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

  Chapter 35

  I can walk, you know. Actually, I think the doctors prefer it.”

  Regan had insisted on carrying her up the steps and into his house. It was no use arguing because the guy was just as stubborn as her brother when he got his mind set on something. After two more days in the hospital, and a barrage of visitors comprised mostly of MMA fighters from the gym, she’d finally been released.

  Willow was grateful to Kyle for everything he’d done for her and for taking her place at the hearing. Against his own wishes, he’d honored hers, seeing to it Sean Campoli served the remainder of his sentence. The detective handling her accident had come by the hospital yesterday to inform her they’d made an arrest. The man responsible for running her off the road was identified as an employee of Sean Campoli’s father. The detective had told her Bruce Campoli would be lucky if he wasn’t sharing a cell with his son by the time he finished with him. Willow was just relieved that it was finally over, and she was grateful there had been a witness, because without one, she had no doubt that bastard would have gotten away with it.

  If she could say anything good had come from getting run off the road and almost dying in a wreck, at least it had gotten Kyle talking to her again. He was his sweet, overbearing self, and it did her heart good to know that, despite the mistakes they both had made, Kyle still loved her. Earlier this morning when the doctor had announced she was going to be discharged, Kyle had even offered to bring her home with him, to which Regan had informed him that would be happening over his dead body. Kyle had offered to make that happen, which reignited the undercurrent of tension between the two men and threatened their uneasy truce.

  She knew Kyle was struggling with his place in all this—where he fit into Willow’s life now, but hopefully with time, he’d see that she had room in her life, and her heart, for both of her men. She wished there was something she could do to help him. But there wasn’t. He felt betrayed, and she understood that. In hindsight, Regan had been right. They should have told him sooner, and it was a mistake she would have to live with. God knows it wasn’t her first. She wondered if Kyle would have been able to forgive Regan if they had.

  “So,” Regan said, laying her down on their bed. “The doctors said you can’t get your incision wet for another week. Does that mean I get to give you a sponge bath tonight?”

  Willow laughed and shook her head. “Out of all the instructions the doctor gave us before I was discharged, that’s your takeaway?”

  “Pretty much . . .”

  Regan emptied his pockets on the nightstand and pulled off his shirt before climbing into bed beside her. Taking a bath wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t do for another week, and the thought of sharing a bed with this man and not making love to him was pure torture.

  Careful not to jostle her, Regan crawled over Willow and began unbuttoning her shirt. The lust in his absinthe eyes was intoxicating. She needed to stop him before she became too inebriated by his touch to make sound decisions.

  “You must not have heard the doctors say I can’t do this for another week.”

  The smile curling Regan’s lips was pure sin. He unfastened the last button and parted her shirt. She’d gone home in flannel pajamas and hadn’t bothered to put on a bra. “The doctor said you couldn’t have sex; he never said you couldn’t come.”

  “Regan, what are you—oh!” His weight shifted over her, and he slid his hand down the front of her pants as his mouth covered her breast. He teased her turgid nipple, trapping it against his teeth while he buried a finger deep inside her. “Yes . . .” she finished with a soft moan.

  Regan’s responding growl sent an electrical vibration right between her thighs, lighting up her nerve endings. He sucked her deep, and the friction courted the line between pain and pleasure. Releasing her breast with a teasing nip, he eased her pants off her hips.

  “I feared I’d never touch you like this again,” he confessed, his voice thick with lust and heavy with emotion. “Never taste you . . . never feel you coming apart in my arms.”

  It was then that she realized Regan was still grappling with his own traumatized emotions over almost losing her. He needed this as much as she did. She needed to feel alive again, and he needed to possess what he’d nearly lost. As he leaned back to slide the flannel past her knees, she allowed her legs to shamelessly part. That absinthe stare fixed on the most intimate part of her, and a reverent curse passed his lips.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He dipped his head and kissed her knee. “I’m honored that you’re mine”—he locked those mesmerizing eyes on her and held them as he kissed the inside of the thigh—“that you chose me. I will love you and cherish you until the day I die.” He whispered the vow as he dipped his head, and his lips met her sensitive folds, already slick with desire.

  Regan’s declaration might have brought tears to her eyes if his mouth wasn’t already teasing a wanton cry from her throat. She slipped her hands into his hair, fingers curling tight into the short, unruly strands. He slid his hands beneath her bottom, the calluses of his powerful hands abrading her flesh. It never ceased to amaze her that a body built for fighting, for causing pain, could deliver such bliss and handle her with infinite tenderness.

  As his wicked tongue devoured her, the tension coiling inside her grew tighter. Soon she was on the precipice of shattering, but she wasn’t ready for it to end yet. She craved this intimacy with Regan like the air she breathed.

  She hadn’t told him yet that she’d heard every word he’d spoken while she was unconscious. And while she’d always known some of the pain and suffering he’d endured at his father’s hands, it was so much worse than she could have ever imagined. She knew he saw himself unworthy of her, and if it was the last thing she ever did, Willow would prove to him that he did not equal the sum of his past.

  When he slipped two fingers inside her, Willow’s breathing quickened as she gave herself over to this man who already possessed her—body, mind, and soul. His name was a broken cry on her lips as she came apart in shuddering waves of ecstasy. As the last tremors of her release echoed through her languid body, Regan pulled her into his arms, tucking Willow against his hard-muscled frame. Neither of them broke the silence settling between them. Anything that needed to be said had already been wordlessly spoken in the most intimate of conversations.

  Willow’s eyes drifted closed. Regan was lying beside her, content just watching her sleep, when his cell went off. He reached behind him, blindly searching for the thing so he could silence the call before it woke her.

  Too late . . .

  “You should probably get that,” she murmured without bothering to open her eyes.

  Yeah, he probably should. But everyone he wanted to talk to right now was lying next to him. He found the cell and pressed the button to reject the call. “Sorry it woke you.” He tucked her platinum hair behind her ear and brushed his lips against hers, lingering over the kiss-swollen softness. This woman was his life, and when he thought about how close he’d come to losing her . . .

  Pulling her close to his chest, Regan tucked her face into the side of his neck and just breathed, inhaling her scent and letting it fill his lungs. His cell rolled over to voicemail, then a minute later the damn thing went off again.

  With a muttered curse, he snatched it off the bed and opened the message. Fuck.

  “Who is it?”

  “Coach. He wants me to come down to the gym.” Regan wasn’t looking forward to telling Willow he’d been cut from the CFA. Considering everything she’d just been through, his employment status wasn’t ranking high on his give-a-shit list. But he couldn’t keep this from her—not without lying—and that wasn’t an option. He’d had more than his share of deception in the last few months.

  “It’s Sunday, Coach’s day off. Why would he be asking you to go down there today?”

  He probably wanted Regan to clean his locker out and was doing him the courtesy of giving him some privacy
while he did it. This was going to be hard enough as it was. The last thing he needed was a fucking audience.

  When he didn’t respond, Willow tensed. “Regan, what’s going on?”

  Meeting her bright-blue eyes, Regan held her stare and was careful to keep any and all emotion from his face or his voice. “I’ve been let go from the CFA.”

  “What?” Willow shot forward and then winced at the sudden movement, her hand pressing protectively over her stomach.

  “Dammit, Willow, the doctor said no sudden movements. You’re going to hurt yourself—”

  “I’m fine,” she dismissed, then braced herself against the mattress so she could get a better look at him. “When did this happen? Why did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “This past week. The day of your accident.” He didn’t offer any more details, but he could see her wheels were already turning and she was putting the pieces together.

  “Your fight with Kyle . . . Marcus fired you because of your fight with Kyle, didn’t he? Oh, my God! This is my fault!”

  And that was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell her. He’d known she was going to go there, blaming herself for his mistakes. Taking her face in his hands, Regan met and held her stare, speaking slowly and emphatically. “Willow, nothing about this is your fault. I’m responsible for my own actions, and I will accept and live with the consequences. I’m fine—we’re fine. I’ve made a lot of money with the CFA. Even if I didn’t fight for the next two years, we’d still be okay.”

  “I’m not worried about the money, Regan. You love Miller MMA. You love fighting for Marcus—”

  “I love you more. Willow, as long as I have you, I have everything I’ll ever need. And I can always fight for another circuit. Am I thrilled about leaving? No. Will I miss the people? Sure. But I’ll deal with it.”

  She still looked upset, and honestly, that was harder to handle than cleaning out his locker was going to be.

  “Sweetheart, stop. You’ve been telling me for months to look ahead and not behind. That’s what I’m doing. And I’m particularly looking ahead to that sponge bath I’m going to give you tonight.”

  He gave her a wicked grin and dipped his head, kissing that sensitive spot on her neck he knew drove her wild. Was he copping out and using sex to distract her from a conversation he didn’t want to have? Yep. And did he feel bad about that? Not one fucking bit.

  Chapter 36

  Regan pulled into Miller MMA and parked next to Coach’s truck. Grabbing his empty duffle bag from the passenger seat, he got out of the car and walked into the gym for what would likely be the last time. The knot in his gut felt like a fucking bowling ball, each step forward harder than the last. Everything he’d told Willow at the house had been true. He was going to be fine, but fuck him if this wasn’t going to suck. Just get in and get out.

  As he walked down the hall, he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. The posters of Coach’s fighters lining the walls caught in his peripherals as he passed by. Among the sea of scowling faces were Cole “The Beast of the East” Easton, Aiden “Disco Stick” Kruze, Nikko “The Bull” Del Toro, and Kyle “The Killer” Scott. There were some new recruits there, too, guys Regan would never get the opportunity to know. And when he came to his own poster, Regan “Rapscallion” Matthews, his steps quickened. How long would it be before Coach took that one down?

  Focus on the future and don’t look back. That was his new motto, but fuck if old habits weren’t hard to break. And that didn’t mean any of this was going to be easy. He entered the central part of the gym and passed the octagon he’d spent countless hours training in. His blood still stained the mat. Miller MMA owned a part of him, a piece of his soul, and it always would. It had helped shape him into the fighter he was today, and he’d always be grateful to Coach for that. He’d cherish the friends he’d made here, the memories.

  Regan went over to the lockers and dropped his duffle on the ground before getting to work on the lock. This was going to be harder than he’d thought. His hands were shaking as he tried to toggle through the combination. It took him a couple of attempts before the thing released. He opened the door and began chucking his crap into the bag when Coach’s gruff voice called across the gym, “Regan!”

  Regan tensed and closed his eyes. His hand froze in his locker. Yeah, he couldn’t do this right now. He needed to get his shit and go. Forcing his hand to curl around a roll of fight-tape, he ignored Coach and began double-timing the emptying of his locker. How in the hell had he accumulated so much shit?

  Footsteps echoed across the gym, getting closer. Fuck it. He’d buy whatever he was missing. Time to go. Regan closed the door of the half-empty locker and bent down to zip his bag shut when a pair of loafers stepped into his view.

  “You got a few minutes?”

  Regan cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge the emotion and swallowed it down before speaking. “Not really. I brought Willow home from the hospital today. She shouldn’t be alone very long.”

  “How is she? I stopped by to see her yesterday, but she was sleeping.”

  Really? They were going to have this conversation here? Now?

  “She’s getting stronger,” he said, slipping his arm through the strap and hefting it over his shoulder. “But you know Willow. She’s a fighter.”

  Coach chuckled, that old throaty rumble making that vacant hole in Regan’s heart ache like a motherfucker. It took every last bit of his strength to turn and face the man who’d been like a father to him, look him in the eye, and hold out his hand.

  “Thanks, Coach—for everything.”

  But instead of clasping his hand, the old man left him hanging. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he just shake the damn thing and get this over with? Talk about tugging off a Band-Aid. Coach’s bushy gray brow rose at the same time he scowled—a tough feat, but the guy managed to pull it off. He looked from Regan to his hand, then back to Regan before grabbing that outstretched hand and yanking him into a hug.

  The emotion was back, and this time it was making his eyes burn. Goddammit.

  “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?”

  Leave? Hell, yes, the minute this guy let go of him he was hauling his ass out of here before he broke down like a little bitch. “Do what?” he asked when his coach refused to let him go.

  “Take the blame for what happened. I thought you were smarter than that, son. I thought you gave a shit about your career. Instead, you’re throwing it all away.”

  When Coach stepped back, he looked a cross between disappointed and pissed off. “You lied to me. And for that reason alone, I should let your stupid ass walk out of here.”

  “I don’t understand.” And he didn’t. Regan was to blame for the fight that went down here with Kyle.

  “You told me you threw the first punch. You knew you were going to get yourself fired, and you still fucking did it.”

  Better him than Kyle.

  “Scott came to see me.”

  Of course he did. He couldn’t just let Regan do this and be done with it, could he?

  “He told me what happened and that he was the one who threw down first. Scott’s out and you’re in. Don’t ever fucking lie to me again.”

  What? “Coach, don’t do this. Maybe he threw the first punch, but what happened was my fault—all the way. He had every right to take a swing at me for what I did. You can’t fire him.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. He quit.”

  “He did what? Why?”

  “You’re going to have to ask him that. His reasons are his own and not mine to share.”

  Sonofabitch. He’d just tanked his best friend’s career. Like he didn’t have enough shit to feel bad about.

  “Unpack your gear and go home, Matthews. But know this. If you ever lie to me again, I’ll be the one kicking your ass, and then I’m going to fire you. Understood?”

  “Got it, Coach.”

  “Good.�
� The man pulled him in for one more back-slapping hug. “Glad to have ya back, son.”

  “Open the door, Kyle! I know you’re in there!” Regan pounded on the front door, pissed as hell to find the spare key missing. Peering in through the prism glass, he spotted stacks of cardboard boxes lining the entryway. What the hell were those all about? “Kyle!” He hammer-fisted the door some more, ignoring the fact he was making a scene. Several neighbors were now standing out in their lawns, gawking at him. “I’m not leaving until you open this goddamn door!”

  “Then you’re going to be waiting awhile.”

  The garage door closed behind him, and Regan spun around, surprised to see a mocha-eyed blonde with wild, curly hair that looked just about as temperamental as the woman eyeing him. She had Kyle’s tool bag in her hand and was opening the passenger side door, setting it on the seat. What the hell was this woman doing driving around Kyle’s 1969 Charger?

  Regan turned from the house and headed down the stairs. She rounded the back of the car and opened the driver’s door, putting the piece of metal between her and him.

  “Who the hell are you, and where’s Kyle?”

  She stopped with one foot in the car, one foot out, and slowly took his measure. “My name is Penelope.” She flashed him a smile as she reached across the open door. Undeniably, this woman was beautiful, and she had an air of confidence about her that most men would find sexy as hell, but something about this little scenario wasn’t quite adding up. Her eyes didn’t reflect the flirtatiousness of her demeanor.

  “Regan.” He introduced himself, taking her hand and giving it a shake.

  “I know who you are, Rapscallion Matthews. I watch Unchained.”

  Unchained was a TV program aired by Spike that ran highlights of old CFA pay-per-view fights. So, the girl was a cage-banger. Figured, though she didn’t quite look the part. She wasn’t wearing too much makeup, her clothes covered most of her body, and he was pretty sure those tits were real. So, the big questions were what was Kyle doing with her, and why was he letting a banger get behind the wheel of his pride and joy?