Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 31

"I can't guarantee-" The line goes dead.

f.u.c.k.

I pop my phone back into my armband and take a swig of water. This is good. Drake's moving towards cutting ties with his dad, and although getting his girl pregnant wasn't in the plan, it's helping him to man up. Can't be angry about that.

I'll go to Caesars Sat.u.r.day night and see what his d.i.c.khead dad has to say; then hopefully Drake can put all this s.h.i.+t behind him for good.

Trix Midnight.

Officially five days now since Hatch walked out of my life. Again.

Every day that comes and goes feels like fingernails slowly raking across my skin, digging deeper each pa.s.s they make, elevating my irritation. Hours, minutes, seconds tick by and all of it is wasted time. Time I could be spending with Mason.

A pathetic growl gurgles in my throat as I toss the contents of my dresser drawers onto my bed. Organizing has always managed to calm me when I'm angry. Sorting through my belongings, tossing the old s.h.i.+t, and arranging the still wearable.

I separate my shorts between casual and dress-up, throwing some of the worn pairs to the floor with more force than necessary.

How long will I wait before I give up and resume my life?

I told myself a few weeks, but here I am almost a week into it, and I'm ready to give up and launch myself into Mason's arms for good.

Svetlana's gone and Mason's here, alive and wanting me, just as much as I want him. Neither of us deserves this torture.

As if summoned from my thoughts, I find a photo beneath my clothes pile. Bright s.h.i.+ning eyes and her barely there smile. Svetlana.

I flip it over in my hand. It's her pa.s.sport photo.

She had plans to do missionary work with my dad at the orphanage we were adopted from in Russia. She'd had her photo taken, and days after she died, it was delivered in the mail.

Giving hope to all those children in the orphanage who feel completely forgotten was something she'd talked about for years. The last known picture of her is a sick stab to the heart.

Dammit. The senselessness of it all racks my body, and I drop to my knees at my bedside, resting my forehead against the mattress and pressing the photo to my chest.

"Why, G.o.d? Why did you have to take her? You had plans for her, plans that were bigger and better. I know you're capable of using even the worst tragedies for good, but how, G.o.d? How can this ever be made good?"

I wait, listening with not my ears but with my heart. Waiting for an answer, a divine intercession that would throw me back and help me to see the purpose to it all.

But I get nothing.

"So that's it, huh? Maybe some people aren't worth your help." Anger boils deep in my chest. I push up off the ground with my fists balled, crunching Lana's picture in my palm. Not that it matters. She wasn't important enough to G.o.d for him to save her. I'm not important enough for him to give me direction in all this.

With a primal roar, I lash out, sweeping my arm over my bed and sending my neat piles of clothes sailing across the room. Why can't this just be over? A deep sob forms in my chest, but I refuse to give into my weakness. Sadness is pointless. Anger is motivating.

The low growl of a motorcycle filters in from my open bedroom window. Listening hard, I concentrate as the rumble grows louder and louder. I wait for the sound to reach my driveway, fully expecting it to continue by as the rest of them have these last five days.

But this one doesn't.

Holy s.h.i.+t, he's here.

Panicked, I race to the mirror, pinch my cheeks, and practice my fake look of indifference. Good enough.

I race to the front door just as I hear the motorcycle engine cut off. c.r.a.p, I can't fling the door open right when he walks up. I scurry to my couch, flipping on the TV and trying to look casual just as the knock comes at the front door.

"Hold on." With a deep breath, I force my feet to drag. "I'm coming."

When I open the door, my heart jumps and quickly sinks. It's Hatch.

I yawn and try to act casual. "Hey, you're in town."

His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and he leans against the doorframe. "You done bein' a b.i.t.c.h?" His voice sounds like jagged rocks over broken gla.s.s, but he flashes a teasing smile.

I c.o.c.k my head and force myself to smile. "Am I ever done being a b.i.t.c.h?"

"Good point." He doesn't wait to be invited in, just moves past me and into the kitchen. "I need a beer."

Hoping he'd show up eventually, I've kept my fridge stocked with his favorite all-American brand, bottles, extra cold the way he likes it. I close the door and move to the couch, trying to remember how the old me-the me who hadn't completely given her heart away to another man-would've acted.

He's right behind me and drops to the couch, popping off the cap to his beer and tossing it to the coffee table. The familiar smell of Hatch-wind, desert dirt, leather, and a hint of sweat-permeates the air. His heavy boots clunk hard to the table as he reclines and the creaking of his cut as he makes himself comfortable are so opposite of Mason.

My Mason is smooth. Everything he does is like liquid, clean and fresh, powerful, beautiful, and peaceful on the surface that covers the raw danger that stirs underneath. Just like the ocean.

"The f.u.c.k you watchin' here, Trix?"

My eyes dart to Hatch, who has his glare aimed at the television. "Oh, this?" I grab the remote, hit a few b.u.t.tons to turn off the DVD player, and put on the racy cable TV network Hatch loves. "The Lion King. There was nothing on, so . . ."

f.u.c.k. The old me never would watch Disney movies with Hatch around. The last thing I need is for him to get inside my head, and even though the DVDs are on display, he's never taken an interest in them.

Never taken an interest in me outside of b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs and s.e.x.

Unlike Mason.

My chest warms, and a tiny grin curls my lips before I can wipe it away.

The sooner I get down to it, the sooner I can get back to him. I turn to face Hatch and fold my legs beneath me. "So, how long are you in town for?"

His eyes dart to me, rake over my bare legs to my cut offs and then to my chest. I rejoice in silent victory that I'm wearing a bra beneath the threadbare tank. Hatch seems to notice then slides his intrusive gaze back to the TV and shrugs. "Got a little business here this weekend. Then I'll be gone."

I chew my bottom lip, wondering how to bring up some deeper conversation without being completely obvious. I'm about to open my mouth when he turns his eyes to me.

"You busy this weekend? I might be able to use you and a couple of the girls tomorrow night."

"Maybe." I shrug one shoulder. "You have a.s.sociates"-I use air quotes and lift a brow-"who need entertaining?"

He reaches out and fists a handful of my hair, tugging my face to his. "f.u.c.k, you're cute."

I do my best to bat my eyelashes and play coy even though I'd rather spit in his face.

He presses a quick and bristly kiss to my lips. "Yeah, babe. a.s.sociates. Important ones. You game? They pay well."

I swallow hard, my eyes burning with the realization that I've just officially cheated on Mason with that kiss, but I force all that back. "Sat.u.r.day nights at the club are busy. I have to work."

"I'll make a call. Your boss has never been able to say no to cold hard cash."

His grip is still tight in my hair. I pull against him, only to get a tug back, reminding me who's in charge.

"Sounds fun. You know I've never been one to turn down a well-paying job." I lick my lips as my nerves get the best of me. It's not that I think Hatch will hurt me. G.o.d knows he's had plenty of opportunity to do so and hasn't. But a game that was once easy for me to play has now become complicated as every choice I make revolves around Mason.

He releases my hair and runs the rough pad of his thumb along my jaw. "Been a long time since I've had that mouth."

f.u.c.k! No, no, no. I roll my lips between my teeth in an attempt to keep them away from him, but his eyes flare with hunger.

My body revolts and I sit back, putting distance between us. He glares, suspicion registering in his expression. Dammit, I'm losing him!

"It's been a long week. I could use a few drinks." I give him my most seductive smile, and his wariness morphs back to desire.

"Grab the six-pack and the Jager. I like how your mouth gets sloppy when you're drunk on that s.h.i.+t."

My stomach twists, but I wink and move toward the kitchen as a plan forms in my head. Jager will be perfect. I'll be puking before the night's through and sleeping in the bathroom.

With the door locked.

Thirty.

Mason I got out of bed on edge. My skin too tight, muscles coiled, and my head screaming.

Last night was the first night I didn't hear from Trix.

I checked my phone every f.u.c.king hour, only dozing off in thirty-minute sessions before jerking awake to check it again. And every time . . . nothing.

She warned me that this would happen. One day that f.u.c.ker would roll back into town, and she'd text me to let me know, that is, unless he showed up unexpectedly and she couldn't. I've contemplated calling, blowing up her phone with messages, driving by her house, all the things I promised her I'd never do in this situation. I gave her my word that I wouldn't be a complication to her plan, a c.h.i.n.k in her iron-clad mission. I'm re-thinking that. Big time.

I throw down the dregs of my protein shake and force myself to swallow, worry and anxiety taking up most of the s.p.a.ce in my stomach.

She better f.u.c.king be okay.

I check my phone again and still nothing. It's six-thirty a.m. Maybe a quick drive by her house on the way to the training center will help to calm my nerves. Chances are I won't be able to tell if either of them is there, but it's worth a try if it means setting my nerves at ease. h.e.l.l, it's all I've got!

Today is Friday and she works tonight, so there's always a swing by Zeus's later to make sure her a.s.s is safe there. I brace my weight on the counter in my kitchen and blow out a long breath. Never thought I'd see the day where I'd be hoping my girl showed up for her s.h.i.+ft at the strip club.

Never thought I'd all but give her permission to date another guy either.

f.u.c.kin' h.e.l.l. Why did I do that?

As soon as the question filters though my head, so does the answer.

She gave me no choice.

In order to be with her, I had to agree to this. Otherwise, I'd be standing here doing the exact same f.u.c.king thing, but she wouldn't be keeping me in the know.

Lose-f.u.c.king-lose situation if I've ever seen one.

My phone rings, and the speed in which I grab that s.h.i.+t, press "accept" and press it to my ear shocks even me.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hey, bro."

"Drake." Disappointment settles in my gut, heavy and annoying. "What's up?"

"Listen, man . . . I have a favor to ask."

"No."

"Dude, f.u.c.k off. I haven't even asked yet."

"Don't need to. I'm sure the answer's no."

"Whatever. Listen. I need you to let us crash with you this weekend."

"What? Okay, you're right. I take back my 'no' because the answer to that is 'h.e.l.l motherf.u.c.kin' no.' No way. Uh-uh." I shake my head as if he can see me. "Nope. No."

"You finished?" He sounds bored.

"If you heard me say no and don't plan on driving that s.h.i.+t home a hundred million times until I concede, then, yeah, I'm finished."

"It's only for two nights."

"I don't have a spare bedroom, Drake. You think I want six f.u.c.kin' guys crashed all over my place? This isn't a d.a.m.n hostel. No."

"It's for Jess."

Oh . . . well, f.u.c.k.

"I don't want to leave her in Santa Cruz. She's been . . . upset, and . . . I'm not headed to Vegas to party. I'm just going to meet with my dad and some of his crew, talk about getting out. I need to put Jess up somewhere she feels safe, and shoving her in a d.a.m.n hotel room in Vegas ain't it."

"Gotta say I'm semi-impressed that you're finally takin' care of your girl."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yeah, you two can have the bedroom. I'll crash on the couch. Only two nights, right? No plans on an extended stay?"

"Nah, we have a doctor's appointment on Monday for the baby."