Battered Not Broken Page 3

  “See you soon.” His words were casual, but a low note in his voice made them something distinctly personal – more of a promise than an offhand turn of phrase.

  Warmth and noise buffeted her as she opened the door and prepared to step back into the gym. As she placed one foot over the threshold, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder at the man who’d just asked her to dinner.

  He was leaning heavily against the building’s wall, one arm and the opposite hand braced against the brick. It looked less like his casual pose of seconds ago and more like he needed the wall for support.

  He kept his shoulders rigid, but his head dipped lightly to the left, reminding her of the brief moment when he’d faltered in the ring. For some reason, watching him stand that way brought back the butterflies that had plagued her stomach earlier. Only now, their fluttering brought on something more like nervous concern than excitement.

  “Excuse me.” A woman with voluminous curls and too much make-up stood facing Ally, a box of cigarettes and a plastic lighter in hand. Her voice – roughened by probably two or three decades of smoking – broke the spell of Ally’s concentration.

  “Sorry.” Ally slipped back inside the gym and made her way toward the sea of folding chairs.

  Maybe one of the blows Moore had taken to the gut had left him feeling a little queasy. It was probably nothing.

  * * * * *

  “Well, how was it?” Melissa’s voice was softer than usual as she stood by Ally’s locker, her jacket still zipped and her duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Same as usual,” Ally said, lowering her own bag onto the changing bench and unzipping it, exposing its contents – freshly-laundered shorts, a sports bra and spandex top. Her gloves and mouthpiece were in her locker, where she usually kept them.

  “How was his eye?”

  “Better. The bruise is yellow and faded now. He didn’t have any other injuries that I could see, but you know, the uniform hides a lot.”

  Melissa nodded and slowly dropped her bag before shucking her jacket.

  “I get the feeling he doesn’t tell me the worst of what goes on in there.” Ally’s gut twisted with certainty as she pictured her father as he was shown on the screen she saw him on when she visited the prison. That was how they handled visitations there – she didn’t even get to see him face to face. Instead, they were in different rooms, maybe even different floors of the large facility, connected by technology. “No, I know he doesn’t.”

  “If he holds back I’m sure it’s because he doesn’t want to worry you and your mother.”

  “I worry about him every day. My mother does too. And we’ll never know who gave him that black eye, or ninety-nine percent of what goes on in there.”

  “He’s made it this far. He’s tough and he’s smart – he’ll make it another year.”

  Ally nodded and tried to let Melissa’s confidence seep into her thoughts. It was hard with the image of her father in his prison uniform still fresh in her mind. She always felt off for the rest of the day after visiting him. She tried to make the most out of their visitation sessions, but they were never long enough and being inside the maximum-security corrections facility was like sitting under a storm cloud. And as much as she hated the place, her heart wrenched every time she walked out its doors and left him alone behind its walls.

  “Come on.” Melissa slung an arm around Ally’s shoulders. “We’re practicing your kicks today, remember?”

  “Yeah.” Ally suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape her when she remembered why she’d asked her friend to help her with her kicks. Two days ago, she’d competed in the women’s MMA competition Cameron had hosted, just like he did every other Saturday. They weren’t as popular as the men’s nights yet, but had begun to draw more competitors lately. One of those competitors had kicked Ally’s butt.

  More accurately, she’d kicked Ally in the gut and knocked her to the mat, where she’d locked her in an armbar she hadn’t been able to escape. She’d been forced to tap out and had lost that match. She’d been disappointed – in herself, mainly, because the blow that had floored her had come after she’d aimed a kick of her own. She’d telegraphed the kick – given it away by moving before she’d actually thrown it – and that had been the moment when she’d lost the upper hand she’d maintained up until then.

  “Let’s warm up on a bag.” Melissa halted beside a large one that wasn’t being used. If anyone would be able to get Ally’s kicks into shape, it would be her – she was unbelievably skilled and quick with her long legs.

  Ally practiced both punching and kicking combinations for about five minutes, solely for the purpose of warming up. Then she nodded to Melissa, who began critiquing her as she laid into the bag with roundhouse kicks – the very move she’d botched during her match on Saturday.

  Kicking over and over again and trying to iron out the kinks in her technique under Melissa’s watchful guidance was a calming process. While the movements might seem simple, she had to devote her full concentration to them to avoid slipping back into her old habits, and that left no room in her thoughts for worry over her father.

  “Your kicks are looking a lot better,” Melissa said eventually. “Let me warm up on the bag for a few minutes, then we’ll try them out on the mats.”

  Ally backed away from the bag, giving Melissa some space as she focused on steadying her breathing and her heart rate. She’d almost succeeded when a gust of cold wind slipped past her, disturbing the ends of her ponytail.

  She turned toward the door where someone had just entered. Tall, male and clad in a black hoodie, he could have been almost any one of the gym’s members. But Ally knew exactly who he was. Certainty hummed through her veins and brought back memories of Friday night, which was the last time she’d seen Ryan Moore.

  Her suspicions were confirmed when he turned slightly, exposing a strong jaw and unforgettably blue eyes to her sight. Knowing she’d been able to identify him at a glance was a source of senseless pleasure. There was no real reason why it should have made her happy, but it did.

  “Ready.”

  Ally turned to face Melissa, who’d worked up a light sweat.

  “Let’s go before someone else takes the mat.” She tipped her head of night-black curls toward an area in the far left corner. It wasn’t a ring, but an area of floor space that had been laid with interlocking foam mat pieces. It was perfect for sparring.

  Ally nodded and started toward the corner with Melissa. She hadn’t made eye contact with Moore when he’d entered, but knew that he’d seen her – his gaze burnt between her shoulder blades, an almost tangible sort of pressure. She didn’t look over her shoulder, but somehow, she knew he was looking.

  At least she’d gotten in some practice before he’d arrived. She had a personal policy against dating strangers, but that didn’t mean she wanted to make a fool out of herself in front of a man who had the ability to make her feel as if the city was in the midst of an August heat wave with a single look.

  “Good,” Melissa coached her as they moved in easy circles. “Good, but a little faster this time.”

  Ally gave her technique every bit of concentration she could muster, reserving only a small corner of her mind for the simple awareness that she was being watched. Her form wasn’t as good as Melissa’s, but she managed not to embarrass herself before the pressure of Moore’s gaze disappeared from between her shoulder blades.

  A moment later, the sound of heavy punches landing in a one-two, one-two rhythm joined the chorus of similar sounds that filled the building. Moore was working a bag – hard. One-two-three, one-two… Ally couldn’t help but note the cadence of his combinations. In her mind’s eye, she could see his shoulders flexing beneath ink-covered skin.

  “You okay?” Melissa did the one thing a good fighter never did during a match – she stopped moving.

  “I’m fine,” Ally said, a twinge of guilt assailing her. She must have worried Melissa, who probably thought she was
still down in the dumps about her father. “Come on.”

  As Melissa launched back into motion, the weight of Moore’s gaze slid over Ally’s shoulders again and remained there for several moments. It was weird how acutely she felt its absence when it was gone.

  Ally worked with Melissa until she felt like she’d really managed to put her instructions into action. Her kicks were smoother now – quicker and more fluid. She couldn’t go back in time to Saturday night, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Losing sucked – especially when it involved a kick to the gut strong enough to knock her off her feet – and the more matches she won, the more money she could make fighting at Cameron’s Saturday night events. She didn’t harbor any thoughts of fighting strictly for the glory of victory – she needed the money.

  “Your kicks are looking good,” Melissa said. “Too bad we didn’t work on them before Saturday.”

  “Yeah,” Ally agreed as a shiver zipped down her spine, alerting her to the fact that she was once again the subject of Moore’s gaze. “Too bad.” The feeling was gone a moment later, leaving her feeling like he’d touched her briefly with his eyes, just like someone might take a moment to tuck a lock of hair behind a lover’s ear or stroke their cheek.

  The subconscious analogy threatened to make her shiver again. “Thanks for helping me out.” Her skin pebbled from head to toe. “I’ve got to get going. My mother will be getting home from work in about half an hour and I don’t want her to be alone.” Plus, she was getting way too imaginative for her own good.

  “Right.” Melissa nodded toward a bag that wasn’t being used. “I’m going to stay and work out on my own a little longer. Suzie’s gonna be here in an hour for my training session. Then I’ve got to leave for work. Give me a call if there’s anything I can do for you or your mom.”

  “Thanks.” Ally drifted to the ladies’ locker room and quickly stripped out of her workout gear, throwing on jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a jacket. She’d shower when she got home – if she took the time to do so at the gym, she might not arrive at the house before her mother. She’d worked a little longer with Melissa than she’d intended.

  When she exited the locker room and stepped back out into the gym’s sprawling main area – a jungle of hanging bags, mats and the fighting ring in the center of it all – she couldn’t help but be aware of the sound of Moore’s punches landing on a heavy bag. There were a couple other men working heavy bags and one using a speed bag, but somehow, the sound of their gloves hitting vinyl was just noise. Moore created a rhythm as he worked – one that got under Ally’s skin and made it pebble again.

  She had to pass the bag he was working to exit the gym. Large, cylindrical and heavier than she was, it hung from the ceiling by steel chains. They didn’t clank or rattle – the bag weighed them down too much to allow that much movement – but they swayed as the bag absorbed blows, a testament to the force it was being subjected to.

  Heavy bags were used for developing power – something Moore wasn’t exactly lacking in the first place. It was easy to remember him moving in the ring, his body a mass of muscles that exuded strength – except for those brief moments when he’d seemed to falter.

  Her stomach did a funny little twist when she remembered him slowing in the ring and then bracing himself against the outside wall of the gym later that night. But he seemed fine as she rounded the bag, careful to stay far enough away that she wouldn’t be in range of any flying elbows or fists.

  She’d just stepped past him when she cast a glance over her shoulder, a twinge of curiosity reminding her of the sprawling design inked across the canvas of his back and the words she’d never been close enough to make out.

  It wasn’t his back that she glimpsed as she moved forward, but his face.

  He’d turned to face her, filling the field of her vision with his bare torso instead of his back, plus his full lips, a nose with a tiny bead of sweat shining at the tip and of course, blue eyes. “Nice kicks,” he said without preamble.

  She’d intended to keep walking after a quick look, but her sneakers might as well have been frozen to the concrete floor. “Thanks. I needed the practice – I telegraphed a kick on Saturday night and lost the match because of it.” The words just sort of spilled out, a confession she might have been better off keeping to herself. After all, he hadn’t been in the audience on Saturday.

  She’d half expected him to be. Admission into the fights was free for any Knockout member, and she’d watched him compete the night before. And then he’d asked her on a date. An irrational sense of disappointment had plagued her for just a moment when she’d stepped into the ring and looked out into a crowd that hadn’t included him.

  “I heard about it,” he said. “Wish I could’ve been there Saturday night, but I couldn’t make it.”

  In a moment of annoyance sparked by his having already heard about her loss, it was impossible not remember his words from Friday night, when he’d said that all his nights were free. Apparently, not the night of her fights. Her thoughts took a surprisingly covetous turn, presenting her with images of him approaching another female member of Friday night’s audience – one who probably would have snapped up his dinner invitation in a heartbeat.

  Maybe she would have too, if the past wasn’t always in the back of her mind. Either way, she squashed the thread of curiosity before it could burst into full-blown jealousy. “Maybe next time.”

  In the wake of suppressed envy, another thought struck her – what if he hadn’t attended because something had been wrong? What, exactly, she had no idea. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him slowing in the ring and then bracing himself against the building the night before her fights.

  “Do you fight every weekend?”

  She shook her head. “Cameron only hosts women’s events every other Saturday. But I participate in all of those.”

  His eyes were bright as he looked down at her – he had to have at least six inches on her 5’5” frame. “I’ll be there next time.”

  She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to her when she’d promised to attend his fight, or the suggestive smile he’d worn then. For half a moment, a wicked impulse nearly seized her, tempting her to make a similar remark.

  The urge faded as a current of excitement swept through her at the idea of him shouting her name, watching her every movement, even if it was just at a competition. “We’ll see,” was all she said, then she was outside, her cheeks being cooled by a cold gust of wind that whistled down the street and past the gym doors.

  Chapter 3

  The atmosphere at Annalisa’s was casual, the food good but not great, other than the chicken parmesan, which was oddly amazing – the one stand-out item on the dinner menu. More importantly, Annalisa’s was within walking distance of the house and the fact that Melissa would be working there that night guaranteed a warm welcome. Ally had decided to take her mother there shortly after arriving home from the gym earlier that day.

  It was less about not having to cook and more about reminding her mother that there was life outside the walls of their little white house, which always seemed so empty on prison visitation days.

  Though money was tight, cost was immaterial. Or at least, that was what Ally told herself as she and her mother approached the brick restaurant. She’d lost a match on Saturday, which meant she hadn’t brought home the prize money she’d hoped to land. But there was no amount of money that could ease the pain of watching her mother wander aimlessly around the house, looking as if she still couldn’t believe her husband and son no longer called it home.

  “I’d like to request Melissa as our server,” Ally told the hostess who greeted them just inside the door. Melissa’s friendly face might boost her mother’s mood, and Melissa always seemed to like it when they came to see her while she was at work.

  “Melissa’s not here,” the hostess said. “Is it all right if Sarah takes care of you instead?”

  “Isn’t Melissa schedul
ed to work from five until closing?” Ally asked, a twinge of concern rippling through her consciousness. Melissa had mentioned having to work just a couple hours ago, when she’d coached Ally’s kicks at the gym.

  The girl nodded. “She was scheduled, but she hasn’t come in.”

  “That’s not like her.”

  The hostess started to agree, but Ally cut her off as a heavy feeling slipped into her gut – a combination of dread and anxiety. “Has anyone heard from her?” Melissa would call if she couldn’t come in to work, even if she was sick, and she’d seemed perfectly healthy that afternoon.

  “Not that I know of.” The hostess shifted her weight from one foot to the other and laid down the menus she’d been holding. “I can ask a manager.”

  The girl walked toward the back of the restaurant and returned in what seemed like five seconds. “No one’s heard from her yet. Would you like me to go ahead and seat you?”

  “Okay.” Ally pulled her phone from her handbag and referred to her recent calls, where Melissa’s number was at the top of the list. She dialed as she and her mother followed the hostess across a floor of cream-colored tile to a familiar corner booth. If Melissa needed anything, they could always leave.

  But Melissa didn’t answer.

  Ally tried her landline number instead.

  Ally’s heart dropped at the sound of the voice that resounded from the other end of the connection. “Hello?”

  It was Melissa’s roommate. Not ideal, but still, at least someone had answered. “Hey Steph, it’s Ally. Do you know where Melissa is? She hasn’t shown up for her work shift.”

  “She’s not here. I think she left for the gym this morning, and I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Okay.” Ally’s phone was slightly warm from use and her fingers felt cold against its plastic shell. “Will you give me a call if you see her or hear from her?”