Page 8 of Fight for Forever
Brooke got all the charges against me dropped, but Joey kept me out of a prison cell that day. And he hasn’t asked for anything in return.
I have to tilt my head back when I get near, he’s so tall. I’m five foot seven, but he is huge both in height and width. Despite that, there is nothing intimidating about how he is watching me. When he’s in the ring, he must scare the shit out of his opponents, but right now, he shows nothing of the fighter in him.
Sure, he’s apprehensive, not knowing what to expect, but I’m not scared of him. I try to channel Jenna and pull up my big girl pants. I almost hear her in my ear, cheering me on.
She’s always been a big supporter of Joey, even though Adam pulls a face every time she mentions him. None of us knew how kind-hearted he was underneath all those muscles.
“Hi,” I manage, my cheeks flushing even hotter.
Joey dips his head in greeting, and I wring my fingers together.
“It’s good to see you back in the gym,” he says before I lose my nerve and run away.
“Well, I’m not here to work out. Yet. I am going to come back. It’s always been the plan, but I… Yeah, I am going to come back.”
Joey lets out a quick breath, one side of his mouth ticking up in a grin. “You have nothing you need to thank me for, okay?”
“How can you say that?”
“Easy,” he shrugs. “It was the right thing to do. You needed help, I could offer that. So I did.”
“It’s that simple?”
Joey looks over my head and around at the people working out. His eyes linger on something, and I glance in the same direction. It’s the sign. Sam’s edict and the one Jenna told me about the first time we talked. No flirting with the female members.
Why is he looking at that? My lips part as I imagine what it could mean, how it makes me feel, and then he turns back to me.
“Do you want to get a cup of coffee?”
“Aren’t you working out?”
“I can work out any time,” he grins. “But if you’re busy.”
“I’m not busy,” I blurt. A tiny part of me, one I’ve tried not to let the lid off and scream too loudly, says I can’t do this. But another part, a stronger one, one that the therapist has been helping me work through, reminds me I was making myself better beforehefound me again.
I was becoming stronger, independent, worthy. And I need to get that back.
In my own time.
Joey isn’t asking for anything, just a cup of coffee. He’s given no indication of wanting something else from me. In fact, he’s been so respectful I’ve often wondered if he is into men. I’d chastised myself for that. It’s more likely he isn’t into me. But I guess Sam’s warnings are well ingrained in the long-term members and fighters here.
A fissure of nerves runs through me. Can I do this?
“It’s just coffee,” he says, his voice gentle. “Although I don’t drink caffeine, I’ll get a green tea.”
I’m not sure what it is about that, but it makes me laugh. I picture the big bad MMA fighter with a China cup, his pinky finger sticking out. And with that imagery in mind, I agree.
We walk to the coffee shop down the block from the gym. I don’t miss how people stare at Joey as he strides along beside me. He’s slowed his walk so I’m not struggling to keep up. I can’t help but send surreptitious looks his way. I’ve never been close to a man like him before, a man this size. Yet, I feel comfortable, safe. He’s not too close, and he has made a conscious effort not to touch me.
He’s respectful and aware of my situation.
I’ll never get used to all the people who know about my life and what I endured. It is part of the reason I’ve struggled to come back to the gym. I’m scared of how people will react to me.
Jenna is still apologizing, but it’s not her fault. It’s not even Adam or BreakNeck’s fault. The press would have reported on it no matter who I know, or who else is involved.
Adam never looks at me like I’m at fault either. Sure, he was terrified for Jenna, but the last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been fine with me. I apologized, but he told me there was no need. He is glad both of us got out of the situation.
After getting a seat, Joey goes to place our order. I watch him as he waits at the end of the counter, my eyes trailing up and down his body. He is a work of art. I’m not the only one noticing. He doesn’t seem to be aware when he walks over to the table and sets my drink in front of me.