Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

She moves to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Of course.”


“I never wanted to go into the military in the first place. My dad put the big fat fucking kibosh on my music, shipped me off to military school, and I found myself out of options. I liked combat training, so I threw myself into becoming the best. I couldn’t wait to use what I’d learned, to fight and protect my country. But orders never came. I brought it up to my pops, asked him why the fuck everyone else was going off to fight except me. He told me I’d never see a battle field.”

“I can see that. I mean, I’d be sick if I had to send Axelle into war.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, because you love Axelle. With my dad, it was all about control. I swear the guy got off on watching me suffer. Taking away my music, training me for a fight I’d never get a chance to win.”

She drops her cheek to my chest and resumes tracing swirling patterns on my skin.

“Guys I knew since military school were being shipped overseas. A lot of them never came back. I felt so damn helpless. One day I woke up and realized that I’d let my dad control my life. I was a grown man, and I’d given up so much of what I wanted. I decided that day I was getting out. No matter what it took.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I started an underground fighting circuit. After a few warnings, I finally got what I wanted.”

“What was that?”

“Discharged. Disorderly conduct.” The words taste bitter. I want her to see me as honorable, not as a fit-throwing kid with daddy issues. I wait for the information to sink in and hope it doesn’t change the way she feels about me.

She doesn’t say a word, or jump off the bed in revulsion. “I’m surprised your dad didn’t fight to keep you in.”

“He did for a while, until he realized that I’d eventually beat him at his own game. He’d rather let me go than have me spend the rest of my military career embarrassing him.” I run my hand through her hair, leaching comfort from the silky locks. “You know the most fucked-up part? I didn’t feel good when I’d finally won. I felt like a coward. It’s exactly what he wanted me to feel. So even though I got out, I still lost.” I rub my eyes with my free hand.

Reliving the day I was discharged, when I saw the disappointment in my father’s eyes and knew that nothing I could do would ever be good enough, still hurts. When will I finally stop caring?

She burrows into my side in silent thought. “You know, just because someone makes you feel like a loser, doesn’t mean you are. Look at your fighting career. From where I sit, I’d say you won. And in less than two weeks, when you go up against “The Fade”, you’ll prove it again.”

Her insightful words settle in the dark void behind my ribs, making me instantly feel better. I kiss her head, unable to vocalize how much I appreciate her understanding. More than ready for a subject change, I focus on the fight. “Two weeks. Can’t wait.” I’m so prepared, not even a flutter of nervous energy stirs at the thought. Or maybe it’s the thickness that hangs in my blood from the weight of our conversation. “Which reminds me, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” My stomach rolls with anxiety.

What does it say about a man who can walk into the ring to face a trained fighter and not even flinch, but the thought of asking his woman out makes him twitchy?

She nuzzles in closer. “What is it?”

I’m grateful she doesn’t tip her face to look at me. I don’t need the extra pressure. Pulling in a deep breath, I charge forward. “In five days, I’d like to take you out.”

Her neck stiffens a second before she lifts her head and props her chin on my chest. “On a date?”

“Not just a date.”

Her eyebrows pinch together and her gaze slides to the side then back to mine. “I don’t get it.”

“Pretty simple, Mouse. I’m asking if you’ll be my Valentine.”

A lazy smile curls her lips, seductive and sexy as hell. “Yeah?”

“That a question or an answer, sweetheart?”

“Both.” She dips her chin, a faint blush visible even in the dawn-hued light. “I’ve never had a Valentine.”

A woman married for sixteen years has never had a Valentine? Every time I learn of a new way her ex failed her, the burning in my chest that’s becoming as familiar as my own heartbeat flares up. I count to ten, take deep breaths, and force a steady voice. “That’s all right, Mouse. I’m a virgin Valentiner, too.”

She giggles and drops her cheek back to my chest. As soon as her eyes are off me, I scrape off my bogus smile. My pulse races. She has to be able to hear it from her position.

“What are we going to do?”

I’m still counting to calm myself down and release the lock my jaw has on my mouth. “Just be ready by seven. I’ll take care of the rest.”

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