Chapter 13

The driver rollsthe blacked-out SUV to a stop at the curb. He turns his head and lifts his eyebrows as if to say, “you live in this dump?”

“This is it.”

He shifts into park and steps out.

My gaze searches the parking lot, instantly recognizing two cars that don’t belong here. I groan and open my door. I’d sent Eraser and Vapor a text when I finally escaped the mansion, and it looks like they timed their arrival perfectly.

The driver’s lining up my bags on the sidewalk. Before I got in the SUV, Jordan instructed the guy to make sure I made it to my front door. Doesn’t look like the dude plans to follow through.

Doesn’t matter. Two seconds later, Eraser’s big voice breaks the eerie, early-afternoon silence.

“Welcome home, superstar,” he greets with his sarcasm dial jacked to eleven.

“Think if we ask nicely, he’ll give us an autograph?” Vapor says in fake-hushed tone meant for my ears.

I turn and attempt a snarky greeting of my own.

Vapor’s playful grin melts clean off his face. “What in the chicken-fried fuck happened to you?”

“Happy to see you too, brother.”

Ignoring my sarcasm, he peers into my eyes and frowns. “They get someone decent to stitch you up?”

“Why? Does it look bad?”

“Nooo.” He frowns as he stares at my stitches, not really making me feel better about my appearance. “Doesn’t look great, though.”

“Thanks. The doc went over me.” I groan and reach into the car to grab my backpack and drag it out. “I put the other guy in the hospital. So I can’t complain about a few stitches.”

“You look like shit,” Eraser says, taking the backpack out of my hands and hoisting it over his shoulder. “What’d your opponent do—try to make hamburger with your face?”

“Thanks.” I gently probe my bottom lip and jaw, then the stitches over my left eye. “Your concern warms my heart.”

“Stop picking on Griff.” Ella points to my bags on the curb and slaps Eraser’s back. “He needs to get inside.”

“Inside would be nice,” I agree.

“Is that everything?” Eraser asks the driver.

The guy nods and stands outside the driver’s door. “Are you good, sir?” he says to me.

“I’m fine.”

He stands there for another few seconds. If he’s waiting for a tip, he can kiss my bruised ass.

“I can’t believe they sent you home like this,” Vapor says.

“I’ve taken worse,” I say. Not since we were all locked up at Castle Correctional, but I don’t have to say it. They know.

“I assume you won?” Eraser asks.

The disappointment of the judge’s decision rings through my head. “I’m not allowed to say.”

“Am I right?” He tilts his head.

“Seldom,” I answer.

The guys chuckle at that. Normally, they’d throw a light punch or slap my back, but everyone looks like they’re afraid to touch me. Like, I’ll shatter into a million pieces from any contact.

They might not be wrong.

Juliet slams her car door and hurries over to me. “Griff.” Her voice comes out as a high, strangled plea. “Oh my God.”

“It’s worse than it looks.” I wince. “Promise.”

She moves closer, opening her arms like she wants to hug me, then reconsiders. I give her a slow, one-armed hug. “Happy to see you,” I murmur against her ear. “Thanks for taking all my calls.”

She touches my back gently—she might’ve found the only non-bruised part of my body. “Of course we took your calls.”

When she pulls away, her eyes are glossy and as happy as I am to see her, I wish Vapor and Eraser had come without their wives. “I’m really okay, Juliet.” I grin wide even though my jaw fucking aches. “Got all my teeth and everything.”

Instead of laughing, she sighs. “Come on. I bet you need ice and a BenGay bath.”

“Uh, I don’t think you’re supposed to bathe in it.”

“You’re not. But you might need to.”

Vapor’s head swivels between the bags on the curb and me. “I’m not sure if I should carry your stuff or carry you upstairs.”

“I can walk.” I half hobble, half shuffle onto the sidewalk to prove it. “Sort of.”

“Good God, Griff, come here.” Ella ducks under my arm and wraps her arm around my waist.

I lean on her a little more than I want to in front of everyone. Juliet takes my keys and marches ahead. The guys grab my stuff and coax me into the building.

Inside, I stop and give the staircase a long look. It looms like a mountain. Why the fuck do I have to live upstairs?

“Can you do it, Griff?” Eraser asks, all hint of joking gone. “Otherwise, you can come stay at our place. We only have the two steps on the front porch.”

“Nah, I got it. Just give me a minute.”

“Take your time,” Ella says.

“Guys, I’m fine. Really.” I release Ella’s shoulders and test putting more weight on my knee. “Go on ahead.”

“Like fuck,” Vapor says, dropping my bags at the base of the stairs. “Come on.”

Juliet returns, standing at the top of the stairs. “How are we doing this, guys?” she calls down.

“Slowly,” I answer, gripping the handrail. It’s like my knee’s on vacation and doesn’t want to function.

Eraser murmurs something to Ella I don’t bother listening in on and she grabs two of the bags and heads upstairs ahead of us.

Vapor grabs the rest of my stuff and watches me with concern.

I don’t have the energy to tell him I’m fine.

Eraser stands behind me while I grip the handrail and drag myself up one step at a time.

“They should’ve given you crutches or something,” he murmurs.

“Nah, I’m fine,” I grit through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, real fuckin’ fine,” Vapor grumbles.

Juliet’s waiting in the hallway outside my open door when I finally make it to the top of the steps, wheezing like an eighty-year-old man who spent his whole life smoking three packs a day.

Almost there.

If my friends weren’t hovering over me like I’m about to die, I’d crawl the last few feet to my apartment. Nah, that’d probably hurt even more.

I finally step over the threshold and practically cry with relief when I sink into my nubby, old couch.

“It was kind of stuffy in here, so I opened some windows,” Juliet says.

“Thanks.”

Vapor closes the door behind him and drops my bags on the floor with a thud.

Eraser perches on the couch next to me. Ella squeezes in by his side. Vapor takes the chair to my left and cranes his neck to watch Juliet in my kitchen.

Everyone’s just…staring at me. Too stunned to speak? Waiting for me to entertain them? I don’t know.

“So, what happened here?” With monumental effort, I rub my hand over the top of Eraser’s unusually short hair. “Give yourself a haircut with a butter knife while I was away?”

He ducks away from my touch. “You keep touchin’ me, you’re gonna need more stitches.”

Ella laughs and curls her arm around her husband’s waist, then reaches up to smooth his short, chopped hair. “His favorite barber shop closed and he doesn’t want to find a new one, so he’s been doing it himself.”

“Bro, I’ll do a better job than that.” I scissor my fingers together. “Soon as I can move my arms.”

“You really think you’re one to give out hairstylin’ advice?” He flicks his fingers near my ear. “You came home lookin’ like a mangled sheepdog.”

I snort and lift my arm to run my hand over my hair. Pain sizzles from my shoulder to my elbow. I stop midway and rest my arm on the couch cushion instead. “Venom told me I needed to stand out more in the house. Naptime and I looked too much alike. So one night when all the dumb fucks got drunk, I shaved his head?—”

“We saw,” Ella says. “It was one of the show’s highlights.”

“Shit, I keep forgetting…” I shift my gaze to the wall. I’ve never felt so awkward around these guys.

Juliet returns to the living room and holds out an ice pack to me. “I don’t even know where to put this first.”

I take it from her and rest it over my knee. “I’ve got more.” I tilt my head toward the bags Vapor dropped by the door. “They’re in the black bag but need to go in the freezer.”

“I’ll do it,” Eraser volunteers.

The couch shifts as he stands. He grabs the bag and heads into the kitchen without a word.

I glance at Ella. “Your husband still mad at me?”

She shrugs.

“Are you mad at me?”

She stares at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. “No.”

“Let’s not.” Juliet, the peacemaker of our group, holds her hands in the air. “We have Griff back in one piece. That’s all that matters right now.”

It hurts too much to smile, so I dip my chin. “Thanks.”

Eraser returns and plops down on my coffee table, gently shifts my foot a few inches to the right, then rests an icepack over my ankle.

“Besides the thing we’re not going to talk about right now,” he shoots a pointed look at me, “you did us proud.”

A huff of bitter laughter eases out of me. “I don’t know about that.”

“You were the most ‘professional’ fighter there.” Ella exchanges a glance with her husband.

“I tried,” I mumble, embarrassed. I don’t even know what they saw of my time there. Which carefully chosen snippets of all the weeks, days, and hours of my life were splashed on television for the whole world to see.

“He needs to rest now.” Juliet nods at Vapor. “Help him into bed.”

“He’s twice as big as when he left.” Vapor slaps Eraser’s shoulder. “Get up. This is a two-man assignment.”

“I’m not twice my size,” I protest. “And I can get myself off the couch by myself. Unless you’re gonna help me take a piss next?”

Juliet glances at Vapor. “You might want to make sure there’s no blood in his urine.”

Vapor opens his mouth—hopefully to protest—but I cut him off.

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “I’m fine. I got an appointment with a local doctor later in the week to test kidney function. It’s not like I haven’t been here before.”

“I haven’t seen you this fucked up since the nights we were fighting for our lives in the basement, brother,” Eraser says in a solemn tone rarely heard from him.

“Thanks.” I attempt a withering glare. “Why don’t you take your cheerful ass home and let me suffer in peace now.”

“I don’t think we should leave you alone,” Juliet protests. “What if you have a concussion?”

“I got checked out by the doc after the fight. Slept fine last night.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Thanks, though.”

She bites her lip and flicks her gaze to Vapor. “All right.” Obvious reluctance slows her words. “We’re stopping by tomorrow morning right after we drop Atlas off at school, though.”

“Okay,” I agree, not that she’s giving me a choice. My eyelids drop. “I’m beat.”

Eraser stands and nods at Vapor. “Let’s get him into the bedroom.”

“Are you planning to tuck me in like a toddler?” I grumble.

Eraser leans down, shoving his big, bushy bearded face in mine. “Yeah, little buddy. You wanna go potty first?”

Ella snickers. Juliet smacks Eraser’s arm with the back of her hand.

I slowly push myself to the edge of the couch. Fuck, that hurts. I shouldn’t have sat on my lumpy couch for so long. I might need them to carry me after all.

“Come on.” Vapor slips his hand under my arm.

“Uh, uh,” I warn. “My shoulder and wrist are fucked, too. Let me do it.”

After choking down several yelps of pain, I finally make it into my bedroom. Eraser and Vapor hover behind me like mother cats the whole way.

“I’m fine.” I use one arm to try and lift my T-shirt off and immediately get stuck.

“Jesus.” Vapor helps me ease out of the fabric and tosses it aside. “Eraser can do your pants.”

“I can get the pants.” God, I hate this. “But if you’d dig a pair of sweats out of the third drawer over there, that’d help.”

“Fucking hell, Griff.” Eraser stands in my doorway staring at my bruised torso. “You crack any ribs?”

I twist and stare at my right side. Deep purple bruising stains my skin from hip to armpit. “Felt like it. But they checked. No.”

After a lot of unmanly whimpers, I finally change and slide into bed. The mattress squeaks and dips. After sleeping on that fancy cloud bed for so long at the house, my own feels like laying on a mound of dirty laundry. But it’s home. Relief washes over me. I made it home.

First thing I’m doing with my winnings is buying a new bed.

The edge of my covers rustle. There’s a clink and rattle next to my head.

“I think he’s already asleep,” Juliet whispers.

“No,” I mumble.

“I left a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand.” Something warm and coco-nutty covers my face. Soft lips graze my forehead. “I’m glad you’re home,” Juliet whispers. “Rest up.”

If I could move my arms, I’d hug her. “Thank you.”

I’m vaguely aware of their low, concerned murmurs fading and my front door clicking closed.

Then I’m out.

Home sweet home.

* * *

Bright light punchesme in the forehead.

I groan and try to throw my arm over my eyes, then moan at the pain in my shoulder.

“You alive?” Remy’s gruff voice forces my eyes open.

“Satan? That you?” I mumble. “Did I end up in hell?”

He rudely rips the covers off. Cold air races over my skin.

“Motherfucker,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”

“I was.” I groan and sit up. Boulders of pain bounce around in my skull. “I was enjoying some healing, restorative sleep until I was rudely jarred awake.”

“Juliet was worried about you and texted me.” He backs up so I can stand. “Now I understand why.”

I grunt at him and shuffle into the bathroom, praying he won’t follow.

When I emerge, he’s on the other side of the door. “Did you want to hold my dick for me?” I ask. “‘Cause I’m not into that.”

“Shut up.” He lifts his fist, then drops it at his side. “Come on. I brought food. I want you to eat something, then take more pain stuff. I assume you went to an actual doctor?”

“Yeah.” I shuffle behind him as he walks down my short hallway and turns toward the kitchen. “Some special clinic.”

“They give you anything useful for the pain?”

“Bro, you know I won’t swallow anything harder than Tylenol.” Too many addictive genes in my DNA to take the risk. I’d rather suffer through the pain.

He grunts a sound of grudging agreement.

Despite every part of my body throbbing or aching, my stomach rumbles. That’s gotta be a good sign.

“Sit.” Remy orders.

I ease into the chair by the window so I can keep an eye on him. “Yes, Dad.”

“Don’t ‘dad’ me.” He opens my cabinets, searching for plates, rinses one off, then sets it on the counter. “I can’t believe they sent you home in this condition.”

The scent of roasted chicken teases my nose and my mouth waters in anticipation. “Bro, this is what we do. We literally run an underground fighting ring.”

He sets a plate of chicken, macaroni salad, and cornbread in front of me. My stomach roars to life and I pick up a chicken leg, taking a vicious bite.

“We never let a fight go this far.” He waves a disapproving finger at my injuries—my entire body. “What the fuck was the ref doing—taking a nap?”

“He wasn’t the best,” I admit, setting down the chicken leg, picking up my fork, and stabbing into the macaroni. “Other guy needs surgery last I heard.”

“Good.” He sets a glass of water in front of me. “You get knocked out?”

“Not once.” I turn my head, showing off my jaw. “Concrete chin saved the day.”

He slides into the chair across from me. “You’re done with this now, right?”

I set my fork down with a slight clink against my plate. “Done with what? Fighting? Or the show?”

“Both.”

“No. And not quite.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I take a sip of water, then shake four Tylenol out of the bottle and pop them in my mouth. After swallowing, I look him in the eye. “It means, if I want to collect the rest of my winnings, I have to make an appearance at the reunion show.”

“What kind of bullshit is that? How are they getting all the other guys who didn’t win anything to come back?”

I shrug, then wince at the pain slicing down my back. “They’re fame whores? I don’t know or care about anyone else’s motives. I just want my money.” Should I tell him there’s some extra cash if I convince Molly to go with me? No, it’s her decision to make. I’ll discuss it with her.

“All right. As long as they’re not going to trap you in that house again. Or make you fight.”

I stare at him. “You know you’re not actually my dad, right?” Maybe that was too harsh. “Did you really miss me that much?”

“Yes, bonehead. Besides all the other stuff—that I’m not going to mention until you’re feeling better—you were missed.”

Not by everyone, I bet. “How’s Molly?”

“She’s fine.” He waves his hand in the air as if he’s dismissing the question. “She comes home on the weekend sometimes.”

“Don’t tell her I’m back yet.” I point at my face. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“You assume she wants to see you at all.”

Already tired of this conversation, I slam my fork down. “Remy, I didn’t sleep with that girl. You really didn’t tell Molly?—”

“Yeah, I told her,” he says, his voice thick with annoyance. “But you not coming home to set things straight,” he shrugs and shakes his head, “didn’t sit well with her.”

“I couldn’t!” I explode, then falter as pain flares in every part of my body.

“Stop.” Remy holds out his hands. “Finish eating. I think you should come stay at the house with me. At least until you can move without looking like you want to cry.”

“More like scream,” I mutter, shoving more chicken in my mouth. Do I want to stay at Remy’s to recover? Having him in my face constantly lecturing me about my recent bad choices isn’t all that appealing. But staying here by myself isn’t exactly a thrill, either. “You gonna feed me like this every night if I come stay at your place?” I tap my fork against my almost-empty plate.

“No, but if you behave, I’ll bring you leftovers from the bar.”

“How tempting.” Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids. “I’ll think about it. Right now, I don’t think I could make it back down those stairs.”

“Jesus,” he breathes out. “What are you going to do about your job?”

“I just need to heal for a few more days and I’ll be fine.”

Remy stares at me. “You look like you need at least six weeks of recovery.”

“Hey, guess what? You’re not my dad or my doctor.” There’s no way in hell I’m admitting to Remy that the doctor I saw advised I take it easy for eight weeks. Not even light training or cardio for at least a month, he’d said.

“How dumb do you think I am?” He scowls at me. “As you pointed out, this is what we do. Of course I know how much recovery time you need, dipshit.”

“We can argue about it another day.” I swipe a paper towel over my mouth and push my plate away. “Right now, I just want to go back to bed.”

He stares a hole through my face. “All right. I’ll be back before I open the bar to check on you.”

“Juliet said she’d stop by in the morning, so you’re off the hook.”

“I’ll still check in.”

“Great.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not a little kid.”

“Griff,” he says in a dead-serious tone. “You look two steps away from death.”

“You should know by now that I’m stronger than I look.”

“You are.” His gentle, pity-filled voice would irritate me if I had the strength for it. The desire to throttle him—just a little—twitches my fingers. My aching knuckles diffuse the urge. Lucky for Remy.

“I’m all right.” Who am I trying to convince? Remy or myself? “I just need more sleep. Maybe an ice bath.” Or ten.

“I can bring you ice in the morning to fill the tub.” He stands and collects my plate and silverware. “I’ll take care of this. Go on.”

Emotion chokes the words from my throat. What the fuck is wrong with me? One minute I want to kill Remy, the next I’m ready to blubber all over him like a baby. Maybe one of those fists to the skull really did scramble my brain.

Slowly, I pull myself out of the chair and onto my feet. “Thanks, Remy. I…” What else can I say?

He turns and leans against my counter. “Figured you wouldn’t have any food.” He tilts his head toward my fridge. “There’s hard boiled eggs and yogurt in the fridge. And I’ll wrap up the rest of the chicken so if you’re hungry in the middle of the night, you’ve got something here.”

I swallow a lump of emotion. Food delivery options around here are pretty limited, especially at night. Remy’s a lifesaver. “Appreciate that.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

Of course I would. Tired of the pity and talking about myself, I ask, “How’s the bar? Everything okay there?”

“It’s been fine. We can talk about it later.”

“All right.”

That’s only one of many things we need to discuss.