Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Brooks
“They haven’t released who’s taking over for Duckworth,” Isaac says. I can hear a fountain trickling in the background through the phone. “I put in some calls, but no one knows shit.”
“But do you really think they’d really put Andrew Van on the commission? Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest or something?”
“I see why you’d think that, especially considering the situation. But, no, it’s not a violation of any rules. They often have former fighters fill a seat on the commission for optics. How could they possibly not take your position under consideration if one of you is helping make the decisions?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s such bullshit. This never should’ve taken this long.”
“Yeah, I know. This has taken far too long and the whole thing is bullshit to begin with. But this is where we are and it’s the cards we’re dealt. We’ll figure out the best way to play them.”
How very Stoic of you.
I start to smile, but the severity of the situation erases it.
Alfie’s is quiet aside from a heavy bag swaying in the corner, the chains holding it from the ceiling squeaking softly in the distance.
It’s my favorite time of day here—a couple of hours after the last fighters leave and the building has had time to exhale.
It’s warm and safe. A true refuge from the world.
“Just remember, Brooks. You don’t know that Drew Van was behind what happened. I know you think—”
“It’s Occam’s Razor.”
“—that he has a vendetta against you—”
“That motherfucker has been pissed since we fought on Collision Card ten fucking years ago and I kicked his ass, costing him an NAFL contract,” I say, pacing around the gym.
My irritation is growing too fast to do either of us any good.
“And I know Van was behind the bribe to get me to throw the contender’s fight against Holmes because if I lost, he would’ve gotten the title shot. Then, he would’ve been champ. Not me.”
“I know, Brooks.”
I groan, running a hand roughly down my face. He thinks I’m delusional or a conspiracy theorist—and maybe I fucking am, I don’t know. But even if I give Van the benefit of the doubt, it all leads back to him. That I can’t deny or find a better explanation. I’ve tried.
Drew is the common denominator. He’s the one who benefits from every outcome. He must be the one behind it all.
“I know you know, Isaac, but it doesn’t seem like you hear what I’m saying.
Think about it,” I say, checking my screen at the incoming text.
It’s not Audrey, so I ignore it. “Pelfry came in—never should’ve been let into the gym, if we’re being honest—with the intention of taking me out.
Why? So, the NAFL would force me to vacate my title because I can’t defend it with a fucked-up shoulder. Then what happens?”
“I know, Brooks,” he says again like a broken record. But his disinterest and frustration doesn’t deter me.
“Then, all of a sudden, Drew Van is in the conversation to fight for the belt.” My jaw aches from grinding my teeth together. “And then he’s passed over, retires, and now he’s on the fucking commission that gets to decide if I can go back to work? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“We don’t know if that’s true. Again, there’s been no announcement about Duckworth’s spot.”
Isaac’s job is to guide me, calm me down—not rile me up. But when he walks me back and tries to play Devil’s Advocate, it feels like it’s me against the world. And that’s a bad place for me to exist. Because it’s been me against the world before and it ended with someone six feet under.
“I hired this guy, Nick, out of Phoenix,” Isaac says. “He’s the best private investigator out there. You need to heal, be patient, and be ready so when we get this cleared up, you’ll be right back to work.”
“Yeah,” I say, huffing a breath. Lights shine through the gym, reflecting off the glass and the plaques hanging off the walls. “Isaac, I gotta go. Thanks for the update.”
“Anytime. I’ll keep you posted with any updates.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call just as a white Jeep stops in front of the building. I shove open the door, fueled by restlessness and relief, while my brain flashes warning signs through my head. It’s a damn good thing I’m adept at ignoring those bastards.
“Hey,” I say, as I open her car door.
“Hey.”
It’s one word—a single, breathily spoken syllable that wrecks my defenses.
She’s so beautiful with her hair pulled back, showcasing the angelic light in her eyes. It’s easy to see why Gray described her as a good girl and innocent as hell, and I’m sure she is both of those things.
But Gray missed something, and I bet most people do.
I saw it the first night we met—that faint glint. A hint of impatience. A spark flickering, as if it hasn’t yet decided whether to go out or to burn.
She’s here to burn. I just have to make sure the fire doesn’t destroy us both.
Audrey hops out, her tennis shoes crunching the gravel, and blows out a breath. Thin whisps of warmth slip past her pink lips as I shut the door. She clutches a water bottle as we turn towards the building.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, following me inside. “My GPS wanted me to turn right instead of left off Sour Run Road.”
“It does that sometimes. I was starting to think you got scared and backed out on me.”
Her eyes meet mine as a flush settles on her cheeks.
“You almost did, didn’t you?” I ask, laughing.
“This is new to me, okay?” She sets her bottle down on a small bench covered in chipped yellow paint. “I’m not used to …” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Whatever this is.”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
Her shoulders square to mine, and excitement shimmers in her eyes. They’re wide, bright, and hopeful. But there’s a touch of caution clinging to the baby blues that steals my breath.
I know what she wants, and I think I know what she needs.
But if her objective is to walk into that party full of fuckheads with her head held high, she needs confidence more than she needs to get off.
If I don’t give her both of those things, I’m just taking advantage of her, and I’d die before I do something like that.
“I don’t think what I want is a secret,” she says softly.
“And as soon as you can tell me exactly what that is, you’ll get it.”
Her jaw drops to the floor as I chuckle, walking away. “Are you ready for your first self-defense lesson?”
“You know,” she says, walking to me on the mat, “I’ve only dated a few guys in my life, but the ones I have gone out with have tried to get me to have sex with them from the first date. And now there’s you, and I feel like I have to beg you.”
“Ooh,” I say, widening my eyes for effect. “That could be fun.”
“I’m not begging you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She grins. “No.”
The thought of her on her knees in front of me, those beautiful eyes staring up at me, is enough to make me say fuck it and just strip her down right here. It takes every ounce of restraint I can find to turn away from her and breathe.
How can this woman walk into this gym like a breath of fresh air immediately following a tense conversation and make me forget all my problems?
Ironically, she’s going to add to that pile of problems before it’s over, and I don’t think I care.
Focus, Dempsey.
“What kind of self-defense do you want to learn?” I ask.
“I think I’d like to be able to throw a punch.”
“That’s as good of a place to start as any.” I motion for her to come closer. “You’re right-handed, correct?”
She nods. “Hang on. Let me take this jacket off. I took it from Astrid’s closet, and it’s a little big on me.”
Her fingers grip the zipper, and she drags it down her chest with a movement so intentional that it hurts.
She draws it between her tits, exposing a white sports bra that displays her cleavage so perfectly that I’m pretty sure my drool has landed on the mat.
Lower it goes, over her rounded stomach, displaying an inch of her skin at a time.
My eyes shift to hers as she slips it off her narrow shoulders.
She’s so gorgeous that it’s unfair. And somehow, standing in sweatpants and a sports bra, she’s even sexier than she was in lingerie. How?
“You were saying?” she asks, her voice soft.
I have no fucking idea.
Her smile grows as she tosses the jacket to the edge of the mat. “You were going to teach me how to throw a punch.”
Heat grows between us, curling and building until it’s ready to explode. Anticipation hangs in the air, humming with possibility so thick that I can nearly taste it. And as the moments pass, Audrey’s shy smile smashes into me with the power of a heavyweight’s jab.
“Okay, hands up,” I say, clearing my throat.
I can’t blow this off, because it’s important.
If she wants to walk into a room full of dickheads, knowing she can knock one on their ass—or give them a black eye at the very least—I’m happy to help her feel confident about it.
“You want to make fists with your thumb on the outside and your fingers facing each other. Like this.” I demonstrate what I’m looking for her to do. “See?”
“I always thought you put your thumb inside your fist.”
“Only if you want to break them. Tuck your elbows in tight. You want to be a unit so if I throw a punch at you, you can block it with your elbows.” I extend an arm like I’m throwing a punch and tap her forearms. “You can protect yourself like this.”
She gets into it, moving around as I throw baby punches her way. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m a natural.”
I laugh, taking a step back. This girl is too adorable. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Well, you were the champ. You should know talent when you see it.”
“Oh, someone’s been looking me up online, huh?”
She shrugs nonchalantly. “I was bored.”
“Sure. I bet you got off to my fight pics last night, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” Her cheeks turn bright red. “You had a fight against this guy named Malone.”
Oh, my fuck. She did look me up. “Yeah?”
“Your body in that fight was impeccable. Peak performance.”