Bound Together: Gay Romance Read online

  I sat up a little bit straighter. “Yes, I know Brant Taggart.”

  “What a coincidence. I'm the wife of the man Brant is going to fight. Good luck!” She said, tilting her head to the side. Glancing at the ring on her finger, I found a huge rock that shined in the lights that flashed around the stadium.

  “Yeah, good luck,” I answered, turning back to the ring. My heart was thumping and I was ashamed of my lack of makeup and my small breasts. I hadn't felt so self conscious since high school.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a big headline fight for you!” The announcer said through the microphone. Everyone's head turned to the ring, where Brant had just stepped in. Francis came in from the other side as well. “We're about to bring the street to the elite here!”

  “Francis is taller,” the woman next to me whispered. “But they're the exact same weight. I wonder if that difference will matter in this fight.”

  I didn't know if she was trying to make me nervous, but it was working. I didn't know anything about mixed martial arts, but it was clear to me that Francis could put asses in seats. He had to be good.

  I had a really bad feeling about this fight.

  The rap music blaring overhead switched to a new song as the referee spoke to Brant and Francis. The two men seemed to be sizing each other up, and both looked tense. “You two know the rules. I want a clean fight.” The referee looked at Francis. “I'm not going to tolerate anything less than a clean fight.”

  The fight started, and Francis was the first to swing. Brant took the hit right on the chin, but returned it and slammed a fist into Francis' cheek. The two took turns sending a hit one way and then the other, chasing each other around the ring.

  It seemed like a pretty even fight for a while, but at some point things turned and Brant started to look more haggard. I scooted to the edge of my seat, watching in horror as Francis beat Brant into submission. The woman next to me stayed put, and she even took out her phone now and then to check her texts.

  Did she not care about what happened to her husband? How could anyone let someone they love go into the ring like that?

  –

  When I realized that I had no chance of winning, I couldn't tell you. The fight was feeling damn good for a long while, but at some point I lose my energy completely and my confidence went with it.

  Losing your confidence in the middle of a fight was a recipe for disaster. Confidence was where half of a fighter's strength came from. If a fighter wasn't full of himself, he was going to lose.

  Francis was faster than me, and he was clearly more skilled than I was. He seemed to know my next move even before I did, and he blocked a lot of the hits I sent his way while finding openings in my guard that I never would have noticed.

  I tried to get in as many hits as I could, pumping my fist into Francis' stomach and knocking the wind out of him whenever it was possible, but it wasn't going to be enough. He was going to win if I couldn't pull off some kind of miracle.

  He was breathing heavy when he locked arms with me, but no matter how tired he looked, his muscles kept forcing him forward, his hits never got any weaker. I pulled away from him then ran to the wall, but he chased me and slammed his fist into the back of my chin, sending my jaw forward.

  It hurt so damn much that stars burst behind my eyes. I gasped and fell to the ground, but got up quickly. Lunging forward, I managed to get my fist to connect to his ear, but Francis just returned the hit with an uppercut to my chin.

  It was twice as hard and it sent me flying to the floor, my whole body slamming against the bottom of the ring. I tried, I fucking tried so hard to get up, but I couldn't. My body just gave up on me, and my strength didn't come back until Francis had already been declared the winner.

  I let out a roar, slamming my fists against the ring's floor. “Fuck! Fuck!” I yelled, but no matter how much I yelled, I only became angrier and the pain only became worse.

  Standing up, I tried to congratulate Francis on his win, but he shot me a look that made my blood boil. It said everything it needed to say: if he ever sees me again, he'll make me regret it.

  Well, two could play at that game. I decided I would make sure that motherfucker saw me again, and when he did I would have 10 pounds on him and he will be the one to regret making me lose my first big fight.

  He was going to regret ever fucking with me. He could have saved himself from my wrath, but he chose to give me the stink eye.

  I was not going to let him get away with that disrespect.

  –

  I followed the blonde woman to find Brant. She didn't seem to mind that I was behind her, maybe because she knew I didn't have a clue what I was doing.

  He was with a doctor, a tall man that looked over the bruises forming on his neck where Francis had hit him behind the jaw.

  “You're going to be fine, you didn't break anything this time. But you need to be more careful. Another hit like that could leave you unable to ever eat solid foods again. Don't get into the ring with someone you can't defend yourself against ever again,” the doctor told Brant.

  Brant only rolled his eyes and huffed. When the doctor left, I stepped up to him. “You're not taking him seriously,” I accused.

  Looking up at me, I saw his pain and a lot of anger in his eyes. “I'm taking him seriously enough. I know I fucked up. I might never get a chance to fight someone as big as Francis ever again.”

  “Is that really such a bad thing?” I asked, but I regretted it when I saw how deflated Brant became. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't nag you like that.”

  “Do you want to head out to the bar?” He rubbed the back of his head and winced.

  I thought about it. He just wanted to numb the pain of defeat, and I wasn't interested in watching him do that. “No. You're going to take me out for a real dinner, where we're going to talk like civilized people.”

  He smiled. “Alright, I guess I can do that. Let's go.” Taking my arm, he led me out of the stadium with his head just a little higher than it was before. If I said the right things, I could probably get him to cheer up. That was my only goal for the rest of the night.

  The restaurant he chose was nice, and it was quiet. The few people that were there were older couples, and the room was dim and lit mostly by candles. The waiter poured our wine and then left to let us look over the menus.

  “So, really. What made you decide to get into fighting?” I asked. “You were so gentle when you were younger.”

  “There wasn't anything else that I was good at.” He kept his eyes focused on the menu, but I could tell he didn't want to talk about it. “I've never had any talents, and I wasn't smart like you. The only thing I had was my fists, and I didn't want to join the military. So I took up fighting. The rest is history.”

  “You had plenty of talents, Brant.”

  “I'm thinking about getting a big fat steak. What do you think you'll have?” Changing the subject wasn't a good sign. I'd have to get him to talk about this somehow. How could I tell him that if he wanted to be with me, he couldn't keep fighting?

  –

  All through the dinner, my mind was almost solely on how I would get revenge. How I would find Francis before I left the city, and I would make him pay. Nothing Vivian did could soothe the monster inside of me that called out for blood.

  I ate that steak like a beast while Vivian slowly worked through her pasta. There was a worried look on her face. It was the way she stitched her eyebrows together, the pout to her lips as she tried to get me to talk to her.

  She chatted with me about random things here or there, but she kept bringing up what I could do aside from fighting.

  “Do you think that loss will be a big deal?” She asked.

  I shrugged. “Probably, but it's something I can come back from if I work my ass off.”

  “But couldn't you do something else? You can't fight for the rest of your life, unless you die young. Your dad taught you a lot of useful skills. Didn't he teach you how to repair cars?”
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  “He tried to, but I hardly paid attention,” I answered. I didn't want to talk about my dad.

  She sighed. “I don't think that's true. I remember when my first car wouldn't start before prom, and you came over to fix it before we drove there. You're great with cars.”

  I tried not to, but I rolled my eyes. Her face fell and she turned her attention to her pasta. I was going to apologize to Vivian for being such an ass when two new people stepped into the restaurant.

  Francis Bush and a woman.

  My heart thumped in my chest. This could be my one chance to get revenge. I have to show him that his win was a fluke, that I should have dominated him. Standing, I stepped towards him. When he saw me, he puffed out his chest and pushed the woman behind him. She looked at me with fearful eyes.

  Lunging forward, I punch Francis right in his smug fucking face. It felt so good, I punched him again, and then again. He tried to hit me, but I blocked his fist every time. That anger inside was paying off, and I beat him until his lip split and he was on the ground.

  Vivian grabbed my arms and pulled me away. The woman he had brought in was screaming on the floor next to Francis, begging for someone to call 911. While a crowd gathered around Francis, I was pulled outside. Vivian left me for a second before coming back out.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” She yelled at me, shoving me against the wall. For such a small woman, she was kind of strong.

  “I have to go back in and pay the bill,” I answered.

  She stopped me. “I already did, Brant.”

  “Then let's go.” I took her hand, but she pulled it away.

  Shaking her head, a tear fell from her eye. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Having to turn Brant down was going to hurt both of us, but I couldn't keep going on like this. The way he was acting, the fights and erratic behavior, it wasn't good for me. It certainly wasn't good for him.

  “What do you mean?” He asked.

  “I don't need this violence, or this drama, Brant! This is ridiculous! I'm just here to sell my mom's house, not to be caught up in some constant cage match where I never know if you'll be thrown in jail or beaten to a bloody pulp.” I was shaking. I didn't want to be crying, but it was happening anyway.

  “You know, most women find all of this exciting,” he answered with a sly grin. “Come on, admit that you find it a little sexy.” He sauntered up to me, grinning wider.

  “No, Brant. I don't. I find it scary. If you think your girlfriend should be excited about the prospect of you coming home with a broken jaw, then you need to start looking at someone else entirely.”

  He tried to take my hand again, to pull me into a hug. He was only trying to calm me down, but I pulled away. “Just stop, please. This isn't going to work. You're going to keep fighting, and I'm never going to be okay with it.”

  “So, what? What do you want?” He raised his arms and then dropped them dejectedly.

  I shrugged. “I just want you to go. I'll call a cab to take me home.”

  He shook his head. “At least let me drive you.”

  “You don't get it, do you? I don't want anything to do with you. Please just leave me alone.” I crossed my arms and stepped away from him. It would have been nice to spend more time with Brant before I had to leave, to go back to Ann Arbor.

  He looked at me, a sort of puppy dog look in his eyes. I knew I had actually shattered him completely, but if I didn't stand my ground then, things would never change. Eventually, he turned and left me on the sidewalk, then drove away.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called my taxi. It would cost a fortune to drive back home, but I would rather pay that money than suffer through a ride with Brant. It would have just ended with me forgiving him, and I couldn't afford to do that.

  Leaving was the only option. The house would be cleaned out soon enough, and then I could put it up on the market. I could probably even go back to Ann Arbor before it was sold, and only come back to finish things up with whoever bought it.

  Getting away from Bell Bend as soon as possible would mean never having to see Brant again. It was the right thing to do, but why the hell did it have to hurt so damn much?

  –

  Driving away, I watched as she shrunk in my rear view mirror. I worried that I might never see Vivian again, that our relationship had truly ended and we would never have a chance to make things right.

  I wanted to scream to the heavens, but I could only turn on loud heavy metal music and let it numb my mind. Now how am I going to deal with this problem?

  My knuckles were itching and my muscles were tense. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to go out and get into a big goddamn fight. So I went to my bar, even though it was late. I slammed beers, a lot of them, enough that the girl behind the bar threatened to cut me off.

  And then I chose a man at random. Anyone would do. Anyone that could take a few punches and let me take my rage out on him.

  I chose some bald fucker that I remembered from school. He was a great big fat man, with a nose that looked crooked from being broken a few times. He was playing pool when I grabbed him, spun him, and hit him right between his eyes.

  The guy reeled back and leaned against the pool table. I laughed right in his face, preparing to hit him again. I might have surprised him, but he would eventually start to fight back. “Come on, fucker. Hit me.”

  What I didn't expect was for his friends to join in the fight.

  “Cock sucker,” one of them said. Two of them grabbed me, allowing the big fat guy to punch me in my gut a few times. They each knocked me around a bit, punching me until I was seeing stars and it was getting harder to breathe.

  Being beaten twice in one night was humiliating enough, but when they threw me out and I heard police sirens coming closer, I knew I had fucked up. If Francis wasn't going to press charges for assault, that fatass definitely was going to.

  “Great,” I groaned, leaning up against the wall of the bar. It started to rain, and I just gave in. I was going to spend another night in jail, maybe longer if anyone pressed charges. I was fucked, my career was ruined.

  Maybe Vivian had been right. Fighting wasn't helping me deal with my inner demons after all. If anything, it seemed to be giving me more. But what else could I possibly do? Vivian was wrong. I didn't have any other talents or skills. I would just end up working minimum wage.

  I didn't have a chance in hell of getting Vivian back. Why bother giving up fighting if she was going to hate me for the rest of her life either way? No, I'd rather keep fighting.

  As the cops finally pulled up and grabbed me, the anger faded just a little bit, and I gave in to whatever bullshit fate was about to throw at me.

  –

  The constant nausea was worrying. I again threw myself into the house, packing things up and throwing things out for a whole week, but by the 8th day without contacting Brant, I was barely able to move.

  My lower back hurt, there was a strange muscle pulling in my abdomen, I was tired all the time, and I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't throw up, though, so I ignored the possibility of my being pregnant once again and forced myself to assume it was the flu or something.

  I did have the achy joints that comes with the flu, so it wasn't hard to convince myself. I really had a bad habit of running away from problems. A lot of the time they really did just work themselves out! That voice in the back of my head kept trying to tell me that probably wasn't going to happen this time, but I ignored it.

  I decided to give it a few more days, and if I didn't start feeling better, I would take one of those tests.

  Still, I was too sick to do too much cleaning, and I ordered in a lot of crap food that I craved constantly but didn't make me feel better. It kind of made me feel worse, especially eating leftover microwaved pizza.

  Even worse, my mind kept turning back to Brant. I somehow convinced myself that it was terribly unfair of me to have left him like that. The idea of not ap
ologizing and at least ending our relationship on good terms made me even more anxious than my constant pregnancy anxiety.

  If I was pregnant, I would have to tell Brant. That was just how it was. I couldn't leave with our baby and never tell him, that wouldn't be fair to him and it would make my life unnecessarily hard. He would have to know, so I needed to apologize to him before I even took the test.

  The house only needed another week or two before it would be basically ready. I decided to leave some of the nicer furniture out to help with staging, and then the realtor could sell it for me or throw it out. I didn't much care either way.

  For some reason, though, I was hesitant to just finish up and hop into a taxi to leave. It wasn't just Brant. It was reliving old memories. It was feeling my mom's presence in the photos hanging on the walls, hearing her voice when I touched the keys of her old piano.

  It was the smell of the cherry blossoms as they bloomed, and knowing that the festivals and fairs would start soon. The busiest time of the year was when we had our cherry festivals, and people from all over the state would come in, buy up our stuff, and create a whirlwind of chaos for us. I almost, kind of, wanted to stay and experience that. Even if it was for the last time.

  Everything hinged on Brant. If he could forgive me, if we could work things out, I could stay for just a little while longer.

  I was just surprised at how much I actually loved Bell Bend. When I left, I thought I hated it, but the good memories definitely outweighed the bad.

  Chapter Nine

  Shit. Gabriela was calling me again. How many times had she tried to call over the past few days? It wasn't a good sign at all, and I couldn't ignore her 20th call without incurring her wrath.

  “Gabriela, hey!” I said, trying to sound happy to be hearing from her.