Page 6

CODY

I stepped outside the next morning after my dinner date with Emily. The spring air washed cool over me as I opened the door to my truck, my pre-workout drink in one hand and my gym bag slung over my shoulder. Max padded along beside me, his nails clicking against the pavement. The world was still asleep at five AM. I usually liked this quiet time of day to get in the right headspace to train.

I should’ve been thinking about my upcoming fight. Instead, my thoughts circled to Em and the way she felt in my arms as she kissed me back. Her lips had been soft, warm. She tasted a little sweet, and her scent, that soft floral hint that always clung to her, reminded me of sunshine after a long, brutal storm.

Fuck.

The boys at the gym would have my ass if they knew how pressed I was over her. But I didn’t care. Not one damn bit.

I took a long drink and letting the bitterness of the pre-workout snap me back to reality. This thing between us was supposed to be for show. We were putting on a damn good one, if the headlines were anything to go by. But those kisses didn’t feel like an act.

I glanced down at Max. “I really hope she talks to me after this whole Family Day thing is over.”

Max wagged his tail like he had an opinion on the matter. Maybe he did. The dog was smarter than most people I knew.

Shoving my gym bag into the truck, I let out a breath and leaned against the open door. The truth was, I liked Emily. Not just the way she looked in that dress last night, or how soft her lips were. I liked the way she listened and how she made it easy to talk. I could count on a few fingers how many people I shared stories about my life to, the dog included. Even Ryder and Liam didn’t know all the details about my relationship with my uncle. Only Emily did.

I sighed before releasing a quiet laugh. If anyone else knew just how tangled up I was over her, they’d call me a simp. Maybe they’d be right.

I wasn’t a smooth talker or the type to run game on women. My life and how I handled people was pretty simple. I was a fighter, a coach, a man who stuck to what he knew.

But I wanted Emily, a woman completely out of my league. How the hell was I supposed to make that happen?

The second I pulled into the lot, I spotted it. A black Lamborghini parked right in my spot. Sunlight gleamed off its polished hood like it belonged in a showroom. I knew exactly whose car it was. I gritted my teeth when the owner opened the door.

Trey got out and leaned against the car, arms folded across his long-sleeve Spandex shirt. He wore tight leggings to match. What social media influencer was missing their gym fits today? “No wonder he’s got that big vein popping out of his neck. Nowhere else for his pulse to go.”

Max let out a snort from the passenger seat.

“Easy, boy,” I muttered, giving him a scratch behind the ears. I let Trey hear me as I got out of my truck. “It’s just one of Fury Combat’s fans.”

I didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed at me. This guy hated being seen as just another face in the crowd.

"Actually," he said, pushing off the Lambo, "I'm here for our training."

“Our training?” It was my turn to squint at him.

Trey looked so happy he got a reaction from me I thought he would jump up and down. "I just dropped a couple Gs to get some pointers on my uppercut."

Max and I exchanged glances. An uppercut? This guy?

I shook my head at Trey. "I'm busy training for the fight. You'll have to find someone else to teach you how to make a fist."

Boy, he did not like me saying that. His jaw tightened. He tried to play it off, like he hadn’t just been brushed aside. "My family’s office is now a corporate sponsor for the Battle Royale. Your league says you’ll be happy to train with me."

And there it was. The real reason he was here. He wasn’t looking for training. He wanted to piss on my territory.

I exhaled, reigning in my temper. This was the part of business politics I hated. The lawyers and accountants over at Fury Combat’s corporate office cared about the bottom line. They had no idea why I wanted to put this guy through a wall.

But I wasn’t about to let his games mess up my day.

I nodded toward the gym entrance. "Meet you inside."

Trey followed me into the gym, running his mouth the entire way. “My personal trainer when I go to New York for business says my endurance is elite-level. I’m thinking about doing the Boston Marathon next year. Might even try for a triathlon.”

“Uh-huh,” I responded, already tuning him out.

I grabbed a pair of pads from the rack, catching the looks from my teammates. They all knew exactly what was going down. Liam, never one to miss an opportunity for pettiness, strolled over with a grin and tossed me a pair of sweaty, old sparring gloves from the lost-and-found bin.

“Don’t know how long those have been in there,” he said, loud enough for a few others to hear, “but your student might need them.” A few of the guys snickered.

I grinned back. “Thanks for looking out.”

I turned back to Trey, who was eyeing Max like the dog had personally insulted him.

“Does that dog have all his shots?” he asked, nose wrinkled.

I didn’t even bother with a response. Instead, I tossed him the nasty old gloves. “Rule number one: focus on your opponent.” I hit the pads, motioning him forward. “Show me what you got.”

Trey stepped up and started throwing uppercuts, if they could be called that. Weak little taps, barely enough to make a sound, but he made all the faces like he was putting real power behind them.

Around us, more snickering broke out. I kept my own humor locked down.

“Not bad,” I said, because I was feeling generous. “Now this is how you actually throw an uppercut.”

I demonstrated, keeping my form sharp. He tried again. Still garbage.

“Practice on your own,” I said.

“No.” Trey shook out his arms like he was preparing for something big. “You spar with me.”

“You’re not ready.”

The blunt response didn’t sit well with him. His face tightened. Then, without warning, he rushed me, throwing sloppy punches like a drunk at last call.

I didn’t move at first, just let him tire himself out swinging at air. Then, when the moment was right, I dodged smoothly and countered with a quick left jab, stopping just short of his chin.

The prick flinched.

“You gotta learn to bob and weave,” I said evenly, lowering my hand. “It keeps you from catching one of these to the face.”

He straightened, ironing his expression back into a grown thirtysomething year-old guy. Still a prick. “Since you’ve been dodging me, this is a good time to tell you something.”

I stretched my shoulders. “I knew this really wasn’t about training you.”

He crossed his arms. “Be careful around Emily. I don’t know what you think you’re doing with her, but I don’t buy it.”

I met his gaze without flinching. “It’s not for you to understand.”

Trey scoffed. “She’d never get with a rough sort of guy like you if there wasn’t something else attached to it. You may not be as rich as me, but as a professional athlete, I’m sure you’ve got a couple pennies she’d like to rub together.”

That was it. I tossed the gear bag onto the floor with a loud thud. The whole gym went silent.

“Lesson over,” I said, my voice calm but firm.

Trey showed off his fake ass veneers to me in a twisted grin. “Oh, that got you to lose your cool.”

He talked shit about Emily. I wanted to punch him in the mouth to fund his dentist a vacation to the Maldives. If it weren’t for the respect I had for the woman he was too stupid to keep in his life, I would’ve said fuck it to optics and let him have it. Instead I took a step toward him, leveling him with a stare. “Another fighting rule. Don't taunt people above your class, especially Emily.”

His grin vanished. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Trey’s eyes ping ponged as he saw other athletes listening in. He lowered his voice and huffed. It sounded more like a hiss. “As soon as I figure out what prank you and Emily have going on, I’m going to let everyone know and embarrass you.”

I didn’t react. Just stood there, steady. He hated that more than anything. With a scowl, he turned and stomped off, shoving past a couple of the guys on his way out.

Max let out a soft woof beside me, his tail swishing like he was waiting for permission to chase him down.

“Nah,” I muttered, scratching behind his ear. “Not worth the effort.”

Liam stepped up, shaking his head. “Man, you’ve got patience I don’t.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. “Didn’t feel like it.”

I bent down to pick up the bag, but I was still pissed. Not about Trey. About the fact that he didn’t give a damn about Emily. To him, she was just another way to make himself look good.

I wasn’t about to let it slide.

EMILY

I ROLLED OLIVER’S SUITCASE outside and stood in the driveway, pretending to listen as my son rambled on about thoroughbreds and jockeys. He bounced in place, tossing out facts about the fastest horses in history and debating which one would win at the Derby.

I tried to keep up, nodding at the right moments, but my mind was elsewhere.

Why did Trey have to do this now? The weekend before Family Day? He knew how much it meant to Oliver and to me. This was just like him, sweeping in at the last minute with grand gestures, making himself look like the cool parent. He always had to one-up me, like the life I gave our son wasn’t enough.

I clenched my hands in front of me, forcing myself to breathe through the frustration.

Then Oliver stopped talking and started pulsing back and forth like a little welterweight. “I can’t wait to get back home and go to Family Day,” he said, shifting gears. “Will they have Choco Extreme ice cream there, Mom? It’s our favorite.”

Before I could answer, he threw his arms in the air. “This is going to be the best week ever!”

The lump in my throat was instant. I smiled, blinking against the sting of tears. “I love you so much, Ollie.”

Oliver looked at me like I’d just started reciting Shakespeare. He scrunched up his face. “Ew, Mom, why are you getting mushy like that? I just asked about ice cream.” Then, as if realizing something terrible, he groaned. “You cannot do that in front of Cody.”

A laugh bubbled up despite everything. “Noted.”

The low hum of an engine signaled Trey’s arrival. I stood as his Lamborghini pulled into the driveway. He stepped out in a fitted Hermès zip-up sweatshirt and matching joggers, his usual designer uniform he wore to catch flights.

I caught my own reflection in his Ray-Bans. Irritation flashed in my eyes.

“The jet’s all fired up and waiting for us, Ollie,” he announced, his tone easy, as if he wasn’t completely disrupting my weekend. “You ready to see some racing?”

Oliver jumped up and hugged me tightly.

Trey sighed, clearly impatient. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”

I bristled, wrapping my arms around my son, unwilling to rush this moment. “Let him hug me. He’s going away all week.”

Trey scoffed. “Knock off the Mother of the Year act. You know you’re glad to have this time to plan for your little town party.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped myself. He wanted to get under my skin. I hated that he still had the power to make me angry.

Instead, I kept my voice even. “I’m going to call every day at eight so I can tell him good night.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The way his tone dragged made me look at him closer. He seemed tired, more exasperated than usual. His right hand flexed and unflexed at his side, and he rubbed his fingers over his knuckles.

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Nothing. Just a little strain from working out.”

It had to be something more to what he said, but I let it go. I smoothed Oliver’s curls one last time. “Text me when your plane lands.”

Oliver waved to me on his way to the car, his grin wide. “Bye, Mom! Love you!”

I waved back. “Love you too, baby.”

Trey didn’t say another word as he climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled away.

As the car disappeared down the street, a single tear slipped down my cheek.

I swiped it away and squared my shoulders. No time for that.

With a deep breath, I turned back to the house, ready to bury myself in cleaning and distractions to get through the long, lonely weekend ahead.

I went inside, shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary. The silence hit me. No Oliver chattering about horses or MMA. No little feet running down the hall. Just me and an empty house.

I took a deep breath and marched to the kitchen, rolling up my sleeves. If I kept busy, I wouldn’t think about Trey flying off with my son to some extravagant weekend I could never compete with.

I grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing the stove like it had a decade’s worth of dried tomato sauce. The thing was already spotless, but I needed something to do. My hands needed to be moving and my thoughts needed to be occupied.

Still, my mind kept circling back to Oliver and Trey. I sighed, dropping the sponge into the sink. Before I could second-guess myself, I pulled out my phone and opened my messages.

Hey, you busy?

It took less than a minute for Cody to respond. Just got home from the gym. What’s up?

I hesitated. What did I want to tell him? How my house felt too empty? That I hated how this weekend was playing out? Or I had a moment of weakness and felt small and insignificant compared to Trey’s grand gestures?

I settled for something casual. Nothing. Distracting myself. The house is way too quiet.

My phone chirped with his second text. Oliver take off okay?

Yeah. Trey picked him up to go in his supersonic private jet. They’re probably halfway to Kentucky by now.

Sounds like a big trip.

I frowned at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Yep. Big trip. Big memories. Big everything.

I hesitated again, then added, Meanwhile, I’m here scrubbing my stove like my life depends on it.

I stared at the screen, my stomach twisting as I waited for Cody’s response. Then I set the phone down and tried to resume focus on cleaning. I straightened up the living room and wiped down surfaces. It was supposed to distract me, but I was still stuck in my head when my phone rang.

Cody’s name lit up my screen. I hesitated but answered. “Hey.”

“You seemed like you needed to talk more than text.” His voice was warm and grounding.

I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. “I’m being messy again.”

“No. It sounds like you miss Oliver, and it sounds like his dad got on your nerves. I’ve met Trey. I get it.”

There was something lingering in his tone, like he wanted to say more. “It sounds like something is on your mind, too. Don’t hold back. You see how I just spilled everything like a wet cardboard cup.”

Cody chuckled. “Nah, you’re good. But peaking of messy, Trey showed up at the gym the other day. You should’ve seen the crappy uppercut he threw.”

I raised an eyebrow, mildly intrigued. “What are you talking about?”

He went on, describing the moment. “I mean, it was pitiful. He was trying to impress people, I guess, but he looked like he was swatting at flies instead of throwing punches on the bag.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “No wonder he acted like his hand was hurting. He wouldn’t tell me what it was about when I asked. Geez, so arrogant. Thanks for cheering me up.”

“Glad I could help. Your laugh sounds sexy over the phone, by the way.”

I felt flutters in my stomach at his compliment, a little flirtation weaving between us. “I like a man with a dry sense of humor.”

“You should do something nice for yourself. Cleaning all weekend doesn’t sound fun.”

“It isn’t, but I don’t feel like going out by myself,” I admitted, my heart racing. Was I actually flirting with him?

There was a pause on his end before he spoke again. “We could go downtown.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I’m tired of dressing up for the press. Don’t laugh, but I’d really like to check out one of those old-school arcades.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“I said don’t laugh.”

“I couldn’t help it. I remember my uncle used to take me. We’d play Space Invaders and those fighting games with all the kooky characters throwing fireballs.”

I chuckled, picturing him as a kid, absorbed in games. “Let’s see, you’re not a commander of a space fleet. I’m guessing the fighting games also had a hand in your career choice.”

“Are you calling me kooky?” he asked, his tone lighthearted.

“No way. I’m just really, really bad at flirting. Ugh.”

I heard keys rattling on the other end. “Why don’t you put the dustpan down and think about which fighter you want to choose to try to beat me?”

I smiled, genuine joy bubbling up in me. “Challenge accepted.”