Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (31 page)

“It’s always been about you,”
Missy started. “‘Sandy’s so smart,’ he’d say, ‘why can’t you be more
independent like Sandy?’ Sandy, Sandy, Sandy.”

Sandy scooted into a sitting
position against the wall and ripped the scarf out of her mouth. Floyd’s valet
was having a mental breakdown.

“Calm down, Missy.”

“They think I’m stupid, that I
don’t have a brain in my head.” Missy towered over her. “But I got your
boyfriend arrested, I nearly hit you with the car and I got your hero brother
arrested, too.”

Oh, God. The steroid case—Missy
was the drug dealer.

“Why ... why would you do that?”
Sandy asked.

“Why?” she said, as if it were the
dumbest question in the word. “Because then Floyd will love me. He’ll see how
smart I am. I’m making tons of money selling steroids. Didn’t know that, did
you?”

Sandy shook her head.
Play
along, buy time, signal for help
.

“I’m making so much money I can
put myself through school and buy Floyd a new car.” She patted Sandy on the
head. “I told him I’d inherited money.” She giggled. “Isn’t that perfect?”

“But the drugs hurt kids,” Sandy
said.

“No they don’t, silly girl. Some
of our wrestlers have been taking them for years. I started borrowing a little
here and there from this duffel and that suitcase. The boys don’t even notice.
Then I developed my own connection. I make so much money, and no one can catch
me.” She tapped her forefinger to her lips. “But now you know. I must do
something about that.”

Missy giggled and took a few steps
toward the sewing table.

Sandy bolted for the door, but
Missy tripped her and Sandy went down, knocking the air from her lungs. As she
struggled to breathe, she noticed Missy pull a syringe out of her glitter
purse.

“I’ve kept this handy in case
someone figured out what I was doing.”

“Missy, don’t,” was all Sandy
could say. She didn’t want to know what was in that syringe.

“It won’t hurt. Honestly, doctors
are the worst patients. It’ll wipe away your memory.” She shrugged. “It’s not
like it will kill you or anything.”

“Jason!” Sandy cried, her back
pressed against the door.

“Don’t be a poop,” Missy said. “You
owe me this much, to go to sleep and forget everything.”

The woman was insane, giggling as
she closed in on Sandy.

Sandy eyed the needle, trying not
to panic. Whatever was in there, it couldn’t be good. It was probably an
overdose of something—who knew what. But if it did wipe her mind clean, that
meant…she’d forget Jason.

Sandy lunged and knocked Missy to
the ground, hoping to jar the needle from her hand.

“Jason!” she cried, hoping he’d
hear her cries for help.

She scrambled off Missy and groped
for a weapon but only came up with a feather boa. Rolling on the floor, she got
behind Missy, wrapped the boa around the woman’s neck and tied it to a metal
dress form. Then Sandy raced to the other side of the room and caught her
breath.

Missy swung her arms and kicked
her legs. A stiletto shoe flew over her head, nearly hitting Curt and Jason as
they broke down the door

“What the hell?” Jason said,
dodging the shoe.

Both men stared at Missy as she
flailed and screeched, tied to the form by a red feather boa. It was a surreal
sight.

“I got you! I got you!” she cried,
pointing at Sandy.

And that’s when she felt the prick
on her arm. She glanced down and saw the needle dangling from her blouse.

“Oh, God.” Her knees started to
buckle, but Jason caught her.

“Sandy, sweetheart, what
the—damn!”

She felt the needle being pulled
out of her skin.

“Get an ambulance!” J ordered
Curt.

Missy kept swinging and shouting
in the background.

“What did you give her?” Jason
cried.

Jason, the man Sandy loved, the
man she might not recognize when she woke up. Her heart raced.

“Jason, look at me,” she said. If
she was going to lose her mind, this was her last chance to tell him she loved
him.

That she’d forgiven him.  

“Hang in there, honey.” He brushed
hair from her cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

“If I don’t wake up…” Her eyes
watered. “I want you to know, I love you. I love you, Jason, and I forgive
you.”

“Don’t, Sandy—don’t you go to
sleep on me. Sandra, focus on my eyes!”

But his voice sounded like it echoed
through a long tunnel, ordering, shouting. Demanding. Suddenly, she was so
damned tired.

“I love you, too. Do you hear me?”
he said.

She felt herself smile and drifted
off to sleep.

Checking on Sandy the next day,
Jason paced to the kitchen and back again, afraid to glance at the couch where
she lay sound asleep, swaddled in blankets.

“You’re going to wear out her
carpet,” Curt said, reading the newspaper at the dining room table.

“I can’t help it,” J said. “I wish
she’d wake up.”

“Look,” Curt put down the paper.
“The doctor said she would probably sleep on and off for the next twenty-four
hours.”

“If there was anything dangerous
in that drug Missy gave her—”

“There wasn’t, okay? That nutcase
nailed her with a sedative. That’s it, nothing that’ll do serious damage. You
need to chill out.”

Jason marched to the front door
and back to the couch. Twice.

“So,” Curt said, glancing at the
paper. “You got your girl, case closed?”

Jason stared him down, wondering
if he’d intended the double meaning. “Yes, Missy will be prosecuted for the
distribution of steroids. Could get ten years.”

“In the nuthouse,” Curt muttered.
“Guess you’ll get a promotion.” Curt sounded pleased, but as Jason watched Sandy
sleep, he realized getting his own team wasn’t as important as it had once
been.

“Whatever,” he said, picking up
his pace.

“A promotion would make you look
like a good provider to the family.”

“The family?” Jason scoffed. “The
people I betrayed? Your family isn’t going to want anything to do with me.”

“I told you, Jason, we’re loyal.”
Curt looked up from the paper. “And forgiving—especially when you’re trying to
stop the distribution of a drug that kills wrestlers every year.”

But was Sandy forgiving? She said
as much before she passed out on him. She said she loved him. What if she was
out of her mind, drifting in la-la land, and didn’t know what she was saying?

He kneeled beside her. Taking her
hand, he brought it to his lips.

“Mom would sing to her to wake her
up in the morning,” Curt offered.

“I can’t sing.”

Curt raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” He searched his brain for
a song and came up with Jingle Bells.  After a few minutes of his horrible
singing, and Curt’s snickers, Sandy slowly opened her eyes. God, how he’d ached
to see those green eyes again, open, awake, and sparkling with energy.

“You’re singing,” she said.

“Yeah, sorry.”

She smiled.

His heart raced.

And he knew he’d give his life for
this woman. He’d never lie to her or withhold anything from her again.

“Hey, kid,” Curt said, looking over
Jason’s shoulder at Sandy.

“You’re here, too?”

“Had to keep this guy from having
a nervous breakdown.”

“Well, since you’re okay.” Jason
started to get up. He didn’t want to assume that she’d really forgiven him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”
Curt shoved him back to his knees. “You’ve got major groveling to do. Wish I
could hang around to watch, but Skip’s got a soccer game.” Curt nudged J in the
shoulder, much like a brother would. “I’m off. You two have fun.” Curt quirked
his eyebrows twice, and left.

“What happened?” Sandy said.

J’s gut clenched. “You don’t
remember?”

“Um...”

“What
do
you remember?” He
squeezed her hand.

“It’s a bit hazy.”

Damn, the doctor had been wrong.
She was suffering side effects from the drug. Then she winked and shot him a
smile that warmed his heart.

“You’re messing with me,” he said.
“You’re okay, right?”

“I’d be better if you were on the
couch with me.”

“I need to say something first.”
He stroked her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about suspecting Curt. I should
have.” He searched her eyes.

“I understand,” she said. “Getting
the bad guy is the most important thing to you because it proves you aren’t
like your father.”

For the first time, he felt
relieved that she could read his feelings.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I could
never have fallen in love with a man who’d run off on someone who needed him.
That’s not you, Jason.”

She loved him. For real.

Interlacing her fingers behind his
neck, she pulled him forward for a kiss. Her lips were warm and moist, and they
tasted so damned perfect.

Suddenly, he was on the couch with
her, his hands framing her cheeks, his lips gently caressing her lips. This was
his chance to show her how much he loved her. He broke the kiss and leaned back
to look into her eyes. His medallion caught in a few strands of her hair.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be.” She untangled herself
and slipped the chain up and over his head. “It’s not your fault, Jason. Your
father leaving, Missy attacking me, none of it’s your fault, but you have to
believe that in your heart.”

He stared into her green eyes and
for the first time in his life he let go of the father guilt, the son guilt,
all of it.

He scooped her up and headed for
the bedroom. This time he’d do things like a gentleman—tenderly, cherishing
every touch, every breath.

“You don’t need this anymore.”
Sandy dangled his medal of St. Michael over his shoulder. “How about I get you
a new one?” She let it fall to the ground, and Jason heard Madame Bovary scramble
to attack it.

The spell was finally broken. He
could choose to be his own man, not a knockoff of his father. He’d chosen that
in the past, but the special woman he held in his arms helped him realize he
could make another choice.

“I’m going to make love to you,”
he whispered against her cheek. “Love, not sex.”

“Love is good,” she said.

“You’re better,” he replied.

And he’d spend the rest of his
life showing her how good they’d be together.

THE END

Don’t miss the first two books
in the Ringside Romance series:

GOT A HOLD ON YOU

RING AROUND MY HEART

Discover other titles by Pat
White at Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Pat-White/e/B001H6MQY4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

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Dear Reader,

Thank you very much for your
purchase of “Love on the Ropes.”  If you enjoyed Sandy and Jason’s story and
would like to leave a review on Amazon, I’d be so very grateful. Reviews help independent
authors spread the word about our stories.

Keep smiling!

Pat White