She rolls her eyes and throws out a hip. “Nope. This is the place. I drop her off every morning and pick her up every night. I should know.”
Drops her off and picks her up every night? It’s not one of the Cage Girls. They’re only here a couple days a week. Vanessa is single. No kids. That only leaves—no fucking way.
I grab onto the chain link, speaking through the cage. “Who’s your mom, kiddo?”
“Lay—”
“Elle?” Layla’s voice sounds panicked as she hurries across the room to the teenager.
“Mom!” Elle spins around, her long, straight, and very dark hair flying with the force of her movement. “That piece of shit car broke down. Do you know how embarrassing it is to try and start your car in a parking lot full of assholes laughing at you?”
Layla’s face ignites in a bright red blush. “Watch your mouth.”
She motions to Rex and me in the octagon. “Mom, I’m pretty sure these guys have heard it all before. Jeez.”
“That’s not the point. You’re sixteen years old.” She’s trying to keep her voice down, but I’m hanging on every word.
Did she say sixteen? That’s impossible. Layla doesn’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter.
“Did you not hear what I said? I’m telling you our only car is toast, and you’re worried about me saying shit in front of a couple of rough-neck fighters?”
“Axelle Rose. That’s enough.”
No. She. Fucking. Didn’t. She named her daughter after the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses. I feel the weight of my jaw as my mouth hangs wide open.
“I had to bum a ride off a guy from school just to get here. Luckily he’s super sweet, or I’d probably be dead right now.”
Layla’s face pinches in disapproval. “Dammit. You should have called me from school. I could’ve sent a cab.”
Nothing about this is okay. I piece together the things I’m learning. Young mom, broken by a man, living alone with a teenage daughter. I flex my fists and grind my teeth.
Before I’m even aware of what I’m doing, I’m moving toward them. “Who brought you here?”
Axelle tilts her head, motioning to the lobby. “A guy from school. Said he wouldn’t leave until I found my mom.”
“And your car?”
“School parking lot.”
I direct my next question to Layla. “You have any roadside assistance, triple A?”
She studies her feet and shakes her head.
“Right. Give me a second to get cleaned up.”
“Blake, this isn’t your problem to—”
I glare hard at Layla, silencing her immediately. “Don’t.” I look up at Rex. “I need a couple hours.”
Rex gives me a chin lift and a wicked smile. Dick.
I walk toward the locker room to get changed but stop when a hand grabs my elbow. I growl in irritation as I turn around. “What?”
Layla pulls her hand off at my reaction. “Blake, I need to apologize. Last night…” She rolls her fingers into the hem of her shirt. “I was wrong. I accused you and attacked you, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
I watch her dark eyelashes flutter behind her librarian-style glasses. Her eyes are puffy, like she needs a good night’s sleep, and her hair is raked in to a messy ball at the back of her head. She doesn’t look any less gorgeous, but she’s not as put together as usual. Guilt washes over me. I was brutal to her last night. No doubt my words brought up shit she’s been trying to forget. They probably kept her up most the night. And she has a kid she needs to take care of. Damn, I’m such an ass.
She clears her throat and her eyes move back to mine, searching. “You’re still mad. I understand.” Her voice is despondent, lacking the confidence of its usual sass.
“Mouse, last night was my fault. That bullshit, me being a dick, that wasn’t about you. It’s me who’s sorry.”
“It’s cool. I accused you of sleeping with Mac. I was out of line.”
We could play apology pong all day, but I need to get her car taken care of so that I can get back to training. Despite the responsibilities demanding my attention, I can’t drag myself away from her. Man, that sounds weak.
“So we both fucked up,” she says. “That makes us even.”
I’d take everything she said last night a thousand times over if it meant I got to keep those few moments with her talking about music, our easy conversation and her unguarded smile. During those moments there wasn’t a hint of the tough-girl fa?ade she usually wears. Even now, the mask is gone. Her eyes are soft, blinking and apologetic, revealing the weak woman that lives behind the armor.
“Let’s take care of your car.” It’s the least I can do after the verbal daggers I tossed last night.
Her eyebrows pinch together. She rolls her lips between her teeth and nods.
“I’ll meet you girls in the lobby.”