“He looks like he’s never fought before,” Walker muttered in amazement next to her.
It was true. In training, his moves were precise, his sense of distance was on point, but tonight he was switching stance and seemed confused by his opponent’s circling. He continued to throw single-strike attacks that Calder was countering with better shots.
When Calder dropped his body, Tyson lowered his hands to defend against the takedown.
“He’s faking,” Walker muttered. “What the hell is Tyson doing? This is a signature move for Calder.” Frustration was evident in Walker’s voice as a second later, Calder’s overhand right landed square on Tyson’s unprotected temple. “Damn it. Schooled by his own fucking move.”
Tyson recovered quickly and got to his feet, but his unsteady stance revealed he was rocked. And Calder capitalized on his advantage against the champ. Closing the distance, he threw a jab, followed immediately by a straight right—not hard shots, but both landed. When Tyson responded with his own combination, Calder went in for a real takedown, throwing Tyson’s body to the mat just as the end of the first round bell rang.
Parker stood, her knees unsteady. She didn’t even recognize the guy inside the cage.
“Where are you going?” Walker asked, looking as disappointed by his coach’s performance as the rest of the booing crowd.
“I’m sorry. I can’t watch him lose either,” she said sadly.
He stood and gave her a quick hug. “He might need you after this fight,” he whispered.
She gave a sad smile as she broke away. “You know him better than that. It’s Tyson we’re talking about. He doesn’t need anyone.”
* * *
Her grandmother hugged her tightly the next morning at the airport. “Call as soon as you get settled,” she said.
Parker forced a smile as she pulled away, readjusting on her shoulder the weight of her oversized purse she was using as a carry-on. “I will, Grandma.” She checked her watch. “I should go. They’ll start boarding in five minutes.”
Her grandmother nodded.
Still, she hesitated, scanning the busy airport. Passengers hurried toward their gates and through security—business people in suits, families going on vacations, couples saying good-bye . . . She sighed. The faster she could get out of there and on a plane, the faster this crushing weight on her chest would go away.
“Parker, darling, are you okay?” Abigail asked, looking concerned enough to risk her recent Botox injection by frowning.
She nodded and forced a smile. “I’m great. I just thought . . . Never mind.” Tyson obviously had no intention of saying good-bye to her that morning and she was crazy to keep hoping he’d be there. He’d lost his fight the night before. She knew he had his own problems to deal with and she wasn’t on the list of things he cared about. He’d made that clear.
“You fell hard this time, huh?” her grandmother asked, touching her cheek.
The rare gesture brought tears to her eyes and she blinked them away. She shrugged, not trusting her voice.
“Use this. All of it—the passion, the heartache—put it all into this role and you’ll be fantastic.”
She suppressed a sigh. Unfortunately, there was nothing else it was good for. She hugged her grandmother quickly once more. “Thanks, Grandma. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
The older woman waved as Parker disappeared through security and, a few minutes later, Parker lingered at the gate as the last of the passengers boarded the flight to Los Angeles.
She really had spent too much of her life living in a fantasy world, Parker thought. What was she expecting—Tyson to come running into the airport, past security, to tell her he loved her?
Bah! As if.
No. Tyson Reed had done a lot for her these past months, but none so much as teach her the reality of the world. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he wasn’t a forever kind of guy. She’d been the one to take a chance on him anyway. Not that her heart had given her much choice. She’d fallen in love with him.
She sighed, her foolishness making her dizzy. Hadn’t she learned her lesson the hard way before? But she’d been so successful in breaking down Tyson’s walls; he’d let her in. Therefore, she’d thought maybe . . . just maybe . . .
“Ms. Hamilton, we need you to board,” the airline attendant at the gate’s door said.
“Right, of course,” she said, handing the girl her boarding pass and identification.
“I’m a big fan,” the girl said. “Are you on your way to LA to start filming a new movie?” she asked quietly.
Parker nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s so exciting. I wanted to be a performer . . . Guess that’s why I’m in Vegas. Everyone here is a performer just waiting to be discovered. I guess we’re not all as good as we’d like to believe,” she said with a laugh and a shrug.
And others could win an Academy Award for their performance without even trying, she thought. With one final glance over her shoulder, she boarded the plane.
* * *
“How long are you going to waste away up here?” Walker asked, opening Tyson’s apartment door a few days later.
“Get out.”
“No.” Walker came into the apartment and looked around. “This place smells. You smell. It’s time to get your shit together, man.” He opened the window curtains and the blaring sun nearly blinded him.
Tyson covered his eyes with an arm as he lay on his couch. “Walker, I will knock you the fuck out if you don’t get out of my home right now.”
Walker laughed. “Bring it. You haven’t moved off the couch for almost a week. I might actually be able to take you.”
Sighing, Tyson sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, wiping his face. Obviously Walker wasn’t going to let him wallow in peace.
“Look, you lost. Get over it,” Walker said, collecting empty water bottles from the floor and end tables and carrying them to the recycle bin in the kitchen. “And clean yourself up. Seriously, what is that smell?”
Tyson stood. “Okay, I’m up. Stop cleaning my apartment,” he grumbled, picking up discarded chocolate bar wrappers and an old pizza box and tossing them into the garbage.
“I know you’re pissed off right now and disappointed in that shit performance you gave out there . . .”
“Are you here to cheer me up or convince me to slit my wrists?”
“Neither. What was it you said to me once? Oh, right. I’m not your therapist. I just need my coach back because I have a fight in six weeks.” He opened the fridge and then shut it quickly. “Okay, that smell of rotting feet is coming from something in there.”
Tyson glanced around his home—or what used to be his home. Walker was right. It was a mess. He was a mess. The decision loss after the fight had put him into a depression like he’d never felt, but the thing that had broken him was the fact Parker was gone. He cleared his throat, as he picked up several beer bottles from the coffee table. “She left after the first round, huh?” he asked.
Walker nodded.
That was good. At least the woman he was undoubtedly in love with hadn’t watched him go down. He let out a deep breath. “Okay. Tomorrow. We start your training camp tomorrow.”
Walker tapped him on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “Great. See ya tomorrow, Coach . . . Clean yourself up.”
* * *
The noise outside his apartment woke him as he slept on the couch later that evening. Tomorrow, he’d return to the gym; tonight he was continuing his self-pity act and the interruption pissed him off. Grabbing his trusty bat, he swung open the door and stormed outside.
Connor stood at the bottom of the stairs, jiggling the handle to the back door of the gym. “What are you doing?”