Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(61)

Again I try to muster up something, anything.

But I’m dry.

I just can’t care.

Not anymore.

“Whatddya’ know?” Rex’s voice sounds from my left. I turn to see him leaning against a wall beneath our gate number. He’s wearing a black Ramones T-shirt, jeans, and black Converse with a white pair of Beats hanging around his neck. His hair is sticking out at all angles, but it doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed. No, this f*cker’s smiling like he hit ten gallons of caffeine. “Guess you changed your mind?”

“I did.” Or it was forcibly changed.

His smile falls and his eyes narrow on my bruised cheek. “You train yesterday?”

I press the sensitive mark with my fingertip and cringe. “Yeah.” I can’t look him in the eye. Fuck, I hate lying.

“Who got one in on you? Wade?”

“Nah…” I swallow, reliving the moment, the hatred and hurt blazing in Blake’s eyes seconds before his fist slammed into my face. “Blake.”

“Damn, wish I’d been there.”

No, you don’t. Hell, I wish I hadn’t been there.

He slaps me on the back. “Stoked you decided to come, man. I wasn’t looking forward to making this long-ass flight on my own.”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m shitty company.”

“Eh, I hate flying, so shitty company is better than no company.” He holds up his airline ticket. “First class and I plan on drowning my nerves in a dozen mini bottles of booze. Plan is we drink ’til we pass out then wake up at Heathrow.”

For the first time in eighteen hours, I smile. It doesn’t feel right, more like someone is pulling on the corners of my mouth for me, but at least it’s something. “Now you’re talkin’.”

I lean a shoulder on the wall next to him, and he pulls out his phone, checking email, hitting news sites, and catching up on sports stats while I remain blessedly numb at his side. The great thing about dudes is they don’t feel the need to fill every available second with sound. Guys can sit for hours without even acknowledging each other, whereas it seems women get awkward if a few silent seconds pass. Then it’s “Are you okay? You’re so quiet. Why aren’t you talking?”

My line of thinking brings a dull ache to my chest that I choose to ignore. It isn’t long before a voice comes over the loudspeaker, announcing our flight is boarding. We line up with the other first-class passengers and herd ourselves through the door to the jet way.

A sudden urgency compels me to turn around, as if I left something behind. My feet pause, and I turn around to a flash of chestnut hair. My pulse kicks. Maybe she changed her mind. I lean around to get a better look and frown into the face of a very pretty girl with brown eyes and pale skin.

I force a return smile then follow behind Rex to the jet way.

I make a vow to myself right then. That will be the last time I ever look back.

She made her choice.

And now I’ve made mine.

*





Axelle





My hand shakes as I press the doorbell at Clifford’s house. It’s not cold outside, but I feel a chill, standing here in the shade. I try to shove my hands into my pockets then groan when I realize my mom’s leggings don’t have pockets, so I roll them into the bottom of her sweatshirt. Without clean clothes, I had to borrow some of hers. Thankfully, we’re the same size.

I turn back to see Blake leaning against his Rubicon, arms crossed over his chest, muscles bulging, and looking every bit the bad ass fighter that he is. Maybe Clifford won’t notice him. I can slip inside and we can have our talk, and Clifford will never know that imminent death sits just beyond his yard.

I knock on the door a couple more times. Clifford’s and his roommates’ cars are here, so I know they’re home. I’d love to turn around and walk away, but I’m afraid if I don’t get this over with I’ll never work up the courage to come back and try again.

The door finally opens and John pokes his head out, blinking puffy eyes. “Elle? What’re you doing here? It’s f*cking zero o’clock.”

“Yeah, sorry about the timing, but I need to talk to Clifford.” My feet shuffle restlessly. “It’s kind of important.”

The door opens more to reveal his pale pudgy body clad in nothing but white boxers. “He’s sleeping.” He yawns and scratches his balls.

I take extreme interest in the security light above the door. “Could you wake him up? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

When he doesn’t answer immediately, I allow my gaze to cautiously slide back down to him, and he’s staring with wide eyes just over my shoulder.

Which could only mean one thing.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Mornin’, Olaf.” Blake says from over my shoulder. “Look. We hate to bust up the threesome between you, Christof, and Sven, but you need to wake up your friend.”

I resist the urge to turn around and shove Blake as John stares openly at him.

“Now.”

The command seems to spur the guy into action, and he recedes into the dark house, leaving the door open.

“And while you’re at it put some f*cking clothes on!” Blake yells with one hand to his mouth. “Creepy little shit.”