Page 3 of Phoenix's Redemption

When it came to matching me with comebacks, Sophie was no lightweight. I scoffed, attempting to establish dominance in the conversation. "It's just a sprain, nothing a little ice and rest can't handle." My words were more for myself than her. Admitting more felt like handing over the last shreds of control I thought I had.

"Really, just a sprain? Because from where I'm standing, it doesn’t look good.”

"I don't know who you think you are, walking in here like this."

She didn’t flinch. "I already told you my name. I’m your new trainer and physical therapist.”

Was she kidding? I let out a bitter chuckle. "What makes the league think I need someone like you? No offense, but your little pink and white trainers still seem pretty shiny from here."

She laughed once. “Oh, no, not another man underestimating a woman because she likes the color pink.” She took several steps into the locker room. “These ‘shiny’ shoes have seen more grit than you can imagine."

"Is that right?"

"Listen, I've handled worse from guys than a bruised ego and a busted wrist," she said, a flicker of anger or determination, I couldn’t figure out which, flaring in her eyes.

"Guess we'll see about that."

"Trust me, we will.” She motioned for me to stand. “We're going to the hospital."

"Like hell we are." I flexed my fingers to prove I was fine. The sharp twinge that shot up my arm punched down my bravado. "I don't need a hospital. Just get Cody or the cutman from my team down here. They know how to patch me up."

"You’re stuck with me, and I'm telling you, you need more than patching up." Her voice was steel, but underneath it, I heard what sounded like true concern.

I just wasn’t used to it. Or anything about her. I pushed myself off the bench, avoiding putting weight on my injured wrist. "Why should I listen to you? Because Fury Combat says so?"

“Well.” She pretended to be deep in thought. "Keeping your job seems like a very good reason for most fighters.” She stepped closer, her gaze never leaving my face. I caught a whiff of her soft scent. Like strawberries left on a sunny windowsill. "Your well-being is now my responsibility, Liam. If you want to keep fighting in this league, you’ll work with me."

Her words were a splash of cold water. I glanced down at her. "You turn up out of nowhere, and suddenly you're calling the shots?"

"Exactly." Her delicate chin lifted with more defiance than a fighter in the third round. "Starting with getting your wrist scanned."

My annoyance flared. I brushed past her, heading for the door. "Fine. But after the scan, we do things my way."

"That’s the first sensible thing you've said all night." Sophie following close behind, her presence a constant reminder of the changes I hadn't signed up for.

Chapter Two

Sophie

Perhaps sending Liam to the hospital in an ambulance was over the top, but it was the only way I could think of to avoid his fans and the media pressing in on him. Plus, he did have risk of concussion. I leaned against the door of the ambulance while the paramedics checked his vitals and fussed over his wrist.

"Look, Soph, let's get one thing straight."

I frowned at him. “When did I say you could shorten my name?”

He tried to hide his wincing as a paramedic prodded his wrist. "I'm in this league to fight, not to play nice with whatever changes Fury Combat throws my way."

"Good." I crossed my arms. "Because I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to make you better."

One of the paramedics hid a smirk while the other gave me a sympathetic look as he closed the ambulance door. They moved towards the front to begin the drive to Sunridge Memorial while Liam and I rode in the back.

The bright lights of the Warriors Den parking lot cast shadows through the windows and on Liam’s lean, muscled chest and chiseled abs.

I didn’t realize how fit he was. Of course, I knew mixed martial arts fighters were some of the world’s most conditioned athletes. My attention was on more than just my new job atFury Combat. I was in Sunridge for other reasons. Mainly, I was looking for a criminal.

Jack Thornton just got out of prison. Four years ago, that cruel, sorry excuse for a man attempted to mug my seventy-year-old father and my sister Grace when they were out grocery shopping in Chicago. My dad ended up having a heart attack and stroke hours later. To this day, he was still working on his speech recovery.

I tried to find Jack once my sister gave me his description. I couldn’t bring him in at the time because I didn’t have solid evidence. When some anonymous tipper got him turned in for a robbery, he received four years. He threatened to come after my dad and sister once he got out, but I would make sure he wouldn’t harm them again. I’d find a way to get him back behind bars.

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