Page 6 of Falling for the Forbidden Fighter (She’s Worth the Trouble #3)

CATHERINE

Louis trains like his life depends on it.

Every day, he faces down my dad’s grueling regimen.

In keeping with our act, I give Louis a lift in the morning but let him out about a mile from the gym. He gets his warm-up run, and we keep our arrangement a secret.

All week, I’ve filled my afternoons with patients so I can spend mornings in the gym. My dad is glad to have me around to help—I hope he thinks nothing more of my interest in our new fighter.

Sweat drips permanently from Louis’s body.

He’s always out of breath, always flush with exertion, fighting through the pain.

At home, he cooks me dinner, makes hazy conversation, and passes out early.

I let him sleep, keep quiet so he can rest even though I want to pick his brain and stay up all night talking to him.

It hurts me that he thinks so little of himself.

I’ve never seen anyone train like him. He’s so committed that I fear he’ll work himself to death. He’s the type of man that could do anything he put his mind to—I know it. I wish he knew it, too.

My dad rides him, whipping him into shape.

“Pain is good! Pain means your brain is still working. Someday, you’re gonna be in that ring, drowning in your own blood.

Some better fighter is gonna hit you so many times that you won’t even register the pain anymore.

What’ll you do then, huh? Quit? If you quit now when it hurts, you’ll definitely quit when you’re lying numb on the mat with the count barely cutting through the ringing in your ears. ”

My father and Louis battle dangerously.

I’ve seen fighters go through this, and they all have a breaking point. That’s what my dad’s after: he’s searching for the line. He needs to know just how far a man is willing to go.

Louis fights like he’ll never break.

He’s going to need that grit.

All this time, my dad has been aloof about who Louis will be fighting. “Just an undercard in Vegas,” he says to me again and again. “Don’t worry about it. Leave the strategy to me.”

When I finally corner him in his office and demand the details, I want to slap him. Louis is set to fight Hector Ruiz: nine professional fights, nine wins, six knockouts…

I slam my dad’s desk, sending stacks of paper cascading to the floor. “His first fight? Against Ruiz ? He’s got a shot at a belt. He’s undefeated .”

“So is Louis.” My dad sticks his cigar in his mouth.

I snatch it out and throw it across the office.

“Undefeated in his ship league. You know damn well that the competition isn’t the same.

Louis is great, maybe elite level after years of training, but you’re setting him up for failure.

It’s his first fight, and you’ve matched him with a top-five light heavyweight.

This isn’t some fucking undercard. It’s an exhibition for Ruiz to put on a show. It’ll be a slaughter.”

“What do you want me to do, huh?” My dad snaps, jumping out of his chair. “This is the fight I could get. Ruiz’s opponent got hurt, and there was a short-notice opening. The kid is gonna take home twenty grand no matter what. You trying to tell me I’m doing wrong by him?”

“And how much are you taking home?”

My dad’s body heaves like he’s about to blow before he slumps back in his chair and closes his eyes.

I regret saying it already, but I’m right.

“The gym needs the money,” he says it like it’s a fact that can’t be avoided. “It’s a win-win.”

“Yeah? Who’s gonna pay for Louis’s hospital bills?”

“If he’s smart, he’ll stay down if Ruiz puts him on the mat.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “You know he won’t. Not a chance.”

“No…” He smiles admirably. “He won’t. Louis has the spark, Catty.

He’ll put up a fight, get his licks in. I know it.

That’ll put him on the map. It’ll get him more fights.

And, by some miracle, if he wins, it springboards his career.

He’ll take the damn purse home— a hundred and fifty thousand!

For his first professional fight! Guys never get chances like this. ”

“This is bullshit.” I pace the office. “I’ll tell him—“

“He already knows. What? You think I’d keep that from him?”

“You kept it from me...”

“Because you’re not the one who has to get in the ring, Catty. And because you care about him.”

I freeze, shocked by his words.

“You never liked seeing people get hurt,” he says. “I know you two are already friends. But, I’m telling you, he’s a fighter . It’s his life. If it wasn’t me, he’d find someone else to get him in the ring at all costs.”

Does he know just how much I care about Louis? Could he possibly see the fight I’ve been having all week…

“I like the kid, Catty.” He gets up and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want to see him get torn up either. But this is his chance. He wants it.”

“I’ll be the one stopping the bleeding,” I hiss, tears in my eyes.

“I know. And I love you for it.”

It’s late. Saturday night, most people are heading out for some dinner, drinks, maybe a little trouble.

I had a few invites from some friends, but I still find myself in the gym with my dad, my brother, and Louis.

Moonlight glows in the foggy windows, casting a blue tint over the dark gym.

One light over the ring glows, burning the midnight oil.

We’re barely a week into his training, and my dad is throwing everything he’s got at him.

Louis is standing in the ring, hands taped behind his back, sweat pooling wherever he steps. Ricky and my dad dance around him, gloved and firing shots at his head.

“Move!” my dad roars. “Exhaustion’s no excuse!”

Louis ducks a punch from my dad but catches another from Ricky on the side of the head. Even with his headgear on, I know that hurt.

He growls defiantly, still bobbing and weaving through the storm of punches. They had him doing a circuit before this, speed bag before that, and weightlifting an hour ago—I don’t know how he’s still breathing. I guess the Navy got his cardio up.

“Damn, you’re slow,” Ricky laughs, hitting him with a gut shot that’s impossible to dodge. “What’s wrong? Can’t catch your breath?”

“I said no gut shots,” Dad growls. “He can’t block with his hands behind his back.”

Even as he defends Louis, my dad jabs him on the chin.

Ricky moves like he’s enjoying this, slapping his gloves together and laughing, “He couldn’t block me if my hands were tied behind my back.”

My brother fires off his signature combo.

With three quick hisses of breath, Louis moves his head perfectly in time, making my brother stumble across the ring. Ricky nearly flies over the ropes.

“Don’t need to block slow punches.”

Ricky explodes, already getting in his face. “What the hell you say to me?”

I drop my head, throwing the band I’ve been toying with across the gym.

Here we go.

“Ricky! Back off!” Dad gets between them. “The kid is quick. You missed—get over it. We’re here to train him, not stoke your ego.”

Louis is in the red corner, hands still behind his back, smiling through his mouth guard. All week, my brother has been giving him shit. I guess they found Louis’s temper before his breaking point…

Ricky slams his gloves together. “I’ll wipe that smile off your fucking face.”

“Hey!” My dad shoves him. “You wanna keep running your mouth, tough guy? I’ll have Catty cut the tape off his wrists and let him shut you up.”

“He couldn’t touch me.”

My dad laughs, drops his head, and puts a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “Son, he’s exhausted, sorer than he’s ever been, and so out of breath that he can barely speak… and he’d still lay you out.”

Dad has never babied us.

It’s his philosophy that when you need to hear something, somebody needs to step up and tell you, no matter how angry you get.

He’s right. My brother is getting old; even in his prime, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against Louis.

Ricky’s eyes go wide.

His gloves instinctively come up to his mohawk, trembling with rage.

Pride is a dangerous thing.

“Cut his tape!” Ricky yells at me, already moving to the blue corner. “Let’s go!”

I sigh, grab some scissors, and jump in the ring. “Sarah is gonna kill you when you show up with a mangled face.”

“Put some headgear on,” Dad says, popping his cigar in his mouth and sliding out of the ring.

“Don’t need it,” Ricky jeers. “He’s not gonna land a shot. I’m about to prove that you’ve wasted a week on this chump.”

“Fine. Get your brain rocked.”

I back Louis up against the ropes, fingers pressing into his soaked shirt. His chest heaves against my touch.

There’s a man behind me who wants to kill him, but Louis only looks at me. He smiles softly, almost as if he’s never been in a fight in his life—a flash of innocence you’d never attribute to a man like him.

“Turn around,” I say. “You know you don’t have to fight him.”

I cut the tape below his gloves, freeing his wrists.

Louis turns, takes a few deep breaths. Sweat trails down his face, shining in the warm light over the ring.

“I knew the second I walked in here that I’d have to fight him eventually,” he whispers. “Take off my headgear.”

“You definitely don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry…” He smirks. “He’s not gonna land a shot.”

When my brother says that, it’s bluster.

Louis, I believe.

I do as he says, realizing that my hands are trembling as I take off the headgear. All week, it’s just been training. Bags. Sparring. Running. Workouts that no one can get through without puking. But it was all safe, mostly.

This is real.

And I don’t want to see either of them get hurt.

“Come on!” Ricky screams. “You couldn’t make it in the Navy! You can’t make it here!”

Well, one of them has it coming.

I pound my fist against Louis’s chest. “Lay him out.”

“I’ll go easy.”

He flies past me, moving like a freed man.

Ricky explodes out of his corner, and the punches start flying before I’m even out of the ring. I join my dad on the bench, resting my head on his shoulder.

“He’s an idiot,” I sigh.

“Yeah, but he’s our idiot,” he says, “and this is the only way he’s ever learned.”

After a few testing jabs, Louis creates some distance and holds his hands behind his back.

“Come on,” he says with a wicked smile. “Maybe now you can land one.”

Ricky growls like a wild animal, completely blind with fury. He takes a big, clumsy step forward, cocks back a right hook, and—

Louis steps in sharply, bringing his left into my brother’s gut, doubling him over. He ends the fight with his own carefully placed right hook. It happens so fast that Ricky is down before we react.

“OH!” My dad jumps up and throws a towel into the ring. “All right. That’s it!”

Louis is already back in the red corner. He had no intention of doing more than what was necessary.

Ricky slams the mat, gasping. “The hell it is!”

His eye is already swelling.

“I said that’s it! You wanna push me in my own gym? Huh!?” My dad is pacing around, waving that damp cigar like a torch. “Get out of the ring, get those gloves off, and go home. Don’t come in on Monday. This is squashed. You hear me?”

Ricky rolls toward the rope, still gasping for air.

“Louis,” my dad says, exhaling. “Hell of a move, kid. That’s the speed I’m talking about.”

“He cheated!”

I’m up before Ricky can go on. “Grow up! Your opponent drops his gloves, and you think you’ve got free shots? He played you.”

“Fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book,” my dad laughs. “You should realize by now that Louis is all function and no flair. He’d never drop his gloves, not for real.”

Louis is leaning against the ropes, watching Ricky slowly get up. For a second, it looks like my brother is coming back for more

“Go home,” my dad says, barely above a whisper.

Ricky closes his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Dad watches him until Ricky is out of the ring.

“And Louis?”

Louis snaps his attention to his coach.

“Don’t ever pull that shit in a match. If you do, I promise you someone faster and stronger will make you pay for it. And if they don’t, I will.”

That’s that.

My brother growls, slams a few things, but ultimately obeys our father. His wife will pitch a fit over his eye, and he’ll sulk for a few days. That’ll be the end of their beef. He’s lucky Louis showed restraint.

That’s Louis’s secret, though: he doesn’t let his temper control him. He fights when he needs to. My brother has been pushing him all week, testing him, and Louis finally drew a line in the sand and dared him to cross. If it wasn’t tonight, it would have been Monday. Or the next day. Or next week.

He fought him now so he won’t have to later.

But he’s wrong.

Another fight is coming. I thought it could be avoided, but something has bent in me. The resistance has given, and I know that I won’t be able to spend another night with Louis without surrendering to this desire that’s been building since we first met.

I know he wants it as badly as I do.

We tiptoe around each other in my apartment. We’re both aware of the glances we’re stealing, pretending like it’s not happening.

Every night, I lie in bed, convincing myself not to invite him into my room. All night, I think about his touch, his powerful body, and the stoic soul behind his eyes.

From the moment we met, I think we both knew that it would only be a matter of time until a look or a lingering touch or a simple word drives us into each other’s arms.

And when it happens, I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to keep it a secret. They’ll find out. He’ll have to face my brother and my father.

I won’t let him stand alone.

They’ll have to face me …