Defying the Odds (14 page)

Clay didn’t have a choice but to watch her run off. He stood in the back hallway of the
Cuthouse
Cellar, watching his heart run away from him in a blue and white waitress uniform. It turned out the sound of heartbreak squeaked like sneakers with bad treading sliding against linoleum.

This couldn’t be happening.

He hadn’t spent a lifetime pushing women away only to be taken down by a piece of pumpkin pie. There was no fucking way this could be his undoing. It felt surreal because he wasn’t raging and furious; instead he felt broken and devastated. His pinpoint vision on Melody blurred when she rounded the corner.

He couldn’t believe it. Someone or something
not
Melody was doing this to him, because never in a million years was he going to be convinced she wanted this. She’d looked exactly how he felt, like some terrible, malevolent force had just ripped out her heart and stomped on it for good measure.

If he ever got ahold of that force…he’d end it.

The idea of revenge should offer some comfort, but the room was still swimming and gray, making him feel like losing Melody had taken the color out of his life. He’d forgotten who he was before she’d shown up. Bitter and unhappy, with two friends he trusted and a sea of acquaintances who didn’t give a fuck about Clay outside his ability to be a meal ticket to anyone good at capitalizing on strength, agility, and violence as a sport.

He was going to sit there and actually
cry
if he didn’t find an outlet for the pain and crushing loss trying to swallow him whole.

“You left cash on the nightstand?”

Clay turned his bewildered gaze on Wyatt, who walked over and stood next to him. With his tan, wide-brimmed hat in his hand, Wyatt pulled a face of disappointment.

“I feel like I should arrest you for that. That’s pretty darn bad, Clay.”

Clay frowned, the shock and heartache making his thinking process fuzzy. “What?”

“No wonder she dumped you,” Wyatt went on with a wince. “I knew this was a nightmare waiting to happen. I’m probably
gonna
have to tell you ‘I told you so’ once the shock of getting kicked to the curb wears off.”

As it happened, an outlet for the pain dressed in a sheriff’s uniform and had a tendency to gloat no matter how dire the situation. Clay didn’t even hesitate before he raised his fist and nailed Wyatt, savoring the crunch that meant he’d just broken his best friend’s nose.

Clay closed his eyes, letting the hot water hit his face, trying to will away the stress and tension. He hated the buildup before a fight.
Living out of hotels.
The media blitz. Cameras shoved in his face for training. They thought they were getting a feel of his life as an MMA fighter; what they were actually seeing was a staged show that Clay was an unwilling participant in.

Clay bitched and moaned through the whole process every single time. His coaches yelled, and Clay ignored them. Promoters cried about sponsors and fans while Clay did a pretty good job of not hearing them. His agent took lots and lots of antacid.

Clay didn’t want to talk to people. He certainly didn’t want to give interviews. He remained steadfast in his determination to be as uncooperative as possible, because this was a fight, not a circus, and the day he started willingly being a clown, he’d quit.

Then Wyatt would come along and somehow talk him into doing a few interviews and nudge him into doing a training camp promo. Clay would give martial arts tips and talk about past fights for the cameras because that seemed moderately worthwhile when you considered the art of Mixed Martial Arts. He’d sign autographs and pose for pictures because it wasn’t the fans’ fault he was naturally an asshole.

Wyatt would push and Clay would eventually play along just to shut him up, because his yapping could really get on Clay’s nerves. That was past fights, where Clay would watch the promotional footage later and realize he’d ended up being a slave to the machine and he’d be disappointed in himself. If there was one small comfort in getting dumped a week before his trip to Las Vegas, it was that no one could accuse him of being a clown this time.

His team gave up the first day they arrived, because the reality was, they were lucky Clay was there to participate in the fight in the first place. Getting him to be a clown for the masses was the least of their concerns. Their angle on Clay’s bad attitude changed from bitching at him to get with the program to coaxing and begging him to pull himself together long enough to win. At the very least, they hoped he wouldn’t get destroyed by
Wellings
, who wasn’t just hamming it up for the cameras but also looked pretty damn vicious in training.

Everyone, including his own team, was expecting Clay to lose, and Clay couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck about it. He wasn’t going to get crushed like they feared. Over twenty years of intense martial arts training was hard to forget. His fighting responses were deeply ingrained. He could fight on autopilot—training with Wyatt since middle school insured that—he just couldn’t go the distance.

The fight tomorrow was an issue; Clay knew it on some level. Instead he found himself thinking of Melody as the hot water beat against his face. He knew something was up. He didn’t believe she’d just walked away from what they shared for nothing. She was working harder than before. In the days since she pushed him away, she’d started to lose weight. The dark circles under her eyes were more than exhaustion. Fear and desperation showed on her face, and Clay was frantic because there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He turned off the shower and leaned past the curtain to grab a towel. They had him in one of those outrageously opulent hotel rooms Las Vegas did so well.
With marble floors and gold fixtures and way too much space.
The bathroom was enormous, with a huge Jacuzzi tub and a separate shower. Melody would have enjoyed this fancy room if she’d agreed to come with him.

* * * *

“Mel.”

Melody turned, eyes wide, a fork held halfway to her mouth. She glanced around Clay to the front of the
diner,
obviously making sure no one saw him come into her workspace. “What’re
ya
doing back here?”

“I know you take a break after the lunch rush to grab a bite,” Clay admitted, feeling his cheeks heat over being so obvious about watching her. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking away from her. “I just…I’m glad you’re eating. It looks like you’re losing weight.”

Melody laughed cynically. “I can afford to lose a few pounds.”

“Don’t say that.” Clay frowned, letting his gaze roam over her. He’d given her space because she’d asked for it, but the separation was killing him. “I miss you, Mel.”

Melody squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. She bit her lip rather than reply. The pain was written all over her face, sharp and tangible enough to convince Clay staying away wasn’t the right card to play. He stepped into her personal space. The magnetic pulse that drew them together flared to life, ricocheting fierce and electric between them. The hair on Clay’s arms actually stood on end. It felt like taking his first drink of water after days in the desert. He reached out and grabbed her hand because he needed the connection.

“Oh don’t.” Melody’s eyes swam like lost emeralds behind her glasses when she tilted her head to give Clay a pleading look. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you not to do this.”

“Come with me to Vegas tomorrow,” he went on, refusing to release his hold on her hand. She didn’t pull away, and he got the distinct impression she needed the connection too. “You don’t have to watch the fight, but they always dump a bunch of money on fancy hotel rooms, and I know you’ll like it. You can see the three-ring circus, cameras and fans and a bunch of bullshit everyone but me seems to think is exciting.”

“You don’t like it?” Melody asked in concern. “I thought this was your dream.”

“I like the art of battle,” he admitted with a smirk. “I like fighting. I like the satisfaction of winning, but I hate the circus.”

Her smile was sad as she squeezed his hand. “I wish I could go.”

“You can,” he assured her. “Come with me. Make the bullshit bearable.”

“I can’t.” She pulled her hand out of his, looking like the action was hurting her. She turned back to the food that she’d been standing there eating. She pushed at it halfheartedly with her fork and then whispered, “Please take care of
yourself
.”

Clay knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he had to take a cooling breath in response. He wanted to needle her until she told him what had happened to change everything, but he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He was still haunted by the look of fear in Melody’s eyes when he’d grabbed her arm outside the locker room.

Words were trapped in his throat, because he wasn’t great at expressing himself. He’d never had a girlfriend before. He’d never had anyone to care about except Jules and Wyatt, and the two of them knew as much about the softer emotions in life as he did. He was in foreign territory, but he wanted to find a way to tell her that every minute away from her felt like a small death. These past few days had stretched out like an eternity, and he really didn’t see how he could survive a lifetime without her.

Melody was still pushing at her food, two silent tears running down her cheeks until she reached up to hastily brush them away. He should say it. Just give in to instinct and lay every rough sentiment welling up inside of him out in a terrible gush of emotion. He knew it would be dreadful to witness because he was horrible at this stuff. He’d probably say all the wrong things in all the wrong ways, and Melody would likely get every word because she understood him.

He took a deep breath and willed the words to come.

“You okay, darling?”

Clay groaned, turning to see Judy come around the corner. Her eyes were narrowed at the two of them, darting from Melody still silently crying to Clay standing there tense and vibrating with a sea of unfamiliar emotions.

“Fine.”
Melody nodded, wiping at her cheeks once more. “Clay was just—”

“Leaving,” Clay finished for her, because he didn’t want her to get in trouble. He reached out and squeezed her small hand once more in his big one. “I’ll see
ya
, Mel.”

“See
ya
.” She turned to give him smile. “Good luck.”

Clay let go of her hand and turned to leave, feeling anything but lucky…

* * * *

Clay wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom feeling raw and miserable. He winced as he stepped into the large suite. His room was crowded with people, and it reminded him why he’d gone to hide in the second bathroom to begin with. He’d been trying to escape Wyatt, who’d set up camp in Clay’s bedroom and hovered like an annoying mother hen.

Jasper and Tony sat at a table in front of the window. The two coaches ignored the impressive skyline of Las Vegas at dusk. Instead they huddled close together, speaking in gruff whispers.

His publicity manager, Eloise, sat on the couch glued to her laptop. Clay saw she was reviewing footage of him training earlier in the afternoon. His agent, Rick, lingered in the marbled foyer of the suite, speaking into his top-of-the-line smartphone. Rick stopped midsentence, whatever he’d been talking about obviously not for Clay’s consumption. Instead Rick gave him a big, false smile that churned his stomach.

“Hey, buddy!” Rick’s voice was high-pitched in the annoying way it got when he was nervous and trying very hard to hide it. He held up a finger to Clay and then whispered into the phone, “Let me call you back. Clay just got out of the shower.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Clay said, refraining from adding that he didn’t want to talk anyway. “I’m just
gonna
take a nap.”

“Good.” Rick gripped Clay’s bare upper arm, squeezing the muscle. “Go lie down. Get rested. Wyatt ordered up a massage for you.”

Clay pulled a face of distaste. “I don’t—”

“It’s good for you. It’ll relax you, keep you
loose
for tomorrow.”

Clay studied Rick, with his false smile and tense lines around his beady blue eyes. Then he turned to look at everyone else. Jasper had been training him since he was in middle school. Tony showed up when Clay and Wyatt had first started on the MMA circuit. The two of them had showed enough promise in their youth that Tony moved to Garnet and never left. He liked both coaches well enough, but he was officially over bleeding for them and all the other leeches that benefited off his hard work. They were an excellent crew. Clay wouldn’t work with people who weren’t good at what they did and decent folks to boot, but he still felt done.