Fighter's Heart

Scene 9

Jase

After jumping rope for an hour and doing so many burpees, I can't do another without face planting, I stand beneath the scorching shower in the gym's toilet block and wash a day's worth of sweat down the drain. My muscles tremble, and I rub the meaty parts of them, working out the lactic acid. Once I've soaped and rinsed off, I towel dry and spread liniment over my legs, arms, and shoulders. Smelling like menthol and aftershave—my usual scents, along with sweat and leather—I return to the gym and clap each of my brothers on the back, then collect my carbohydrate-enriched protein shake from the fridge and head to my car.

During the drive to the salon where Erin works, I drink the protein shake. I haven't told the others where I'm going because I don't need a lecture, or anyone standing in my way. Erin and I are overdue for a heart to heart. Parking a few blocks from the salon, I pull my hood up and speed walk the rest of the distance. I'm on a mission, and if anyone delays me, I might not arrive in time to catch Erin. She's not the type to work overtime.

As I walk, I wonder where "home" is for her these days. As far as I can tell, she only ever lives by herself for as long as it takes to find a new man who has a little fame and plenty of money. The name of the salon is written in pink script on the glass door, and pushing it open to enter feels plain wrong. The sign may as well read: girl zone, keep out.

I throw my hood back, then stuff my hands into my pockets. "I'm here to see Erin."

After eye-fucking me so thoroughly I need another shower, the receptionist calls out, "Erin, babe, there's someone here for you."

Erin turns from where she's trimming an elderly woman's hair and goes as white as her bleached blonde locks, fumbling with the scissors, which clatter to the floor—thankfully without removing any of her client's scalp.

"J-Jase," she stammers.

The receptionist's lust morphs to disdain. "This is the guy who gave you that black eye?"

I can't help but notice that the black eye is visible even across the room. Erin is more than capable of concealing it if she wants to, but she's enjoying the attention.

"Erin." I jerk my head toward the door. "Can I talk to you outside?"

Erin exchanges looks with several other women. One of them, who is painting a teenage girl's nails, advises her not to go with me. Frustration roars through me, but I tamp it down. Letting my temper get the better of me has never done any good when it comes to her. For someone who enjoys poking at people's vulnerable places, she doesn't like it when they poke back. Her mouth firms and she thrusts her chest out like she's about to enter a gladiatorial arena. I roll my eyes. How did I ever get past her attitude for long enough to find her attractive?

"Two minutes," she says, then reassures her colleagues with a quiet, "We'll be fine, girls. We'll stand in the window so you can see if I need help."

My jaw cranks impossibly tighter. She's making me out to be a monster, when all I'm guilty of is not being enough of a sucker to take her back. She sets aside her tools and brushes hair from the front of her pink blouse in an action intended to draw my gaze to her tits, which are exposed by a plunging V-neck.

The bruise around her eye is turning yellow-brown, and if anyone really thought about it, they'd see it's older than she claims, but no one is inclined to question her story. I wait for her to exit before following. I'm not stupid enough to leave first and let her lock me out. She leads me outside and when she turns to face me, her fearful expression has changed into smug self-assurance. She honestly believes this is going to play out how she wants. That I'll abide by her terms. She doesn't know me as well as she thinks she does.

She speaks first. "Hey, baby. You had time to think about my offer?"

I cross my arms. "My answer's the same as last time you asked. When are you going to quit this pathetic grab for the spotlight?"

"Pathetic," she spits, brown eyes blazing. "That's what everyone will think of you when I'm done." She sneers, and unlike with Lena, there's nothing sexy about it. "Whether or not you win the championship, you'll just be the chump who hits his girlfriends." Her lips curl up. "Even better, I could stop your championship fight. You can't compete from prison, Jase."

"I'm not giving in to you," I tell her. "I'm not taking you back, or giving you money just because you're blackmailing me." I've worked too damned hard to let a bitchy ex ruin my career. I've come a long way from the shitty neighborhood where I grew up, and I won't let a woman with an addiction to headlines get in the way. "Why don't you move on to the next guy? Surely there are heaps of other stupid fuckers out there who'll give you what you want."

Erin's hands drop from her hips and she crumbles in on herself. At first I think I've gotten through to her, but then I spot the guy across the road with a camera. She's playing the victim for a photographer. Fuck, just what I don't need.

"Know what, baby?" she asks, staring at the ground as though she's terrified of me, though her tone gives her away. She's loving this. Every fucking second of it. "I've had reporters calling me all day." Her eyes flick up and catch mine. "Even some from E News. Maybe I'll return their call. I've always wanted to be on TV."

"You do that, and you're never getting anything from me."

She flinches, like I've yelled at her. She's a piece of work, but she's a first rate actress. "Jase," she says softly, "I have nothing to lose."

She's got me, and she knows it. She has plenty to gain and I have everything to lose. Swearing, I turn and thump my fist into the wall. A light flashes.

Erin leaps away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. "You'll change your mind." She scuttles off, giving a damned good impression of a wounded puppy, and my heart sinks to the soles of my shoes. I played right into her plan, and I have a feeling I'll be facing the consequences tomorrow.

Hunching my shoulders, I pull the hood over my head and hurry away.