Chapter Three

It’s simple, Ashley. You lose the fight and she doesn’t get hurt. You don’t—and it’ll be too bad for her and even worse for you.

He sat up abruptly as the words echoed in his ears and in his head. He whipped the disheveled, tangled sheets aside, then agitatedly swung his legs over the side of the bed. The ancient wood frame creaked in protest at the sudden shift in burden. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. The slick sheen of sweat covered his whole body, the sheets damp beneath him. A wave of nausea crashed into him and he fought back the bile that rose in his throat, his whole body heaving with the effort.

The memories, worse than any nightmare, claimed his consciousness and he fought the sting of hateful tears behind his eyes. He worked to find something, anything, to anchor himself again as the maelstrom once more threatened to bring up bile.

“No…please,” he gagged, successfully resisting the urge to vomit.

He worked frantically to recall something pleasant, something happy. Her eyes. He loved the way the firelight danced across her sweet, haunted countenance. The way the dark circles that were ever present under her eyes had vanished that evening. He smiled then and lifted his head.

Violet.

She’d finally let him in. For months, he’d hammered at the walls around her heart. Worked to soften her resolve to keep out everyone that tried to reach her. He’d finally had a taste of sweet victory. The feel of her skin beneath his hands, the taste of her lips, the sound of her laughter—they soothed and relaxed all the ill feelings that roiled within him.

He thought back to the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her. She stood with another camp; one of the head honchos and a giant young man who bore a similar resemblance to her. He recognized Manuel Christopher, the co-founder of Phenom, a living legend, and Desmond Jorgensen, one of the bright young stars of the league. Peyton was fresh off the plane, having just flown in with the Intimidation camp to prepare for his fifth fight in the new league.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked like a ghost—pale skin, haunting dark green eyes, and dark hair that she wore pulled back in a high ponytail. Her face was gaunt and strained, as though she’d been long accustomed to living under constant duress. Desmond was very protective of her; his arm slung over her shoulder as she held a clipboard in front of them.

He watched her pale pink lips move, exposing beautiful straight white teeth as she spoke to them about whatever was on the clipboard. She was tall, medium build with abundant soft curves in all the right places. Despite her well-built and tall stature, as she stood next to Dez, she looked infinitely fragile. Like it would take just one wrong word, one ill-spoken breath and she’d shatter.

She looked…

How he felt.

His breath had caught in his throat when her gaze flitted in his direction. She held his eyes for a fraction of a second and he swore his heart faltered a beat. The corners of her mouth tugged up in a polite smile of greeting, her head nodding slightly.

It was the way she turned her head back to the clipboard that galvanized his resolve. She’d disregarded him as just another fighter from just another camp. Her eyes said it all. Nothing special there, nothing to worry about.

That single action had fanned his competitive spark to a roaring flame. He wanted her to notice him. He wanted to find an excuse to talk to her, to make her see him. To tell her he wasn’t just another meathead that loved beating people up for a living. He wanted so much to not be like everyone else in her eyes. He wanted her to look at him the way she had looked at Manuel, Desmond, Gorski, and the other fighters in her camp. He wanted to be worth something to her.

After last night, though?

She was his.

The thought brought a smile so wide it painfully reminded him of the beating the left side of his face had endured. It was worth it, though. He had gotten through to her. Shown her that he was somebody worth her time and energy.

The darkness quickly seeped back in. He’d meant what he said when he told Violet about trading himself over to Phenom. Intimidation Factor was a bad place to be. Especially since he’d made a name for himself and the payouts were best now if he failed.

It wouldn’t be like that, he promised himself. Not again. He wasn’t about to sacrifice his honor for a bunch of cutthroat no-accounts.

He sighed and stood, stretching his arms above his head and wincing as his bruised ribs reminded him once more of the fight last night. His jaw and left eye hurt terribly. His left eye swelled so that it was half closed. As he walked to the icebox to prepare a bag of ice to put on his face, he snatched up his phone and hit the first number on his speed dial.

*****

Violet was reluctantly dragged from deep, beautiful slumber by the ringing of her cell phone next to her bed. She groaned and swatted groggily at it, her sleep-logged brain not quite functioning well enough for fine motor control. Eventually she managed to grasp it and swipe it open.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice croaky.

“What the hell happened last night?” a familiar feminine voice railed in her ear.

“Ow. Too early. No yelly,” Violet groaned, holding the phone away from her ear and wincing.

“It’s one thirty in the afternoon!” the woman raged on the other end.

“I went to bed at five thirty this morning,” Violet pouted, sitting up and looking around her room.

Sunlight poured through the windowpane past the half-closed drapes. It was far too bright and set off a jackhammer inside her skull. She laid back down and snatched the blankets up over her head, silently cursing.

“Why so late? How’s Dezzy? Mom said he called her this morning from the hospital.”

Violet groaned, “Because who do you think was at the hospital all night with him, Elaina? They had to do x-rays and the stubborn little shit wouldn’t go right after his fight like I told him to.”

“Is he okay?” Elaina asked.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Gonna be down a couple weeks, but he’ll bounce back quick,” Violet said, slowly bringing the covers off her face and allowing her eyes to adjust to the brightness of her room.

“We watched the fight on pay-per-view. Ryan and the boys bought the sports package where they get to watch every fight,” Elaina said, the disapproval gone from her tone, replaced instead with excitement. “He was awesome!”

“Yes, he was,” Violet replied, smiling to herself. “I’m so proud of him. You should see the belt!”

“Actually, that’s what I was going to call and tell you. We’ll be there Friday! Natalie can’t wait to see her auntie!”

Violet beamed. Her niece was six months old and she hadn’t seen either her sister or Natalie since the baby had been born. Both Violet and Dezzy proudly showed off pictures of the baby and sent her many a gift.

“That’s excellent! What time are you flying in?”

“I don’t know yet if we’re flying or driving. Ryan wanted to go on some trek with one of the new rigs they put together out there. If that’s the case, we’ll be leaving tonight and be there on Friday. I’m trying to get him to put it off a couple of weeks because Natalie just got over a cold, but she’s doing a lot better,” Elaina replied.

“Awww, poor little sweetie,” Violet sympathized.

“So, what’s this about Peyton Ashley?” Elaina switched gears in her trademark fashion.

“What about him?” Violet hedged, dragging herself to the edge of the bed to sit.

“Uh, you kissed him on national television last night,” Elaina sarcastically quipped.

Violet sighed agitatedly and sniped, “Actually, he kissed me. I didn’t kiss him until later. And it wasn’t really a kiss.”

“Then what was it, exactly? Because by the normal definition of a kiss, that was undeniably a kiss.”

“Elaina—I don’t know what’s going on. Our first date was last night,” Violet exasperatedly stated, standing and stretching and almost dropping the phone in the process.

“That’s such good news! Oooh, he’s so hot! He’s like, Ryan Reynolds hot. Isn’t he Dezzy’s best friend? What’s this I hear he might be leaving his gym to join yours and Dezzy’s? Ryan and the guys have been talking about it all day,” Elaina rapid fired, not leaving Violet any room to answer until the little pixie had run out of breath.

That was exactly what Elaina reminded Violet and Dezzy of. A damn pixie—perhaps one on amphetamines, she amended to herself.

“Ungh,” Violet groaned, stumbling towards her bathroom. “Are you gonna give me time to answer or what?”

“Sorry. I’m just so excited! It’s been what, three years since Tommy died? I mean, I understand you were grieving and all, but it’s about damn time you moved on,” Elaina prattled on in her ear.

“I lost my husband, El. I lost my best friend. My soulmate. And then, I lost our son. What would you have done if you lost Ryan and Natalie in the same day?” Violet ground out, her words more venomous than she had originally intended.

“I—I’m sorry Vi. I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, El. I didn’t mean to come across like that. It’s just been absolute hell. And now, I’m starting to come out of it. I’ve gone on dates since Tommy. I just could never feel anything for them. There was nothing there.”

“But there is now?” Elaina asked, her voice soft and hopeful.

“I don’t know,” Violet exasperatedly sighed. “Everything is—it’s just going so fast. I’ve known Peyton for quite a while now. He’s been there for me. He makes me feel—alive again. So we’ll just have to see where this goes. I’m not getting my hopes up but at the same time, I’m not going to stop anything good from happening either.”

Elaina was quiet a moment. Violet sat on the sink countertop in her bathroom, contemplating all that she said and remembering the events of last night.

“And Dezzy likes him?” Elaina asked at last.

“They’re best friends.”

“So—is he a good kisser?”

Violet burst into surprised laughter. Elaina’s voice joined hers, and together they giggled for a moment.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Elaina chortled.

“That’s definitely a yes,” Violet concurred.

“I’m so happy for you! I can’t wait to hang out with Taylor again! I’ll be able to go shopping, now that I’m not pregnant anymore and lost all that baby weight,” Elaina changed gears yet again, this time to Violet’s delight.

Elaina was a gearhead but also an airhead. Most days, she could be found working alongside Ryan, her husband, in their offroading shop. She knew how to weld, wrench, paint, and draw up blueprints for the rigs they outfitted. She drive with the best of them, having traversed the Moab trails and competed in several various kinds of offroading competitions.

But for all her mechanic expertise and finesse behind the wheel, she was equal parts fashionista. She had her hair and nails done regularly, never visiting the same style or color twice. She had designer clothes, shoes, and accessories that filled two walk-in closets in her 4-bedroom, 2-bathroom house. The woman loved everything about being a woman.

And when she’d met Taylor—well, they should have been twins. They had the same tastes and adored each other.

Whenever Elaina and Ryan made it to Vegas, she and Taylor were pretty much joined at the hip and Ryan could plan on going broke. Not that money was really a problem for them; their shop outfitted all the Yellowstone tour companies’ off-road vehicles, the off-road tour companies in the entire state of Arizona, and even some celebrity rigs. They were world-renowned for their expertise and experience. Still, Violet never could figure out or justify why someone would pay $700 for a pair of sandals that didn’t even have real jewels on them.

“She’ll be ecstatic to know you’re coming!” Violet agreed, turning to glance at herself in the mirror.

She stopped and studied her reflection for a moment, pleasantly surprised. She knew she wasn’t ugly and she had to admit that morning, her hair was perfectly disheveled, her skin flawless, and her eyes bright. She felt ecstatically alive again for the first time in many years.

“Oh! Don’t tell her! Please? I want her to be surprised!”

“Good luck with that,” Violet scoffed. “Taylor has a way of sniffing out everyone’s secrets. She should work for the CIA or something.”

“Okay. Well, I have to go. Ryan’s putting a lift on this dumb pavement queen rig that some townie brought in and two of the guys have the day off so I gotta help him and Bobby put it in. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what’s going on.”

“Sounds good. Love you and talk to you soon,” Violet said, stifling a yawn.

“Love you too. Later.”

Violet hung up and tossed the phone onto the counter. She picked up her toothbrush and was in the middle of brushing her teeth when the phone rang again. It was Manuel. She quickly spat out the foam in her mouth and answered it.

“Yeah boss?” she laughed into the receiver.

“Well, you sound cheery today!”

“Just got some good news. Can’t tell you yet though. What can I do for you?”

The conversation was short. Manny just wanted to go over the plans for tomorrow’s workday. She had three fighters on the injured list, including Dezzy, and had to figure out workouts for them that wouldn’t aggravate or worsen their injuries. She also had two more fighters who had fights the upcoming week and needed to cut weight drastically.

Manny also informed her of an international conference that he had scheduled her to attend in just over a month on innovative new ways of dealing with muscle strain injuries and a refresher on which drugs were legal and which were illegal. It was redundant, but the president of the league wanted to be very clear on what was allowed to his fighters, especially with the recent illegal steroid busts happening in several other professional sports. Fortunately, the rules were the same in many of the states where the fights took place.

At the end, he asked her if Peyton had talked to her about joining Phenom yet. She said he’d mentioned it in passing and that she thought it was a good career move for him. Manuel agreed before having to cut their conversation short due to an incoming call from Tay.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she recommenced brushing her teeth, then stripped and hopped into the shower. She turned the water on, letting it warm up as she unceremoniously slipped her shirt and bra over her head. She deposited the garments carelessly on the floor in a crumpled heap in front of her sink and stepped out of her shorts and panties, adding them to the mess. She kicked the pile of discarded clothing over toward the hamper in the corner and proceeded to hop into the shower.

Violet let the tepid torrents flow over her for a few moments, smiling languidly as she worked the water through her hair. Oh, how far she’d come in merely twenty-four hours, she thought as she squeezed enough shampoo into her palm to fill it. She lathered it through her drenched tresses, breathing deeply the clean, crisp, citrus and lavender scent.

She thought back to last night. 24 hours ago, she was prepping one of their gym’s fighters for his match. It would have been their featherweight title holder, Jericho Pruitt. She was just going through the motions, not really caring about what she was doing. She was miserable. The only thing that kept her functioning or interacting with the outside world was Desmond.

Everything had changed. She’d allowed Peyton in. She’d allowed herself to be happy. She’d stepped out of the darkness that she’d felt to be her haven for the past three years and into the chaotic, bright, and wonderful light that she’d no idea still existed. The guilt she’d felt previously in any such endeavor did not come. The tears did not come.

As she slathered shaving cream on her legs, she smiled and recalled the day she’d met Peyton “Ice” Ashley. She’d been in Las Vegas with Dezzy for six months. There had been a fuss over Peyton, as he had just moved up from being an alternate on the Intimidation Factor team into the big time, though he was in no way, shape, or form a rookie.

He’d fought in thirty professionally ranked fights and won twenty-six of them, all of them by tap out due to submission, knockout, or unanimous decision. He never left a doubt as to who the victor was when he won. And what was more, the last of his four losses had occurred over two years ago.

The four ring girls who frequently haunted the complex where Phenom, Intimidation, and a couple other teams had been going positively gaga over him the day of his arrival, essentially driving Violet nuts. Violet had seen his fight reels. She knew his stats, knew his injuries, and knew his fighting style, but she didn’t know what he really looked like, at least outside the ring.

All she really cared about was that he was competition for their welterweight fighter, Sybren Rook. The ring girls, Hannah, Alexis, Destiny, and Janelle, had swarmed her desk, asking if he was there yet. They’d warmed up to her a bit by then, ending their merciless pranks and cold shoulders.

They’d all swooned with giddy excitement as soon as Peyton shyly entered the double doors to the gigantic gym, his expression pensive though confident. Violet shooed them away from her desk and went over to discuss the training schedule she’d just finished re-writing for Desmond.

Her eyes drifted back to Peyton for a second appraisal. He wore a black windbreaker suit with the names of his sponsors plastered all over the back of his jacket, his name embroidered on the right breast pocket, and his camp name down the sides of his pant legs—Intimidation Factor.

She hated most of the fighters in his gym, as most of them were cocky, arrogant, self-centered, whiny little pricks that were overpaid and under fought. The most any member of his camp, with him being the sole exception, had fought in the past year was two times. She remembered thinking that he didn’t belong with that camp at all. He wasn’t like any of them.

He’d been talking to his trainers and coaches across the gym from her. When they’d finished laying out his workout plan for the day, he looked around, his eyes landing immediately on Desmond, Manuel, and Gorski, who were all going through sparring drills with their coaches. He’d smiled at Desmond, which was instantly returned by her warmhearted little brother.

Then, Peyton’s eyes darted over to where the ring girls all huddled, waving at him and giggling ridiculously. He nonchalantly waved back at them, his eyes continuing over and stopping as soon as they met hers. He froze and she blushed, looking immediately down and busying herself with writing out the notes Manuel and Desmond needed, who stood next to her then, talking about schedules for Dezzy’s new physical training routine.

The way he’d looked at her... When she looked up again, he still stood in the same spot, still watched her, though his expression had changed from deer-in-the-headlights, to compassionately contemplative. He offered her a disarmingly soft smile and started walking over. She had panicked, unsure of what to do. Her heart hammered in her chest and her stomach was immediately unsettled.

He never made it over to her, however. At least not that day. Desmond, Manuel, and Gorski stopped him, introducing themselves and preoccupying him with shop talk. His coaches had interrupted them to prod him to get to work. He’d looked longingly yet determinedly at her and the look in his eyes silently promised that he’d be back.

Violet finished shaving by the time she’d replayed the events in her memory. She ran her hands down the length of her thighs and calves, testing for stubble she may have missed with the first lazy passes made with the razor. She found a couple spots and tended to them, finally satisfied that she’d taken every bit of unwanted hair. She hurriedly washed herself, not wanting to lose precious time getting ready. And she very much wanted to be next to Peyton again.

She had become addicted to him—slowly at first, until… Well, she wanted to be completely immersed in him. Drowned even. She didn’t even bother to feel guilty about it. It had been long enough.

She rinsed off and hopped out of the shower, snagged the bath sheet off the hook by the door, and wrapped it around herself. She stopped to look in the mirror. The silver chain with the platinum wedding ring still hung around her neck. Violet slipped her finger through the ring, carefully studying the reflection before her.

Would Tommy forgive her? Would he want her to do this? She searched herself for the answer, trying to get a handle on the feelings that warred within her. Her eyes darted to the foggy mirror again, meeting her reflection’s gaze.

Sighing, she reached behind her head and unclasped the necklace, letting it dangle before her for a second. It slowly spun and she watched as the light caught off the diamond in a dazzling array. She smiled sadly and let it fall against her palm. Her eyes went again to the mirror, taking in the soft-focus woman in the glass.

Was she done grieving?

She curled her fingers closed around the ring, feeling the hard circle of metal dig into her palm. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she kissed her fist.

“Thank you,” she whispered, depositing the silver chain and ring in the little treasure chest that contained most of her jewels on the counter.

With renewed vigor, she strode out of the bathroom, hurrying to get dressed, grabbing her cell phone off the counter in the process. She saw that she’d missed three phone calls. Well, when it rained, it poured, she thought, checking the list.

One was from Dezzy. He left a voicemail saying he’d talked to Manny and wanted to know what Violet was going to let him do tomorrow at training, and that he was going to go on some date with this girl he’d just started seeing.

The second was from her mother and father, wanting to know how she was and the details of Dezzy’s injuries. Apparently, he hadn’t divulged very much to them. It shocked Violet none—Dezzy hated talking on the phone.

The last was from Peyton, asking her to call him back about their plans for the evening, and saying he’d had a great time last night. Even on the phone, he was a perfect gentleman.

Violet walked over to her closet, clad only in a towel for the moment. As she thumbed through the hanging clothes, she was thankful that Taylor was her friend. Violet could care less about fashion. For the most part on regular days, her job required that she wear tee shirts and jeans or athletic suits, and athletic shoes. Comfortable clothes.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

She needn’t worry about the fashion police busting her for something unsightly, though. Taylor Jin was her best friend, therefore her closet was packed with designer tees and jeans, athletic suits, and athletic shoes on top of several dressier, more fashionable outfits and shoes.

She selected an ensemble from that dressier category, pulling out an emerald green silk peasant blouse that bared her shoulders and a highly faded, slightly battered jean mini skirt that showcased her long legs. She completed the outfit with her favorite, strappy, wedge sandals—which were white with green jewel accents on the straps that ran across the top of her feet and toes. She jogged into her bathroom and quickly applied a little make up, pulled her hair into a high, messy bun, and jogged back into her bedroom.

Glancing at the clock, she picked up her cell phone and walked out of her bedroom into the living room. She hit Dezzy’s number on the speed dial.

“Whaaaaat?” came her brother’s sleepy, aggravated voice on the fourth ring.

“Did you talk to mom and dad?”

“Yeah, when I got home. You do know it’s only eleven, right? And I went to bed at like—six?”

“Look at your clock again, son. It’s almost four.”

He groaned in response and she heard shuffling, as though he had dropped the phone in the blankets.

“Dez, would you please call them and tell them you’re okay? Mom’s worried.”

“I talked to her last night, Vi. Damn.”

“I know, but in more detail. A simple ‘hi mom, I just got out of the ER, don’t worry’ is not good enough, especially when you know what a worry wart she is.”

“Did Elaina and Manny just call you?”

“Before I took a shower, yes.”

“Figured,” he grunted. “She and Ryan will be here Friday. Don’t tell Taylor. What are you doing today?”

“I’ve got date number two with Peyton.”

He snorted obnoxiously, “Good. ‘Bout time.”

“What do you mean?” Violet asked indignantly, standing up from the sofa and walking over to open the French doors that led out to her patio.

“You guys have been driving everybody nuts; me especially.”

“How do you figure?”

“He was always givin’ you the googley eyes when you weren’t lookin’. Always talkin’ ‘bout what you said the night before, wonderin’ what you were doin’ and if he should ask you out yet. And you would give him the googley eyes when he wasn’t lookin’—”

“I would n—”

“Vi, I’m your brother. I notice these things. And you got it bad for him. You just won’t let yourself consciously feel it.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil.”

“Just have fun, Vi. it’s just Peyton. The same dude you’ve pretty much already been with, just without the label. I’ve got a date today too. Fuck, I gotta get ready. I told her I’d pick her up at six and get some dinner before we hit the Strip.”

“That’s what your message said. Who are you going out with?” Violet asked, idly pacing back and forth across her balcony.

She looked to the horizon where the mountains stood in the distance, purple hazed figures looming eerily. She considered what he’d said about Peyton for a moment while he continued.

“Brie Lambert. One of the other league’s ring girls.”

Brie was radically different from many of the other ring girls; most of whom were fitness and fashion models for the fighters’ sponsors. A couple of those girls did spreads for smut magazines. Though Brie was a ring girl, she was also going to UNLV in the pre-med program. She was sweet and soft spoken, hailing from a small town in southern Alabama. Violet had spoken with her often, giving her pointers on graduate programs and even loaned the girl a few of her lab notebooks and texts to help her study.

“I know Brie. Smart girl. Pre-med at UNLV. I approve.”

“I knew you would,” Dezzy laughed. “Ooooh, I need pain killers.”

“Take them. Wear your brace. I’ll talk to you later. Have fun on your date.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Love ya, see ya, bye,” Violet laughed.

“Hey, you have fun too. Love ya, see ya, bye.”

She looked down at the phone, her eyes landing on Peyton’s number in her missed call list. The nervous fluttering feeling started in her stomach at the thought of calling him. Where it had been easy to talk to him before, she was finding it difficult to hit the call back option. What would she say? What if she sounded stupid?

“C’mon, it’s just Peyton,” she coached herself aloud, repeating Dez’s words. “You’ve talked to him a thousand times on the phone.”

It was different though. The dynamics had changed drastically. While it was exciting, she wasn’t quite sure what to think or feel about it. Dating was a nerve-racking experience she hadn’t had in seven years, when she first started dating Tommy.

She gracelessly sat down in one of the patio chairs and looked back at the mountains, the sun having started its slow descent towards them. The shadows were getting long and the bustle of Vegas rush hour traffic reached her ears.

Tommy wasn’t there anymore. She realized that, but it was so hard to let go. He’d been her world. Her soulmate. She was terrified that moving on would mean she’d lose the feelings she’d had for him. That she’d start to forget, and the memories would jumble together until Peyton blurred them out.

Did it have to be that way, though? Could she remember Tommy and still have room for Peyton in her life? Would that be fair to Peyton?

The phone rang then, startling her so badly that she dropped it. It skittered on the deck, perilously close to falling right off her patio balcony. She gingerly grabbed it and answered it without checking the ID.

“Hello?” she breathily answered, working to get the tremble out of her voice and nerves.

“Hey darlin’. Did I wake ya?”

“Oh, hey Peyton. I was just getting ready to call you,” she said, fighting the nervous flutter in her guts again and desperately trying to sound casual.

“So, we still on for tonight?” he asked, sounding unsure.

She hated hearing the fear of rejection in his voice and it fueled her resolve to move forward with…whatever it was.

“Absolutely!”

His sigh of relief was barely audible, but she heard it, nonetheless.

“Oh good, I was hoping I hadn’t dreamt it!” he nervously laughed. “Is there a movie ya wanna see or a place ya wanna eat?”

“Not really, but I figure we could pull up some show times or something when you get here,” she replied, walking inside and flipping open her laptop on her coffee table.

It came to life while she sat down on the couch with a huff and stretched out her legs.

“That works. I’m on my way. See ya in ten?”

“I can’t wait!” Violet replied, feeling a bit giddier at the prospect of seeing him than she realized.

He chuckled warmly, “Neither can I! Just uh, don’t laugh at me when I show up, okay?”

She heard the jingle of keys and the roar of his truck’s engine.

They’d gone out on many an excursion in it. Dez was trying to talk him into letting Ryan and Elaina outfit it for harder trails.

“Why would I laugh at you?” she giggled. “Did you grow a third eye overnight?”

“Not exactly but…let’s just say my face ain’t too pretty today.”

“Oh please. Like I haven’t seen you after a fight.”

“You’re the one who wants ta go out in public with me,” he ribbed, gentle laughter bubbling through his tone and she heard the truck accelerating.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she probed, typing in the local cinema’s name to search for movies and times.

“Haha, I really don’t know,” he nervously replied. “I’m just playin’. I’ll see ya in ‘bout five, all right?”

“All right. See you when you get here.”

She hung up and scrolled through the movies but there wasn’t really anything that struck her fancy. Action movies were okay, but nothing stood out as being completely novel. She thought back to how he sounded on the phone. His reluctance to go out in public made her realize that his eye had probably swelled up and his face was likely pretty bruised. She wondered how that cut was doing.

She sighed and went to the closet in the hall where she kept some of her treatment gear. She pulled out her peppermint oil with an anesthetic in it, a handful of cotton balls, a swab, a clear strip bandaid, some isopropyl alcohol, and an ice pack. The doorbell rang just as she had arranged all the items neatly on the kitchen’s island countertop.

Violet jogged over to the door and opened it, unable to stop the huge grin that spread her lips as her eyes met the familiar blue-green gaze. He returned the smile and swept her into his arms. She touched his cheek, testing for tenderness where the bruising was darkest. The cut had a black scab over it and his left eye was quite puffy. Both eyes were rimmed in their inner corners with fading dark purple.

“C’mon. I’ll get you fixed up,” she said at length, pulling away and closing the door after him.

He walked to the kitchen island where she’d laid out her treatments. As she walked over to patch him up, he latched onto her arm and pulled her back to him. Her gaze met his, still smiling, closing her eyes as his hand cupped her cheek. His thumb feathered across her cheek bone and she opened her eyes once more.

“Ya look lovely,” he breathed.

Violet blushed.

“You look like hell,” she laughed. “Let me take care of you.”

His lips were on hers before she could register another thought. He pulled away as abruptly as he’d initiated the exchange. His eyes flew wide and he regarded her with something akin to pure terror.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I shouldn’a done that.”

Violet fisted the collar of his shirt and pulled him back.

“Yes, you should have,” she murmured before brushing his lips with hers once more.

Her shoulder blades encountered something solid as he pushed her backward, his arms around her waist. He launched an impassioned assault on her lips, eliciting soft sighs from her. She snaked her arms around his shoulders to hold him closer. He pressed his torso and hips fully against her, desperate for the friction.

He tore his mouth from hers then, lathing a searing trail from her collarbone to her jawline with his tongue. She buried her fingers in his short hair, lolling her head back so he could more easily reach her neck.

He kissed her throat, whispering something incomprehensible, one of his hands slipping under her shirt to caress her belly. His fingers encountered something he hadn’t expected as they grazed her navel. They lingered, curiously turning the diamond pendant that dangled from the relatively new piercing.

He pulled away.

“When did ya get that?” Peyton asked, lifting her shirt so that he could inspect it with his eyes instead of his fingers.

“Tay and I got them a couple weeks ago,” Violet huskily replied, sighing softly as his fingers again traveled across her belly.

“I love it,” Peyton said, reluctantly pulling away from her. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I guess I better let ya finish patchin’ me up or we’ll never make it outta this place.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Violet murmured, watching him take a seat on one of the bar stools next to the island.

A deliciously devilish grin lit his countenance as he saucily replied, “I mean, I’m not one to object.”

“Mr. Ashley, now I do declare!” Violet laughed sheepishly, snatching up the isopropyl and opening it. She tipped the bottle into one of the cotton balls until it was saturated, continuing in a tender tone, “I don’t have to tell you this is going to sting.”

Peyton nodded and closed his eyes as she dabbed gently at the cut until the scab had softened enough that she could remove it with the swab. He winced and held his breath as she cleaned the tender wound. Once it was no longer black with dried blood and had been thoroughly disinfected, she gently squeezed it closed and put the clear strip bandaid on it.

“There,” Violet softly said, inspecting it one last time before stepping back.

“Better?” he asked, touching the clear strip gingerly with two fingers.

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” she laughed lightly, popping the cork on a bottle of peppermint pain killer oil.

“What’s that for?” Peyton asked, eyeing the bottle dubiously.

She tipped it up into a cotton ball and approached him.

“It’s a special blend I use. Peppermint oil and topical anesthetic. It helps speed healing of bruises and makes them less tender.”

“I see,” he softly replied as she dabbed the oil all along his jaw. “It tingles.”

Violet chuckled, “That’s the anesthetic. It will make the pain stop. The peppermint will give it an icy-hot sensation. Draws blood to the surface to speed healing of damaged tissues.”

“For real?” he asked, smiling as she pursed her lips and blew on the oil to dry it more quickly.

“In theory. It’s what we used in high school in soccer. One of the girls swore by it, so I used it on my bruises. I think it helps speed up healing, for me at least,” she replied, grabbing the ice pack and cracking it to activate it.

He took it from her and put it over his eye.

“There. In about fifteen minutes, you’ll feel and look a lot better.”

They walked over and sat on her couch, where she still had the movie theater page up on her laptop. He grabbed it at her behest and scrolled through the listings for a couple of minutes, then looked over at her.

“I don’t really see anythin’ I’m crazy about watchin’,” he dejectedly said at length.

“Yeah, same here,” she agreed, allowing him to pull her so that their thighs touched and his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“I got an idea. We could drive out ta that little park, ya know, where they have the palms and that pond with the fountain? Maybe get some food and have ourselves a late picnic,” he said after another moment of comfortably contemplative silence.

Violet sat up and beamed at him, “We could do that.”

“And that way, no one has to see ya out and about with the beat-up version of me.”

She laughed and playfully pushed him away, saying, “Peyton, I really don’t care what your face looks like. Doesn’t change the person I know.”

“I don’t either. I really just don’t want ta share your attention with a silver screen or a waiter trying ta get our orders,” he heatedly replied, dropping the ice pack on the table and pulling her almost onto his lap.

“Mr. Ashley, I fear if we don’t leave now, we might not ever,” Violet whispered theatrically as he cupped her face in his hands again.

“Miss Anderson, I think I like the sound of that,” he huskily murmured, feathering his lips lightly over hers. “But if ya wanna get outta here, we’ll go.”

“It’s not—that,” Violet replied, stroking his unharmed cheek with the flat of her palm and looking into his eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, darlin’,” he softly voiced, leaning closer so that their lips were inches apart.

“I’m…conflicted. I haven’t seriously dated in over seven years. It’s been kind of a long time and I’m out of practice with—”

“Whoa. Hold on, now. We don’t have ta do anything different than we normally do, Vi,” he gently interjected, bringing her hand back to his face and kissing the inside of her wrist. “What’s Dez up to tonight?”

Violet laughed, “He’s out on a date with Brie Lambert.”

“That’s right. I completely forgot. Well, what’re Tay and Manny doing?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d rather not hang with them tonight,” she laughed, her stomach doing small cartwheels as his lips touched her wrist again.

“Yeah. Tay’s a bit hyper,” he quietly replied, smiling at the goosebumps that popped up along her arms.

“I can’t…think when you do that,” Violet whispered as he kissed an especially sensitive spot on her wrist, his teeth gently raking the flesh there.

“I like makin’ ya blush and givin’ ya chills,” he murmured, his voice taking on a deeper tone than she’d heard before.

“You’re quite adept at it,” she replied just as softly. “I fear it’s an unfair advantage.”

He chuckled and interlaced his fingers with hers, their hands coming to rest on the top of his thigh.

“All’s fair in love and war. But, since it’s makin’ ya uncomfortable, I’ll can it.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, Peyton,” she whispered.

“I know, but I’m—pushin’ things a bit. I’m just so excited. Ya make me so happy, Vi. You and Dezzy—y’all are the best damn things that have happened ta me in a real long time,” Peyton gushed, surprising her with his candid admission.

“You never really talk about… What life was like before you started training with Intimidation,” Violet softly replied.

Peyton knew so much about her. About her history. Where she came from. What she’d been through. He’d met her parents before but she’d never even seen his, and she was certain he was an only child. She realized she’d never seen any sort of support for him in the way of familial ties. No one ever showed up for his fights. Just her and Dezzy. No one congratulated him or called him or even checked up on him that she’d ever seen.

That train of thought sped full ahead until it crashed into the wall of realization and derailed. Maybe Peyton wasn’t what she had needed so much as…

She was what he needed. What had happened to him before he had fought his way tooth and nail to the top, only to be alone when he got there? Even worse, was there no one there to pick him up if and when he fell? He was completely alone without Dezzy and her.

She looked over at him with this newfound knowledge and her heart shattered for him. She’d fleetingly seen it before in his eyes, but she’d been too immersed in her own pain to notice that something ate at him too. Peyton had his own demons, hidden behind a carefully-kept, sunny, shy, and sweet disposition. She lashed out inwardly at herself.

How could she have been so selfish? He’d always been asking her about herself. What she liked, wanted, needed, dreamed. In some ways, he’d gotten to know her better than she even knew herself. And what did she know about him?

Nothing that any Joe Schmoe couldn’t figure out from the internet or a little digging. He was twenty-eight years old and grew up in Athens, Georgia. He went to school at the University of Georgia on a full-ride scholarship for wrestling. He had a bachelor’s degree in accounting from there. But other than that, all she knew was that he was a total doll, easy on the eyes, a budding champion fighter, and he had eyes only for her.

“Vi, ya gotta understand,” Peyton said after a moment, shifting so that he held both her hands and nearly faced her.

She could tell he was very uncomfortable and that what came next wasn’t going to be the most pleasant of conversations.

“I’m listening,” she smiled reassuringly, not wanting him to feel like she’d judge him.

She wanted to be there for him, like he’d been there for her countless times.

“Ya’ve probably noticed the kind of fighters in my gym. They’re cocky, arrogant, and while they don’t fight much or win much, they’re still just as wealthy as other fighters who fight in twice as many fights,” he began.

“I had wondered a time or two about that, yes,” she allowed, shifting so that she faced him more.

He drew her legs across his lap and she used the momentum to scoot closer to him.

“They get paid extra if the investors want them to throw a fight. Usually because of betting odds. It’s dirty, but for most, the profits outweigh the loss.”

“That’s bullshit,” Violet indignantly spat. “Why don’t the league officers do anything about it?”

“Because, darlin’. This is Vegas. Most of the time, they’re in on it,” he chuckled at her outburst.

“Do they expect that of everyone?” she asked, closing her eyes as he nuzzled her cheek.

She immediately feared for Dezzy—what if they expected him to throw the title defense fight?

“Nope. Just the dirty ones,” Peyton candidly replied.

“I’ve never seen you fight dirty. How did you land a contract with a dirty team?”

He closed his eyes tightly as if the question stung him.

“Because there was a time when—I was like them.”

“You? Never. It’s not in your character.”

“Yer faith in me is… Heartenin’, darlin’,” Peyton rasped, touching her cheek again. “But like I said—there’s a lot about me ya don’t know yet.”

He looked as though he confessed to something that had haunted him forever. She wished she’d have known all of this sooner. She’d have pushed Manny to sign Peyton months ago if she had. What if they wanted him to lose his next fight?

“Tell me how they came to think of you as one of them,” Violet softly inquired, her eyes kind and imploring.

He smiled wistfully as he continued, “It started in college. This was back when MMA was just starting ta take off again. We had tournaments on campus. Mostly drunken frat boys who thought they could punch pretty good. Sean Stacy was one of the best. He was an all-state wrestling champ, he’d been training with a couple professional MMA coaches. I beat him a couple times, even though he had fifty pounds on me at the time.”

“You went to college with Sean Stacy? I bet he didn’t like losing,” Violet interjected.

In her head, she retrieved his stats and tried to remember if she’d ever met him before. She knew that Sean Stacy was in another MMA league and was a current title holder for light heavyweight—Dezzy’s class.

“Not even a little,” Peyton chuckled. “My wrestlin’ coaches found out about it, but before they could threaten either of us with suspensions, he accused me of juicin’ and put needles in my locker. The only thing that kept me from losin’ my scholarship was the fact that my blood work came back completely clean. The fucked up thing, pardon my French, was that they didn’t discipline him at all for falsely accusin’ me. Even though I was cleared of the accusation, the other schools in the division refused ta let me wrestle after that. I stayed on as an alternate, ya know, so I could keep my scholarship.”

“Jesus, Peyton. That’s awful,” she said, tears forming in her eyes.

“That’s just the beginning,” he balefully sighed, looking over at her. “Hey, don’t do that. No cryin’, darlin’. We’re happy now, remember?”

She smiled and quickly swiped the tears away.

“You deserve so much better than that. You realize I’ll hate him now, too.”

“Good. Ya should. He sees ya with me and he’s gonna do his damnedest ta steal ya away,” he joked, grabbing swiftly at her thigh and making her burst into giggles.

She loved how he touched her like that, how he brought her an almost childish sort of joy, even when she’d been so close to sobbing a mere moment ago. She playfully fought back, a futile struggle as he wasn’t ticklish in any area that she knew of. He quit tickling her when they nearly fell off the couch.

“So what’s the worst part?” she asked once she’d caught her breath again.

He sat up straighter and shifted so that she could see his face better, his expression pensive as he recalled the unpleasant events of his past. He rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment before continuing.

“Well, after college, I really didn’t wanna do anythin’ with my accounting degree. Truth be told, while I was alright at number crunchin’, I hated it. My Pa wanted me to take after him, ya see. He’s a CPA in Athens.”

“How in the world did he have a son like you?” Violet chided, playfully punching his shoulder when he mock-glared at her.

“I’m my mother’s son. He’ll tell ya that til he’s blue in the damn face,” Peyton laughed. “So, since I didn’t wanna be a damned number cruncher, I started fightin’ in the underground. Started winnin’. A lot.”

“Obviously,” she replied with a sarcastic little half smirk, taking his hand closest to her and holding it between both hers.

“Well yeah,” Peyton replied, beaming at her. “So, I took this fight with this guy twice my size. The night before the fight, some punks jumped me on my way home from seein’ this little girl I used ta run with. Told me that I was gonna throw this fight or else they’d hurt both me and her.”

Violet shook her head sadly.

“But you didn’t throw it, did you?”

“Hell no!” he resentfully howled, squeezing her hand gently. “I wanted ta beat that guy ta a bloody pulp, show everyone I was the real deal. And I did beat him. Knocked him the hell out two minutes into it.”

“What happened then?” Violet pressed.

Peyton sighed and looked away from her, fiddling with her fingers while he figured out how to say what he had endured. He took a deep breath and released it, the sound hissing between his lips and teeth as though someone had cut him deeply.

He took another deep breath and said, “Well, they uh… Jumped her on her way home from work a couple days later. She was a barista at a coffee shop that I always stopped at—we weren’t datin’, just hung out, ya know. They beat her so bad… It killed her. Eventually. She lasted three days in intensive care before she passed. And they beat me up pretty good, too. Put me in the hospital for a couple weeks. Wasn’t serious enough ta keep me from fightin’ though—least not after a year of recovery.”

Tears of anger and hatred sprang to her eyes again. How could he have been through all that and still be as sweet and unassuming as he was in that moment? How had he not become like the rest? No one would have held it against him if he had changed.

Then again, she might have, she thought as she pondered what he’d told her. If she didn’t know him the way she did. But he hadn’t changed. He hadn’t let them break him down. At least, not for good. He was so much stronger than she had ever thought of giving him credit for and as a result, Violet saw him in a new light. Where she had been awed by his gentle nature, his sweetness, and his strong character before, she was absolutely astounded by him then. His strife made her struggles seem petty and weak in comparison.

“Funny thing,” he continued without looking up, his voice low and soft, like his spirit was broken. He still fidgeted with her fingers as he said, “They paid for my hospital bills. When I recovered, I owed ‘em. So, I fought like they told me to. I won when they wanted me ta win, lost when they wanted me ta lose. And eventually, they landed me the contract with Intimidation two years ago.”

“So, those four fights you lost professionally—”

“Fake knock outs. I wasn’t out. One submission that I coulda easily slipped but that’s not what they wanted,” he admitted, shame sagging his shoulders and softening his voice.

She threw her arms around him and hugged him to her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, his breath hitching in his chest, his face buried in her hair.

“They killed that little girl cuz of me,” he brokenly whispered against her neck. “All I had ta do was lose. And I was too damned proud—”

“Peyton…” she breathed, stroking his short, fine, dirty blond hair, “You aren’t to blame. You did what you thought was right. They were the ones who were wrong. Not you. And as far as I’m concerned, you’ve yet to be beaten,” she said, pulling away to look into his eyes.

He searched her gaze for a moment, his left eye swelling slightly more than his right as unshed tears stung them. She reached for the ice pack again, which he gratefully accepted and placed over his eye.

“That’s why I gotta get out of Intimidation. They want me ta throw the title shot,” he confessed softly.

“They what?!” Violet asked in an intense whisper, bolting upright from the couch in her burst of righteous ire. “That’s not happening.”

“Not anymore,” he said, his casual, cool, confident demeanor returning immediately. “Manuel’s got my back, and the crowd he runs with, they won’t dare come after me. Manny’s got an awesome camp. Straight up, no bullshit, honest people. Like you and Dezzy. And he has two lawyers and a Senator for uncles.”

“When is everything finalized?” she softly asked, allowing him to pull her back down onto his lap.

She held the ice pack against his eye for him for a moment, then pulled it away to check the skin beneath. It looked to be tolerating the cold well enough, so she placed it back over his eye.

“I sign tomorrow. Manuel’s buyin’ my contract for double what Intimidation paid. They’ll be all too happy to see me go. I’m dangerous to their pocketbooks if they don’t.”

“Will they come after you?” she inquired in a whisper.

He leaned forward, his lips finding her cheek, then kissed a trail to her ear.

“Nah. I’m just a floater. A means ta an end,” he replied, pulling away to look into her eyes again. “The end they’re gettin’ is better than they planned. Works out better for me too. I get in with a better camp, better fundin’, and better sponsors. Win win situation, really. They’ll gun for me in the ring, I’m sure. But I don’t think they’d dare outside of it.”

“In that case, I’m infinitely grateful that you jumped camps. There will be shit-talking done but, in the end, you’re better off,” she said after a moment.

He took the icepack from her and yanked her to him. Before she had time to register what was happening, he’d pushed her back on the couch and his lips hotly claimed hers. He moaned against her mouth when her hands slipped under his shirt and caressed his back, his own hands deftly maneuvering up her own shirt and caressing her abdomen. He slipped one hand beneath the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he used the new leverage to expose her throat to his kisses.

Violet couldn’t think. She could only react, thought robbed blind by his kisses and caresses. He was fierce with her yet gentle, burning her sweetly with his touch and his mouth. She slid her hands to his chest, fingers testing the hardness of the muscle beneath as she lightly dragged her nails down to his abdomen. She stopped, suddenly unsure, when her fingers encountered the waistband of his jeans and the sturdy throng of leather laced through the belt loops.

Peyton pulled away to look down into her eyes.

“I don’t know if I can stop if ya go much further,” he feverishly murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Is stopping a bad thing?” she replied, smoothing her hands back up over his chiseled abdomen beneath his shirt.

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed at her touch, evidence that he fought a war within.

“It isn’t a bad thing, if ya’ve got…a condom somewhere around here.”

“Damn,” Violet breathed, slipping her hands out of his shirt.

Peyton chuckled and stood off the couch, offering her his hand to help her stand. She allowed him to pull her to her feet and followed him to the kitchen.

“So, m’lady. Where are we goin’ tonight? Neither one of us seems very decisive,” he said, sitting on the island countertop.

She tossed the nearly spent icepack in the freezer and grabbed another one from the freezer door. She wrapped it in a clean dish rag, cracked it, and handed it to him.

“Well, maybe we should just go to the theater, do eenie-meenie-minie-moe, and watch whatever we land on,” she laughingly suggested.

“Very scientific, that eenie-meenie-minie-moe stuff,” Peyton replied with a nod and an expression of mock seriousness. “By jove, what a splendid idear!”

Violet burst out laughing, causing him to join in her mirth.

“You’re full of hell tonight. This is going to be fun. So eenie-meenie-minie-moe it is! To the Batmobile!”

“I knew you were hidin’ somethin’. I just couldn’t figure out what it was. It all makes sense now,” he continued the silliness, hopping down off the counter and checking to make sure his wallet was still in his back pocket.

It was the first chance Violet had to really look him over since he’d arrived. Not as his physical trainer and caregiver but… As a potential partner.

The light green polo shirt he wore made the color of his eyes pop more than usual. His jeans were of a rugged designer brand in a dark wash with perfectly placed fading. He wore a dark brown belt and white low-top sneakers. Aside from the bruising on his face and the slight swelling of his eye, he looked fantastic. The war wounds simply added to his almost bad boy appeal.

“Earth to Violet,” he said. “Hey, there she is!”

Violet shook her head to clear it.

“Sorry,” she started, blushing furiously. “I just realized how incredibly handsome you look. And that we kind of match.”

He looked at her, then at himself and started laughing.

“Wow. People are gonna think we’re complete tools,” he giggled, slapping his forehead with the meat of his palm.

“Eh, fuck ‘em,” Violet said, grabbing her keys off the counter and snatching her purse from its hook next to the door. “Want me to drive?”

“That would probably be best. I need ta put a new muffler on the truck. I’m sure ya heard,” he chirped as they walked out the door.

She had heard. He waited as she locked the door, shaking his head as she bumped against it to make sure it had latched right.

“Still nervous about stalker dude?”

She sighed and took the hand he extended, saying, “He gets out in three months. So for now, I’m safe.”

Peyton dropped her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him and kissing the top of her head.

“I’ll be here when he does. He won’t dare come within ten city blocks.”

She smiled at him and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“My very own bodyguard,” she chortled, hitting the disarming button on the keypad for her car.

“Bodyguard, best friend, lover—well, not yet. But I’m sure we’ll get ta that someday,” he sheepishly amended, blush tinting his cheeks.

Violet laughed.

“We’ll see. Get in,” she said, opening the door.