go.”

Rampage grins. “You want a lot of things.”

“I’m just getting started.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” he chuckles. “Follow me.”

My heart thuds as I hurry after him down to the practice mats. He is alarmingly determined, moving faster than his size would suggest possible.

“Yo,” he booms. “Makayla wants to learn how to fight. We’re gonna teach her. Everyone has a specialty. You teach her that. Anyone hurts her, you answer to me.”

“If she wants to fight, she needs a ring name,” Obsidian interjects.

They all stare at me in silence. I shift from foot to foot, sensing the importance of this moment and yet wanting to get it over with so I can get down to training.

“Doc.” Homicide says with a grin.

“I’m not really a doctor.”

Blade Saw gives me a warm smile. “You are to us.”

“Everyone agreed?” Rampage asks to a sea of nodding heads. “Right. You are hereby christened Doc.” He dumps his beer over my head. Everyone cheers. I laugh until my stomach hurts. The only thing missing from this perfect moment is Max.

***

On Wednesday, just after lunch, the ICU nurse calls to tell me Max is awake. I grind it out at work until my shift is done. The second the clock strikes five, I race through the hospital and burst into his room. Max is sitting up in bed. He looks tired, thinner, but still impossibly handsome.

“Max! You’re awake!” I throw my arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you, baby.” He strokes my hair. I cry harder.

Max chuckles. “It would be good to see you if I could actually see your face.”

Turning away, I fish through my purse for a tissue. “Not now it won’t.”

“Turn around,” he says softly. “Your tears are beautiful to me. They tell me you care.”

I turn around and look at my Max. My lips quiver again. More tears. More tissues.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He cups my cheeks in his palms and wipes my tears away. “I guess you care after all.”

“I love you, Max.”

Max’s eyes soften. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

I sniff and wipe away the last of my tears. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that too.”

Our lips brush together. Soft. Tender. He curls his hand behind my neck and pulls me closer. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He captures my lips and kisses me long and sweet, and then he buries his face in my neck and whispers, “Makayla.”

“Ahem.”

Cheeks burning, I pull away when Nancy, the shift nurse, breezes into the room to check the monitors.

“Heart rate up.” She peers over her glasses and gives me a wink. “You’re not going to be a very good paramedic if you make the patient’s heart rate go up instead of down.”

“You decided to enter the paramedic program?” Max’s eyes warm.

“I could have done so much more for you, but I didn’t have the training. It almost killed me. And since you paid off my loan, I thought you might be accommodating of a long-term payment plan. I’ll be making a lot more money as a paramedic.”

“I’m proud of you, baby, for following your dream.” He cups my cheek and I lean into his warmth.

“Took me a while to figure out what that dream was.”

Nancy finishes her checks and discreetly disappears. Max trails his fingers along the line of my jaw.

“Rampage stopped by this afternoon. He told me what happened. He said if you hadn’t stabilized me, it could have been much worse. As with Frank, you made a difference.” He pulls me down to sit on the bed beside him, nuzzles my neck, and nibbles at my earlobe. “You smell so good. Like flowers in the sunshine.”

“Max. Stop. What if someone comes in?”

“They’ll wish they could nibble your earlobe too,” he chortles.

I huff through my nose. “I was telling you something important.”

“I was listening, baby.”

Mollified, I allow him to nuzzle my neck while I talk. “You made me realize the reason med school didn’t interest me was because I need excitement. And I need it now. Not in ten years. You made me feel alive. I want that from my career, but I still want to heal people. I called Ray and we worked out a deal. I volunteer with his crew and his company will pay for my paramedic training.”

“Do you think you might be able to squeeze in a few shifts at the club? After Rampage told me we had been shut down for good, I decided it was time to go legit. I’ve already called my attorneys. We’ve applied for a license. We’ll be a sanctioned MMA club, and I’ll need a doctor and medical staff—you.”

The door swings open and a well-groomed, middle-aged couple join us in the room. Max glances up and his face darkens. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I hold out my hand and introduce myself to Max’s aunt and uncle, Richard and Elizabeth Morgan.

I swallow hard, appalled at his outburst and embarrassed for his family. “I called them, Max. I was looking at your tattoos when I remembered the paintings in your office. I got your mother’s details and did some Internet searching. I thought you would be happy to see them.”

“Damn it, Makayla. I left for a reason. If I wanted to see them again, I would have contacted them myself.”

My bottom lip trembles. I had nurtured a faint hope this wouldn’t go badly. I imagined tears and laughter and forgiveness and joy. Not anger or the self-hatred I can see in Max’s eyes.

“You were unconscious. The doctors didn’t know if you would make it. I thought you should have your family with you.”

“You were wrong.”

His words sting, but I press on. “No, you’re wrong. I talked to your aunt and uncle. Not one single person in your family blamed you. No one thought a fourteen-year-old boy should have been able to take on four seasoned mafia enforcers—no matter how good a boxer he was. And your mother wasn’t disinherited. Her money was put in a trust for you at her request. She chose to break with the family. They didn’t choose to break with her.”

Elizabeth gives my shoulder a squeeze, and I find the strength to carry on. “I called your father’s family too. They never blamed you either. Your aunts and uncles are on their way here from Georgia. You have family, Max. They love you. Even though you don’t believe it, you deserve to be loved.”

Heart aching, I grab my purse and push open the door. “Love is a gift. Don’t throw it away.”

***

The next few evenings pass in a blur. I go to work. I sneak into Redemption for fight training. I spend the night kissing the mats. I drink too much beer with the guys. I go home and pass out. I arrive exhausted for work the next day. Max doesn’t contact me, and I don’t contact him.

Friday night, Homicide brings in a bottle of tequila. I am an amazing fighter under the influence of tequila. I resolve always to drink tequila before a fight. By ten p.m. I also resolve never to drink tequila again.

Rampage decides I should have a little rest in Max’s suite while everyone else plays strip poker. He pulls out a hidden key from behind a brick and ushers me inside. After he leaves, I strip off my clothes and climb into Max’s bed. I breathe in his scent and imagine he is with me.

I must have drifted off because I am awakened by a warm hand sweeping over my back. When it curves around my bottom, I stiffen and push myself up.

“Shhh. It’s me.” Max’s deep voice echoes in the stillness.

“Me is supposed to be in the hospital,” I mumble into the pillow. His warm hand on my skin is delicious. Almost as delicious as tequila, which I am never drinking again.

“I got out early for good behavior.” His delicious hand sweeps along the side of my body and strokes the curve of my breast. Even more delicious. I flip over and offer my full self for his caressing pleasure.

“How are you feeling?”

Max chuckles. “Well rested. How about you? You seem a little tipsy.”

“Smashed, actually.” I push off the sheet so his hand does not face any impediments and is free to travel where I want it to go.

“You’re very responsive when you’re smashed.” His fingers slick between my folds, and he holds them up so I can see them glisten.

“Mmm. Pretty.” I draw his hand down to my mouth and wrap my lips around his finger. I suck gently and slide my lips back and forth. I taste sweet and salty.

Max groans. “Don’t do that, baby.”

I drag my lips away. “Why?”

He swallows. “I just…it’s hard.”

I roll over and nuzzle his crotch. He is very obviously erect. “Yes, it is. Let’s do something about that.”

Max snorts a laugh. “I don’t want to take advantage of you in your drunken state.”

I flip over again and lie spread-eagle on the bed. “Please do. I wish you to take advantage of me in every way possible.”

His voice deepens to a low, guttural groan that just adds to my itch. “Don’t tempt me, baby.”

“I’m trying my best here. You gotta give me something back.” I stretch and wiggle on the bed. Max cups my breast in his warm hand and tweaks my nipple.

“I’m still very annoyed,” he murmurs. “Arranging for my family to visit was a shocking surprise.”

I arch into his hand. “Annoyed is good. You want to spank me or tie me up? I’m pretty much game for anything right now.”

“How about we sleep?” Max stretches out on the bed beside me, fully clothed.

“How about we don’t sleep?” I unbutton his shirt and ease it open. “How about Makayla lies on top of you and licks all your delicious tattoos?” I follow the dragon marking down his chest with my tongue, but stop when I am parallel to his heart. “Why did you get this?” I trace a gentle circle around my name.

Max sifts his hand through my hair. “I thought we were done. I failed you like I failed my family. I couldn’t get you to trust me.”

I ease myself on top of him and wiggle until his erection is nestled tight between my thighs. “You didn’t fail me. My issues were my own. I was worried you were like my father, but I thought about it a lot when I was sitting with you in the hospital, and I spent a lot of time with the guys downstairs. My father’s violence and your violence are totally different. You have purpose and control, whether you fight for sport, protection, or defense. His violence came from anger and fear. You never hurt anyone without reason; he always did.”