Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3) (6 page)

“Hey, hey. Come here.” Without waiting for her to protest, he tossed her purse on the coffee table, sat beside her on the love seat and pulled her against him. When she clenched a fist in his T-shirt, he knew she was so far gone she didn't even realize who held her. He waited until her breathing subsided, continually rubbing at her back with the palm of his hand and making a lot of low, soothing sounds.

He flashed back to the thought of carrying Zach, and what a humble, trusting weight that had been in his arms. How right it had felt, how amazing. And thought to Zach's mother, the woman he held now. He wanted that same weight from her. Wanted her to freely hand him her troubles to help her carry them. Wanted to hold her and be humbled by her faith.

After a while, Kara's grip on his shirt loosened and she sat back, wiping under her eyes. “I can't believe I just did that.”

“Don't apologize.”
God, don't apologize.
“You had a scare. If you hadn't needed a minute to collect yourself, I would have been shocked. It means you're human, and you love him.”

“Some days, I wonder why,” she muttered, wiping once more below her eyelashes before shaking it off. “I can't believe I just fell apart like that.”

“Kara, stop.” When she looked at him, eyes wide in surprise at his tone, he gentled it a little. “You're allowed to fall apart. There's not one parent out there who can say they're strong all the time.”

“And they've got a partner to pick up the slack.” The monotone way she said it, and how her eyes dulled, made him want to find Zach's sperm donor of a father and beat him up. “I've got to stay strong or else I'll lose it, completely.”

He didn't answer that, since it seemed as though there was no way for him to argue the point without it turning into a fight.

“I should collect him and get out of your hair. I can't believe he bothered you like this.”

“In a minute.” He rocked a bit, and was surprised as she leaned into the movement, letting him take her on the gentle wave.

“Bend a little,” he said in a hushed tone, not wanting to break whatever moment had allowed Kara to give him this much trust. “You've got five people right here, at least, who want to be a safety net.”

She murmured something he couldn't quite catch, then tipped her head back up. When her eyes half-closed, he took a chance and brushed his lips lightly across her cheek, ending just a breath from the corner of her mouth. Enough that it could be construed as a bolstering, friendly gesture.

Or not.

She turned more toward him, and their lips met more firmly. First tentative, then more bold, she nibbled on his lower lip, then swept her tongue across to soothe the sting before opening her mouth to let his own tongue in to taste.

Graham gripped the couch cushions hard enough he felt a few seams on the arm pop. But there was no way he could possibly touch her now. He'd ruin it, for both of them, and he was not giving up this moment for anything in the world. If she wanted more, she'd have to take it. And God, he'd give her whatever she wanted.

After another moment, she moaned and rose up on her knees to press more firmly against him, then straddled him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her core settled firmly against his erection. Her thin yoga bottoms were of zero consequence; he felt it all. Everything. The pure heat of her, the way she opened for him. She had to feel the same.

And he knew what heaven felt like. Heaven was Kara, in
his lap, surrendering to him and the feelings they'd both been fighting for far too long.

He took the chance and let his hands rest on her hips, then cruise up to cup her breasts over the shirt. When she moaned and tore her lips from his, he froze, praying she wouldn't give him a slap or pull away. But she did neither, just moved to his ear, nipping playfully as his thumbs circled around her nipples. Though she wore both a tank and what felt like a thin sports bra, the tips puckered beneath the fabric enough they were easy to find. He pinched, rolled and played until she was thrusting her groin against his in an imitation of an act he so desperately wanted to move on to with her.

Then she was gone. Evaporated like smoke. He was left with his arms up, hands still cupped as if holding the comfortable, plush weight of her breasts instead of air. When he could unravel the knot of his brain, he blinked and found her across the living room, arms wrapped around herself as if she'd taken a sudden chill, back facing him.

Damn. No, damn it,
no.
This was the exact opposite of what should have happened. Pushing the point was going to be the death of his chance.

“Kara,” he said hoarsely, then paused. He had no clue what else to say. “I'll get Zach.”

“Wait.” She turned to look at him, and she was so pale beneath her freckles. Her nipples were still tightly budded beneath her tank, and it was all he could do not to let his gaze linger there too long. “I . . .” When words failed her, he wanted to kick his own ass.

“I'll get Zach,” he said again, then headed for the guest bedroom. When he got there, he found the boy still passed out, sprawled out across the bed, managing to take up three times his own body size in square footage. His hair draped over his forehead, and his shoes were still untied. This kid . . .

Gently, Graham scooped him up, carrying him in his
arms to the living room. When Kara saw them, her eyes widened and she started to hold out her arms, as if he were supposed to pass the boy off. When Graham just raised a brow, she shook her head, grabbed her purse and hurried out the front door, leaving it open for him. She waited while Graham settled Zach in the back, buckling in the mumbling, half-conscious child firmly.

Kara stood beside the driver's door, sheltered behind it, using it like an Amazon uses a shield. He approached with a few cautious steps, praying she didn't just run for the hills.

“Thank you, for getting him in the car. He would have been impossible for me to manage.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. “You were such a big help today. I'm sorry I . . .” She let out a ragged breath. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't. Don't be sorry. Just let me help some more. Let any of us help some more.”

She shook her head, but the sadness in her eyes said she wished she could.

“I know you have to get him home. I won't keep you.” The relief that shone in her gaze was almost tangible. “But promise me something.”

She let out a little laugh that sounded like a combination of confusion and frayed nerves. “At this point, I owe you a month's worth of favors.”

He let that one go. He didn't want to be a debt to her. He wanted to be
there
for her. “Promise you'll come to the match this weekend. Bring Zach.”

She was going to argue. He saw it.

“It's not as violent as you think,” he said quickly to cut her off. “Not like a full-on match. And Zach might like seeing what we've been up to.” He smiled a little. “We like showing off for the kid. It'll be fun all around.”

She looked away a moment, and he saw her mouth tighten. “I'll think about it.”

It was all he could ask for. “See you later.”

With something akin to a deer-in-the-headlights expression, she sank into her car, closed the door and started off.

As Graham entered his quiet house, without even a kid sleeping in the guest room for company, he knew his life without those two would be a very empty
one.

6

“S
hould we be here? This late, I mean?” Kara passed the caution tape to Marianne and waited for her friend to loop it around the banister, then pass it back for her to do on her own side. “What with all the vandalism and other stuff going on, I'm not sure we should be here so late by ourselves.”

“Three tough women against one vandal?” Marianne scoffed, then glanced down to where Reagan was shuffling around the gym floor in the slippers she kept in the training room. “We're good. Right, Reagan?”

Reagan held up a hand making the OK sign, and continued on her way with a measuring tape and painter's tape, marking off the set-up for the crew in the morning.

The match was the next evening, and according to Reagan, their dingy little gym would somehow be magically turned into an arena for spectators, mimicking the grandeur of a legitimate tournament. In the morning, hours before anyone would be admitted to the gym, a maintenance crew would come in
and set up a ring, the bleachers and more. Since Reagan would have been setting up alone, Marianne had volunteered to stay and help, and called in Kara to complete the trio. Zach, to his disgruntlement, was at home with the babysitter.

“Plus, with us having the whole gym lit up like a Roman candle, I can't imagine anyone would want to come in here and stir up trouble tonight. It's obvious they'd be caught.” Her friend ripped the end of the caution tape off and used a piece of duct tape to secure it to the top of the banister. “And now we do the other side.”

“It's nice, having you guys help. Have I said thank you?” Reagan called from below.

“You're welcome!” Kara and Marianne said in tandem.

“Kara, I owe you a night of babysitting.”

“No you—”

“She sure does,” Marianne cut Kara off, glaring. “You paid for tonight's sitter, when you could have put that money toward an attorney. So yes, she can babysit for you another time.”

“Only fair,” Reagan agreed.

“I'm coming tomorrow, and bringing Zach,” Kara said cautiously.

“Fun,” Marianne said absently, winding the tape around the starting post. “He'll like it. He loves the guys.”

“Yeah, he does.” One particular Marine more than the others, it was turning out. Despite being in deep shit for his runaway stunt, Zach couldn't stop talking about the evening he'd spent with Graham. How the man had let him order dinner so he got the right food, how he'd not even complained once about the weird food Zach had ordered, that they'd watched a movie Kara likely wouldn't have allowed in her house, but also wouldn't object to, and that Graham had given him hell about running off like that, but in a cool way. A man's way.

It was like he was slipping out of her fingers, one month at a time. His need for a strong, healthy, positive male role
model was becoming more apparent by the day. But she couldn't ask Graham to be his role model, not when the man had feelings for her. It sent the wrong signal. Plus, Zach would get attached and then Graham would be gone. Not because he was the kind of man to drift out of someone's life, but because he simply had no choice. He went where the Marine Corps sent him. And they had no option to follow, even if she wanted to.

But oh, after that kiss . . . she wanted to. Or at least, she wanted the option to. His hands had found all the right places, and he'd shown such restraint in the face of an unholy temptation. He would have been amazing in bed. All that golden tan skin, hardened by the workouts they went through daily, with that unflappable control and powerful need . . .

“Earth to Kara.” Marianne poked her in the side. “Where'd you go? Daydreaming about something?”

Kara blinked. “Huh?”

Marianne sat back on her heels, cocking her head a little. “Your face is flushed, your eyes are glazed over and you look like you just left a very sexy man's bed.” Her friend's mouth opened on a little
O
. “You were having a sex daydream.”

“Was not.” Her face heated, and she pressed a cool hand to one side.

“You were! You daydream slut! Tell me.”

“Wow, when you put it like that, of course I'll tell you all my deep, dark secrets,” Kara said dryly, then yelped when a hand settled on her back. She looked over her shoulder to find Reagan standing there, looking confused. “You scared me.'

“She's still in a sex haze,” Marianne explained to an obviously confused Reagan.

“You had sex?” Reagan asked, sitting down on the bottom stair with a thud that didn't go along with her beautiful business suit. Her legs splayed out over the hardwood, and her feet tapped restlessly in their furry blue slippers. “With who?”

“With nobody. Calm down, I didn't have sex with anyone.”

“She was having mental sex,” Marianne clarified. “Daydream sex. And I know just the Marine who was starring front and center.” When Kara glared, she shrugged. “You can't seriously think we both haven't realized you and Graham are dancing around the issue.”

“He kissed me,” she admitted softly. “The other day, when Zach ran off to his house. I came to pick Zach up, he was asleep, so we talked. And then we weren't talking, and then we were kissing, and . . .” She covered her eyes with her fingers, resting her hot cheek against the cool metal of the hand rail. “This is horrible. I'm such an idiot.”

“Still missing the ‘idiot' part. Unless you did it wrong.” Reagan gave her a sympathetic pat on the knee. “Did you do it wrong?”

“I didn't do it wrong,” Kara snapped as Marianne snickered. “Stop it. You didn't get half as much shit as I'm getting now while you were ignoring your feelings for Greg. Why am I the one getting all the comments?”

“Because Graham is basically your slave, and you know it.” Serious now, Marianne settled down with her back to the wall, her feet extended until they nudged Kara's. The three made a very interesting picture in the stairwell. “I know, without a doubt, you aren't trying to lead him on. That's not how you work. He probably knows it, too. But if you are serious about never even giving him a chance, you need to give it to him straight. Don't play coy, or try to let him down gently. He's a lawyer. He can handle being rejected with normal lingo.”

“And get into the whole, messy reason why I can't? Because I could.” She whispered, “I wish I could. God, I wish . . .”

Reagan leaned her head against Kara's side in commiseration. “It's only eight years. Maybe . . .”

“No.” Firm now, Kara cleared her throat. “It's not going to happen. I can't ask him to give up eight years of his life waiting for someone who can't leave the state for more than a vacation. That's unfair. It's cruel. I won't do it.”

“You know what's best.” The youngest of them sounded as if she only half-believed it, though. “I agree though. Don't let him down gently. Be firm. If it hurts, it hurts. But it'll hurt worse to be led on, even accidentally.”

“You're right. Both of you.” Kara sighed. “Bitches.”

“That's what we're here for,” Marianne said, running a hand over Kara's arm.

*   *   *

IN
the locker room, Graham had seen a plethora of odd rituals. From singing to dance routines, and even a guy who had built a shrine in his locker—complete with candles—to the goddess Beyoncé. Some guys were into the weirdest shit. So it was no shock to him when he witnessed Tressler, a cocky kid with more than his own share of confidence, go through some half-assed chanting thing, then glare when other guys watched.

“That guy is so full of himself it's a wonder he doesn't sweat mini Tresslers,” Brad muttered as he sank onto the bench beside Graham. “I get hyping yourself up, but man . . .”

“All a part of the act, brother.” Graham bumped shoulders with him. “You're extra grumpy. I thought the smell of fresh competition would cheer you up.”

“I'd be more cheerful if I hadn't had to sleep alone,” Brad grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “You get used to someone being there, and suddenly they're not, and it's like you forgot that they haven't been there forever. Pisses me off.”

“That feeling does? Or Marianne?” Greg asked with a grin, then dodged when Brad kicked a foot out. “Watch the knee, Grandpa. Can't have you blowing it out before the games.”

Brad flipped him off.

“Nah. Unlike you, I didn't sleep alone. Probably because my girlfriend is fine breaking the rules.” Greg sat opposite them and grinned. “It was the least she could do after I spent three hours sitting in a car, playing security guard, waiting for them to finish up the gym.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.” Brad reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking deeply. “I felt better knowing you were nearby. Otherwise I would have given the big Hell No to Marianne coming back so late with those two and working on the place alone.”

Those two . . . Reagan and Kara. “How were they when you saw them last night?” he asked casually, pulling on one of his soft-soled shoes. “Tired, after all that extra work?”

“Look at his ass, trying to be all nonchalant and shit.” Greg shook his head. “Just admit you want to throw her over your shoulder, drag her ass back to your house and lock her in your bedroom for a week. We won't judge.”

“I might judge a little,” Brad amended.

“Shut up.” He fought with the laces of his second shoe. “I don't want to drag her ass back there. I want . . .” Tug, tug. “I want her . . .” Why wouldn't the stupid laces unknot? “I want her to come . . . come . . . willingly!” The lace snapped between his fingers. “Is that so fucking much to ask?” He tossed the shoe on the floor, staring at it disgustedly.

“Well,” Brad said after thirty seconds of silence. “You really showed that shoe who was boss.”

Graham stood and walked off to the supply closet to grab another lace, ignoring the way his friends—supposed friends—chuckled behind his back. They could eat shit and die for all he cared.

*   *   *

KARA
settled down on the uncomfortable bleacher and made room for Zach. The event was more crowded than she
had originally anticipated. In her world, boxing had never been anything she'd thought twice about. It wasn't a mainstream sport, for the most part. So it surprised her that enough people cared to make it to the event. Reagan had clearly known, though, as she'd asked both sets of bleachers to be extended from the walls. She had done what she could to brighten the place up, but it was still a simple gym with minimal updates and bad lighting.

Frankly, it sort of added to the ambiance of an underground fight . . . although the event was closely refereed and completely aboveboard. Made it feel a bit more secretive, more intense. More thrilling.

“Mom, when does Graham go up?” Zach asked, bouncing beside her. “When?”

“There's no time schedule, so I'm not sure.” She picked up the programs—done via Marianne's pamphlet software, she knew—and pointed. “Looks like he's second to last. So we might not be able to see him. That's a long time to wait.”

“Mom.
Mooooooom
.” Her son turned, eyes wide, mouth dropped open in shock. “We can't leave before seeing Graham. He's the best one!”

“How would you even know that?” she asked, smiling a little even as she tried to keep a stern voice. “And remember, you're still on probation. You have very little wiggle room with which to bargain, young man.”

He grumbled, but subsided.

Secretly, Kara had hoped Graham would go first. The butterflies in her stomach wouldn't settle. They hadn't settled since the evening of the kiss. Everything she'd attempted to keep pushed down, boxed up and closed off had sprung back to life after a minute in his arms. She couldn't have contained the butterflies even if she'd gone around chasing after them with a net. They were free to float around her system, causing her involuntary giddiness at a moment's notice.

And now she would see him, in his true element. Despite the fact that she'd never been a huge fan of contact sports, there was something primal and a little exciting about the idea of watching Graham battle against another male.

That probably made her a very sick woman.

Through the first few fights, Kara managed to hold back her revulsion in favor of keeping a close eye on Zach more than the action. Though one man ended up with a cut above his eye, and another a bloody nose, the entire thing was surprisingly less gory than she'd thought it would be. That helped. Zach, however, found the entire thing thrilling, to the point of standing up and pumping his arms when Greg entered the ring and dominated by turning his opponent in circles, dodging and weaving artfully and then throwing a few quick punches that had even Kara's eyes bugging out. The man was cartoon-superhero fast.

“Mom. Mom! Oh my god, Mom, he's amazing!” Zach sat back down, or rather flopped back down, his body practically vibrating with excitement and energy. “First he was like bam!” He jutted out a small fist. “Then wham! Bam!” Two more fists, the second nearly missing the head of the woman seated in front of him.

“Whoa, no way, dude.” She captured his next ready-to-fly fist and pressed it down firmly. “Show me later. Make mental notes. Otherwise you're going to hurt someone.”

He grinned sheepishly, face flushed with the thrill of it and the heat from all the bodies surrounding them. “Sorry.”

Her little boy . . . who wanted so desperately to become a man. Meanwhile, she was doing everything she could to discover a way to slow down time. Before she could think about it, one hand came up to stroke down her son's head and cheek before resting on his shoulder. He squirmed, but didn't shrug the touch away.

That wouldn't last much longer, either.

“And don't say, ‘Oh my god,'” she admonished belatedly,
settling down. Brad's round was next. She had seen a quick video Marianne had taken of him practice sparring with a fellow teammate before, but it was nothing compared to now. Even with his knee in a brace, the man was methodical and precise. And by the third round, as his opponent seemed to droop like an overwatered daisy, Brad was fresh and ready to go another three rounds. To Kara's untrained eye, it seemed as though he won less by talent and more by simply outlasting his fellow boxer, waiting for the other man to tire enough to make mistakes and capitalize on them. Since it worked, she couldn't see cause for complaint.