Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Read online

  “You’re fired.”

  Chapter 32

  Admit it, Scott, you’re going to miss me.”

  “Just about as much as I’m going to miss that fermenting cat,” Willow remarked, throwing a teasing elbow into Carson’s ribs as they strolled across campus. It was the end of the semester and the beginning of summer break, but this was where her and Carson’s academic paths split. He’d be applying to med schools, and she’d be finishing up her BSN at UNLV.

  “All right, I’ll admit it. You did make A&P slightly more bearable. And you probably saved my 4.0 because I would not have gone into that cat morgue by myself to study.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Jeez, Scott, lighten up on the mushy sentiment, or I’m gonna start thinking you have a thing for me.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her throat. “You think everyone’s got a thing for you.”

  “That’s because most girls do—except the one I want.”

  The humor left his voice, but she ignored it, continuing with the playful banter that had become their friendship. Carson knew how she felt about Regan. She’d never given him any false hope that this would go anywhere beyond what it was, a friendship forged through a dead cat. “Please, you only think you want me because you’re used to getting your way all the time. Trust me. I’m no prize.”

  “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Scott. Anyway, this is me.” He stopped beside his car. Hers was in the next parking lot over. “Give you a lift to your car?” Carson offered, tossing his books into the backseat and coming around to the passenger side.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll walk. It’s a beautiful day and I’m just over there.”

  “Suit yourself. Keep in touch, huh?” Carson opened his arms for a final good-bye.

  Setting her books on the hood of his car, she stepped into his embrace and gave him a hug. “Thanks for everything, Carson. I mean it.”

  “Anytime.” He held onto her a moment longer before letting her go and taking a step back. “Take care of yourself, Willow. Who knows? In a few years, maybe our paths will cross again. You can be my nurse, and I can order you around.”

  “And I can tell you to shove it up your ass.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

  “Good-bye, Carson.” Willow turned and headed for her car. The emotion tightening her chest was bittersweet. She hated good-byes, but man, did it feel amazing to be one step closer to accomplishing her dreams.

  As Willow rounded the crop of trees separating the parking lots, she spotted her car parked beside a large white utility van and hit the button on her keyless entry. There was no welcoming chirp, no flash of taillights. She waited until she got closer and pointed her remote at the car, pressing the button again. Nothing happened. Her steps slowed as she approached. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention as the sensation of being watched needled up her spine. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, searching the lot. It was full of older-model cars, the kinds driven by poor college students surviving on ramen noodles and mac and cheese. Perhaps that was why she noticed the black BMW sedan parked in the corner of the lot. The dark-tinted windows made it impossible to see if anyone was inside, but the unease settling in the pit of her stomach put Willow on notice.

  Her steps quickened as she crossed the lot. She shifted the remote in her hand to the pepper spray and disengaged the safety, cursing herself for not taking Carson up on his offer to escort her to her car. After one final check to make sure she was alone, she entered the space between the van and her car. Dropping her hold on her pepper spray to retrieve her key, she unlocked the car and quickly jumped inside, re-engaging the lock. She exhaled a sigh of relief and watched the lot from the rearview mirror as she waited for her heart to recede from her throat. It was probably nothing. She was just getting jumpy with the Campoli hearing a few days away. That was all it was; her nerves were getting the best of her. She was anxious about seeing Sean again, about having to stand up before the court and look the man who’d slit her throat in the eye as she relived the horror he’d put her through.

  It was weighing on her, and she was sure Regan had noticed. On several occasions recently, he’d tried to talk to her about the hearing. She’d sidestepped the conversation, keeping her worries and fears to herself. He had more than enough on his plate to deal with right now, between his conflict with Kyle, discovering the truth about his mother, and preparing for his father’s impending passing—because there was no way he could be as okay with that as he seemed. The last thing she wanted was him worrying about her. She never did tell him about that day in the cemetery, and whether right or wrong, it was a decision she stood by.

  Regan didn’t want her to do this. He’d been more than up front with his feelings on the subject, and he’d push as hard as he dared to get her to let it go. It would only become a source of contention and strife between them because she was doing this—with or without his support—and she refused to be intimidated by Campoli or anyone else.

  Rallying her nerve, she took a calming breath and started the car. After one last glance to the parking lot behind her, she backed out and began navigating the winding roads through the campus. She didn’t see the car at first, but as she pulled onto the main road, the black BMW pulled out behind her. Willow’s stomach dropped, a shiver of fear running through her. Maybe it was a coincidence, she told herself, trying to calm her racing heart. She hit the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. She shot into oncoming traffic and passed a Volvo, cutting back just in time to avoid a head-on collision. The truck she nearly hit blared its horn.

  The BMW easily picked up speed, zipping past the car a few seconds later. There was no denying it; the car was following her. Willow floored the accelerator, but her car wasn’t fast enough to get away from the black sedan barreling down on her. She glanced at her purse, and with one hand on the wheel, she reached into her bag on the passenger seat and began digging for her phone.

  She couldn’t find it! Panic flooded her veins and her heart hammered inside her chest as she desperately searched for her cell so she could call 911. Once they hit the straightaway, she stomped on the accelerator. The BMW quickly closed the gap and began to pull up alongside her. She took her eyes off the road to glance in her purse, and that’s when she heard the crunch of metal as the BMW slammed into the back end of her car. A terrified scream tore from her lungs as the vehicle lurched, spinning out of control. Willow slammed on her brakes and cut the wheel hard to the left. In her panic, she overcompensated and the car hit the ditch. It went airborne and began to roll. Her head slammed into the door; pain exploded in her left temple. The crash of metal and shattering glass was the last thing she heard before everything went black.

  Regan sat at the kitchen table, staring at the letter in his hands—40°52’59”N 119°03’50”W. There was no return address on the envelope. No letter of explanation on the page. Nothing to indicate what the hell he was looking at. Though in his soul, he knew what it was—GPS coordinates to his mother’s remains. His mind tried to reject it. This was just too fucked up to be real. And yet that’s exactly what it was, the final scene in this macabre nightmare.

  Though this was what he’d wanted—to bring his mother home and lay her to rest—it was by no means his happily-ever-after. He’d take this paper to the police, tell them what happened all those years ago, and then he’d bury his mother with the dignity and honor she deserved. Perhaps then he could find some closure and finally begin to heal.

  He knew he needed to let go of the past in order to grab hold of his future—a future he wanted with Willow. But had he reached too high? Would she still feel the same way about him now that he’d lost a six-figure income? He’d never gone to college, never could have afforded it even if he’d wanted to. He’d gone from high school to the cage. Fighting had been his life—inside and outside the gym.

  Shit, he was going to miss that place, miss the fighters he’d come to think of as his fam
ily—miss Coach. What the hell was he going to do now? Even if Bellator wanted him, and with his fight record, there was a good chance they would, it was never going to be the same.

  Exhaling a sigh, he tossed the letter onto the table with the rest of the mail and scrubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t deal with this shit right now.

  Pounding against the door startled him out of his descent into misery and self-loathing. Bracing his hands on his knees, he shoved to his feet. He wasn’t even halfway across the kitchen before the banging started up again.

  What the fuck? He flipped the lock and no sooner had his hand touched the knob than the door was coming at him. He jumped back to avoid getting cold-cocked by the damn thing.

  “Why the fuck did you tell Coach you threw the first punch?” Kyle demanded, barging past him.

  “Please, come in,” Regan replied with a gallant sweep of his hand. He did not want to do this right now.

  “You think getting yourself fired is going to make up for what you did?” Kyle spun on him. The anger seething from the fighter might have sparked a shred of concern if he could find the will to give a shit. “That all will be forgiven? Because it won’t. You fucking lied to me! You betrayed my trust—”

  “I’m well aware of all the ways I’ve wronged you. I don’t need a fucking dissertation. And frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think. I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness. That’s not why I did it.” Regan slammed the door shut and blew past Kyle, heading back to the kitchen. Fuck, he needed a drink.

  Regan hoped the guy would get the hint and leave, but then Kyle had never been one to back down from a fight. The problem was Regan had no interest in going another round with him. They’d said all there was to say in the cage, and for the first time in his life, he was all out of fight.

  Regan was tired—tired of trying to be good enough for Willow, tired of trying to prove his old man wrong, tired of trying to be the best. And he was fucking tired of trying to live up to Kyle’s expectations of him. He’d tried to do the right thing. He’d tried to stay away from Willow, but he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stay away from her any easier than he could stop breathing. And until Kyle got that, there wasn’t anything left to say.

  “Then why did you do it?” Kyle demanded, following him into the kitchen. “You had to know you were giving Coach no other choice but to fire you. Fighting is your life. You love this sport.”

  Pulling a beer out of the fridge, he twisted off the cap and tossed it into the garbage. He took a long pull from the bottle and then met his former best friend in the eye, shrugged, and simply replied, “There are other things I love more.”

  The nasty curse Kyle bit out was sharp and damning. Regan raised his brow, unimpressed by the outburst. Maybe it was too late for them to ever reconcile this fractured friendship, but for Willow’s sake, he hoped they could at least come to a point where she didn’t feel pulled between them. He’d resolved himself to this inevitable conclusion the day he’d decided he couldn’t fight his feelings for her anymore. He’d known all along that Kyle would never accept him being with Willow.

  “You talk to Willow yet?” he asked Kyle, hoping the stubborn jerk would quit holding his anger at Regan against his sister.

  “No. I just came here to tell you that, not only are you an asshole, you’re a stupid fucking asshole.”

  If Willow’s brother was looking for another fight, he wasn’t going to find it here. “Thanks, man, I appreciate that. Now, if that’s all, feel free to show yourself out.”

  Kyle studied him, anger and frustration burning in his vibrant blue stare. He looked like he had more to say, but Regan had had enough of Kyle’s motivational speech. He could shove the rest of it up his ass. Kyle turned to leave when his cell went off. He stopped, dug his phone from his pocket, and glanced at the caller ID before swiping his thumb over the screen.

  “Hello?” Kyle’s gaze shot to him. The tension in his voice was unmistakable. “This is he.” Gone was that stubborn glower and seething anger. In its place was fear—fear Regan had seen in the fighter’s eyes only one previous time in his life.

  Fingers of icy dread reached into Regan’s chest and took hold of his heart. He forced a deep breath and told himself not to panic, but his soul knew what his mind was unwilling to accept—his life was on the precipice of shattering.

  “How bad is it?” Kyle demanded. The color in his face had been replaced with a sickly gray pallor. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone and shoved his cell into his pocket. “Willow’s been in an accident. She’s in surgery right now. The nurse couldn’t tell me anything more over the phone.”

  Regan’s knees nearly buckled as the air fled his lungs. Kyle was halfway out the door before Regan managed to string two words together and engaged his feet to move. “Wait. I’m coming with you.” He ran out the door after Kyle, and in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the lies, not the deception, not the betrayal. Everything melted away until there was only Willow and the resounding plea echoing in his mind. Dear God, not again . . .

  Chapter 33

  Five years might as well have been yesterday—the sights, the sounds, sitting in this waiting room—all the emotions came rushing back to Regan with devastating clarity. Even as his mind continually tried to reject that this was happening again, there was no denying it. The grief was too suffocating, the fear too real . . . like something had a hold of his heart and wouldn’t let go, squeezing until the pain became unbearable, the panic paralyzing. He couldn’t breathe, and the nausea churning inside his gut had him eyeing the trash can in the corner of the room more than once in the hour they’d been waiting here.

  If something happened to Willow, if she didn’t pull through this surgery . . . She was all he had left in this shitty world—his sole reason for living. He looked up from where he’d been staring at the stain on the carpeted floor and found Kyle watching him. They sat across from each other in the family waiting room, neither of them speaking as they waited for news on Willow’s condition. A temporary truce seemed to have descended on them; though Regan by no means took it as forgiveness.

  “This is all my fault,” Kyle murmured, sitting straighter and dragging his hand through his hair. “A witness said she was run off the road. Fucking Campoli. I know he’s behind this. I begged her to let this go. I should have pushed harder—”

  Regan shook his head with a mixture of bewilderment and frustration. Kyle just didn’t get it. “This isn’t your fault. And if you think pushing her harder would have done any good, then you don’t know your sister very well. Loving Willow is like taking a leap of faith and then holding on for the ride. She does what she wants, when she wants, and she’s always been that way. If you think you can control her, then you’re going to lose her.”

  Kyle studied him a moment, and then something seemed to register in his eyes, taking away some of the anger and replacing it with . . . he didn’t know what. Clarity? Understanding?

  “You really are in love with her, aren’t you?”

  The incredulity in Kyle’s voice would have sent Regan’s palm smacking into his forehead if he wasn’t out of his mind with worry right now. He wasn’t sure why this was an epiphany for the guy. He’d told him as much the day Kyle punched him in the face. “Dude, I’m so fucking in love with your sister that, if something happens to her, I don’t know if I could survive it. She’s all I have.” His voice cracked at the confession. Pressure built behind his eyes, making them burn as his throat swelled with emotion.

  Seconds ticked by, and then as if he decided on something, Kyle grabbed Regan and pulled him into a hug—just as they’d done so many times over the years while they weathered one tragedy after another. “She’s not all you have, man.”

  It took Regan a moment to wrap his mind around what Kyle was telling him. He didn’t expect forgiveness to come this easily—not from him. Then again, maybe easy was the wrong word, because the cost could ultimately be a price more than either one of t
hem could bear.

  The pounding of running footsteps drew their attention down the hall. Coach burst into the waiting room a moment later. The emotion brimming on that man’s face, cracking his hard-ass composure, just about made Regan lose it. He was barely holding it together as it was, and the tears in the old man’s eyes seemed to loosen the dam of his own.

  “How’s Willow?” he asked, coming over and taking a seat between Regan and Kyle.

  “She’s still in surgery. They said her spleen ruptured in the accident. She’s lost a lot of blood.” Kyle’s voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands. Coach placed a fatherly hand on his back, glancing up to meet Regan’s eyes. They locked and held. Understanding passed between them and said more than words ever could.

  Regan lost his battle with his tears. He couldn’t stop the moisture from streaming down his face. And he didn’t fucking care anymore. This was nothing compared to the shit he was going to lose if Willow didn’t make it.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Coach told them. “Willow’s a fighter, just like my boys.”

  That strong, solid hand clasped Regan’s shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. Regan’s throat was too tight with emotion to respond. All he could do was sit there and pray Coach was right.

  Over the next hour, the family waiting room began to fill up. First, Cole and Katie arrived. Then Nikko showed up. And what the hell was August Grim doing with them? Everyone sat in silence, lending their comfort and support. Looking around the room, Regan realized this was the closest he was ever going to get to a family, and after meeting with Coach, as of nine a.m. this morning, he was an orphan. These were no longer his people. But they weren’t here for him. They were here for Willow, just as he was. This was her family—and Kyle’s.

  When the surgeon walked in a while later, Regan and Kyle shot to their feet. The doctor took one look around the room, which was incredibly small now that it housed a team of MMA fighters. Surprise registered on the doctor’s face.