Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance (6 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Roxy

Give me a handsome man with children or animals, and I’m putty.

Which annoyed the shit out of me, as I sat at the edge of the karate mats, and saw Travis Oates hijack my afternoon ‘Little Ninja’ class.

The arrogant piece of shit, I growled internally. Just swooping in and taking over my class, like he owned the place.

But, then again, part of me was grateful. I’d been shaken up by those strangers stopping me on the highway; and my head wasn’t in the game as I tried to figure out how to lead the kids through the forms that afternoon.

So I took Travis’ presumptuous action in the spirit I assumed it was intended, and leaned back to watch.

As I said earlier, I’m a sucker for handsome men around kids, and Travis was no exception.

He towered over the eight and nine year old ‘Little Ninjas’ and they all looked up at him adoringly, like he was a giant, or something. And the way he smiled that big, easy Texas smile, and laughed at their comments and quips, was adorable.

“Okay, kids. Why don’t you start off showin’ me what Ms. Roxy has taught you. Give me your
dan-gun
.”

Like little soldiers, the kids obediently found their spots, and started to show off the taekwondo form I’d been drilling into them.
Dan-gun
was a yellow belt form, and my little ninjas performed it seamless synchronization.

I was pretty impressed with myself. I’d never seen it except from the head of the class before, and I was happy that these young kids could remain so focused and synchronized as they went through the memorized pattern of maneuvers.

“
Damn
,” Travis beamed, changing it to a self-conscious (and kid-friendly) ‘darn’ as the form ended. “That’s pretty impressive. But let me give y’all some tips.”

I snorted as I watched Travis pick out individual students, and give them pointers on how to improve their form. It was just like him – to heap on the praise, and then pick at the edges. I remembered it from when he used to teach and study at X-AMERICA himself, all those years ago.

The class continued a little less formally, with some drills and sparring. Soon it had descended into kind of a free-for-all, with Travis virtually chasing the kids around the mats, and them tackling and assaulting him like lion cubs trying to take down a giraffe.

But I didn’t care – and looking around the room, neither did the kid’s parents. They were happy with the infectious giggles, and laughs, and happy questions from the kids.

As the class wrapped up, everybody was red in the face, and smiling. Travis ruffled a couple of kid’s hair, and told them all, “Good job” as they bounded off to their parents.

They were all filled with so much more enthusiasm than they’d had when they’d arrived at class earlier. It was kind of beautiful to see.

I was up then, and had to do my prerequisite small-talk and chit-chat with the parents. But as the kids and their moms and dads shuffled out of the karate center, I felt the mood of the place had been elevated.

It felt almost like it had done all those years ago – when Travis had still been here, and dad had still been alive.

“Hey, sugar,” Travis stepped up behind me as the last of the parents left, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. My first instinct was to shrug it off angrily – but it felt too warm, and reassuring for that.

“That was a good class,” I turned and looked up at him, as Travis loomed over me. “The kids loved you.”

He snorted dryly.

“They just thought I was some big climbin’ frame, that’s all,” he laughed. “But I’m impressed, Roxy. Those cute little tykes know their forms. That
dan-gun
was on point.”

I nudged him in the ribs.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I growled. “We’re not ‘the best martial arts school in Freeport’ for nothing, y’know.”

But I didn’t want to quantify that by admitting we were the
only
martial arts school in Freeport – and maybe not even
that
for very much longer.

Travis didn’t mention it. He just squeezed my shoulder again, and asked, “When’s your next class? You want to grab a coffee or something?”

It was 90 degrees outside, and I was sweating in my heavy
gi
. The very thought of a hot coffee right now disgusted me.

But I still said, “Sure,” and happily started stripping my uniform off; happy for the break.

Chapter Seventeen

Travis

“So, what did you mean, You’re broke?”

We were sitting at a run-down little diner called Turn of the Tide Café, sipping on two cups of straight, black Joe – and it looked like Roxy was being as straight with her questions as she was with her coffee.

I scratched my head and looked away.

“That’s what dad asked me – and that’s why I told him I was goin’ out for groceries.”

My skin was crawling, as I tried to force out what had happened.

Roxy preempted me, though.

“Wait, I thought you we some big-shot MMA fighter up in New York? In that fancy brownstone apartment, and at parties in Vegas every weekend.”

Reluctantly I turned to look back across the table at Roxy. Despite the air conditioning in that little café, I was sweating.

“Yeah, well, my dad wasn’t the only one who got hurt by those last two losses of mine.” I took a deep breath. “Listen, Roxy. I didn’t come back down to Texas just to see my old man. I did it ‘cos I didn’t have any place else to go.”

Roxy blinked those beautiful, blue eyes at me.

“What d’you mean?”

“I lost two fights in a row, Roxy,” I explained. “And that last one was against a bottom-tier fighter. I should’ve whipped ‘Bruiser’
easy
.”

It was like spitting out broken glass, admitting this next truth.

“I’m
done
, Roxy. My career’s
over
.”

Roxy sat across the table from me, and she blinked.

“Are you for real?”

I snorted bitterly.

“Look, there ain’t nothing definite about it. I spoke to Dan Blanc, the guy in charge of the MMA League, and he keeps promisin’: ‘We’ll find you something.’”

I sipped my coffee.

“But I know how it goes. If you’re not winning, you ain’t running. There aren’t many fighters who’ve bounced back from two straight losses like me; and there isn’t another fighter they’re ready to square me off against.”

Roxy was silent for a second, chewing her bottom lip. She looked fucking adorable doing that, and it messed with my head.

“It feels pretty shitty,” I broke the silence. “When dad asked me to lend him that money, I felt like a fucking failure having to tell him ‘no.’”

I squeezed shut my eyes.

“Fuck, I remember all that cash I blew at parties in the city, The designer cowboy boots. Flyin’ first class to Vegas. Five grand was
nothin’
back then.”

But now it was
everything
. The difference between whether or not my father’s legs got broken – or worse.

“I-I’m sorry,” Roxy reached over and laid her hand on mine. “Fuck, I’d lend him the money myself, but I’m not even sure I have enough to make rent this month.”

I pulled my hand away.

“Are you
serious
?”

Roxy took a ragged breath.

“What can I say? It’s this town, man. Ever since the oil business started movin’ up north, so have all the customers. I’m barely scraping by myself.”

“Wait… So you think you might have to
close
the school?”

I looked at Roxy and shuddered.

Not X-AMERICA. Not the karate school. That place was virtually my home to me – a hell of a lot more than the shit-box doublewide Dad and I had shared growing up.

“I-I don’t know what to do, Travis,” Roxy admitted, reaching over the grab my hand again. “I just can’t make things work anymore – and it’s
killing
me.

And I knew why.

Roxy’s dad had started X-AMERICA when he’d left the Navy. He and my dad had both served on the U.S.S. America – a truly beautiful aircraft carrier that had seen action in Vietnam and Desert Storm.

The karate center was named after the ship - because in the 1990s the U.S. Navy had sunk the beautiful old carrier under the ocean, in a bunch of ‘weapons trials’ to see how tough it would be to sink an aircraft carrier.

Roxy’s dad had protested outside the White House about that. Written letters to the President. Tried to do anything to convince them to save the old ship – turn it into a museum, or something.

But instead, it was a mile and a half under water, and his martial arts school bore the name instead.

X-AMERICA, as in ex-America.

“Dad would turn in his grave if he knew,” Roxy sighed, wiping her eye. “This place was
everything
to him. I feel like a fucking failure.” She snorted. “I feel like I’m doing to his old school what the Navy did to that stupid old boat.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” I curled my fingers around hers, and squeezed. “We’ll figure something out.”

But for the life of me, I didn’t know what.

Chapter Eighteen

Roxy

It was nine o’clock at night, and I was locking up X-AMERICA.

As I stood in the doorway, fiddling with the keys, I thought about what a waste the evening had been.

I’d had three local women turn up for the cardio kick-boxing class, and then old Jeff Howrey show up for the krav maga class that followed.

I loved old Jeff – he’d been a good friend of dad’s, and one of the school’s longest-standing customers – but I knew he was only coming to class out of loyalty now. Shit, I had to pull Joe Santos away from his mop and bucket to serve as a sparring partner, because I was too small for Jeff to tackle effectively.

As I locked up, I was trying to do the calculations in my head, and work out how much money I’d made that evening.

I’d hung around at the karate center for an extra four hours after the kids’ classes had ended, and paid Joe for cleaning and mopping the mats. Adding that all up together, given the four students who’d turned up, and I figured I’d made about ten bucks for all my hard work.

That wouldn’t even pay for the Sourdough Chicken Club and fries I intended to buy from Jack in the Box on my drive home.

Fuck
.

I finished locking up, and turned to stare across the parking lot. It was empty except for Dad’s old Ford, sitting lonesome beneath the flickering street light.

But then I saw headlights, and heard the rumble of a powerful engine.

A car was pulling into the lot.

My heart immediately raced. Who the fuck was it? Was it those clowns from earlier?

I lifted my hand to my eyes, to shield my face from the bright glare of the headlights. Blinded, I couldn’t even tell what car had just rolled in – and that terrified me.

Dammit, why did I have to park my truck all the way across the parking lot? And be so dumb as to leave that Ruger .44 in the glove compartment?

I started to cross the lot, but the car came roaring forward, and blocked my path.

I skidded to a halt, and my hands balled into fists. Dammit, it if was those Cadillac-driving creeps from earlier, I’d make sure I gave ‘em at least as good as Travis had.

Except as soon as the vehicle passed me, the lights got out of my eyes, and I could see it clearly.

And I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Walt’s old Chevy S-10 slewed to a halt in front of me, and it was Travis who roared out of the open window, “Evenin’ pretty lady.”

Thank
fuck
. It was just
him
.

“What the
fuck
are you doing here, Travis?” Trying to pretend my nerves weren’t still shot, I sauntered over to the rumbling truck and bent my head through the open window. “You tryin’ to scare me, or something?”

Travis leaned back in the old velour seats, and grinned at me.

“Hop in. I figured we’d take a ride.”

I snorted.

“
Smooth
,” I told him, “but I’ve got to get home. And my days of parking out on Riverside with you are
over
, buddy.”

Travis’ infuriatingly sexy lips curled as he listened to that.

“We ain’t going to Make-Out Point, sugar,” he warned. “I want to check out Ol’ Smokeys. That bar you told me about.”

Suddenly, that thrill of fear from earlier returned.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” I demanded. “Red Callahan’s bar? The dude who busted up your dad’s hands?”

“Yeah,” Travis nodded. “I think ol’ Red and I need to have words.”

I remembered how scared I’d been, when those thugs had blocked me on the highway earlier. What they’d been intending to do, I didn’t want to think about – and I sure as hell didn’t want to go chasing after them, either.

It was as if Travis could read my mind.

“Look, I don’t have five grand. Pops sure as hell doesn’t. So I’m goin’ to drive on over to Ol’ Smokeys, talk to this Red fella myself, and see if we can’t cut a deal.”

Travis’ easy smile evaporated, as he told me, “I ain’t leaving town knowing those Cadillac-drivin’ assholes are looking to break my daddy’s legs.”

I looked across the cab at Travis, and saw the determination in his lean, handsome face.

I knew I couldn’t talk him out of it. Shit, I didn’t even know if I wanted to. As far as shitty plans went, this was the best one I could have hoped for.

But I didn’t like it. Going after the man who broke your father’s hands – even to ‘cut a deal’ with them – seemed about as smart as poking a hornet’s nest with a stick.

‘If something’s trouble, you’re better off just leavin’ it the hell alone.’ Dad had always warned.

I just wish I’d listened to him.

“Okay, wise-ass,” I growled at Travis. “That sounds like the dumbest plan in Christendom. But what does it have to do with me?”

“I need you to show me where the damn place is,” Travis demanded. “And to keep me out of trouble when I get there.”

I stood there, leaning against the old truck, and considered my options.

Travis was a smart guy. He’d find the place if I gave him directions. Shit, the bar was on the old Bluewater Highway and it wasn’t as if you could get lost on that five-mile stretch of coastal road.

But as attractive as the idea of crawling back home to bed sounded, I knew I couldn’t let him go on his own.

I didn’t know much about this Red Callahan guy – but I knew enough to know that Ol’ Smokey’s was trouble.

The sheriff avoided it. The bikers flocked to it. The sound of gunshots and screams echoed across the bay from Smokey’s every night.

Reaching down, I swung open the door to the old Chevy, and clambered into the passenger seat.

“Head south on the 332,” I told him, as Travis let in the clutch. “and for fuck’s sake, let’s try to stay out of trouble.”

Travis grinned at me, and knocked the rumbling old truck into gear.

He didn’t need to say it. I already knew.

He wasn’t very good at staying out of trouble.