Page 59 of Fight from the Heart

“That’s why you took the job with Mae?”

“She offered me a change of . . . destiny,” I say, shifting my eyes to his jacket which covers his chest where the tattoo scrolls over his heart. “I’m better for it. My time as an EMT was up, and I never regret the experiences I had, but it was time for something different.” Now I grow flowers, watch life bloom in a sense compared to working on saving a life, only to lose one or two on occasion.

“I’m sorry I was a cause of that change.”

“I think it was a sign. Change is inevitable. It’s only a matter of when,” I assure him.

“Do you think it’s too late for me to change?” he questions, his voice lowering.

“It’s never too late for anything if you’re willing.” I reach up and cup his cheek. “Sometimes, we need to let go to move forward. That’s where you’re stuck, Jacob. You’re letting the past still define you when you’ve been writing your own path for a long time.”

He stares at me like I’ve spoken gibberish.

“I don’t know how.” I almost hear the bitterness in his voice, and I know it’s difficult. His unsettled past has been a part of him for so long, feeding an unseen anger that it’s literally a part of him. Bitterness is like a disease. It festers and grows and consumes until nothing is left but an empty soul, and I refuse to believe it’s hopeless for Jacob.

“Maybe you should talk to somebody,” I suggest, and he huffs.

“You sound like Ella again.”

“As Ella’s brilliant, I’ll take that as a compliment. Maybe you should take her advice.” I wink at him and turn in his arms, laying my head against his chest as I take a final glance at the invisible tragedy before me. I can’t see it, but I feel it in my bones and wish those lost souls peaceful eternal rest.

Chapter 22

Fight Night

[Pam]

That night is Jacob’s fight, and I’m a wreck. With the history I know of him, I don’t want to watch someone beat him. Ethan’s thrilled beside me, like a child ready to hop in the ring, while Ella clutches at his thigh and smiles at all his silly comments.

“He’s gonna rip him up and tear him to shreds and sprinkle his remains like a bad first draft headed for the trash.”

His attempts at humor are doing nothing to calm my nerves and then Paddy McGregor circles the ring to sit next to me.

“Not fighting tonight?” I ask the good-looking Irish man, with his sexy accent and a mischievous grin.

“I’m the organizer, and I don’t fight in amateur hour.” He tips his head to the ring. “But tonight’s a special occasion. We have the Professor back to school some punks.”

The Professor hardly sounds like a fighter name, and I think back on all the romance novels I’ve read, finding this room nothing like those stories. It’s a gym, not an arena or illegal underground or even a country field. The short bleachers make me feel like I’m at a middle school event.

I’m wearing a dress Ella had me buy while we took a quick side trip to shop before our spa treatments yesterday. The store wasn’t trendy or chic but eclectic, and I found something reasonable and different for me. Tight fitting, it hugs my curves, outlining my hourglass shape with a square-cut neckline exposing a hint of cleavage. The dress is 1950s pinup worthy. It’s daring and a bit risqué for me. However, I feel sexy in it despite our surroundings. We’ve gone to a fight, not a nightclub, but the energy is almost the same—chaotic, frenzied, and a bit sexual.

Then Jacob walks into the main gym, and the energy shifts. Bright lights highlight the ring. His name is announced through the sound system, but I can only focus on his presence. His chest is slick. His tattoos seem to glow like freshly scrolled artwork.

Paddy leans into me, whispering close to my ear. “He fights for you tonight.”

I don’t know what that means, so I glance at him over my shoulder. His face is too close to mine. His minty breath scents my airways, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was going to kiss me. Gazing back at Jacob inside the ropes, his eyes narrow to intense slits of darkness as he watches Paddy sitting near me. Paddy pats my thigh and leaves his hand there a moment longer than necessary.

Jacob’s focus draws to the movement and back up to my eyes, lasering on me. His nostrils flare— the bull ready to charge—and a bell rings. Jacob moves gracefully to the center of the square, and Paddy removes his hand but slips his arm around the back of my chair. His eyes remain on Jacob.

I watch in stunned fascination as Jacob hammers at the man slightly taller, slightly broader than him. He’s on a mission to take this man down, and my heart races while my stomach should feel nauseous. The other fighter hardly gets in a punch before Jacob hits him in a way he crumbles to the ground. When the opposing fighter doesn’t stand, Jacob is declared the winner.

It’s over rather quickly, but my heart hammers with the rush.

Paddy leans over and places a kiss on my cheek. “Nice to see you again, lovely. You just earned me a couple of thousand.” He stands, excusing himself.

Jacob’s arm is stretched above his head as the victor, but he tugs it from the referee and stalks to the corner of the ring. Slipping through the ropes, he returns the way he entered, and my eyes follow his retreating back.

“Excuse me, are you Pam Carter?” A young man with dusty skin and eyes to match questions me.