her name was—being an enthusiastic bed partner, his boredom had returned full-force. Exactly what he’d come to expect from the countless relationships he moved through as swiftly as the tepid pool water. It didn’t pay to bring anyone in too close; taking a shallow dip every now and again fulfilled his physical needs just fine.
Caden kicked harder, feeling the burn in his thighs. The gym attendant had more than enough money to update the entire exercise room with what Caden had paid him for the weights. Worth every penny too, judging by his fatigued muscles. A shame the slight-yet-never-ending headaches, which plagued him since his concussion a few months back, wouldn’t tire out as well. His path down comeback road wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. But it was bound to be a hell of a lot easier than when he’d first started out fighting, when he’d had to dig in deep and keep on going. Mind over matter.
Starting today, things were going to change. Hey, he’d already made some progress by finding a way off that yellow freak-show ride.
Breaking the surface, he forced his arms and legs into action and sliced through the water freestyle with precise, fluent strokes. The wall of the Olympic-sized pool came up quickly and he turned, pivoted, and pressed off the side without hesitation, though his muscles screamed in agony. No pain, no gain—he’d learned that lesson long ago, though was only reminded of it recently.
Several more laps followed—he lost count, and along with it, the chatterbox, who’d deserted her spot at the edge of the pool somewhere between laps twenty-five and twenty-eight. Probably headed off to greener pastures, likely joining the Boys and other MMA groupies for some late afternoon fun in the oversized hot tub. Though Caden couldn’t see them, the racket coming from behind the rattan fence was reminder enough that it was time to finish up. The party was a distraction he couldn’t afford, on so many levels.
Hell, back in the day—days way too recent to count—he’d have been the main attraction. The life of the party. The guy everyone loved to be around. Back when his life had been one endless booze fest. Endorsements, liquor, women, money, fame—all one suffocating blur. Caden ignored the burn and kicked harder. Fighting the hollowness inside. Hell, for three wild years, he’d managed to lose himself in all the who’s, what’s, and where’s, dull everything, except the memories.
Which was why, this time around, he had to get his shit together. Clean his act up and not give into temptation. Shake off his bad habits and make a crack at controlling his numerous appetites. Finally accomplish the one thing that had been within his reach until he blew it: the MMA welterweight title.
Four more blissfully peaceful, agonizingly brutal laps, he decided, and he’d call it a day.
Since he’d begun training for real, he felt stronger and more in control. It felt...good. Damned good. He picked up the pace into a full on sprint, determined to do it right this time. This time, no one—not even himself—was going to get in his way.
Chapter Three
GUILLOTINE CHOKE: A move a fighter had best beware of, especially if his opponent is French
How many fighters does it take to fill a hot tub? Sophie wondered, trying to find humor in an otherwise exhausting day. One. Two , max.
From the sound of things, the entire entourage from the bus was putting it to the test. They’d congregated in and around the Jacuzzi, cordoned off from the pool area by a tall, rattan fence and some artificial palm trees. Drinking. Surrounded by giggling women. And partying so raucously that everyone else around the pool had headed over for a piece of the action.
Everyone except Sophie, and the lone swimmer making his way across the length of the pool.
Sophie filtered out their laughter. Being that the Boys were preoccupied and had forgotten her, she’d settled down on a clean patch of tile and had dangled her legs
Caden kicked harder, feeling the burn in his thighs. The gym attendant had more than enough money to update the entire exercise room with what Caden had paid him for the weights. Worth every penny too, judging by his fatigued muscles. A shame the slight-yet-never-ending headaches, which plagued him since his concussion a few months back, wouldn’t tire out as well. His path down comeback road wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. But it was bound to be a hell of a lot easier than when he’d first started out fighting, when he’d had to dig in deep and keep on going. Mind over matter.
Starting today, things were going to change. Hey, he’d already made some progress by finding a way off that yellow freak-show ride.
Breaking the surface, he forced his arms and legs into action and sliced through the water freestyle with precise, fluent strokes. The wall of the Olympic-sized pool came up quickly and he turned, pivoted, and pressed off the side without hesitation, though his muscles screamed in agony. No pain, no gain—he’d learned that lesson long ago, though was only reminded of it recently.
Several more laps followed—he lost count, and along with it, the chatterbox, who’d deserted her spot at the edge of the pool somewhere between laps twenty-five and twenty-eight. Probably headed off to greener pastures, likely joining the Boys and other MMA groupies for some late afternoon fun in the oversized hot tub. Though Caden couldn’t see them, the racket coming from behind the rattan fence was reminder enough that it was time to finish up. The party was a distraction he couldn’t afford, on so many levels.
Hell, back in the day—days way too recent to count—he’d have been the main attraction. The life of the party. The guy everyone loved to be around. Back when his life had been one endless booze fest. Endorsements, liquor, women, money, fame—all one suffocating blur. Caden ignored the burn and kicked harder. Fighting the hollowness inside. Hell, for three wild years, he’d managed to lose himself in all the who’s, what’s, and where’s, dull everything, except the memories.
Which was why, this time around, he had to get his shit together. Clean his act up and not give into temptation. Shake off his bad habits and make a crack at controlling his numerous appetites. Finally accomplish the one thing that had been within his reach until he blew it: the MMA welterweight title.
Four more blissfully peaceful, agonizingly brutal laps, he decided, and he’d call it a day.
Since he’d begun training for real, he felt stronger and more in control. It felt...good. Damned good. He picked up the pace into a full on sprint, determined to do it right this time. This time, no one—not even himself—was going to get in his way.
Chapter Three
GUILLOTINE CHOKE: A move a fighter had best beware of, especially if his opponent is French
How many fighters does it take to fill a hot tub? Sophie wondered, trying to find humor in an otherwise exhausting day. One. Two , max.
From the sound of things, the entire entourage from the bus was putting it to the test. They’d congregated in and around the Jacuzzi, cordoned off from the pool area by a tall, rattan fence and some artificial palm trees. Drinking. Surrounded by giggling women. And partying so raucously that everyone else around the pool had headed over for a piece of the action.
Everyone except Sophie, and the lone swimmer making his way across the length of the pool.
Sophie filtered out their laughter. Being that the Boys were preoccupied and had forgotten her, she’d settled down on a clean patch of tile and had dangled her legs
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