“Sorry. Stupid…guillotine.” Her throat worked. “Need. More. Jiu-Jitsu. Gotta. Practice.”
“Think you can hold off on the practices for a while, fighter girl.”
Her eyelashes flickered again as she angled her head toward me. “She…won anyway.”
Then her hand went limp in mine.
Would that mean Lorenzo and his guys would leave her and Carly alone? She’d lost, which was what they wanted. I never would’ve wanted her to take a drop—or worse, get hurt—but maybe this would buy her some room. Especially if Olivia was out of the picture. I couldn’t imagine Olivia would wake up and want more of what she’d gotten tonight. Even a crazy person had to have the occasional moment of lucidity. And she had Slater to help her find them.
Slater, the last person I wanted to think about right now.
She might have the police on her case too, if Mia and I could gather enough evidence to start a case against her. There wasn’t much proof, and what there was would lead us right back to Lorenzo’s door. But none of that was for tonight.
Somehow I found it in me to smile at the nearest EMT. “My girl’s going to be fine.”
“Yes, she is. Her vitals are good, but she has a concussion. And a broken arm.”
I grimaced. I’d had a couple of both of those. No fun. But I’d be there to help her get better, every step of the way.
Every day for the rest of her life.
“You know, MMA fighting is illegal in the state of New York,” the EMT added.
I glanced up and caught Giovanni’s eye. He had his arm around Carly, which was the least of my worries at the moment.
“Yeah.” Sighing, I shook my head. “Damn shame what kids today do for kicks.”
21
Mia
one month after the fight
“So now that you’ve had a while to adjust, how you feel about living with your boyfriend?”
I bit my lip to smother my smile as I slid a glance at Tray, who was seated beside me on Dr. Phelps’ oh-so-comfy couch. “Well, I appreciate the easy access to sex.”
His eyebrow winged up, and I shrugged. He hadn’t been there the first time, so he wasn’t in on the punchline.
“You’re using humor to deflect, Mia. Or does Tray’s presence make you uncomfortable? Would you like me to ask him to leave for this portion of the session?” She shot an apologetic glance at Tray. “I have to think about what’s best for my patient. You understand.”
His fingers loosely curled around mine on the cushion between us.
“Of course.”
“No, he’s fine. I don’t have any secrets from him.”
Dr. Phelps looked as surprised as Tray did. Though that was a better look for him than the slightly pea green cast he’d been sporting since we’d taken a seat. This was my third week of two sessions. He’d also been to the last session, but only for half. That was our way of easing him in.
Carly had been to one session so far as well. Baby steps.
I’d been on antidepressants for a week. So far so good. My mood didn’t seem appreciably better yet, and I still lived in an almost constant state of panic over Carly’s whereabouts, but I was trying to be patient.
At least I hadn’t had any more mental checkouts recently. That was a plus in my book.
“I suppose if I ask if you continue to use rough sex as a substitute for fighting, you’ll drag out your original answer as well.”
Wow, was Dr. Phelps actually smiling at me? Fondly?