Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

He glanced up at my bedroom window, then led me down the street. We met up with a man in front of Gray's car, angled illegally into a spot. Gray introduced him to me. Reed was his name and by the look of him, a fighter. Gray opened the door for me, jogged around and joined me in the back. “Seat belt,” he murmured as Reed climbed behind the wheel.

I fumbled with the lock and Gray’s large hand covered mine, helped click it into place. He kept my hand in his the entire way to his house, his thumb making small circles and I found the movement reassuring enough for me to relax into the seat, thankful they both remained silent. The adrenaline was wearing off and I felt wired yet exhausted at the same time.

When Reed pulled into the lot, Gray undid my belt for me and came around to help me out. He grabbed my small bag and Reed tossed him the keys.

“Besides the door, get the back light fixed,” Gray told Reed, his voice a dark slash in the night. “I want to know where my dad is. Find him.”

“Done,” he said with a quick nod.

“Thanks,” I said to the man, my voice weary. He was doing so much and it was the middle of the night. He didn't even know me.

Reed gave me a small smile as he nodded and went over to another car, one I assumed was his own.

Gray led me inside and up to his apartment, using his key fob for access, holding my hand. “Does Reed work for you?”

He shrugged. “I’m his trainer. His next fight is coming up in November. When you train a guy, there’s more to it than making him do push-ups and running five miles. It’s a big picture job. How he behaves outside the ring, what he eats, who he hangs with. We’re tight. Really tight.”

When the elevator doors opened, the sound of the TV was loud, the lights were on and half-filled glasses were on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“We were at the PR dinner and came back to talk strategy,” he said as explanation. “We were watching fight films when you called.”

I stood in the entry, unsure of what to do as Gray grabbed the remote, shut off the TV and the lamps, plummeting the space in an orange glow from the streetlights two floors down. Gray came over to me, took my hand and led me down the hallway where I’d ogled him as he stripped off his shirt before showering just a few days ago.

He flipped a switch and his bedroom filled with a soft yellow light from a lamp beside a king-size bed. We didn’t stop at the bed but crossed the room to a dresser. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a T-shirt, then opened another drawer for a pair of boxers, then led me to the bathroom. Finally releasing my hand, he turned on the water for the shower, tested the temperature.

I’d been used to my house and its less-than-modern conveniences—a water heater that only gave enough water for a five-minute shower, avocado-green tile from the seventies, a fridge that didn’t have an automatic ice cube maker and even floral wallpaper from fourth grade on the kitchen walls. I was used to it all, but this; the bathroom was heaven. The shower easily held two, although I could see why Gray would want it super-sized since he wasn’t so small himself. With the Jacuzzi tub and the double sinks, this was what a modern, up-to-date bathroom looked like.

Gray eyed me carefully, then placed the clothes on the vanity. “Shower. I’ll be out there.” He angled his head toward the door. “Take your time.”

Closing the door behind him, I stood there as steam filled the room. Realizing I was staring at the heated towel rack for God knows how long, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, closed the glass door behind me. This wasn’t just a shower, it was a steam shower, the enclosed area warming and the glass fogging. I tested the abilities of Gray’s hot water heater, for I just stood beneath the rain shower head and let the sticky sweat of fear wash down the drain. I picked up Gray’s soap and sniffed it, recognized his scent and used it to clean myself. The thought of having his smell on me made me feel safe.

I had no idea how long I was in there, but Gray was waiting so I dried myself then put on his clothes. His T-shirt hung to mid-thigh and I had to roll the waist of the boxers over a few times for them to stay up, having them settle low on my hips. I found an unopened toothbrush from the drawer and brushed my teeth, then finger combed my wet hair.

Opening the door, the cool air hit me, just as the sight of Gray sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his dress clothes. He was on his cell, but when he saw me, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bedside table. I saw mine there as well and he must have taken it out of my bag for me so I could hear it if it rang. He stood, his gaze raking over me. Although the mirror in the bathroom was too foggy to see what I looked like, I could only imagine. My hair was tangled and wet down my back, his clothes oversized on my body, my face most likely gaunt with exhaustion and fear.

“Better?”

I nodded.

“I’ve got the guest room set for you.” He headed to the bedroom door and I followed him across the hall. “It’s a good thing I have a cleaning service, because I know there are fresh sheets.” The covers were pulled back and the room was lit softly by a small lamp. It was as if he’d changed the bulb while I was in the shower so that it was more of a nightlight, perhaps worried I’d be afraid of new surroundings and darkness.

I stood just inside the doorway, my fingers fiddling with the hem of the T-shirt. “Thanks,” I said softly. I wanted Gray to hold me, to tell me everything was going to be all right, that my house, my home, wasn’t dangerous, that someone hadn’t wanted to harm me, but I didn’t blame him. I was a hot mess and a burden. I’d interrupted his work and…and he’d done enough.

Gray eyed me, moved as if he were nervous, restless even, as if being around me was painful, then gave me a head nod and left, closing the door behind him. The room was quiet, the air cool and the bed looked inviting, but I couldn’t climb in. I couldn’t lie down. I just dropped onto the side of it, just the tips of my toes touching the carpeted floor. The alarm clock by the lamp said it was almost two. Only a few hours ago I was in my own bed, asleep…

Everything from the night came back. The crash I heard from the kitchen, the creak in the squeaky floor, the hall light coming on, the panic, climbing out my bedroom window, the man's voice, the desperate need for Gray.

It was as if I’d been holding myself together until now, like a vase that had been dropped on the ground and put back together, only weaker. One little touch and all the pieces shattered once again. I felt like that now, that I’d been holding myself together but now that I was alone with my thoughts, I broke.

Scalding tears welled and fell down my cheeks and dripped onto Gray’s shirt.

The door burst open and Gray charged in, startling me. “Emory, I can’t. I tried, but I can’t leave you in here—” His mouth fell open and his eyes filled with pain as he looked at me. “Oh, baby, don’t cry.”

He crouched down before me, running his thumbs over my cheeks. I saw the concern and worry and…anguish on his face. “I thought you wouldn’t want to be in my bed, that you’d think I was pushing you, that it was too soon, but fuck. I need you. I need you with me. Can I just hold you? I need to hold you, to know that you’re right there with me, that you’re safe.”

At his words, I couldn’t hold back any longer and I slipped to the floor before him and wrapped my arms around him, crying—no, sobbing—into his chest. I didn’t need to be alone any longer. With big hands and powerful muscles, he scooped me up and carried me across the hall and into his room. With one hand, he swept the covers back and placed me on the bed, sliding in behind me, then pulled me toward him so I buried my face into his chest once again, the length of his body beneath mine felt warm and solid and real. And safe.

And so I cried as his hand stroked up and down my back, as he placed kisses on the top of my head. And cried some more, letting my fear bleed away, until I slept.