Page 2 of Fighting for You
“Ah, yes. Certainly. I’m sorry for being so forward,” he replies in his default easy tone. His eyes don’t match his words though. He looks slighted and maybe even a little angry.
“I really am sorry if I gave any sort of impression…” My words trail off as he gives me his back and returns to his desk. I’m dismissed. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
At that, he looks up and smiles robotically. “Have a good night.”
I exit his office, my mind whirling with what just happened. Sure, Dr. Blackstone—Julian—is an attractive man, with his dark hair and eyes, and I admire his skill as a surgeon, but I have never had any romantic interest in him. I’m trying to recall a time I may have led him to think any differently, but nothing comes to mind. I shake my head to clear the thoughts.
“Margot.” I turn to the sound of my name and see Sam hustling down the hall.
“I’m just on my way out. What’s up?” I want to go home. I want to shower and wash away the interaction with Dr.Blackstone, get my head together so I can face him again tomorrow.
“I think you dropped these. I found them on the floor in the lounge.” He holds out my keys.
“Oh, thank you. I didn’t realize I dropped them...” I trail off. I could have sworn I had them clipped to my purse earlier today.
Sam shrugs and hands the keys over before turning and quickly disappearing down the hall. I stare after him for a moment, keys tucked in tight against my chest. What happened in Blackstone’s office has me on edge.
I snap myself out of it and head for the hospital exit. As an attempt to shake the unease and confusion from my interaction with Julian, I stop by my favorite Italian restaurant for a comfort bowl of alfredo and a chat with the elderly couple who own it.
I’ve been visiting them at least twice a month since I moved to Charleston for nursing school, my first time living away from home, away from my brother and dad. Not only do they make the best homemade pasta, they’re also easy to talk to, always regaling me with stories of their children and many grandchildren.
They also love each other in a way that’s palpable from afar and have given me a standard to strive for in my own relationships. Gino looks at Maria like she’s his reason for living, and watching their unwavering affection over the years has made me yearn for the same for myself.
With my tummy full and my spirits lifted, I walk the three blocks to my apartment building. Two flights of stairs and I’m at my front door. Myunlockedfront door. Sighing, I internally scold myself for forgetting to lock up after myself again. What’s that make now? Three times? Four?
My brother would kick my butt if he knew how lax I’ve been with remembering to lock up when I leave. Growing up in a small town on a secluded property, I rarely thought aboutlocking the front door, but since moving, I get the security reminder talk from him at least once a month.
Not to mention, the long back-to-back shifts have been getting to me. Running out the door at six after getting in at eleven the night before leaves me forgetful.
Pushing the door open, I step inside and go through my bedtime routine. I’m asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Chapter One
Brooks
Crack.My teeth clank together as the hit reverberates through my body. I’m off my game tonight. I wish I could laugh and make a joke about it.First time for everythingand all, but honestly, I think if I take one more hit to the head, I might be down for good.
As the thought runs through my slower-than-normal-processing brain, Colton’s fist comes flying in my direction again.Fucking hell.I duck, just barely dodging it. Way too late for comfort.
He’s taunting me. I see his lips moving, but my ears are ringing, and I can’t hear him for shit. He’s fucking loving this. He’s been waiting for the day he’d get to beat my ass. Again.
Well, you’re fucking welcome for the opportunity, asshole.
For a split second—after squeezing my eyes shut for a moment to refocus them—my ears stop ringing, and I hear the crowd throughout The Pit going wild.
The make-shift fighting ring is set up in a field in the middle of nowhere. There’s no seating in an attempt to keep it as inconspicuous as possible, so the spectators line the edges of the ring, which is just dead grass at this point. They surround us, making it hard to distinguish which direction the booing or cheers come from.
Fighting is the only thing that’s ever helped me channel my emotions. Which is why I started in the first place. The second everything around me becomes too much, and I feel like my emotions might drown me, I seek refuge in someone’s fists. I know it doesn’t make sense to others, but it always made sense to me. I redirect the pain and trick my brain into letting go of the other shit in my head.
Being in The Pit, and even in the bar fights I’d get in before Hayes brought me into the fold last year, is the only place I’ve ever felt any semblance of control. I could never stop the disappointing looks or the way I seemed to always react poorly to situations with my parents. But I can control the way my body moves in a fight. I can make it do whatever I want—cause pain or duck away from it. Especially during the fights in The Pit, I have a clear goal in mind, I know what I’m after, and I know I have the ability to succeed. In those moments, everything else disappears, and the world isn’t sitting on my shoulders like concrete blocks.
Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring my vision and stinging. I shake my head to clear some of it from my face, but now I feel the blood seeping from the wound Margot patched up on my cheek. I should have known it would reopen. My thoughts shift to how mad she’ll be.
In my mind, I see her small, freckle-covered face screwing up in annoyance when she has to deal with me again. I hear her ridiculing me for being so reckless and jeopardizing her carefulbandage job. The singsong lilt to her voice sounds nice even when it’s telling me how much of a disappointment I am.
Shaking the thought out of my head to refocus, I take a few steps back, transferring my weight from one foot to the other, fists ready to go in front of my face despite the spinning all around me.
“What’s wrong, Brooksy boy? You ready to call it quits?”
