Page 22 of A Fighter’s Love

Perhaps he’d seen reason. There was nothing left between them of value. And now as soon as the Jackson v Grinder fight was over, she’d not only be free of Billy but also the gym.

Dale and Jackson were sparring again, the music thudded, several other members had gathered to watch. She’d miss the gym. It had been part of her life for so long. And although she hadn’t enjoyed the work, or the way Billy had been with her during these last stages of their relationship, she liked everyone who hung out.

Two people in particular.

But after the big fight, she wouldn’t see either of them again. There’d be no reason to.

The thought of not having Dale or Jackson in her life created a twisting feeling in her chest. It wasn’t pleasant at all. She realized she’d come to look forward to Dale’s easy smiles, and Jackson’s brooding, intense ways. Not to mention resting her eyes on their graceful, strong bodies, as she was doing now, which was the most pleasant part of her evening.

Maybe she could still drop by, from time to time, say hi to Michael and then Dale and Jackson. There were a few other blokes who were always friendly, but scowled when they saw how Billy spoke to her. Maybe she should date one of them? It was a good sign if they were irritated by Billy. Must mean they were decent men.

What she really wanted, though, was to date Dale or Jackson. Well obviously not them, they weren’t into dating girls. But a Dale or Jackson lookalike who wasn’t gay.

Finding that suddenly felt like looking for a needle in a haystack.

She sighed and set to work on updating the website, adding images and pay information. The sooner tickets started selling—and they would, fast—the better.

It was a complicated page to create and took a couple of hours. By the time she’d finished the music had gone off, signaling Billy had left the building, and the sky had darkened.

But the website was active for receiving sales, and that was one of the main things she’d wanted to achieve. Standing, she stretched out her spine, yawned, then reached for her bag. It was time to go home and grab a few hours’ rest before it all started again.

The gym was quiet. Only Michael sat in the corner, and he appeared to be dozing. She glanced at the time. It was gone ten. No wonder she was hungry.

Rather than disturb Michael, she walked quietly past him and let herself outside. The evening had a chill in the air, and the security light over the entrance wasn’t on for some reason.

She shivered and stepped onto the deserted pathway. The sooner she was home the better.

A black cab appeared in the distance, its yellow light shining from the roof. Making a sudden decision to avoid the Tube and just get home she put out her hand and waved.

But the driver didn’t see her and drove past, his attention on the road ahead.

“What am I? Invisible,” she muttered, clicking her tongue on the top of her mouth. She headed for the station. It was creepy with so few people about and the heavy clouds in the sky stole any light the moon might have provided.

She hurried past a row of darkened shops. Each doorway she came to she braced, praying no one would jump out at her. Her imagination was going into overdrive. She presumed it must be the conversation with Billy. His unnerving calmness. What if he was mad as hell and waiting out here to unleash his fury? He’d do it when there was no one around to see, or save her.

Nausea welled in her gullet. Surely he wouldn’t get that nasty?

Would he?

She became aware of a vehicle coming up behind her. It slowed and its shadow stretched before her. Her heart rate picked up. Her belly tensed. Gripping her shoulder strap, she was relieved to see the station come into sight. The familiar red and blue circular sign a sudden comfort. A beacon she must reach.

But the car was stalking her now. Coming closer. The front edged nearer.

“Hey, Jenny.”

She gasped and halted. Turned to face the man who’d just spoken.

It was Dale.

“Sorry,” he said, leaning to speak through the passenger side’s open window. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Thank goodness it’s you,” she said, pressing her hand on her sternum.

He grinned. “I’m not usually into curb crawling, but I reckoned you’d jump out of your skin if I pressed the horn.”

“Probably.”

He held up a white carrier bag. “I’ve got Chinese. Want some?”

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