Battered Not Broken Read online

  She’d stilled her fingers when he’d answered her first question. Now, she let them trail a little lower, negotiating the twists and turns of the irregular scarring that was normally hidden by clothing, even the shorts he wore at the gym. “Is it still painful?” He moved so gracefully, it was hard to imagine that the injury caused many if any lingering issues. Still, the marks it had left felt serious beneath her fingertips. To create such scars, his wounds had to have been deep.

  “Sometimes my leg feels a little stiff if I haven’t moved it in a while – usually when I wake up, but it’s not that bad. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse, anyway. They put all kinds of shit in those bombs – bolts, ball-bearings and whatever else they can think of that’ll rip someone apart. This—” he laid a hand on top of hers, pressing her palm flat against a ridge of raised tissue “—is like a scratch compared to the damage those things can do.”

  Her stomach clenched as she remembered news pieces featured on TV and the internet – stories of soldiers and civilians caught in blasts that had resulted in loss of limbs, senses and often life. Her fingers seemed to want to curl against Ryan’s scars, seeking the firm muscle beneath. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse.”

  Maybe it was a lame thing to say – after all, who wouldn’t be glad? – but the thought of what could have happened had caused her breakfast to curdle in her stomach. It was still hard to imagine Ryan wearing camo fatigues in some desert – she’d only ever known him as a fighter in shorts, hand wraps and gloves. And now as a lover, in bed with nothing covering his body, scarred or otherwise.

  The exhilaration of getting to know someone completely new – someone who’d made her heart beat faster from the very beginning – wasn’t all fulfilled expectations or sweet surprises. There was a sharp edge to the experience, one that frightened her a little while increasing her desire to get closer to him at the same time.

  * * * * *

  The girl with her legs wrapped around Ally’s waist had thighs like a steel trap. Doing her best to keep her breathing even, Ally planted her palms firmly on the girl’s hips and tucked her elbows into the inside of her competitor’s thighs. She could’ve sworn her ribs actually bent as she positioned herself, doing her best to ignore the fact that bile was slowly creeping up her throat as a result of her torso being squeezed so hard.

  She pushed with all her might, digging her elbows into her opponent’s adductor muscles. Those were a tender area if there ever was one, but the girl didn’t want to budge and fought hard to maintain her hold. Too bad – Ally was tired of being stuck in her guard. Caught between a pair of almost unnaturally strong thighs that threatened to compress the life out of her, she was basically powerless to make any offensive move. Escape was the only option if she wanted to win the match – which she did, badly.

  Slowly and painfully, Ally managed to earn a little wriggle room. A defiant tremor shot through one of her rival’s thighs, but it was done – there was enough slack for Ally to escape. As quickly as she could, Ally retreated from what had been a vice-like guard.

  Wary of finding herself back in the girl’s crushing guard, she launched into a side mount, pinning her competitor to the mat. She was careful to keep her head down – tucking it tightly against the other fighter’s body was the best way to protect her neck from a chokehold.

  The girl tried anyway, making an obvious play for Ally’s neck as she struggled to regain control.

  No way was Ally going to let that happen. Especially not after her loss at the last Harbor City MMA Events women’s night two weeks ago. She’d already won her first fight and if she won this one, she’d be two-thirds of the way to victory and the Saturday women’s night prize purse. She could practically feel a check in her hand as she reached for the girl’s arm, grasping her by the bicep.

  Her competitor recoiled with a grunt, attempting to wrench her arm out of Ally’s grasp.

  It was too late. Ally folded it back, above the other fighter’s shoulder, pinning the bent limb against the mat. She was nearly cheek-to-cheek with the other woman and could smell the floral highlights her shampoo had infused her hair with. The scent was sweet, but her intentions weren’t. She inhaled and executed what would hopefully be a perfect paintbrush.

  Her opponent struggled for several moments before slapping her free hand against the mat, palm down.

  Victory. Ally released her immediately, then wiped sweat from her brow as she rose, first to a kneeling position and then to her feet.

  The crowd was cheering. It wasn’t as big of an audience as there’d been the night before for the men’s fights, but it was gratifying nonetheless to stand in the center of the ring and listen to the applause as her muscles burnt from the exertion.

  She could only imagine what she looked like – she was so hot that her face felt like it was on fire, and grappling did insane things to her hair – but who cared? She’d be paired for one more fight that night, and if she won that, she’d be the champion of her weight division. For the next two weeks, anyway. The thought was enough to put a smile on her face.

  When she climbed out of the ring, Cameron was there congratulating her. She flashed him a brief smile before diverting her attention to the one member of the audience whose gaze she hadn’t dared to meet from the ring for fear of being distracted.

  “Nice kicks,” Ryan said. “Nice fight.”

  “Thanks,” she said, still half-breathless. Unlike last week, she hadn’t doomed herself by telegraphing any kicks. And though she and her opponent had eventually gone to the ground, it had been on her terms – she’d swept her competitor to the mat.

  Ryan accompanied her as she made her way toward the locker room, eager to splash her flushed face with cool water from the sink.

  “Here.” Ryan leaned in and something nudged her side.

  A water bottle. “Thanks.” She took it from his hand and unscrewed the cap. “It’s ice-cold. Where’d you get it?”

  “The fridge in Cameron’s office.” He grinned.

  “Are you kidding? He guards that thing like it’s buried treasure.” Cameron was a certified water and sports drink hoarder. He hated when the gym members raided his personal mini-fridge, mostly because they’d stripped it bare several times, leaving him to discover that fact after a hard workout.

  “He’s playing nice today,” Ryan exclaimed, “because I have something he wants.”

  “What’s that?” Ally leaned against the wall outside the ladies’ locker room, letting the concrete block cool her sizzling skin.

  “Me.”

  “Whoa. I thought he had a girlfriend.”

  “Ha.” A gleam passed through Ryan’s eyes. “I mean he wants me to fight next weekend.”

  “Didn’t you already tell him you were planning to?”

  “Yeah, but there’s been a slight change of plans. He’s rented out a larger venue for the weekend. He’ll need to fill most of the seats to make a profit. So, he wants to advertise something special to draw people in. That something is a fight between me and some guy he’s talked into coming down from Philly to compete. He’s supposed to be a total badass or something. Undefeated.”

  “And Cameron wants you to defeat him?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I’d be there. But not before he promised me twice the usual prize money just for competing. More if I win. Oh, and he’s giving me some training sessions at no cost, too.”

  “Wow, he really is in a generous mood. Are you sure he hasn’t got a crush on you?”

  It was just a joke, but it was nice to watch the little gleam of wry amusement that flashed through Ryan’s eyes. That combined with the grin talking about the upcoming fight had given him, resulting in him looking the happiest she’d ever seen him. Well, sex aside – but that was different.

  She let her gaze linger on his mouth, memorizing the cheerful curve of his lips. His smile helped to ease the tension she’d been carrying around the night before, when she’d seen
him sick with pain. She was just beginning to get to know the different sides of him, and it was impossible not to love the side that drove him to fight and allowed him to smile.

  * * * * *

  The dish of enchiladas was still so warm that it nearly burnt Ally’s hands. She shifted her grip, trying to hold onto the handles only, so that her fingers wouldn’t touch the body of the glass baking pan as she walked between her mother and Melissa, approaching a white house that wasn’t completely unlike their own, though it was located in a different neighborhood.

  “Are you sure we’re welcome to attend?” Ally asked. “I mean, it’s not family and close friends only, is it?” Melissa had only invited her and Maria to the party the day before.

  “No way.” Melissa shook her head. “You know my sister – she loves big parties. If a lot of people don’t show up, she doesn’t feel important.” She laughed, the sound carrying down the street, rich as always.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “Of course I am. Besides, you’ve known Trisha for a couple years now.”

  More as an acquaintance than a friend, but Ally didn’t point that out.

  “And nobody would turn you two away as long as you’re in possession of those enchiladas, trust me.”

  Ally had helped her mother make them that morning in preparation for Melissa’s sister’s bridal shower. Most of the guests had volunteered to pitch in by bringing dishes, since the party was as last-minute as it could get. Trisha had gotten engaged to her long-time boyfriend before he’d deployed and they’d promised to marry when he returned from a tour of duty as a soldier in the Army Reserve. They planned to tie the knot in a couple days with a simple ceremony that only a few close family members would attend.

  “Plus, the actual wedding is going to be so small that she’ll need this to balance it out. Simple isn’t really Trisha’s style – that’s how we know she really loves Mike. She wouldn’t be so excited about their plans if she didn’t.”

  Melissa knocked at the front door.

  Almost immediately, it was answered by her sister. “Come on in,” Trisha said, beaming. “The party’s just getting started.”

  Inside, the house was full bordering on crowded. Music blasted from a stereo in the living room – the kind it was almost impossible not to dance to.

  “I’ll take care of this for you.” An unfamiliar woman swooped down on them like a hawk, scooping the enchilada dish out of Ally’s arms. “Ooh, still nice and warm. Good – we’ve got about half a dozen dishes already waiting to be heated in the oven. I’ll put this one right on the counter.”

  The front door opened directly into the living room. In one corner, there was a folding table piled high with gifts. Maria made a beeline for it and added the giftwrapped box she’d been carrying to the stack. Inside was an appliance that cooked rice and steamed meat and vegetables – a gift from her and Ally.

  “How about some punch?” Melissa asked, gazing in the direction of the kitchen.

  Ally didn’t see a punch bowl, or any sign of drinks, really, but Melissa was so much taller that she could probably see everything.

  “Sure.”

  Melissa made her way into the kitchen, obviously familiar with its layout, and began to navigate her way through the maze of harried women jockeying to get their dishes warmed up in the oven or the microwave. A minute or two later, she emerged carrying two cardboard cups.

  “Mamá, did you want some?” Ally turned to find herself talking to empty space.

  Melissa caught Ally’s eye and tipped her head in the direction of the living room couch, where Maria had settled down and was obviously in conversation with Melissa’s mother.

  “So.” Melissa took a step toward Ally, closing the space between them. The music was loud enough that at that distance, they’d be able to speak to each other without being overheard by anyone else. “Tell me about your night with Ryan.”

  The punch lingering on Ally’s tongue tasted doubly-sweet at the sound of Ryan’s name. She swallowed it, a wave of nervousness rippling through her middle as it slid into her stomach. “How did you know?”

  “I tried calling you on Saturday morning. You didn’t answer, so I called your home phone. Your mom told me you were with him.”

  Ally hadn’t answered because she’d been having sex with Ryan at the time. She’d left her phone in his kitchen and had seen the missed call later. When she’d called Melissa back later that day, Melissa hadn’t said anything about her and Ryan’s night together. Now, it was obvious that she’d been waiting to get the scoop in person.

  “It wasn’t what you think,” Ally said. “Well, it was. But not at first.”

  Melissa raised one finely-shaped brow, holding her punch cup to lips that looked ready to smile.

  “He got sick while we were out – really sick. A migraine. I drove him home and ended up staying the night at his apartment because I was afraid to leave him there alone, especially after he fell and cut his head open on a counter corner.” Her blood ran momentarily cold at the thought of his wound and the feeling of helplessness that had besieged her when she’d realized he’d been hurt.

  “Was he better in the morning?”

  “Yeah, thank God.”

  “And then…”

  Ally swallowed another mouthful of punch. “We slept together.”

  “So, you took care of him and then the next morning you got together when he was better. Sort of like a wounded soldier scenario.” Melissa waggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  Something sharp sliced through Ally’s memories of her and Ryan’s morning together. “Not soldier, marine.”

  “Huh? I didn’t mean to pry that far. I mean, if you two want to role-play that’s fine, but—”

  Ally fought the sudden urge to laugh – a surprise, given the stab of melancholiness remembering Ryan’s scars had caused. “No. I mean, he was a marine up until nine months ago.”

  “Wow. You know… I bet he looked amazing in uniform.”

  “Probably.” The thought of him in dress blues or fatigues was a turn on, until she thought of him getting caught in the blast of an IED. She’d rather see him safe in gym shorts any day – not that that wasn’t sexy as well.

  “Hey, you two.” Trisha appeared behind Melissa, laying a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Her bright pink lacquered nails stood out against Melissa’s grey sweater, almost as loud as the music. They were synthetic – years of expertise made it easy for Ally to tell, though they’d been applied well. “We’re about to start a game while we wait for the food to be ready.”

  Everyone gathered in the living room – quite a feat considering the fact that nearly a dozen more people had arrived while Ally and Melissa had been talking.

  Melissa and Trisha’s mother ran the game – a version of bingo that promised to launch the party into new levels of noisiness. Everyone was given a card with squares that were marked with phrases like ‘cousin’, ‘highschool classmate’ or ‘fellow shoe connoisseur’. The object of the game was to mingle and find attendees who matched the description, then mark the corresponding spot on the card.

  Ally and Melissa worked as a team.

  “Look,” Melissa said, pointing slightly to the left. “Shoe connoisseur right there. Her feet have got to be killing her.”

  The woman she was pointing at wore strappy high-heeled sandals in a glittering shade of midnight blue.

  “Right.” Ally nodded, knowing Melissa shared her feelings toward shoes, which were that if they weren’t comfortable, they weren’t worth wearing. The pain caused by narrow stiletto heels like the type their target was wearing was just too much to put up with, except for maybe on very special occasions.

  When they approached the woman, she gladly spent several minutes showing off her footwear, rattling off the name of a designer Ally didn’t recognize.

  Melissa nodded, assuring the woman they were gorgeous. She probably recognized the brand name, thanks to Trisha – an incurable shoe collector.


  “Okay, cousin is easy,” Melissa said. “There are at least eight in this room.”

  Despite their teamwork, neither Ally nor Melissa reached bingo.

  The winner was one of the cousins Melissa had identified. She gladly accepted her prize of scented body lotion, lifting it into the air like a trophy.

  “These are going to be the most intense bridal shower games you’ve ever seen,” Melissa spoke into Ally’s ear. “We’ve got four cousins who are the exact same age as Trisha – they used to fight like sisters all the time when they were younger. And they’re all competitive.”

  The signs of heated competition were already in the air – several women that must’ve been the aforementioned cousins teased the winner, vowing to defeat her at the next game. Trisha was egging them on, wearing a broad grin.

  Melissa shrugged. “I’m not getting caught up in that. Better to buy my own lotion than go head-to-head with them.”

  The rivalry was suspended when the food was declared ready. The kitchen counters had been converted into a giant, winding buffet, and it was almost surprising that the table didn’t cave beneath the dozen or so dishes and platters that had been spread across every inch of its surface.

  When everyone had eaten, the games resumed.

  “Time for our toilet paper wedding dress challenge.” Melissa’s mother turned to Ally and Melissa. “Will you girls help me fetch the toilet paper? I stocked up on about two-dozen rolls.”

  “Sure.” Ally did her best to mask her confusion. Toilet paper wedding dress challenge?

  “I know it sounds weird,” Melissa said, as if she’d read Ally’s mind. “But it really is fun seeing what people come up with. We played it at my cousin’s bridal shower last year.”

  “Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  Melissa’s mother led them to the bathroom, opened the closet and began pulling down extra-large packages of toilet paper. “Triple-ply,” she said with a wry smile. “Last year Trisha and one of her cousins got into it because one claimed the other stepped on the hem of her team’s dress, tearing it on purpose. I was forced to declare a draw.”