Fighting Fate (Fighting #7) Page 18

  “Bullshit! Don’t put your insecurities on me, Ax. I’ll always think you’re worth it. The only person around you who doesn’t think you’re worth it is you!”

  A tear drips from her eyes. “And Stew and Trip and Clifford, and a string of other guys who let me go without a fight.”

  I spit out a laugh and shake my head. “And yet here I am. This whole time I’ve been here fighting for you every fucking second of every damn day, and you’re the one who’s letting me go.”

  Her face crumbles and she cries. “Don’t you see? Whatever you think I am, I’m not. You’ll see it eventually; they all do.”

  I bury my hands into her hair and force her eyes to mine. The heat of our breath mingles as our lips are mere inches apart. “Then don’t let me go, Axelle.” I press a soft kiss against her lips, tasting the salt of her tears. “Please”—I close my eyes and pray she hears—“don’t let me go.”

  Her hands come to my wrists and hold me there. Seconds pass and she continues to clutch me to her. “I love you, Killian. Nothing will ever change that.”

  Hope explodes in my chest until all too soon she steps back out of my hold. “No,” I whisper.

  She shakes her head and tears fall from her jaw to her shirt. “Don’t hate me.”

  I want to say I could never, but as a single hot stream tracks down my cheek, something dark expands in my chest. A billowing riot of outrage, heartache, and defeat swells until something inside me breaks. I can almost hear the audible snap as everything I’ve been holding back rushes to the surface and I see Axelle through new eyes.

  She no longer resembles the girl I fell in love with, the woman I’ve come to adore. Now she’s just a girl who broke my heart.

  And fuck her for that.

  Numbly, I move through the kitchen and past her. I’m not surprised when she does nothing to stop me. I pass through the living room and to the door with my head down. I don’t know if Blake and Layla are nearby, but it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to say to them.

  I open and shut the door calmly, move to my Jeep, and fire up the engine. When I back out of the driveway, I’m hit with the scent of her perfume that still lingers in the vehicle, and just as I’d do to air out any smell, I roll the windows down.

  Pulling my phone from the center console, I hit my contacts list, find the name I’m looking for, and hit “send.”

  “Killian…” The growled greeting hits my ear, and again I feel nothing.

  “What time does my plane leave for London tomorrow?”

  Cam grunts. “It’s not. You turned it down, remember?”

  “I had a change of heart.” Or death of heart.

  “Sorry. Spot’s been taken.”

  “Right.” I turn left to hop on the freeway. “I want it back.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbles. “When did you get so fucking stubborn?”

  “Just give me a time, Cam, and I’ll be there.”

  “You get a passport?”

  “I did.”

  He blows out a breath and, after a couple beats of silence, says, “United. Flight leaves at seven twenty tomorrow morning.”

  “Tell Rex I’ll meet him at the gate.”

  I hit “end” and toss my phone to the passenger seat.

  Still, I feel nothing.

  Twenty

  Axelle

  Drawing a figure-eight pattern in my Cocoa Puffs doesn’t make it taste any less like glue. My mom’s been trying to induce my appetite all morning, but it’s all been for nothing.

  We both pretend it’s the pregnancy, but the sad smiles and sporadic hugs she’s been giving me make me think I’m not as good at covering up my true feelings as I’d like to think I am.

  I didn’t go back to my place after Killian left yesterday. There’s no way I’m ready to face Mindy—admitting my stupidity to three people was enough for one day—and my mom insisted I shouldn’t be alone. I wanted to scream that she was wrong and people needed to stop telling me what to do, but I was too emotionally exhausted to fight. I slept most of the remainder of the day away, and considering how much I slept, I was surprised I was able to sleep well last night. It was almost as if my body forced my brain to abandon ship in order to protect it from going down alongside my heart.

  The bad part of sleeping for thirteen straight hours through is waking up rested at five o’clock in the morning. The moment my eyes opened all systems were back online and replaying the last twenty-four hours in vivid detail. How quickly life can go from unlimited possibilities to being stripped of all possibilities. No matter how many times I replay yesterday’s events, I can’t bring myself to regret the decision I made.

  I had to let him go.

  Taking him up on what he was offering would’ve been the most selfish thing I could’ve done. And frankly, I’m sick and tired of being selfish.

  I’m tired of the guilt, tired of feeling like shit all the time.

  Because behind all this heartbreak and sadness there’s a flicker of good; for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m actually proud of myself because I did the opposite of what felt good. I did what was right.

  Even if it meant crushing my soul.

  “You really need to eat something.” My mom slides a plate of fresh cut cantaloupe beside my uneaten bowl of cereal. “It’s not good for you or the baby.” She bites her lip and her eyes fill with tears.

  I cover her hand with mine, my eyes filling right along with hers. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  She shakes her head and pulls herself together with a shaky smile. “Don’t be sorry. Some of our biggest mistakes end up being our greatest blessings.” She kisses my forehead and moves to the kitchen sink to wash dishes.

  I suck a few pieces of fruit into my mouth, and the sweet juice bursts on my tongue. Finally, something I can eat. I make my way through a few more pieces when Blake comes in and drops into the seat next to me. “How’re you doing today?”

  I shrug. “Good, I guess.”

  He seems conflicted about something, but gets over it quickly. “What’s the plan?”

  “Ha, like there’s a plan.”

  My mom sips her coffee. “One day at a time.”

  “I think I need to go talk to Clifford.” My stomach bottoms out at the thought of telling him I’m pregnant. I can’t even imagine how he’ll respond to the news. I’ll give him the option to be involved and pray he accepts responsibility. This baby deserves to know his or her father—deserves better than I had.

  Mom purses her lips. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that.”

  Blake nods his agreement. “Take some time. You need to—”

  “Stop!”

  Their eyes widen and dart to each other as if to say what did we do?

  “I’m sorry. I…” I rub my forehead and try to relax. “I appreciate your support, but you guys have got to stop trying to tell me what to do, okay? Your hearts are in the right place, but I have to make these decisions on my own. I’m going to talk to Clifford today.”

  My mom flashes a thin smile as if she’s holding back what she wants to say, which I know has to be hard, but I appreciate her respecting my wishes.

  Blake makes a sound like he’s sucking on his teeth. “What time you wanna head over there?”

  It’s Sunday. Chances are he’ll be home, most likely sleeping in. “The earlier the better. If I wake him up, I’ll be able to catch him while he’s still sober.”

  Blake groans but receives a sharp look from my mom that shuts him up. “Alright.” He claps his hands. “Get showered and we’ll head over to Cliff’s place to wake his ass up.”

  I whirl around to face him. “No way. I’m doing this alone.”

  He lifts a brow.

  “I’m serious!” I groan and fix my eyes on him. “Did you not just hear what I said? Besides, I can’t show up to drop this kind of bomb with my professional fighter dad at my back.”

  His shoulders tense. “That’s exactly how you should show up.”

  I whip aroun
d. “Mom!”

  “Blake, maybe you should—”

  “Mouse, you met this guy?”

  She rolls her lips between her teeth.

  “Exactly. You wanna trust some fuckhole who she needs to talk to early while he’s ‘still sober’”—he uses air quotes—“when we have zero idea how he’s gonna react to this news? Tell me that’s what you want, Mouse.”

  She twirls her hair so fast the end of the strand whips around to make a little blond tornado. “He’s got a point.”

  I drop my head into my hands. “You guys, please, be rational.”

  “He’ll wait outside, right, Blake?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ll wait outside.”

  I glare at him. “Promise.”

  “Yep, promise.”

  There’s something unspoken going on between the two of them, but I’ve been in this position enough times to know I won’t win this fight.

  “Fine. I’ll grab a shower and we’ll go.”

  “Wonderful.” Blake smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Looking forward to it.”

  Dammit to hell.

  ~*~

  Killian

  I’m weaving through crowds of people as they put their carry-on luggage back together after passing through security. I dropped a duffle bag at curbside check-in, containing everything I’m bringing with me, gym clothes for every season and my toothbrush. It’s not nearly enough for a year in London, but my plan is to spend every waking minute training, and I don’t need much for that. My backpack hangs off my shoulders, heavy with my laptop and a few of my favorite books I couldn’t stand to leave behind.

  The rest of the things in my place I’ll never see again.

  Including Axelle’s bag filled with her things left over from our night together.

  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 fucker’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 fucking 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 fucking clothes on!” Blake yells with one hand to his mouth. “Creepy little shit.”

  I turn to Blake and glare. “You promised you’d stay at the truck,” I whisper-yell.

  “No, I promised I’d stay outside.” He motions to where he’s standing. “I’m still outside.” His face become serious and he sniffs. “What the fuck…?” He pokes his nose inside the house. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  I lean around his big body, trying to figure out what he sees that I don’t. Other than the trashed living room of three college burnouts, I see nothing. “What is it?”

  He sets his cold green eyes on me. “How many times have you hung out in this house?”

  I’m taken aback by his question. I can’t count, so I guess. “I don’t know. Twenty-ish?”

  He rubs his forehead and groans. “Did you know they’re smoking crack in there?”

  “What!” Crack? I’m not even sure I know what that is. I mean I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never actually seen it or been offered it. I always thought crack was for hardcore dr
ug users, not partying college kids.

  “Stick your nose in there and take a whiff.”

  I lean in, but he snags me right back. “Wait. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  I gaze up at him confused, and he looks a little embarrassed. “The baby.”

  “Oh…right.”

  “It has a”—he rolls his finger through the air, searching for a word—“synthetic smell, ya know? Like plastic.”

  My eyes widen. “Yes, I know. I’ve smelled it on Clifford before.”

  “Ah hell…” He grips the back of his neck with both hands and looks up to the sky.

  I know what he’s thinking. It’s not bad enough that I got pregnant by a jerk but by a crack-smoking loser jerk. I know that’s what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too.

  “I swear to God, John, if there’s anyone but a naked J. Lo standing on the other side of the door, I’m gonna beat your ass.” Clifford’s voice booms just before the door swings wider to reveal him.

  I’m grateful he’s wearing jeans and a wrinkled shirt, rather than his roommate’s au natural look. He glares between Blake and me, not acting the least bit intimidated, then stops with his eyes on me. “What do you want, Elle.”

  I feel more than see Blake’s shock from my side at his calling me Elle. He’s a smart guy; I’m sure he’s figured it out.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but we need to talk.”

  He runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “And this shit couldn’t be done over the phone or at a decent fucking hour?”

  “Watch your tone, Kurt Cobain.”

  Clifford doesn’t react to Blake, but rather acts like he’s not even there. “So? I’m up. What is it?”