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Jax drops my hand and sighs heavily. He leans his elbows on his thighs, dropping his hands between his knees. “Both of you can’t win the fight,” he says, changing topics.
“Obviously,” I snap back.
“Why do youbothhave to win?”
I shake my head. “Once, a very sarcastic, very miserable fighter told me a saying...” I smile in his face. “Nunya.”
His gaze sparks like he’s going to rage at me. Instead, the corners of his lips turn up into a slight smile. Hardly noticeable. In fact, I don’t know if it can even be called a smile at all. Maybe a cross between a grimace, a sneer, and a reluctant compliment. He purses his lips. “Let’s just say at one point in my life I wasn’t free. When I got free, I decided to tattoo it on my knuckles to remind me to fight for my freedom every damn chance I got.”
Goosebumps skitter up my spine. The sentiment is one I know all too well. I don’t know how or what happened to make Jax feel trapped. There are so many ways you can feel that way, and freedom is always the better option. It’s something to fight for.
That’s why I’m here.
I mirror his position, leaning over with my elbows on my knees. A drop of sweat rolls down my spine. He told me a truth, so now it’s my turn. “I won’t go too much into it because I know you don’t want to get involved in Heights Crew business, which I think is extremely smart and important that you don’t get mixed up in it, by the way,” I tell him, locking gazes. “But I need to win the fight so shit doesn’t go downhill for me. Brawler needs to win it for the same reason.” I glance over at Brawler while he sits in the corner by himself. He has his feet pulled up in front of him on the wide bench, his arms wrapped tightly around them. The hood of his sweatshirt is up, hiding his face. He’s been sitting there with his back against the wall ever since we broke off to start training.
“Or else?”
“Or else we’re fucked.”
Since Brawler’s recruiting into the Heights, he needs the win. If he doesn’t get it, we don’t know what the punishment might be, and I don’t even want to think about it. As for me, K is already fed up with my existence. If I lose this fight, therefore losing the fight audience, he may not have a use for me. Not even Johnny’s feelings can save me now.
“I take it this is Big Daddy K’s doing?”
It doesn’t surprise me that Jax knows K’s name. Everyone knows it.
I nod.
“Why?” he asks. For someone who doesn’t want to get caught up in my shit, he’s asking a lot of questions. “It doesn’t make any sense. Finn follows the underground fights more than I do, and he says you guys are the best fighters the Crew has. I don’t know why he would put you up against each other so quickly.”
I pull my shoulder blades back to stretch then test my neck, working it from side-to-side while I figure out how to answer or how much information I should give him. “I think it has to do with me,” I tell Jax finally. “He’s not very pleased with me at the moment.”
“So, he’s doing this to fuck you over?”
“Or to test me.”
“And the problem is…you like Brawler.”
His gaze seers me like a hot press. I push my tongue against my teeth as I figure out what to say. “He’s my friend,” I say finally. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
Jax studies me for a little longer before standing to stretch. The bottom band of his tank pulls up over his abs, and I look away to see Oscar and Finn still trading friendly blows amidst laughter. It’s good to see Oscar so carefree.
I peek over my shoulder to find Magnum still staring out the glass double doors leading out to the parking lot, but when I look away, my gaze stops on Brawler again.
“I’m going to need a little break,” I say to Jax. “Mind if Brawler and I talk privately somewhere?”
Jax cocks his head toward the back of the gym. “You can talk in the office.”
I nod, stand, and make my way over to his sullen form. He lifts his gaze when he sees me approach. His sad eyes stand out the most, and I just want to crawl into his arms, but I have to be mindful of where we are and what I’m allowed to do. “Let’s talk,” I tell him, motioning toward the back.
He stands, and I turn to lead him toward the office. Oscar watches us, but then Finn throws a punch he almost eats, so he’s immediately pulled back into the pretend match he has going on.
When we get into the back office, a cracked leather two-person seater that looks as if it could have originally come from a doctor’s office that went out of business awaits us. A huge steel desk sits in the middle of the room. One side neatly arranged while the other is a complete mess with paperwork and receipts strewn everywhere.
I close the door behind us. The blinds over the small window in the barrier bounce off a couple of times until they still again.
I reach up, pulling Brawler’s hood back to reveal his full face. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he says.