Page 33 of Liquids

She raises an eyebrow at me. “He’s never brought a woman here. Never kissed one, neither.”

I look away. I don’t like the hope that comment sparks in my belly. What do I say to that?

She leans forward. “She comes in sometimes to watch him, but he never wants her here.”

What? Who’s she talking about?

This Sadie woman he and Marge mentioned? My stomach churns.

And she must see something in my expression because she gestures at the gym equipment on one side of the open space, and we start walking toward it.

“I was at his fight with the Bear. In disguise though, ya know? Love those fights but you gotta be careful. It was incredible to watch. So much aggression. The amazing thing about Rig is that he keeps his technique, even when it’s savage or he’s in full-on wild mode. You have to do that to win; you can’t be sloppy.”

Fuck, she sounds so knowledgeable. I’m going to be hopeless at this. I’m remembering too late why I don’t come out at 6 a.m. But we’ve reached the weight area, which looks pretty daunting. “I’ve done some weights before, but …” I trail off as she shakes her head.

“You start where you start. Let’s work on your form, and we’ll go from there.”

Brit takes me through the machines in great detail and makes me do three sets of everything. She examines my position and times my sets and is very positive. I make her show me how much she can lift, and I’m simultaneously envious and really fucking impressed. Could I come here with Rig sometimes? Maybe not as often as he does, but I could do it once a week. It’d be a start. A start of something better …? I don’t know. Rig’s got me thinking about being at the bottom of the heap and how the hell I’m going to pull myself back up.

Brit pats my arm. “The important thing is not to give yourself a hard time, or you’ll stop doing it. You don’t have to go all in. Five minutes here and there is fine when you’re starting out.”

I want to laugh. When did I ever not give myself a hard time? It’s justified, though: My decision-making is questionable, and I’m checked out half the time. I’m always fucking things up. And you can say it’s not my fault, and on the surface … yeah, fine … but deep down, of course it is. I made the decision to be with Mark. To get pregnant. To stay with him.

When we head over to the ring, I’m amazed to find we’ve been here almost an hour and Rig is now sparring with Brit’s fiancé. They stop and head to the ringside when we approach, sweating buckets.

“Babe, this is Karver, K for short.”

K is looking at Rig with raised eyebrows. He winks at me but addresses Rig. “You brought along a lady to impress? I think we should do some real fighting.” He pats the top bar of the ring, an amused smile playing over his mouth.

Rig glowers at him. “I’m game if you are.”

I can see them both puff up as they head back to put on more protective gear. The two guys I saw talking to Rig earlier stop what they’re doing and drift toward the side of the ring.

“This is a treat,” Brit says. “Rig and K don’t often fight here.”

Oh fuck. “Why’s that?”

She laughs. “They both bring their A game—and injury is very real. They’ve injured each other quite badly in the past.”

Seriously?

“Ten minutes, tops,” K says, and Rig chuckles.

“You scared I’m going to dislocate your shoulder again, pretty boy?”

Dislocate his shoulder? Fucking hell.

“Like you could,” K scoffs.

“You were at my fight with the Bear, yeah?”

He was?

“Beginner’s luck.”

“I’d like to see you try and take him.”

They’re already circling around each other when another guy appears and steps into the ring, clearly there to referee, and as soon as he lifts his arm and brings it down, it’s on. I instantly see what Brit means. They’re snarling, kicking, fists flying, shouting insults and taunts.