Fighting for Everything: A Warrior Fight Club Novel

  Relief filled his expression, smoothing out the furrowed wrinkles on his forehead. He came toward her, arms lifted like he was going to hug her.

  Kristina stepped back and raised a hand. “Don’t. Please.” She couldn’t let him touch her because she didn’t think she’d be strong enough if he made it in to something more.

  Noah dragged a hand through his hair. “Oh. Okay. Sure. Well, I brought your favorites.” He started for the kitchen. “I’ll grab some spoons and bowls.”

  What? “Noah, stop.” She hugged herself. “What do you think is happening here right now?”

  His brow furrowed again and he shrugged. “I, uh, thought we could hang out, eat ice cream, maybe grab dinner. You know, like old times.”

  Those words broke her heart. They really freaking did. He didn’t get it, did he?

  Kristina shook her head and nailed him with a stare. “No, we can’t. We can’t do any of that. Or, maybe I should say that I can’t. Did you not hear me last weekend? I’m in love with you, Noah. And unless anything’s changed, you made your position very clear.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and willed herself not to cry. “It…hurts to hang out with you knowing you don’t want me the way I want you. Just being in the same room with you right now, it hurts too much.”

  His brow rose toward his hairline as Noah closed the distance between them. This time, Kristina held her ground. “Are you…are you seriously saying we can’t even be friends?”

  Kristina shrugged, not out of a feeling of uncertainty, but because she felt so damn helpless. “It hurts, Noah.”

  His jaw ticked and his gaze narrowed. “So, what? You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

  Sadness had Kristina’s chest throbbing. “No. I know you can’t help how you feel. But I can’t help how I feel, either. I can’t be just friends with the man I love. Because I want to tell him that I love him and touch him and talk about the future with him. And if we’re just friends, we can’t do any of that. I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t any more than you can.”

  Something that looked like panic slid over his expression, and he gently grasped her by the shoulders. “Please don’t do this.”

  She twisted out of his hold. “I’m not trying to do anything,” she said, her voice sounding thick and strained to her own ears. “It just happened. It’s not either of our faults.”

  “Kristina—”

  “Go,” she said, pressing a hand to her mouth again. A single tear tracked hotly down the side of her face, and she dashed it away. “Please just go.”

  Noah spun from her and paced into the living room, his hands scrubbing over his face. “Fuck. Fuck, Kristina, we’ve been friends for twenty goddamned years.” He whirled on her, his eyes blazing.

  Kristina walked to the door and opened it, and then she stood there waiting. “I know. And I will always, always cherish that.” She dropped her gaze to an indistinct point between them.

  His footsteps were heavy as they stalked toward her. For a long moment, he stood in front of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. And then he walked out the door. She quietly closed it behind him.

  Then Kristina clapped her hands over her mouth, slid down against the inside of the door, and mourned those twenty years coming to an end. Her blurry gaze landed on his cooler full of ice cream, still sitting on the table.

  And she’d thought she couldn’t feel any worse than she already had.

  Saturday morning, Noah didn’t go to his art class. He didn’t see the point in it.

  Actually, he didn’t see the point in much at all.

  He’d sat on the couch all night, phone in his hand, wondering what the hell had happened to his life.

  Because not only was he partially deaf and blind and no longer a Marine, but he’d lost Kristina. And the latter was his own damn fault.

  Worse, overnight it had hit him—losing Kristina was far more catastrophic than losing the hearing and sight had ever been. Those he could compensate for, work around, figure out new ways to deal with.

  But there was no way in hell to compensate for losing Kristina.

  She was gone. That was it. And Noah was pretty sure he’d never before felt pain, because nothing had ever been this goddamned agonizing.

  He looked down at his phone. He’d left Kristina about a million and a half voicemails and text messages over night. Apologizing. Begging her to reconsider. Asking to talk. She hadn’t answered. Apparently, Noah was a glutton for punishment, though, because he’d been holding out hope that she hadn’t answered because she’d been asleep. Once sunlight had slowly but surely poured between the slats of his blinds and filled his living room with its golden glow, he’d watched his phone non-stop, half holding his breath for the device to make a sound.

  Now, the LED screen on his phone read 11:56.

  No way was she still asleep. Which meant she was really done with him. For good.

  Noah tossed the cell to the couch.

  He must’ve nodded off at some point, because the next thing he knew his phone was ringing. Noah dove for it and pressed it to his ear. “Kristina?”

  “Nope,” came a deep voice. “It’s Mo.”

  Noah’s shoulders fell and he collapsed back against the couch. “Hey, Mo.”

  “You okay?”

  Foot bouncing, Noah regretted answering the phone. He had no interest in talking to anybody but Kristina right now. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, huh. Why weren’t you in class then?”

  “Something came up,” Noah said, rubbing his free hand hard against his thigh.

  “Wanna know what I think? I’ll tell you, just in case you don’t ask,” Mo said. “I think that’s some bullshit. I can hear in your voice that something’s wrong. So, should we start this conversation over from the beginning?”

  “Fuck,” Noah said, nearly groaning.

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Tell me where you live, Noah. I fucking hate talking on the phone.”

  “Mo—”

  “I didn’t ask, son. Tell me where you live.”

  “What are you, a drill sergeant?” Noah grumbled.

  A quick, deep chuckle. “Nope. But I always thought I would’ve made a good one.” Noah liked Mo and didn’t have the energy to fight, so he gave him the address. “See you in fifteen.” They hung up, the clock on his cell reading 4:15. Apparently, his body had decided to check out whether his mind wanted to or not.

  Noah had just enough time to take a shower and change clothes when a knock sounded against the door. Sure enough, it was Mo.

  “I like how you’ve decorated the place,” Mo said, looking around at the completely blank walls. “Homey.”

  Noah actually managed something close to a laugh. “I just fucking moved in.”

  Mo chuckled as he took a seat on the couch. “Suuure you did.”

  Shaking his head, Noah sat down, too. “Why are you here, Mo?”

  “I had this friend in the Rangers. His name was Sebastian Kalinsky, and everyone called him Bash.” Mo leaned back, eased his legs up, and crossed them at the ankle, the heel of one mammoth boot resting on the coffee table. “Bash was a funny motherfucker. Always pulling pranks, had a nickname for everyone, just a super quick, dry wit. Bash was good at his job, too. If he had your six you always knew you were covered. Know what I mean?” Noah nodded. “Year before I got out of the Army, Bash stepped on a landmine. He lost most of his right leg, but he lived, and he was a lucky SOB to have survived, too. Everyone said so. When I got out, one of the first things I did was go visit Bash. He wasn’t doing great adjusting to the amputation and civilian life, but he said he was hanging in, and I believed him. Three months later, he stuck a Glock in his mouth and pulled the trigger.” Mo nailed Noah with a stare. “You remind me of Bash. A lot.”

  The words hung there for a long time.

  Noah heaved a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He braced his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. For a long time, all Noah cou
ld do was look down at the floor. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to end up like him.”

  Mo put his feet down one big boot at a time. “I know you don’t. But sometimes, you need help to make sure that doesn’t happen. Consider me your help.”

  Unsure what to say, Noah managed a nod. Emotion clogged his throat anyway, so he wasn’t sure he could’ve talked if he wanted to.

  “Now, you and me are gonna go grab some dinner, and then we’re gonna go to Full Contact.” Mo rose from the couch, then turned to Noah and raised an eyebrow.

  Noah got up, threw some gym clothes in a bag, and followed Mo out the door.

  Almost two hours later, they arrived at the gym, stuffed full of steak and eggs they’d gotten at Mo’s favorite diner. Mo’s company and no-nonsense directness had pulled Noah back from the edge of something almost too scary to contemplate.

  Even though Noah had finally gotten some food in him, fight club turned out to be a disaster. His equilibrium was fucked all to hell, the vision in his good eye kept going wavy, and he was so exhausted that he actually asked Mack if he could sit out from sparring.

  After class, Mack asked him to stay after again. Mo stayed, too.

  “Talk to me, Noah,” Mack said. The three of them sat on the benches at the side of the gym. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but WFC is family. My family. And you’re part of that now.”

  Problem was, Noah didn’t know what to say. He was just so…lost. “I don’t know what to do. I just know I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

  “Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can decide you want to get back up again. Are you there?” Mack asked.

  “God, if this isn’t the bottom, I don’t want to know what is,” Noah said, looking from one man to the other.

  “No, you don’t,” Mo said. “And I don’t want you to find out, either.”

  “So what do I do?” Noah asked, genuinely wanting to know, entirely ready to do anything. “Because I’ve lost so much, and I don’t know how to get any of it back.”

  “The first thing you do is choose to live, Noah. Embrace it. Fight for it. That’s what fight club is about. And that means you have to be more responsible for your own mental health, because you can’t fix anything else in your life until you fix yourself. It all starts with you. But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re your unit now, and we’re fully invested. We’ll fight with you every step of the way,” Mack said. “You hear me?”

  Noah nodded, not even embarrassed about the tears rolling down is face. Because it was entirely possible that these two men had just saved his life.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Over the next nine weeks, and with Mo’s stuck-to-you-like-glue companionship, Noah threw himself into three activities—fight club, talk therapy, and finishing his mask.

  He forced himself to eat three squares a day, even when he wasn’t hungry. He went to every fight club meeting, even when he wasn’t up to sparring, and worked out five days a week, often with Mack, Mo, or other guys from the club. Even though he hated talking, he forced himself to do it, seeing his psychologist at least twice a week, sometimes more back at the beginning. Maybe it was because he had other outlets now, too, but talking didn’t make things worse the way it once had. At least, not most of the time.

  Noah also came clean with his family on just how bad he was doing. He’d been home from overseas for nearly ten months, but opening up made him feel like he’d actually, and finally, reunited with them for the very first time.

  And he thought of Kristina—of apologizing to her, thanking her, trying to rebuild…something with her—every minute of every day.

  Sitting in his classroom at the Art Factory, Noah put the finishing touches on his mask. His second one, actually.

  Two weeks ago, he’d belatedly joined another session of Jarvis’s mask-making class after Noah’s therapist had asked him to make another list like the one Jarvis had him write out back in June, and Noah was surprised to see that it had changed. Not entirely, but enough to see that Noah Cortez was now a man who had hope.

  And that had given Noah the idea to make a second mask based on the new list.

  The paint on the new one was still wet, which meant Noah wouldn’t be taking it home with him today. But he didn’t need it for another week, and it wasn’t for him anyway.

  Jarvis came up to Noah’s table, his gaze going back and forth between the two masks. “You did good work on this, Noah,” he said, looking at the new one.

  It helped to be highly motivated. And for the first time in a long time, Noah was. Because this was his second chance. There were so many things he wanted, and he still had a long way to go—he had no illusions about that. “Thanks,” Noah said, a little self-conscious at the praise.

  “If you had to pick one thing that most brought about the changes between these masks, what would it be?” Jarvis asked.

  “Warrior Fight Club,” Noah said without hesitation. “But that actually means that the best decision I ever made was in coming to your class, because I wouldn’t have met Mo without it.”

  And he had Kristina to thank for all of it, because he never even would’ve known about the class without her, but he didn’t say any of that. Jarvis wasn’t the one who needed to hear it.

  His instructor grinned. “I have to say I absolutely love that you and Mo go from my art class to a mixed martial arts class every Saturday.”

  Noah chuckled. “Yeah. I guess they’re two things you wouldn’t necessarily put together, huh?”

  “No,” Jarvis said. “But it just goes to show why alternate therapies are so important. Come back to my class any time.”

  “Mo will make sure of it, no doubt,” Noah said. And it was true. Mo didn’t let Noah get away with anything, and he’d become one of the best friends Noah ever had.

  Besides, Kristina, of course.

  Which had Noah looking at his masks again.

  They weren’t so different that you’d describe one as night and the other as day, but if you were working on a gray scale, you might describe the first one as black and the new one as medium gray.

  Baby steps, and damnit, he’d take ‘em.

  Over the last couple months, so many things had improved for Noah. He was eating regularly, sleeping most of the time, coping with stress and anxiety better, and making plans for his future. He’d even met with a career counselor that one of the fight club guys had recommended to him, and had an appointment with a head hunter that worked exclusively with ex-military this coming week. He still had nightmares, panic attacks, and migraines, but they were fewer and farther between. He still had equilibrium problems, but strength training and hours and hours of MMA training had made him much more competent, controlled, and formidable in the cage.

  He still didn’t have Kristina Moore.

  But he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about that.

  Still, he was trying, and he believed Mack was right. He couldn’t fix anything with her until he worked to fix himself first.

  It all starts with you. Words he now lived by.

  Noah only hoped that he got far enough fast enough, before Kristina moved on with someone else.

  That night at Full Contact, Noah walked into the gym to find a roomful of people he knew, and who knew him in return. He’d met Mack’s wife and Mo’s mama, and attended Hawk’s wedding. Mack was right—they really were a family. He was privileged to be a part of it.

  Hell, he was fucking lucky. Full stop.

  Just like always, they worked through the warm-ups, striking pattern exercises, technical training, and grappling matches as usual, and then Noah found himself in the cage with Mo.

  The man’s chuckle could sound downright evil. It really could.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Moses,” Noah said as they knocked gloves.

  “You should be,” Mo said, giving him a wink.

  Colby gave the signal, and then they were circling, punching, kicking, looking for the perfect
takedown. Mo was bigger, though Noah had put on a good thirty pounds of muscle these past weeks and he was still faster on his feet. By a lot. Which meant Noah needed to wear Mo down, way down, before the fight moved to the ground.

  Noah attacked with a whole string of fast-paced punching combos, got in a few liver kicks whenever Mo’s bad habit of letting his elbow go loose from his side materialized, and was slowly but surely wearing the big guy down. Mo got in his hits, too, especially on the left side. Noah was still working on compensating for his lack of peripheral vision there.

  So much about him was a work in progress.

  And Noah was okay with that.

  Noah nearly got caught in a clinch against the cage, but he poured on the power and twisted out of it, catching Mo by surprise and taking the man down. Hard. Before Mo regained his wits, Noah got behind him and caught him in a choke hold. Mo fought and twisted and tried to gain leverage. Holding on for everything he was worth, Noah managed to wrap one of his legs around one of Mo’s, further immobilizing him. But the guy wouldn’t stop fighting.

  “Tap out, Mo,” Noah gritted out, his muscles straining.

  “Fuck. You.” Mo’s voice was raspy from the pressure of the choke.

  Noah would’ve laughed if it wouldn’t have stolen some of his strength. Instead, he squeezed tighter. “I can…do this…all day,” he said.

  Mo chuffed out something close to a laugh. “Like hell.”

  “Admit it…you’re finished,” Noah said, grinding his teeth together against the strain to hold the big guy. It was like wrestling a damn bull.

  One moment passed. Then another.

  Mo tapped out.

  Elation absolutely flooded through Noah’s veins. He let Mo go and sprung to his feet, hands in the air. And that’s when Noah noticed that they had an audience. Most of the club had gathered around their cage, and they were now clapping and cheering.

  For Noah.

  It was the first time he’d ever beat Moses Griffin. And, for the first time in a long, long time, Noah felt like he was ten fucking feet tall.