Authors: Summer Cooper
B
etween caring
for her younger siblings and working a second job to keep the family afloat, Jasmine has not only put her dreams on the back burner, she doesn’t even know what they are anymore. She can’t remember when she last went out with her friends, and it’s been ages since she even noticed a man. When she hears that her younger brother, Michael, has gotten himself involved in some brutal boxing league, she storms into the gym without a thought for what she’s going to find there—and is much too pissed off to spare more than a moment’s thought for Tyler, Michael’s MMA instructor.
But Tyler can’t take his eyes off her. A couple of years ago, he used to be good at MMA. Really good. Like the boys he now trains, he knew just what it meant to want to fight his way out of where he lived. But with success, he got jaded. He took this job for no other reason than that it was something different, something new—and now he thinks he might just have come to the perfect place. Because something was missing in his life all along, and he’s sure that 'something' is Jasmine.
He just has to convince her.
B
y the time
Jasmine stormed into Gentleman
Jackson’s Boxing Club, she’d had a full forty-five minutes for her anger to pick up steam, and she was in no mood to do anything other than cry her eyes out over a glass of wine. She was exhausted. She had just spent ten hours at the hospital, and hadn’t even had the chance to change out of her scrubs before Emma peeked out of her bedroom and announced that Michael had gone off somewhere to do boxing, of all things.
Boxing? Jasmine knew what that meant. It meant bruises, scrapes, violence, and concussions…if this was, in fact, boxing and not just some makeshift fighting ring someone had set up in an alleyway. It took her ten minutes to find out from Michael’s friends where he went, and another half hour to take the requisite busses. Now that she was here, she was far from amused by the pretentious name of the boxing club. The mortified look on Michael’s face only partially made up for it all.
“
Michael.
” Her voice was a hiss.
“Um…” Michael, sixteen and unusually thin—some people had all the luck—looked like he wanted to melt through the floor at being confronted by his older sister, in front of all of his boxing buddies.
Jasmine would have thought that was funny, but she cringed at the thought of what they were all seeing. Her wild mess of curls was only partially held back with a headband and an elastic, she was still wearing scrubs with God only knew what on them, and there wasn’t a scrap of makeup on her face. In clubs, in the right light, with makeup and jewelry, she looked almost okay. Right now, she was just chubby and disheveled. She swallowed, trying to decide whether to cut and run.
Like hell she was going to be shamed by a bunch of sixteen year olds. They could be polite to her, or she would teach them a thing or two about boxing. She swept her eyes over the group and was pleased to see that all of them quailed.
Or…all but one of them.
“May I help you?” The voice was a drawl. When her head jerked around, she saw him. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. A banner over his head proclaimed an upcoming tournament, and he was smiling at her. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“Yes,” Jasmine said promptly, scowling. Those blue eyes were set above chiseled cheekbones, a mouth far too full and sensual for a man’s face, and a jaw just as chiseled as the cheekbones. His nose might have the slight irregularity that came from having been broken more than once, but looking at the self-satisfied smile on the man’s face, all Jasmine could think was that he must have deserved it. “What is going on here?”
“You must be Michael’s older sister.” He gave a smile and looked out over the crowd of boys. “Pushups and sit-ups, everyone. You too, Michael.”
“No, he’s coming home with—”
He ushered her over to the side wall. “What seems to be the problem?”
“The
problem
?” Jasmine glared at him. “Okay. The
problem
is that my younger brother is not at home doing his homework and waiting for dinner, he is
here
, getting beaten up so that he can come home covered in bruises, with a concussion, start fighting all the time at school, worry our mother, and probably drop out before he can apply to a college.”
“That’s a lot to assume from the fact that he’s trying MMA.” The man didn’t look exactly pleased. His white tee-shirt stretched snugly over bulging biceps as he folded his arms and stared her down.
“What the hell is MMA?”
“Mixed Martial Arts,” he explained tiredly. “It’s a fighting style that combines Muay Thai with Jiu-Jitsu, boxing, some Tae Kwon—”
“So, fighting.” Jasmine crossed her own arms. “You’re teaching him to fight.”
“You have a problem with that?”
“Of course I have a problem with it!” She was going to punch him if he kept smiling at her like that. He was a pretty-boy, used to getting everything he wanted when he flashed those blue eyes, and she was sure as hell not going to fall for that. She pointed one finger over at the boys doing sit-ups and pushups, and leaned closer to hiss at the instructor. “Michael is
smart.
He might be a sixteen-year-old, but he’s a good kid. He doesn’t fight in school. He gets good grades. I’m not going to let him mess that up.”
The man sighed and leaned his head forward, running one hand over the back of his scalp. When he looked up, his eyes were more direct, and grave, than she expected.
“Look. I grew up in Detroit, okay? So I’m not just…some rich guy coming here to tell you how to behave. You know how hard it is for kids like your brother. I’m not making him violent, I’m giving him an outlet—the same outlet that saved me. Look over there. They’re not doing drugs, they’re not joining gangs—well, most of them. I’m working on it. These are good kids. They’re doing something physical, something good for their bodies, and they’re getting out a lot of the anger they can’t get rid of any other good way.”
“This isn’t a good way!”
“Why not? Did you hear a word I just said?” He shook his head, looking away. “Maybe you don’t get it, but I do. I needed this when I was younger, just like they need it now. It kept me out of way worse things. It taught me to push for something. It gave me something to achieve. That saved my life.”
“Well, maybe it saved your life, but Michael
has
things to push for. He’s going to be more than just a boxer.”
“What’s wrong with being a boxer?”
“He’s going to spend half his life beat up! When he gets older, he’s going to start forgetting things.”
“Most people do.”
“You know what I mean!” Her shout echoed, and the boys looked over. Jasmine clenched her hands.
“Hey. I’m not going to let him be harmed.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “I have rules about that. No head strikes in sparring here. I don’t do any of the crazier Muay Thai stuff.”
“Oh, yeah? He’s covered in bruises.”
“Bruises heal.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t want his teachers thinking he’s turning into one of those boys.” Her voice was rising again.
“Lady, what is your problem?”
“What’s my problem?” She clenched one hand in her hair. “Are you serious? Okay. Well, here’s something. Our dad died of cancer eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not
finished.
We never got out from under that debt. You know how much we owe now? Three hundred thousand dollars. You know how we’re going to pay that off? We aren’t. My mom works three jobs, and she’s too sick to be working at all. The chemicals she works with at the cleaning job are ruining her. She thinks I don’t know that she’s dying, but I do.” Jasmine could hear the tears building up in her voice and she knew she should just walk away, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “I graduated a year early so I could go to nursing school. It’s steady work, okay? And for the past four years, I have been trying as hard as I can to get my brother and sister through school so they can get the hell out of here. So they don’t end up working cleaning jobs. So they don’t get stuck here for the rest of their damned lives, paying off someone else’s debt! And I was doing fine, by the way.” She felt tears escape her eyes and dashed them away angrily. “I told you Michael’s smart. Well, he’s scientist smart. He looks at math and he just
gets
it. He’s too smart to be stuck around here, and even if he wasn’t I’d try to get him out. And Sarah? She’s got the prettiest voice, but she’s studying up to get her nursing degree, too. They’re smart. They’re pulling their weight. They’re going to get out.” She glared at this man, this smug man who’d come in to tell her how fighting wasn’t going to ruin her brother. “I’m not going to let you mess this up for him. Because you know what? Losing him would actually kill my mom.”
She turned on her heel and marched away before he could say anything else. She knew Michael’s bag and so she snatched it up from the side.
“Come on. We’re going.”
“But—”
“
Now.
”
At least he didn’t contradict her. He hung his head as he pulled on his tee-shirt, and he followed her humbly out into the cold.
“Where’s your coat?”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“Are you entirely stupid?” Jasmine rounded on him, and felt the tears start again. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry. Michael…what are you doing? What is this?”
“I just…like it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s hard not to get angry sometimes. It isn’t fair that dad died. It isn’t fair that—” He shook his head. “But when I’m here, I can forget about it—and then sometimes I feel better for hours. Days. I’m still getting As, Jazzy.”
“That guy?” Jasmine jerked her head at the gym. “He’s bad news.”
“No, he’s really nice. He—”
“He’s bad news,” Jasmine repeated. “And I don’t want you going back there.”
T
here was
a silence as the door slammed shut behind the two of them, the woman ushered her younger brother out into the evening dark and all of the other boys stared after them. Then someone started laughing.
“Mike got in
trouble
!”
They were all joining in, shoving each other and shouting jokes over the noise, until Tyler pounded on the wall for them to be quiet. He had been so consumed in staring after her that he’d let the joking go on far too long. Those eyes, those lips…
They stared at him, and he tried to remember how to speak.
“All that talk means people aren’t working hard enough!” He let his eyes sweep over all of them, and then pointed to the back wall. “Sprints. Come on.”
“This is boxing, not running!”
“This is MMA, not boxing—and go on, just try to get in the ring without being fit, huh?” Tyler let his genuine amusement show in his face. “You’ll be on YouTube forever.”
With a grumble, they set off, sprinting back and forth between the two walls with increasingly pleading looks that Tyler ignored until he saw their pace slow to a legitimate jog. He didn’t let himself smile this time, although he wanted to. These were good kids, with a lot of energy and a lot of drive. That was one thing he’d found since he moved here. These kids wanted to win at something, but even more, they wanted to be part of a team. It warmed a part of his heart that he hadn’t known existed.
He took the time to talk to each of them as they got ready to go home, crouching down to ask about siblings or parents, remind them about gear, ask how things were going. He’d learned, over the past few months, that when someone did particularly well in class, there was often something they needed to work out. Back in Detroit, his friends had been richer and he’d been the odd one out—here, he was learning that there were other people who acted just the way he had in high school.
It was James he talked to last, when nearly all the other boys had gone. James was smart, smarter than almost any of the others; Michael was the only one who rivaled him. But lately, the kid had lost focus. His endurance wasn’t what it had been, and he wasn’t as light on his feet. It would be easy to chalk that up to home life or normal teenage mood swings, but Tyler had a sinking feeling that he knew just what was going on.
He knew far, far too well.
“How you doing?” He sat on the bench next to James.
“Well.” James didn’t look over.
“You’ve been a little—”
“It’s fine.”
“Is it?” Tyler deliberately looked away. “Because it seems like maybe school hasn’t been going well, too.”
James said nothing, but his hands slowed as he put away his gear.
“And you’re too smart for that.”
“Maybe high school is bullshit.”
“Nah, high school is
definitely
bullshit.” Tyler gave him a grin. “No maybe about it.”
James smiled unwillingly.
“Just tell me, dude. If I went through your bag, what would I find?” Tyler looked over at him.
“What do you mean?”
“It means I’m guessing pot, but I don’t know. I pray to God not heroin.”
“Jesus, it’s pot, get off my case. Pot’s fine.”
“Maybe for some people.” Tyler lifted his shoulder. “Most people, really, except for one thing…”
“What’s that?” James stood, hoisting the bag over his shoulder.
“Take it from someone who knows: if you do drugs to get away from something…you’re never gonna stop using them.”
“What are you, a DARE commercial or something?”
“I used to be one of the top fighters in the world,” Tyler told him brutally. “Now I teach. You know why?”
“Drugs?” James clearly didn’t believe him.
“It wasn’t the drugs, it was why I took them. But trust me, they did nothing but help me on my way down.”
Now the kid paused, intrigued and not wanting to be. “So why’d you take them?”
“Because I thought winning tournaments would make all my problems go away, and when it didn’t, I had too much money and nothing in my life. Turns out if you don’t fill your life up the way you want, other things show up to fill the void—and they’re never the ones you would choose.”
“And you took pot and your whole life fell apart?” The kid was still staring at him like he was a white kid from the suburbs who didn’t get it.
“James.” Tyler stood up. “Please. Just listen for a second. Smoke pot, I don’t care. I’m not here to tell you any drug’s the devil. I can’t see inside your head, I don’t know what’s going on. But if it’s that you want to forget the world for a few minutes, that you like not caring about things anymore—”
“I don’t want to go to college,” James interrupted.
“Huh?”
“I’m supposed to want to go to college, right? I’m smart, I’m supposed to. I don’t want to.”
“Don’t you like fixing cars?”
“Yeah.” James looked at him warily.
“So be a mechanic. Enjoy your life.”
“Right.” James stared at him. “Okay. I can still come here, right?”
“As long as you want to train, you’ve got a spot.”
“Thanks.” James looked off into space, then pulled a bag out of his pocket and tossed it over. “Can you just…get rid of that? I know I’m going to want to…well, you know.”
“Sure.” Tyler watched him go and slid down along the wall until he thudded to the ground. Tipping his head back, he let his eyes drift closed.
To his surprise, he saw
her.
He thought back, trying to remember what Michael had said about his family. Two sisters. This one would be…Jasmine? Yes, Jasmine. He was pretty sure, anyway. Michael hadn’t, of course, mentioned that she was gorgeous. Being her brother, he was probably more concerned with her telling him off for skipping his homework.
She was the type of woman Tyler wouldn’t have had any time for even a year ago. He could remember shrugging as he saw pretty women walk past in old jeans or scrubs:
well, if she’s not even going to make an effort…
Not for the first time, he cringed at the memory of who he’d been. He couldn’t even remember the first thing about any of the women he’d slept with around then. It was a haze of short skirts and corset tops, too-high heels and lipstick.
And Jasmine…something about her was just too different for him to ignore. She was one of the first women he had seen who didn’t even seem to care what she looked like. Of course, she didn’t have to. Her hair was the kind of curly women paid hundreds of dollars to imitate, her grey eyes were just slightly tilted at the corners, and her pert little mouth shone a perfect pink against her warm brown skin. She was short, short enough that she would fit just perfectly under his arm if they were walking together, and her scrubs weren’t exactly flattering, but there was no hiding those curves.
He sighed again and stared at the bag in his hands. He didn’t even remember everything he’d taken in those last few months. If someone handed it to him, he took it; if they recommended it, he tracked it down. At the time, he told people drunkenly he was living the dream. He usually had a gorgeous girl under each arm, a bottle of champagne somewhere, steaks and an apartment full of leather couches and widescreen TVs.
For the past few months, those memories had gradually shifted until he remembered the headaches, the way morning light was far too bright, the drag in his muscles, the ever-slowing reaction times. And he remembered the tournament.
He was never going to forget the tournament. He’d been too dumb even to worry about it. He’d sparred with Kevin back in the day and destroyed him—but Kevin had gotten good, and Tyler…Tyler had fallen off. He still remembered the split-second when he realized that something was wrong, that he wasn’t going to win. And that was all the time he’d had before he was staring up at the ceiling while the crowd roared.
His hands tightened around the bag. He hadn’t been kidding when he told James that outrunning his demons with drugs would lead nowhere. But what he should have said was that he understood just how tempting it was. He could forget everything, he could stop caring if he just took a moment to light up. If he did, he wouldn’t have to remember his coach screaming at him about what he was doing to himself and the potential he was throwing away. He wouldn’t have to remember how he’d said it was his life and he could do what he wanted, and he’d walked out and quit because he couldn’t take a single punch. One failure was all it took to show him how unsuited he was to all of it. All he’d ever had was luck: good reflexes and good luck. He fumbled in his pocket for a lighter…
And stopped, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He forced himself to stand up, walk to the dumpster out back, and drop the bag into it, wincing at the smell. The cold air chilled him and he let it, standing still and shivering. Only when the bag was gone did he consider what he’d done and why.
It was because of her, the woman who had everything. Not that she’d say she had everything, he knew that. He even knew that it was cruel to accuse a woman who’d lost her father of having so much. But she cared about something. There were people she loved, and a future she wanted to protect.
For the first time in a long time, Tyler felt hope stir in his chest—hope for a better future, even if he didn’t have the first idea of what that looked like.