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 façade 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.”
She turns back to her daughter. Her arms are tucked in tight to her body, making her seem small and vulnerable. I flash back to my childhood—my dad picking away at my mom until she was no more than a vapor of the woman she used to be. Tiny. Weak. Victimized. Remorse and a sense of responsibility flood my brain, both familiar and unwelcome.
I change as quickly as I can. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can mentally bitch-slap myself back to indifference.
In the lobby, Layla and Axelle are standing with a teenage boy and… Jonah?
“…you come by Monday through Friday after school, we’ll find something to keep you busy.” The tail end of Jonah’s sentence catches my attention.
“Great! Thanks, Assassin.” The lanky kid shakes Jonah’s hand.
“What’s up?” I’m talking to Jonah, but my eyes are fixed on the messy-headed boy.
“Blake, this is Killian. He’s a fan and a friend of Layla’s daughter. I met him last year at the airport. He’s a fuck—er—friggin’ walking Wikipedia of MMA knowledge.”
Axelle bounces on her toes and claps her hands. “The Assassin said he’d let Killian come train here if he helps out with shit.”
“Axelle,” Layla hisses to her daughter, who responds to the reprimand by rolling her eyes.
“Sounds good to me.” I step into Killian’s space. “Thanks for taking care of things. I think we’ve got it from here.”
“Sure thing, Snake.” He shuffles on his feet. “Oh, and you’re going to crush Wade ‘The Fade’ Fuller. His ground game is hopeless. Remember when he fought The Reaper back in ‘09 and couldn’t get side control, as messed up as The Reaper was? Pathetic, man.”
Jonah raises his eyebrows and tilts his head toward Killian.
I nod. “Damn, kid. I remember that fight. The Fade showed his ass big time.”
Killian shrugs and fidgets with his car keys. “Yeah, he doesn’t stand a chance against your submissions. Especially that triangle hold. It’s the best I’ve seen in MMA.”
Jonah mumbles something about his being better.
“Thanks. You really know your shit.”
Layla groans and throws her palm to her forehead. Axelle giggles.
“Killian, with your height, you’d be in the same weight class as Blake. You’d learn a lot from watching him.”
“That’s awesome. Well, I better go.” Killian turns to Axelle with a grin. “See you tomorrow, Elle.”
They say their goodbyes, and Jonah excuses himself to take a phone call.
“First things first. Let’s get your car to the shop.” I pull out my phone, dial, and push send.
The phone rings twice, and then she answers. “Hey, Blake. What’s up?”
“Baby girl, I’ve got a job for you.”
Seven
Layla
Baby girl? Oh, great. He’s enlisting the help of one of his many. I groan deeply and curse my shitty luck.
After a quick conversation that mostly involves him giving the location, make, and model of our car, he hangs up the phone.
Elle squeals like a groupie when she sees Blake’s black Rubicon in the lot. “We get to ride in that?”
“How the heck do we get in it?” I say, making sure I keep my voice low so Blake can’t hear.
The thing is lifted high on tires that are almost as tall as I am. Its dark-tinted windows blend in with the coal-colored paint. He opens the passenger side doors and waits for us to load up.
Climbing in is easier than I thought, but once inside, I’m surrounded by the woodsy scent of his aftershave. After last night, I decided that I’d accept a friendship with Blake, but I’d never allow my head to go where my body leads when Blake’s close. Engulfed in the aroma of pine trees and bark after a good rain, I’m squirming in my seat.
He fires up the engine and pulls onto the main road. The stereo is playing AFI’s “Silver and Cold”, and I’m singing along in my head.
“AFI and Metallica?” he says, and gives me a quick peek before turning his eyes back to the road.
“Um… what?” The mention of Metallica brings back our conversation from last night, and how easily we fell into a light-hearted debate about the metal band. And the ease in which I forgot my place and let down my guard.
He points to his stereo. “You like AFI.”
I swing my gaze out the window, hoping to avoid another conversation that might end like last night’s. “Oh, I don’t really—”
“You were humming.”
My shoulders tense to my ears. I was freakin’ humming? Not the best way to show my apathy. “They’re okay.”
“Mom listens to AFI when she cleans. She has at least four of their CDs.” Thank you for the outing, Elle.
The rest of the car ride is silent. Blake never talks about music again and stares straight ahead. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaning back, one arm stretched out to the steering wheel, the other cocked, resting outside the open window. His large, muscular thighs are open and relaxed, filling out his jeans to perfection.
That’s the type of thing I told myself I’d stop noticing about him. And yet…
The effort it takes to try to come up with a list of Blake’s unattractive qualities takes a lot of concentration, and suddenly we’re parking in the lot of an auto body shop. “Guy’s Garage” is painted in blue letters outside the industrial-style building.
We all climb down from his car and follow him into the multi-car garage.
That’s when I see her. A young woman, probably not much older than Elle, comes from around the front end of a truck. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, messy but somehow put together. Her long, slender frame is covered in blue work overalls, which are unzipped at the top to reveal a bright yellow shirt. That’s got to be baby girl.
“Wow,” Elle whispers from over my shoulder.
My jaw falls open when I notice the color of her eyes, a unique mix of blue and green like I’ve never seen. A pale scar slices through one of her eyebrows. Where most scars would hinder a person’s beauty, this one only enhances her unique look. She’s the type of girl I’d picture Blake with. Young, and girl-crush gorgeous.