Dirty Brawler: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (with bonus novel!) (12 page)

Kevin stood up. “So, if you are turning things around, and now you’ve left him alone with the crazy manager, what do you think is going to happen?”

“Hopefully, everything I’ve taught him will stick. And if you work with him, you can make sure of it,” I said.

“Sex on a stick sells,” Kevin said with a wink.

“You and Nigel apparently have the same vision. Maybe you would be the perfect fit,” I said sourly.

“Take a breather for a few days. Then call him.”

I shook my head. “Nigel was clear. No calls, no texts, no emails. No contact. Period.”

“Maybe if you told Shaun that Nigel was blackmailing you?”

“No, Kevin. I can’t risk that either. It’s over.”

Kevin walked to the door of my office and held it open. “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

I picked myself up out of the chair. Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to do me any good. I needed to find out who my next client was and dig in. For now, Shaun Nichols needed to be nothing but a distant, albeit pleasant, memory.

Shaun

The bright light blinded me. I put my hand up to block its sudden appearance. My head throbbed, and as I cracked my jaw open to vocalize a protest at whoever had opened the curtains, the throbbing increased tenfold.

“What the fuck?” I finally managed to get out of my mouth.

“Champ, you are due in the gym in an hour. I promised Hammer you weren’t cutting practice today. You have a fight in less than a week. While I admire the valiant effort to clean out every hotel mini-bar between here and LA, I need to get you cleaned up, or Hammer will have both our asses.”

“Forget it. I’m calling in sick or whatever. I don’t give a flying fuck what Hammer thinks.” My tone was sullen as I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow.

“What’s gotten into you? You’ve never been like this,” Nigel said.

I ignored him as I crab-crawled off the bed and flopped onto the floor. There I was content to remain in the shadow thrown by the bed that blocked the sunlight. I had one hell of a headache, and as I squinted at the items on the floor around me, I saw the reason why.

Nigel wasn’t kidding when he said I’d helped myself to the mini-bar. Small bottles of liquor were strewn everywhere. I hadn’t even bothered with a glass. Pouring it into one took too long. I would have preferred an IV drip if it was offered.

My manager appeared at the foot of the bed. He frowned down at me. “Shaun, you have to get up. A solid workout will wipe the booze out of your system. You’ll sweat it out. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

If I didn’t show up in the gym, it would mark the third time since Tori left a week ago. I hadn’t missed three workouts in a week ever. The gym was my second home. Now I could barely find the energy to get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

“I was willing to be indulgent with you for a little while, but now it’s time to get off your ass and get your head back in the game. No broad is worth bombing your career.”

Somehow, I managed to get to my feet. I stumbled toward him. My legs were considerably less stable than I expected. “She’s
not
a broad.” I shoved my finger into his chest.

Nigel carefully removed my finger. He didn’t even flinch, which normally I would have considered impressive. Now it just served to piss me off. People were supposed be afraid of me, after all. I shook my head hearing Tori in my head saying I needed people to like me, not be afraid of me. I hated that she’d wiggled her way into my psyche so easily.

“Fine. Ms. Ellis isn’t worth your career. You’ve got a fight to focus on. This is ridiculous, Champ. It’s a girl. We’re talking about the rest of your life here.”

I took a step backward and spread my arms wide. “I thought this is what you wanted, Nigel. Bad Boy Nichols ready and reporting for service.”

Nigel wrinkled his nose. “Have you showered recently? I want a clean-shaven playboy with gorgeous women on either arm.
That
is what the sponsors want. Not a drunkard who looks forty instead of twenty-seven. I’m not one to judge someone’s capacity to drink himself into a stupor, but you have to draw the line somewhere when you pay the bills with that same body.”

I laughed. It was a harsh sound. “I can’t even believe I’m getting preached at by the patron saint of booze and boobs. You make the drunk who falls off the bar stool look like a saint, Nigel.”

If my words affected him, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he looked at his watch with a grimace. “We can stand here and gab, or you can take some of that finely tuned energy to the gym and beat it out of a boxing bag with Hammer roaring in your ear.”

“Swell,” I said. I belched and tasted bourbon. A lot of it.  I knew I wasn’t getting rid of him, and I was frankly surprised Hammer hadn’t made an appearance as well. I could only avoid that crotchety bastard for so long. I turned to go the bathroom. “Give me fifteen.”

“Don’t forget to bring your suit with you. We have the last of those ridiculous charity appearances this afternoon. Once that’s done, no more of that shit for you.”

“Then cancel it,” I said. I felt a twinge of guilt, but who the fuck cared? Nigel had already sat down with the new PR agent Kommen and Russell sent over to manage my press affairs. I hadn’t met the guy yet, but Nigel seemed satisfied with him. That was one small favor that had come out of the whole thing. Nigel and I were on slightly better terms. That made my whole life a lot easier.

“Are you sure? You seemed pretty set on keeping all of them last week,” Nigel said.

I turned and glared at him. “I said, cancel it.” I stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

Standing under the spray of the hot water was torture because it did nothing but remind me of the many showers I took with Tori. Having her pressed up against the tile as I rammed inside of her, hearing her call my name as she came sucking every last bit of cum out of my willing cock had been my own personal nirvana. I leaned my forehead against the tiles and groaned.

The woman was like a drug, and this addict was having one hell of a withdrawal. I had to remind myself she was the one that left without a word of explanation. The morning after the interview with Georgie, Nigel told me he’d gotten a call from Kommen and Russell informing him Tori had asked to be removed from supporting me. It was a shitty way to quit, especially after everything we’d been through.

Against my better judgement and Nigel’s advice, I called her. Usually it was in the middle of the night when I was three sheets to the wind and my cock was rock hard wanting nothing more than her twisting and moaning underneath me. I craved her smell and her laugh. My temper had been closer to the surface than I ever remembered.

I just wanted her to explain it to me. I didn’t understand how she could leave and pretend nothing ever happened between us. Nigel kept telling me I was better off without her, that I had been nothing but a stepping stone on her climb to the top of her career ladder. When she never picked up and didn’t return my calls, even after several embarrassing voicemails, I stopped calling.

I stopped calling and I started drinking.

Nigel was right about one thing. Hammer beat the shit out of me for eight hours straight that afternoon. When he was through, I was ready to get down on my knees and beg for mercy, except I knew it wouldn’t have done any good. Hammer was pissed off and dour. He didn’t say anything about my absences or the fact everyone on the crew seemed to know it had to do with Tori. He seemed content to let his physical onslaught speak for itself in terms of his displeasure with my behavior.

After a long shower, I emerged from the locker room ready to head back to my hotel room and sleep for a decade. Nigel wasn’t wrong when he said I’d sweat out the liquor. It was the first time my head felt clear in a week. Maybe I’d lay off the booze for the night. My sleep might improve. I shook my head. The only thing that would improve my sleep would be Tori’s naked body curled into mine.

I stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the gym. Someone called my name.

“Mr. Nichols? Mr. Nichols?” I turned and saw a petite woman approach holding the hand of a boy who couldn’t have been more than five or six. He wore a beanie on his head, but I could tell he was bald underneath.

“Can I help you?” I asked with hesitation.

“I’m Mary King. This is my son, Ryan,” she said, indicating the boy.

“Mrs. King. Hello, Ryan,” I said, nodding to the boy who stared up at me with that star-struck gaze I knew all too well. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Nichols, but Ryan is such a fan. He was so looking forward to meeting you today, but then we found out that you canceled your appearance. He’s had so much disappointing news recently I just couldn’t tell him he wasn’t going to get to meet you today after all.”

I felt a twist in my gut. I had so casually canceled my appearance today, like it didn’t matter to anyone other than me. I’d forgotten there were people on the other end too. I ran a hand through my hair trying to appear as contrite as possible. “I’m sorry about that. I have a busy practice schedule with the upcoming fight.”

“I understand,” she said, though I could tell by her tone she didn’t. “Would you mind signing an autograph for Ryan? It would mean the world to him.”

I came down onto my haunches so I could look the kid in the eye. He was pale and thin, but I smiled at him. He smiled back. That one change seemed to light him up from the inside.

“How are you today, Ryan?”

He leaned in toward his mother, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “I feel good today,” he said, soft.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d like to make it up to you. Would you like to come to the fight next week?”

He twisted up and looked at his mother with an exclamation of glee. “Can we, Mom?”

“Oh, that seems quite generous of Mr. Nichols, but those kinds of things are usually way after your bedtime. And you need your rest.”

Ryan looked crestfallen. Mary handed me a sheet of paper. I took it from her and realized it was a sports magazine that was published right after the Olympics. She had it open to the center profile article where I was featured. I took the marker from her hand and looked back at Ryan.

“So, what do you want to be when you grow up, Ryan?” I kept my attention focused on him. That was another thing Tori told me to do. She said for kids who were sick, meeting me was possibly the biggest thing that ever happened to them. I owed it to them to give them my full and undivided attention and make them feel special.

“I want to be a boxer,” he said shyly.

I smiled as I signed the photo. “Well, you have to eat good food and build your muscles strong. Oh, and always listen to your mother.”

His smiled brightened even more. I had no idea what the future held for this kid, but I hoped no one would take away his dreams. I reached out to shake his hand and he hesitantly put it into mine. “I tell you what. Just in case your mom decides to let you stay up late because you’ve been so good all week, I’ll leave you a couple of tickets at the door for you. How does that sound?”

Ryan squealed in delight and surprised the hell out of me when he crossed the space between us and threw his arms around my neck. I gruffly gave him a squeeze back. It wasn’t until it was too late I heard the unpleasant sound of a camera’s shutter whirling in the background.

I released Ryan and stood up. Sure enough, there was a photographer leaning against a car across the street taking our picture. I felt the anger that had been building up inside my chest ready to explode.

“Excuse me a moment.” I strode across the street. The reporter straightened as he continued to take pictures of my approach. “You’re going to delete all of those pictures and get the hell out of here now,” I said.

“Sorry, friend. I get paid by the photo. A guy’s gotta make a living,” the reporter said. He was tall and thin. His pasty white complexion told me he didn’t spend a lot of time out in the sun. He was dressed in black jeans and an ’80s band t-shirt even though he was probably pushing fifty.

“I’m not your friend,” I said. I felt my fingers ball into fists at my sides. “It’s one thing to take pictures of me, but you can’t take that little boy’s photo and make money off it. That’s sick and twisted. Delete the fucking pictures.”

He started to open the car door. “Like I said, sorry.”

I grabbed the door and slammed it closed. I moved so there was less than an inch separating us. “I asked you nicely. Now, I’m not asking at all. You
will
delete those pictures.”

He protested, but I grabbed the camera and twisted it out of his hands. I tried to figure out the right button to call the pictures up on the screen so I could be sure they were deleted, but my fingers were clumsy and I didn’t know what I was doing. The guy tried to grab the camera back.

It all came to a head in those few seconds. The crash and burn interview with Georgie. Tori hightailing it out of town without a goodbye. Months of being stalked and chased by these kinds of slimy vultures. I held the object of all my rage in my hands and I did the only thing I could think of to make me feel better.

I smashed that fucker to the ground before slamming the heel of my foot down on it. The satisfying crunch of glass breaking following.”

“What the fuck, man! That’s my camera. You’re going to get it for this. You’re a goddamn fucking lunatic!” the reporter screamed at me.

I grabbed his shirt and twisted the cheap fabric into my fists, hauling him up to my face. “I catch you taking pictures of me again, I’m going to beat the living shit out of you. You got me?”

Then he did the unthinkable. He spat in my face. I lost my shit then. All I knew when I came out of the red stupor of hazy rage was that Hammer and Nigel were holding my arms and the reporter was a bloody mess on the ground. He cursed at me even though I was sure his nose was broken. His words came out slurred through a mouthful of blood.

“Shaun!” Hammer yelled in my ear. “Shaun, stop!”

I finally stopped struggling against them. I felt the air in my chest release. I heard sirens in the distance and I knew they were coming for me. The sound of a child crying penetrated my senses.

I looked behind me. Mary was holding Ryan in her arms. He was sobbing into her chest. If looks could kill I’d be dead in my tracks. She gathered him up into her arms and carried him across the parking lot before settling him into a car. I was sure only of one thing—There were two tickets for my upcoming fight that were going to go unused.