Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (11 page)

Chapter Thirty One

Roxy

Travis and I drove in silence back to X-AMERICA, where my truck sat in the parking lot – lonely beneath the beam of a solitary streetlight.

Travis pulled the old Chevy alongside, and left the engine rumbling as he opened the door for me.

“Roxy,” he blocked me from getting out of the truck, and wrapped me in his arms when I tried to wriggle past him. “We’re cool, right?”

I snorted, and looked up at him.

My handsome, towering ex-boyfriend. God, I didn’t know whether I loved him, or wanted to murder him. My pussy throbbed at the memory of our lovemaking, less than an hour earlier – but I had butterflies in my stomach just thinking about him leaving again.

“Travis, honey,” I reached up and laid my palm on his cheek. “Nothing about this is cool right now.”

I snorted, and wriggled out of his arms.

“Your dad’s hands are busted up. I’m a month or two away from losin’ my house,
and
my dad’s business. And then look at
you
.”

Travis blinked when I said that, and I could tell he didn’t relish the prospect.

“You told me your fight career’s over. And now you’re in hock to that Red asshole, just like your dad is.”

I sniffed, and reached up to squeeze Travis’ arm.

“Honey, from where I’m standin’, you’re in just as much trouble as I am.”

Travis shuddered when I said that, and I saw his eyes narrow. Clearly the reality of all this was hitting him.

It’d been easy to ignore, that night. The drama of confronting Red. That fight in the parking lot. The sex afterward.

Tonight had been about blood, and hormones, and action.

And it was only now, almost near sunrise, that reality was creeping back into the picture.

Travis looked down at me, and he squeezed my hand.

“I’m gonna make it right, Roxy,” he promised. “With my dad. With Red. With
you
.”

His mouth narrowed into a line.

“I’m a lot of things, but I ain’t no quitter. And I know that if I just keep fighting, sometime soon something’s
gotta
go my way.”

But what?
What
miracle could get us out of this?

I wish I knew. All I did know was that it was late, and I had my first cardio kickboxing class in just a couple of hours.

“Goodnight, Travis.” I reached over and hugged him – a chaste and loving hug, compared to the passion of earlier. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

And then I left him, beneath the searing glare of that streetlight, and clambered into Dad’s old truck.

I didn’t think I’d get much sleep between then and sunrise – but I knew lying in that bed, fresh with the scent of our lovemaking, would be like a dream all in itself.

Chapter Thirty Two

Travis

“Jesus, son,” dad barked, the moment he saw me the following morning. “What in the hell happened to
you
?”

It was a legitimate question. As I stood there frying eggs on the range, I could see my own reflection in the stainless steel hood – and it didn’t look pretty.

Roy had given me one hell of a black eye – swollen up like a damn golf ball.

“I mean it, son,” for one of the first times since I’d been back, my dad actually sounded… well, like a
dad
. “You okay?”

The concern in his voice was touching.

I slid the eggs onto an old, cracked plate and turned to face my old man.

“I’m fine, pop,” I promised, as I slid the plate onto the table. “In fact, I’m better than fine.” I paused, wondering what his reaction would be. “I saw Red last night.”

My dad froze, and his wrinkled old eyes widened.

“You
what
?”

“Relax, pop.” I’m not sure if I was trying to reassure him, or me. “I squared off with him. Bought you a week.” I slid behind the other side of the breakfast nook, and reached for the salt. “A week’s plenty of time to figure out how to get that bastard off your back.”

But old Walter Oates didn’t take my suggestion to ‘relax.’

“Are you shittin’ me, son?”

My old man narrowed his eyes across the table.

“Why the hell would you go and do a damn stupid thing like that? Red ain’t the kind of a character you want to be messin’ with.” He held up his bandaged hands. “Take it from me, son.
I know
.”

“Exactly!”

My angry retort echoed through the trailer.

“I sent his goons runnin’ off yesterday, pop – but how long before he sent ‘em back? To do
worse
than just bust some bones.”

My dad was silent as he listened to this.

“Shit, I’m not here to judge how you got into hock with old Red,” I wasn’t going to judge, because I felt partially responsible, after losing those two fights like I had. “But I sure as shit aren’t going to sit here and let him hurt you anymore.”

Walt gulped dryly.

After a long pause, he croaked: “I’m just worried about you, son.” He snorted. “I don’t want you makin’ the same dumbass decisions I did.”

Taking a deep breath, Walt sighed: “You’ve got a talent, son. You’re goin’ places. And I’m not about to get in your way.”

“You’re not in my way,” I fired back. “You’re my
dad
.”

There wasn’t much he could say to that.

“Look, I ain’t gonna lie, pops,” I continued. “You ain’t the Father of the Year. I’m not sure which I hated more – the nights you took your belt to me, or the nights you didn’t come home at all.”

I closed my eyes, blinking away tears.

“…but you always made sure we had a roof over our heads, and food on the table. And you taught me to bust my ass, and to fight.” I reached over, and squeezed his forearm. “I know it wasn’t easy, raisin’ me after momma died. And I just want you to know I appreciate it – and now it’s my turn to look after you.”

Walt wiped one eye. He blinked furiously.

“It’s the damn smoke in here,” he lied, struggling up from the table. “I’m gonna go get some fresh air.”

And I sat there and watched my old man stagger to the door of the trailer, and emerge into the bright, hot Texas sunshine.

I don’t think I’d seen tears in my dad’s eyes except for two occasions – when momma died, and when the Dallas Cowboys won the Superbowl back in ’95.

I was touched.

Blinking back tears of my own, I finished my eggs, and threw the plates into the sink.

Then I headed out myself, into the blinding Texas sunshine.

Dad was out in the front lawn, smoking a Parliament he’d cleverly wedged into the bandages of his right hand. I wondered how clever it would be when the butt burned down, and set fire to his dressings.

But that wasn’t my problem.

I strode out to the back yard, where the dew was glistening on my rusty old weights, and the
Wavemaster
I’d borrowed from Roxy.

I pulled my gloves off the top of dad’s old barbecue, and pulled them on. A moment later, I was wailin’ on that
Wavemaster
like it owed me money.

Damn, but it felt
good
to get my fists flying. Throwing punches was what I was born to do – and even if the old punching stand didn’t put up much of a fight, I got a lot of satisfaction from burying my fists into the vinyl padding, and listening to the stand rock back and forth.

My body ached from lack of sleep and the punishment of last night’s fight, but getting the blood pumping and my fists flying was all the medicine I needed.

Soon, sweat was dripping down my back and my lungs were comfortably burning – and as I kept on punching, I turned my attention to the problems I had to deal with.

Firstly? Getting Red off our backs. Last night had bought me a thousand dollars and a week. But I still didn’t know how I’d ever find the money to pay that crooked bastard back.

Secondly, there was my career to think about. Or, my
lack
of one. Shit, I didn’t even have enough money to pay for my flight back to New York – so maybe I was going to do just what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t; and wind up trapped in this shithole town, like the washed up loser I was worried I’d become.

And finally?

There was Roxy.

Fuck, but the memory of her lips and body was fresh in my mind. Last night had been amazing.

But what now?

She might have slept with me, but I knew she still hated me. Hated me for walking out on her and her old man. For turning my back on everything we’d had together.

And I didn’t know if there was any way I’d ever make it right.

With a snarl, I started punching the
Wavemaster
harder – really laying into it. Shit, I threw some swings so hard that my fingers hurt when they impacted the tough padding.

I was
fucked
.

Whichever way you looked at it, I was screwed. And what was worse than that was how my old man was screwed, too – and Roxy. We were all on the brink of losing everything; and for all my success on the fight circuit, there was
nothing
I could do to help
any of us
.

I felt powerless. Me, a 6’ 4” MMA heavyweight – totally helpless in the face of cold, hard reality.

It would take a
miracle
to make things right; and miracles were in short supply in Freehold, Texas. It wasn’t like the phone was just gonna ring, and all my prayers were magically going to be answered.

“Yo! Travis!”

I paused, looking up as I heard my name.

Breath ragged in my lungs, and sweat dripping down my brow, I saw my father standing at the corner of the trailer – the phone squished between his bandaged hands.

“It’s the phone, son,” my dad barked, striding on over. “Some guy called ‘Dan Blanc’ asking for you.”

I froze when I heard that name.

“Yeah,” Dad nodded, seeing my reaction. “That’s what I thought. He’s the head of the MMA League, right?”

I nodded wordlessly.

“Well, speak to him, goddammit. He says he’s got a fight for you.”

Chapter Thirty Three

Roxy

The tires squealed as I slewed the old truck to a halt outside Walt’s trailer. The engine hadn’t even died before my boots hit the asphalt, and I ran up the path.

Walt was waiting at the trailer door, and he ushered me inside.

“Is it true?” I demanded, as I barreled into the cramped little trailer.

Travis was sitting at the breakfast nook, head practically brushing the ceiling. He had the phone in one hand, and a pen in the other. A notepad in front of him was covered in notes.

“Well?” I snapped.

Travis looked up at me. His handsome face was like a mask – his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

“Fuck, Roxy,” he muttered, putting the phone down. “I-It
is
true.” He knew his dad had called me as soon as he’d heard. “That was the MMA League. They’ve actually got a fight for me.”

My cheeks hurt as my smile widened. Crossing the old trailer, I flung my arms around Travis and squeezed his beautifully muscled frame as hard as I could.

“I knew it,” I breathed hotly into his ear, kissing my old boyfriend’s cheek. “I
knew
they’d find a fight for you.”

This was a big deal. A final shot to salvage his fight career.

“When is it?” I demanded, finally letting Travis breath. “Who are you fighting? Do I know them? How long do you have to wait? They’re not fighting in Vegas again until the fall.”

Shit, this could be the miracle he’d been waiting for. Purse money. Media attention. The chance to cling onto his MMA stardom.

But, even as I rattled off my questions, I could see that Travis wasn’t feeling it.

He looked up at me, his face still mask-like.

“That’s just it, Roxy,” Travis breathed. “The fight’s not in Vegas.” He held up the notes he’d been scribbling, and I read the word even as he said it: “The fight’s in
London
.”

There was silence for a moment.

“What?” Walt injected finally. “Like, London,
England
?”

“Y-yeah,” Travis nodded. “They’re holding their first fight night in London, and one of the heavyweights got injured. They want me to fill in for him.”

“Well, that’s
great
,” Walt flashed his teeth. “Shit, son. You get to go to
London
. Fish and chips, jolly good show. All that shit.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Oates,” I told him, because I knew what he didn’t. “That’s the thing. The MMA event in London is
this week
.”

Walt’s smile faded.

“W-what?”

“Saturday night,” Travis explained, looking just as stunned as his father did. “They want me in London to fight on
Saturday
.”

“B-but… That’s, like,
three days from now
.”

“Exactly,” Travis nodded. “That’s the fuckin’ problem.”

And I knew it was a problem. Travis hadn’t been in an octagon in months. He still looked great – and, shit, his fight with Roy showed he still had it where it counted. But to suddenly be asked to fill in at a professional-level heavyweight bout?

With three day’s notice?

“Well, son,” Walt asked dryly. “What are you gonna do?”

And Travis looked up at us both, and raised his hands.

“I’m gonna do what I born to do, dad.” He allowed the corner of his lips to curl. “I’m gonna fucking
fight
.”