Chapter 10
SURFACING
Someone’s nuzzling into my neck, and as my eyes blink open, Rig is propped over me on all fours, hands planted on either side of my head. He licks my ear.
“Urrrggghhh.”
“Day one of fight school,” he says.
“Fight school? What fucking time is it?”
“6 a.m.”
I roll onto my back, groaning. “Rig, you are fucking kidding me.”
He grins down at me. “Gotta get up.”
I groan. “Tell me why I agreed to this again?”
“Because you’re awesome. C’mon, babe, you smell great, and I’m gonna be tempted into doing something else if we don’t leave now.”
I smile up at him, pushing his wayward curls back on his head. “I’d be up for that.”
He groans and looks down, taking a deep breath, and I study him for a few seconds. He’s trying to help me here. I push on his chest. “Come on, move back. I’m getting up.”
Rig made me put my workout gear on the bottom of the bed last night, so he gets off me and stands by the side of the bed, and I begrudgingly notice he’s already dressed.
I sit up, grab my clothes, and pull on my sports bra and top.
I didn’t even realize I still had a sports bra, and I almost laughed when I found it at the back of my drawer: It’s been so long since it’s seen any action.
When he shifts on his feet, I peer up at him to find him staring at the wall above my head.
“Are we allowed a coffee on the way to fight club?” I grump, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and shaking out my leggings.
“Yeah, already brewing.” He adjusts himself, and I smirk up at him, which gets me narrowed eyes. He leans down and grabs my chin, running his thumb over my lips. “You’re paying for that when we get back.”
I grin at him as he straightens. “You know I’d be only too happy to.” And I catch his smile as he shakes his head and turns and heads toward the kitchen.
In ten minutes, we’re in my beaten-up old Nissan, Rig driving, because he growled at me when I said I should drive.
But fuck it’s good to be up with the dawn and not dragging myself out of bed, hungover, with fifteen minutes to get to work.
I can’t believe how much has changed since we first sat next to each other in the front of his truck.
I look at him out of the corner of my eyes. “So you can come out to the gym without running into anyone who’s pissed at you?”
“The only people who’ll be there are friends, people on the fighting circuit. They know the score. They’ll keep it quiet.”
We pull into a parking lot behind a dilapidated industrial building, weeds growing up through the asphalt, but the sign on it says Bud’s Gym alongside a picture of a … what the fuck is that?
“A cockroach?”
He laughs. “Bud drew it himself. He’s got a sick sense of humor. It’s his life’s philosophy: We’re all cockroaches.”
Figures that someone who lives in this town would have a philosophy like that. I shake my head as we head off across the lot.
“Maybe it’s because when you stamp on a cockroach they just get up again,” I say.
Rig shakes his head as he strides ahead of me. “That would imply some brains and thought behind it, babe, and trust me, it’s not that deep.”
When Rig pushes through the doors, a girl is standing at the front desk scrolling on her phone.
She greets Rig like a long-lost friend, pulling him into a warm hug.
I take in the muscles in her arms and her bright smile and carefully made-up face as something burns in my gut.
Has he slept with her, too? I would never have pegged myself as the jealous sort, though I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a relationship where another woman would go after the guy I was with.
This is not a relationship, Carl.
The last one went really fucking badly.
Well, it goddamn feels like one, so shut the fuck up.
“Babe, this is Brit. She’s gonna take you through the weights, check your lifts and your form. I’m going to go and spar, and then Brit can do some fight training with you. That sound okay?”
I stare up at him. “How much training do you do?”
“Coupla hours a day.”
I turn to Brit. “How about you?”
“Same.” She shrugs, then laughs. “Taking guys down is just that satisfying.”
“You fight men?”
She purses her lips. “Sometimes.”
Rig gives me a kiss, which makes my toes curl, and then heads off to two guys who are standing by a ring at the far side of the gym.
There’s a lot of hand slapping, and then he disappears through a door at the back.
When I swing back to Brit, I catch raised eyebrows before she tucks her expression away.
“After we’ve done your trial session, we can watch the guys practice if you like. It’s my favorite part of the day.” She grins. “I love watching Rig fight.” And she winks at me.
I’ll bet she does. And she must see something in my face because she waves a hand at me, laughing, and that’s when I spot the glittery ring on her left hand.
“I’m not after your man, honey.” She points to a huge handsome Black guy standing at the corner of the ring shouting instructions at a couple of younger guys who are sparring.
“He’s mine. I like watching Rig’s technique. He’s a perfectionist on the moves, but he’s also wild, too. He’s an amazing fighter.”
“He’s not my man,” I mumble, my face heating. Shit, if she can read me that easily, how much does Rig see? He’s far too fucking perceptive.
She raises an eyebrow at me. “He’s never brought a woman here. Never kissed one, neither.”
I look away. I don’t like the hope that comment sparks in my belly. What do I say to that?
She leans forward. “She comes in sometimes to watch him, but he never wants her here.”
What? Who’s she talking about?
This Sadie woman he and Marge mentioned? My stomach churns.
And she must see something in my expression because she gestures at the gym equipment on one side of the open space, and we start walking toward it.
“I was at his fight with the Bear. In disguise though, ya know? Love those fights but you gotta be careful. It was incredible to watch. So much aggression. The amazing thing about Rig is that he keeps his technique, even when it’s savage or he’s in full-on wild mode.
You have to do that to win; you can’t be sloppy. ”
Fuck, she sounds so knowledgeable. I’m going to be hopeless at this. I’m remembering too late why I don’t come out at 6 a.m. But we’ve reached the weight area, which looks pretty daunting. “I’ve done some weights before, but …” I trail off as she shakes her head.
“You start where you start. Let’s work on your form, and we’ll go from there.”
Brit takes me through the machines in great detail and makes me do three sets of everything.
She examines my position and times my sets and is very positive.
I make her show me how much she can lift, and I’m simultaneously envious and really fucking impressed.
Could I come here with Rig sometimes? Maybe not as often as he does, but I could do it once a week.
It’d be a start. A start of something better …
? I don’t know. Rig’s got me thinking about being at the bottom of the heap and how the hell I’m going to pull myself back up.
Brit pats my arm. “The important thing is not to give yourself a hard time, or you’ll stop doing it. You don’t have to go all in. Five minutes here and there is fine when you’re starting out.”
I want to laugh. When did I ever not give myself a hard time?
It’s justified, though: My decision-making is questionable, and I’m checked out half the time.
I’m always fucking things up. And you can say it’s not my fault, and on the surface …
yeah, fine … but deep down, of course it is.
I made the decision to be with Mark. To get pregnant. To stay with him.
When we head over to the ring, I’m amazed to find we’ve been here almost an hour and Rig is now sparring with Brit’s fiancé. They stop and head to the ringside when we approach, sweating buckets.
“Babe, this is Karver, K for short.”
K is looking at Rig with raised eyebrows. He winks at me but addresses Rig. “You brought along a lady to impress? I think we should do some real fighting.” He pats the top bar of the ring, an amused smile playing over his mouth.
Rig glowers at him. “I’m game if you are.”
I can see them both puff up as they head back to put on more protective gear. The two guys I saw talking to Rig earlier stop what they’re doing and drift toward the side of the ring.
“This is a treat,” Brit says. “Rig and K don’t often fight here.”
Oh fuck. “Why’s that?”
She laughs. “They both bring their A game—and injury is very real. They’ve injured each other quite badly in the past.”
Seriously?
“Ten minutes, tops,” K says, and Rig chuckles.
“You scared I’m going to dislocate your shoulder again, pretty boy?”
Dislocate his shoulder? Fucking hell.
“Like you could,” K scoffs.
“You were at my fight with the Bear, yeah?”
He was?
“Beginner’s luck.”
“I’d like to see you try and take him.”
They’re already circling around each other when another guy appears and steps into the ring, clearly there to referee, and as soon as he lifts his arm and brings it down, it’s on. I instantly see what Brit means. They’re snarling, kicking, fists flying, shouting insults and taunts.
K comes at Rig with a high kick and clips him on the shoulder. “Got you, you pussy!” he shouts. Rig charges him, but K dodges and chops him on his back.
“Two blows in thirty seconds! You are going down!” K crows. “You’re getting slow, old man.”
Brit’s watching them with raised eyebrows, shaking her head.
“What’s happening?”
“No idea.” She sucks in her cheeks. “Rig’s taking a lot of risks.” She doesn’t look happy.