Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 3

  I watch as Frank shakes Cade’s hand, and I watch as his trainer leads him up to the cage. My coach, Ash, appears from the sidelines and walks me up to the cage to meet my opponent. Ash’s blue eyes meet mine, and I look over at his stern, angular face. He’s serious about his own beef with Frank, and he’s worked through my plan with me again and again. Not only has he given me the best training I’ve ever had—far better than Frank had ever done—he’s gotten me to where I am today, in every way.

  “Remember the plan, Josh,” he says. “Get him hard in the last round. Run that ground game so he can’t flip you with his legs. Drag it out.” I put in my mouth guard and nod as Ash ushers me into the cage. Frank doesn’t even bother to check us for weapons before the fight starts. After all, blood is best when it comes to fighting. Ash puts my gloves over the yellow tape that coats my knuckles, and Katy walks along one side of the chain-link cage, carrying her round one card. The other fighter’s eyes are glued to her body, and the audience roars with appreciation.

  “First fight of the night is the Outer Banks’ own Long Shot McRae.” Katy gestures to me. “And for his first fight in Frank’s cage is middleweight and small-time champ, Cade Davis!” The din of the crowd is deafening now. They’ve risen to a fever pitch. “Fight one! Round one!” Katy yells in her shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice.

  The ref steps between us and nods, then blows his whistle. “Gentlemen, let’s fight!”

  The crowd roars, and soon we’re shuffling. Cade fakes a punch and comes in with a knee strike. It’s sloppy, and there’s no grace in it, but it gets me in my left side good. I deliver a roundhouse, pretending I’m sloppy too, barely hitting him in the face. I like to see them overconfident, make them sweat before I move in at the end. He nearly knocks me down in the first round, but I’m still standing as we move into the second. I hold and wait, watching Cade’s face as he tries to size me up. And then I’m playing my game, entering the second round hard as the crowd erupts into loud, insane cheering.

  Cade’s face is angry now, especially when I start with the carefully designed pattern of side strikes and punches. I hit him where it counts—nose, side, close into the groin. He gets in a few punches, and the sucker is strong as hell. He comes at me with shots to the face I don’t expect, and I end up with a gash on my forehead and on my side. The fucker has razors, and I didn’t even know. We’re both angry going into the third round, and I let the rage take me over. It’s good for me now, fuels me through to the end. The sweat pours down Cade’s face, and the audience is deafening now.

  I scan the audience. Natalie’s friend Summer would have told her I have a fight tonight. There’s a flash of blond hair, and I wonder if I’ll see her, hope to god I will. Cade slips in three knee strikes and slams me into the side of the cage. There’s a sickening crunch, and I know something’s broken or dislocated, but the pain’s not coming yet. I’m still able to turn him, able to get a hold and choke him out until he drops to his knees. When Cade comes to, the ref is already calling it.

  “Another win for Long Shot!” Katy screams. Ash gives me water and leans in close.

  “You okay kid?”

  “Partially dislocated shoulder, I’m fucking betting,” I say. “Gonna hurt like hell.” The crowd is still cheering, and Ash leads me down, holds my right hand above my head. The flyweights—both of them probably sixteen, though Frank somehow reports them as eighteen—are in the cage now, and I can get the hell out of dodge. Frank spots me heading back to the locker room and hands me my money unceremoniously.

  “Purse is light tonight.” I look down and count about three hundred dollars. If it were any other night, I’d give Frank a piece of my mind. I don’t fancy Frank putting his boot in my face and grinding the grit into my skin—he’s taken me by surprise and done it more than once when I questioned his authority. These days, he’s more likely to get someone else to do his dirty work for him, but he’s meaner than he ever has been. And that makes me sure as hell that I don’t want to fuck with him tonight. Not if I’m going to try to see Nat.

  Like he’s reading my thoughts, I see Frank coming towards me from the corner of my eye. He’s got his button-down shirt on and that plastered on grin that I know he thinks looks cheerful. He claps me on the shoulder—fortunately not the one that’s likely dislocated. I try to smile back, but I’m betting it looks more like a grimace.

  “Good job, kid. You like the purse tonight?” I nod and don’t respond. He knows damn well how I feel about it, but I ain’t trying to start anything, not when pain is starting to pulse through my entire body, threatening to knock me unconscious at any moment. “I said, you like the purse kid? You enjoy that fight?”

  “Yeah, man. It was alright.” I pull away from him and keep my head down. I’d give anything to rise up and beat the shit out of this piece of trash, but sometimes, being in control of your body and mind is the highest form of domination. Not giving in to what he wants me to do. That’s what I need in this moment.

  “I’ll see you in tomorrow?” Frank asks, catching my eye and staring hard.

  “Naw, man. I need some time to get healed up.”

  “We better see you around soon, Long Shot. Or I’ll find a way to make your life a living hell.” There’s nothing I can say that won’t be angry or sarcastic, so I shrug and pocket the money. Frank’s threats are usually empty, but I’ve seen him find ways to do exactly that.

  I nod at Frank and turn to head outside. “I’ll be back next week sometime,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I look back and see Ash, who strides past Frank and up to me, ushering me out of the door before Frank can say anything else.

  “Hurt pretty bad? Need a ride somewhere? Preferably not the hospital?” I nod. I know I need the shoulder back in place. I know I need somewhere I can lay low for a week, or Frank’ll be pushing me for the next big thing. Frank’s made it clear that the hospital’s off limits—I’m betting I could get in and get out without the police getting involved.

  “Natalie,” I mutter. The pain buzzes through me now, mixed with adrenaline. I put my hand to my knee and bend over, feeling a wave of dizziness, then squint my eyes and look up at Ash. “Take me to the island, the old house.”

  Ash looks at me sideways. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I say. “I got an excuse now, Ash. It’ll all work out fine.”

  “If you say so, kid. Frank’ll be pissed as shit when he realizes you’ve left the peninsula. He wants you to be training now and honestly—”

  “Ash, I’m hurt bad. Get me to Natalie’s now. She’s the only one who can fix it without taking me to the fucking hospital. And Frank would like that even less than me being away. I’ll be back in a coupla days. She’ll probably kick me the fuck out after she stitches me up.”

  “Whatever you say Joshie.” I look back as we walk out of the gym. Frank is watching us with an evil flash in his dark eyes.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I shout back to Frank, stumbling out into the night before the man can say anything in response. Ash grips me tight and helps me into his truck. I’m already hurting pretty damn bad, and even though I know seeing Nat is a damn bad idea, I know Ash will take me there. He has to.

  I’m hobbled and limping, broken to the bone, but I won, and I got the goddamn purse. Every bit helps me pay back Ash, and every bit helps me get to the point where I can conquer all that I’ve been fighting against.

  By the time Ash starts driving, my shoulder and ribs feel like they’re on fire. Not even Nat would turn me away like this.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I hate this town.

  “There ain’t nothing tying me here,” I mutter, kicking in the door of my house—it was my father’s house, but now it’s mine. I’m back here like I always said I wouldn’t be, just so I can live free and pay my med school loans. The windows leak in cold air in the winter, the basement floods with every hurricane, and bits of wood keep splintering from the baseboards. I walk inside and throw my purse down on the table.

&n
bsp; After I finish the residency, I’ll leave this damn tourist town behind me. This place… all these memories and disappointments… it’s all too much.

  My cat Beatrice meows in return, staring at me with her bright yellow eyes. I strip off my scrubs and throw them on the floor. I worked a sixteen-hour shift for the first time today, and now I know why people drop the fuck out of the doctor game. Medical school was no big deal for me. I could close my eyes and pass every test, every practicum. I know the human body inside and out. But being on my feet for sixteen hours at a time, that shit is going to ruin me. I feel it deep in my bones, the longing for sleep that started to take me over about four hours ago. Beatrice meows again.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take you, Bee. It’ll be you and me, none of these ghosts from home. And no Josh either.”

  I know paying off the bills is a lame excuse—I coulda found cheap rent anywhere else in the great state of North Carolina. Maybe I’m here because I feel a kinship to Roanoke Island. My people have been here for generations, though it’s not like we have a proud family name. We’re poor, white trash dirt farmers—and the worst of the worst, my father and stepmother. Josh’s mama is still somewhere on the island stirring up trouble, but Daddy died three years ago. And still, I came back here. Drawn back to my ancestral home.

  Josh, on the other hand, is stuck here, an indentured servant in his own right, serving Frank, the worst kind of criminal who promises his fighters the world and never delivers. Well, that’s the life he’s chosen, and he’s made it clear I’m not changing his mind any time soon. He’s a fighter, a manwhore, a loser of the worst kind. The kind our two families have produced, year after year, polluting the Carolina coastline like oil.

  Beatrice follows me through the house, meowing plaintively. I glance and see that she has food and water. The wind is starting to kick up outside, a storm about to come off the water. Maybe she’s warning me, in that weird animal kind of way. I stop and listen for a moment. There’s a banging outside, probably one of the live oak trees slamming its branches against the rickety old roof.

  “I hope Josh ain’t out on the beach, Bee. We’re in for a whopper tonight.” The cat meows in response and rubs her face against my leg. She looks at me like she knows who I’m talking about, like she’s judging me for even thinking of him. But I do think about him, still and always. The anger inside of me ebbs and flows, mixing with the deep hurt he left me with. “Let me tell you, cat. Josh McRae’s not the reason I’m still on this island. Stop thinking it. It’s because I still love the water, when all is said and done. I do like a good island sunrise.” My voice sounds a bit stilted, and I know I’m not even convincing the cat.

  I stroll back to my bedroom in my bra and panties, and I brush out my hair. After the hospital, even my hair smells like sweat and piss, and I wonder if there’s anything I can do to keep the hospital residue down. I fall onto my bed and turn off the light, my body drawn down into sleep. My brain starts to cycle back through the shift, images of sutures and x-rays swirling through my head. The road is hard and long, but it’s worth it to get ahead, to be the woman I need to become. As I dive into that place that exists somewhere between sleep and waking, I hear a scratch at the door. Or I think I do.

  My eyes flutter open and slowly adjust to the dark. There’s another faint sound, almost like knocking, but too low, too soft. Beatrice hops on the bed and walks up to my face. She meows, like she’s telling me that something is wrong.

  “Let me sleep, Bee. I was at the hospital all fucking day.” I start to shoo my cat away, but then I hear something like a moan outside. I pause, and my ears perk up despite my aching desire to sleep.

  It’s quiet for a moment, then there’s a moan again, louder this time. A shiver runs down my spine, and I bury myself under the sheets with one eye peeking out.

  “There’s definitely someone out there, Bee. Go get ‘em. Be the guard-cat you were always meant to be.” She pats at my face with her hand, pulling the covers away. “No, Bee. Whoever it is can go next door, or home, or fucking somewhere that’s not here.” Beatrice meows again, and there’s a shift in the wind outside. A flash of lightning lights up the room for a moment, and a deep rumble of thunder isn’t far behind.

  “Natty.” It’s the voice again. “Natty, come on.”

  There’s a louder knock at the door. I hear a cough, then another moan, then gentle drops of rain beginning to fall. The voice is dark, masculine, with an edge of pain in it. I’d recognize it anywhere. I sigh and pull the covers completely over my head. He hasn’t seen me in three years, hasn’t responded to one email in that whole time, hasn’t even let me know he’s okay. And since I’ve been back on the island, he hasn’t once called to wish me well. Of course, tonight would be the night. The night of a storm, the night after my very first long shift. Josh always had a flair for doing the most inconvenient thing, ever.

  “Paging Doctor Natalie!” His voice is louder now, more insistent. As if in response, the rain matches his volume, beating down harder on the tin roof. “Natalie!” His voice rings out. This is it, there’s nowhere I can really hide, nothing I can do to make him go away. His car is probably broken down outside, or someone is after his sorry ass for something he did. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stomp across the ancient hardwood floor. The door sticks when I go to open it the first time, and I pull hard on the doorknob. Lightning flashes again and a great clap of thunder follows it. The rain beats down harder still.

  “Open the fucking door, Nat!”

  “I’m trying!” I shout. I yank the doorknob hard, half-expecting it to come off in my hand. “You fucking asshole, why the hell are you here anyway?” I yank the doorknob one last time, and a shirtless Joshua McRae comes tumbling through the doorway, landing hard on one shoulder. He turns to me and assesses me with his cool hazel-green eyes, and then gives me that panty-melting grin that made him so popular in high school. His chestnut hair is still cropped close in the style of a fighter, and besides the slight filling out of his face, there’s nothing that’s changed in three years. The jawline is still long and strong, the lines of his face jagged and masculine.

  But there’s something off about him, something different, but my eyes are locked on his. I realize I haven’t moved since I opened the door. Josh is silent, and his grin widens.

  “I guess I came by to see you in your panties, Nat. And I have to say, I’m not disappointed at all.” He laughs and then grimaces, clutching his stomach. I look down at my body and realize I’m still mostly naked. I hadn’t put my scrubs back on, hadn’t even grabbed a robe. And now, just like in the dreams I still have of high school calculus class, I’m standing in front of Josh in my bra and panties, completely exposed. I put one arm up to hide my breasts and scowl at him. I have the sudden urge to kick him in the stomach and shove him right out back that damn door.

  “Asshole,” I say. “I’ll toss you a blanket, and you can sleep on the sofa. But it’s one night, that’s for damn sure. I don’t even know how you—” I stop. Josh is grimacing, his eyes wide with pain, and a groan escapes his lips. The grin is gone, and there’s pain in his face. I notice a long cut on the side of his head. He grips at the side of his torso again and pulls his hand away. There’s a smear of dried blood on the left side of his body, and a mottled, brown and purple bruise spreads over his ribs.

  “I’m hurt, Nat. Not sure how bad,” he says and looks at me again. His cocky grin is wiped clean.

  “Damn you, Josh. What the hell happened this time?” I sigh. I want to stomp my foot and scream at him—he knows I won’t turn him away if he’s hurt for real. The very fact that he’s shown up here at all is another act of manipulation—just like the night he left me. I stand and stare at him a second, my pulse rising and my stomach dropping out all at the same time. I want to curl up in a tiny ball and pretend he isn’t lying right there in front of me, but the doctor part of me wants to take over. It’s that part that knows he’s hurt bad—and I gotta ignore the angry, hurt par
t so I can move on and help him like he needs.

  “Nothing much. Nothing out of the regular,” he says, but the expression on his face tells me otherwise. Arms still crossed over my breasts, I look him over, noting the gashes that need stitches and the left arm hanging limp at his side. My doctor brain is already taking over, and I’m moving lightning-fast, grabbing my doctor’s kit and a pillow to prop up Josh’s head.