Chasing What’s Mine by Ava Gray
Dax
“No, no, no! What are you doing?”
I step out of the grapple and Oggy, my sparring partner, retreats to his corner of the mat, both of us turning to look at my trainer. His basketball head is red, and the veins in his neck are protruding the way they usually do when he’s about to chew me out about something.
“I told you a hundred times, Dax,” he says, “swing left when he comes in with the jab.”
“Sorry, Miles, I’ll swing left next time,” I say, holding up my hands in apology.
“I can’t do shit with ‘sorry’, and I sure as hell can’t train a champion with it. Again.” He claps his hands together, motioning for us to give it another go.
I know I have to focus, that this title fight could be the biggest one of my careers, and the routine Miles has worked out for me could make or break it. We’ve been through it seven times this morning alone, so my body is pretty much moving on its own, give or take a few slip ups. Like swinging right when I should go left.
But I just can’t stop thinking about last night. I know what I should be doing and that my mind should be on nothing but that. But instead, my head is filled with a bunch of other stuff that has no place inside the cage. Like the reporters cross-examining me, making it clear they have no faith in me for the win. Not exactly the way I wanted to go into this fight. Then there’s Stash, who showed up out of the blue, threatening me about bullshit. It’s always tough when my not-so-great past clashes with my new life.
And then of course, there’s Gemma.
Of all the curve balls that have come my way, she is the most surprising. And if I’m honest, the most intriguing. It’s amazing what a few years away can do to a fresh-faced teenager. For starters, there was nothing teenaged about her in that dress last night. And if I were a little more honest, I’m pretty sure she was flirting with me.
All of a sudden, I’m blinking thousands of tiny stars out of my eyes, flat on my back with Oggy smiling smugly down at me. My head feels thick and much too heavy for my neck, so I just lie there on the mat.
Oggy pulls out his gum guard and holds out a hand to me. “Should’ve seen that one.”
Miles stalks over and slaps his hand away just as I reach up to take it. “Get out of here,” he says to him.
Oggy slinks off like a dog that’s just been kicked, and my head drops back onto the mat. I know I’m going to get it from Miles, and I can’t blame him. He has a job to do, and I’m not making it very easy for him to get through it.
“You got something you wanna say?” he asks, scowling at me with his hands on his sides where his hips would be if he weren’t completely spherical. It’s hard to believe this man used to be one of the best MMA fighters of his day. The thought occurs to me that I could be him in a few years, sooner rather than later if I don’t get my act together.
He aims a nudging kick to my ribs that rattles me. “You deaf?”
I spit out my gum guard. “Can we take five?”
“Five?” Judging by the intense red his face glows, that was the wrong question to ask. “You gonna ask Menendez for five when he knocks you down? You think he’s gonna give you five when he’s busy beating the crap outta you?”
I say nothing and just look up at him with what I hope is a blank expression. It wouldn’t help if Miles knew I was flipping him off in my mind right now. He’s the best, and that’s why he’s my trainer. But sometimes he can be a little single-minded, as if it doesn’t register with him that there’s a life outside the ring.
He takes my silence for stubbornness and throws his hands up in the air with an exasperated sigh. “Take five. Take the day, I don’t care.” He starts walking away, still yammering to anyone who’ll listen. “Take the whole fucking year. What does it matter?”
The door to his office slams shut, reverberating through the entire gym. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I lie on the mat, but I’m too relieved for the moment’s peace to care.
I close my eyes and let the sounds of the gym relax me, the way they always do. The squeak of training shoes inside the sparring cage, the dull thud of punches landing on the vertical bag, groans of pain coming from people in the middle of the torture that only a rigorous floor routine can inflict. In the distance, a shower bursts to life. I take it all in and let it seep through the tension in my tired muscles. This is my version of those ambient sound machines some people use to get to sleep. The fight, and everything related to it has always been my lifeline. My sanctuary.
“Is this your secret move that’s going to win you the title? Are you just going to lie there and play dead?”
When I open my eyes, I’m staring into Gemma’s deep pools of blue. She’s wearing a wry smile as she looks down at me, her short blonde hair falling freely around her perfect face.
The knockdown from Oggy is nothing compared to the one from Gemma.
“I figure if it works for the opossum, it might work for me, too.” I push up from the floor and drag my forearm across my forehead in an attempt to get rid of the sweat that’s built up, but nothing short of a shower is going to stop me from looking like someone who’s spent the past few hours training like his life depended on it. And I shouldn’t care about what I look like to Gemma, after all. She’s my best friend’s sister, and therefore forbidden territory.
Unfortunately, that only makes her all the more enticing. Especially with the way her tight t-shirt is stretching across her ample chest, and her tiny shorts that emphasize her killer legs. I guess I found one thing that’s worse torture than a rigorous floor routine—having someone like Gemma right in front of me and not being able to do anything about it.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asks, her eyes looking me over until they lock with mine.
“Does your brother know you’re here?”
She shakes her head slowly, almost imperceptibly. I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m sure it’s not just coming from me.
“I was just on my way to meet a friend, and thought I’d stop by to ask if maybe an earring turned up in your Lost and Found.”
“An earring?” I’m a little thrown by the randomness of that statement.
She drops her eyes and nods, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a gold oak leaf. I think I dropped it around here somewhere.”
And the way she’s scanning the floor, it’s almost as if she’s expecting to spot the damn thing. After the cleaning service pulled through this place, she’d be lucky to find any trace of what happened here last night. It’s gone back to being just a plain old training gym, like Cinderella’s carriage at midnight.
“Uh, the official Lost and Found is a grimy box over by the lockers, and that’s just full of sweaty towels, dirty boxers, and the odd G-string.”
I watch her eyebrows shoot up the way I pretty much expected. A small chuckle bubbles out of me then. She’s so goddamn adorable.
“Well, um, if you do find something—”
“A gold oak leaf; got it. Does it mean anything special?”
A slight furrow creases her brow. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know.” I gesture at the ink on my chest. “If I think about myself, everything on me is there for a reason, you know. Every tattoo—”
“This necklace?” Her fingers brush against my bare chest as she inspects the silver medallion hanging there. Pure jolts of electricity flash through me, setting my nerve endings alight. “I always noticed it, but never got to ask you about it.”
“Yeah,” I say, and clear my throat. My voice has suddenly become thick and very telling of what’s happening inside my body. “My counselor gave it to me when I got out. It’s the Sanskrit symbol for hope.”
“Got out,” she says, softly repeating my words. Her hand drops away and she bites down on her lips.
I know there’s something she wants to ask and is physically keeping herself from asking. But my life before I made it big as a pro fighter has never been a secret. If anything, I’ve always used it as inspiration and motivation to make sure I never go back to that dark place.
“What is it?” I ask, and she looks as though she’s taking a moment to consider the right words.
But out of nowhere, we’re no longer alone in the world anymore.
“Do you mind helping with my stretches?” One of our regulars suddenly appears at my side, and she’s already pulling me over to her mat before I can say anything.
I give Gemma an apologetic shrug as I’m guided to kneel over my eager trainee. She goes down onto her back and lifts one leg over my shoulder. My job is to lean over her, placing my weight on that leg to push it back as far as it will go. It’s a common stretch, but with Gemma’s eyes on me, it feels like an intimate act that should be happening behind closed doors. The woman groaning with pleasure under me doesn’t help things. Talk about the worst possible timing.
“God, that feels good,” she says, her voice all breathy and deep.
I glance behind me, and Gemma’s still standing where I left her, pretending to be looking at something on the other side of the gym.
“I’m going to let Chuck take over here,” I say.
She moans and sticks out her bottom lip like a baby. “But I want you.”
I ignore her and get up, motioning for Chuck, one of my spotters, to come over. “I’ll spot you once you hit the bag,” I say to her, and then turn away before she can protest any more.
“You know she’s just a fangirl, right?” Gemma says, as I come up to her.
“I’ll have you know that Electra wants to be an amateur featherweight.”
“Electra,” she says, holding back a laugh.
“Yes, she’s in here training all the time. Really dedicated.”
“I’m sure she’s very dedicated, but not to training. She’s in full make-up with a perfect manicure,” Gemma says, folding her arms across her chest.
“So what? Are you jealous?”
“Do you want me to be?” she asks without missing a beat, instantly turning the tables on me.
But Gemma’s got a thing or two to learn, and I’m in the best position to teach her. I take a step closer to her, and her arms drop to her sides. The air between us is charged. My fingers touch hers ever so slightly, but it’s enough to send a lightning bolt straight through me. The hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“You weren’t wearing any earrings last night,” I say, my voice low.
Her eyes burn into mine. “How perceptive of you.”
I swear I would grab her right here and now if we didn’t have the entire gym as an audience. And if there wasn’t the tiny situation of her family.
“What do you think Aiden would have to say about this?”
I feel her fingers twitch against mine, like she’s trying to keep from taking my hand. It’s clear that she’s fighting this just as much as I am.
“Aiden’s not here,” she says.
Her breathing has deepened, causing her chest to lightly brush against me with every rise and fall. She tilts her chin and I lick my lips as she slowly parts hers. I don’t know what’s happening, what we’re doing, or what she wants, but all of that is secondary to the urgent need I have to kiss her in this moment.
“Sorry to break it up, Lover Boy, but we gotta talk.”
Gemma flinches away from me as if she’s been burned, and I don’t know what grates me more—that reaction, or the fact that Stash is standing in front of me with a smug look on his face. Of all the shady things in my past, he is the one thing I wish would just stay there instead of cropping up at the worst possible times.
“Hey, man,” I say, trying to keep level. I’m all too aware that Gemma’s watching us both very closely.
“Oh, hey, man?” He sniggers and steps closer to me. It looks like a challenge. Feels like one, too. “Hey, man? That’s it? That’s all you got?”
“Uh, I think I’m going to go,” Gemma says.
“Yeah, why don’t you run along and leave the big boys to talk?”
That’s the last thing I want. I reach out and touch her arm. “It’s okay, this won’t take long.”
Her eyes go from me to the menacing look on Stash’s face, and I can tell she really doesn’t want to be here.
“That’s okay,” she says. “I’m late to meet my friend.” And with that, she doubles back and hurries out of the gym.
The muscles in my jaw tighten as I turn my attention to Stash. I just went from being overwhelmed with desire to being overcome with anger at this nitwit in front of me. The only thing keeping me from losing my shit and decking him is once again the fact that we’re not alone here.
“Was that really necessary?” I say through clenched teeth.
“Everything okay, boss?” Chuck asks from his position on the mat with Electra.
I notice for the first time that Stash’s entrance has caused all activity in the gym to come to a halt, with everyone’s eyes on us. I can’t blame them. He’s not exactly the type you see around these places, with prison tats running up his neck and across half of his face. Although he has the unmistakable build of a fighter, he looks like the kind of trouble you wouldn’t want in your life. Stash is the kind of guy you expect to meet in just the place he usually hangs out—the street.
I wave a dismissive hand Chuck’s way and motion for Stash to follow me over to the smoothie bar where there’s less traffic, and therefore less ears to listen to us.
“You can’t keep coming around here like this,” I say, once we’re in the clear.
“I wouldn’t be coming here at all if you just did what I told you to do.” He pushes his finger into my chest to drive home his point. “Guess who I saw together just this morning? Having breakfast at Sal’s?”
Oh, man, he’s going out of his way to call me out. My fists ball up without me even thinking about it, but I shove them into the pockets of my training shorts instead of into his face like I really want to. Now’s not the time.
“Like I told you last night, I can’t tell my best friend’s brother to break up with his girl because some thug has a problem with it.”
His laugh is like bitter acid dribbling out of his mouth. “Thug, huh? My, my, Daytona, fighting fancy’s given you some balls after all.”
“Just lay off, okay? You and Ciara broke up a year ago. Get over it and let her move on.”
He steps into me then, his foul breath playing hot on my face. “I’m not getting over nothing,” he says. “And the only one she’s moving on with is me. So, you break them up, or I’m unleashing hell on you people.”
I use both my hands to push against his chest and make him back off. I may not be playing into his provocations, but I sure as hell won’t stand by and let him treat me this way in my own damn gym.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say. “And I don’t want you back here again, you hear? I mean it.”
Stash cackles, the sound slicing through my bones. “Oh, I’m so scared,” he says, and puts on a show of shaking with fear.
He’s such an asshole.
“Tell you what,” he says then, “you want the privilege of ordering me around, you gotta earn it.”
I know where he’s going with this. It’s the same place he’s been trying to go ever since I left street fighting and went pro.
“Not gonna happen, Stash.”
“You, me, and the rules of the street. Fight it out the way real men do.”
I would love to get my hands on him without any rules holding me back, but not only could that land me back in prison if we got caught, it’d tank my career for sure. And that’s something I’m not willing to compromise for anyone, or any amount of pride.
“Screw you and get the fuck out of my gym.”
“Chicken shit,” he says, laughing again. This time he adds chicken sound effects as well. And as he makes his way out, he goes through the trouble of knocking everything off the bar counter, sending glass shattering everywhere.
Like I said, asshole.