Page 70 of Fighting for You
“If you hadn’t taped every inch of this box, I’d be going a lot quicker,” I huff as I pull the last bit of tape from the edge, the seam finally releasing. Opening the box, I quickly realize what it is. “Oh, shit. Thea, this is awesome!”
She claps her hands, the excitement pouring off of her. “Try it on!”
I stand up from the couch and pull the black faux leather motorcycle bomber jacket from the box. It’s got a gray removable hood giving it a more casual look.
As I’m slipping it on, Thea says, “It’s also waterproof! So if it starts to rain while you’re riding, it won’t seep through.”
“I fucking love it. Thanks, Thea.” I walk toward her, and she stands. I wrap her in a hug, holding her tightly to me. “Just remember, I’m still an option whenever you decide you’re done with Cary-boy but you want to keep it in the fam—” She pulls back and punches me in the arm before I can continue.
“Ouch, who the fuck taught you to punch like that?” I say through a laugh. She flips me off and sits back down beside Cary, scooting in closer than before like I’m an actual threat. “Thank you, Thea, really. I love it. And you.”
She beams a smile as she says, “Love you too, loser loner.”
My smile fades into a scowl. “That stupid nickname isn’t sticking.” They all chuckle again at my expense as I finish opening my gifts.
Finally, it’s Cary and Thea’s turn to open their presents. They reach for mine first, addressed to them both. Cary looks up at me after reading the tag. “You got us a joint gift?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, you’re back together, probably getting married eventually, so you’re basically one person. One person means one gift.”
Cary just stares at me while Thea pouts beside him. “That’s… that’s not how gifts or marriage works…” His tone makes it sound like more of a question than a statement. “And we aren’t even engaged… yet,” he continues. Thea’s cheeks pinken as her eyes land on the side of Cary’s face.
“Just open the gift.”
Thea does the honors, ripping off the paper then peeling open the box I put it in. Without even looking up at me, she deadpans, “You got us a bottle of RED?”
Ripley’s head jerks in my direction. “That’s where the other missing bottle went?”
Then Cary chimes in, “You not only got us a bottle of ourownbourbon, but you also stole it from us?”
The three of them are staring me down now. “Whoa, whoa. I did notstealit. I left a twenty in the register for it.”
They all start yelling at the same time, so I can’t make out who’s saying what. But I realize I don’t care. They can give me all the shit in the world, they’re still in my corner at the end of it all. It’s something I should have seen before now, something I never should have questioned. I let my self-loathing get in the way.
Hours later when I’m leaving Thea’s, hugging them all, and promising I’ll come by in the next couple days, I feel a little more whole. I still miss Margot, and I’m still pissed at myself for hurting her. Not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that one, especially if she doesn’t forgive me, but at least I have my family. For now, it will have to do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brooks
“You’re making this too easy, Grant,” Colton taunts. He’s gotten in one hit in the three minutes we’ve been circling each other in the ring. The dude wins one fight against me and thinks he’s Mike fucking Tyson.
“Keep running your mouth, Colt. Remember what happened the last time you said some shit you shouldn’t have?” That pisses him off, so he charges me. The look on his face makes me chuckle as he throws a punch and misses by a longshot. “Damn, gotta work on that aim, you have to actually get close to me to get the hit in,” I chide, hoping I’ll hit another nerve.
As I bounce back and forth on my feet, he throws a swing toward me and misses, again. I’m starting to think winning one match actually made him a worse fighter. From what I’ve heard, he hasn’t won another since, against anyone. Doesn’t surprise me, he’s the type to let shit go to his head.
The one jab he did land split my eyebrow. Blood seeps from the cut, and I swipe at it to keep it from going in my eye. Thesmell of sweat overpowers my senses as I pull my hand away from my face, clenching my fist in preparation. Colt uses the distraction to make a move, I pivot out of the way but leave my foot out so he trips. His face slams against the ground making a satisfyingsmacksound.
He lets out a deep grunt, slamming his hands down on the ground beside his head and pushing himself up. “That was a cheap shot!” he screams, spit flying from his mouth.
“Oh, don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have done the same.”
His face is crimson with waves of heat coming off of him in the chilly air. One thing about Colton Riley, his temper is unmatched. The dude can go from zero to one-hundred in a heartbeat. The problem is his lack of control when it happens. It’s the reason he’s not the best in the ring. He lets his emotions control him. The Pit is the only place I don’t allow my emotions to take the wheel.
In The Pit, I own the fucking control. I’m strategic, calculated, always thinking about the next move. Colton barely thinks about his current move, his are based off of impulse.
He leans over and spits blood onto the ground, apparently the fall did more than just bruise his fragile ego. He’s right, it was a cheap shot, but I’m not above them. Never claimed to be.
“You’ll pay for that one,” he grits out. His teeth are clenched tight; he might crack a molar. As usual, he’s letting his anger fuel him.
