Breaking the Rules: The Breaking Series #1 Page 18

Travis’s phone rang, and he answered it deftly. “VZ.”

  Amara smiled a little. Travis was silent as he listened to Eddie on the other end. Then he said, “Oh, uh…shit. Right now?” He cast a worried glance at Amara, and immediately her insides seized up. Eddie was in trouble…or he was on his way over. Either one was bad news.

  “Listen, yeah, just…” Travis ran a hand through his hair, mussing up that perfect side part. “I’m getting out of the shower; hang on. See you in a minute, bro.”

  Travis hung up the phone, gnawing on the inside of his lip. “Eddie’s coming.”

  Amara grabbed for her overnight bag. It was time for damage control, in a big way. “Fuck. Why?”

  “His work clothes. He always has a spare set here, and he said he doesn’t have any clean clothes at home and he’s running late to his gig.” Travis rested his hands on his hips, staring at the bedspread. “I’m pretty sure he’s downstairs.”

  Anxiety sliced her in two, but she took a measured breath, steeling herself to handle this. “Fuck.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Amara felt rooted to her spot, like maybe if she didn’t leave the bedroom, Eddie would never come upstairs. “I’m not hiding.”

  “Good.” Travis nodded. “Let’s tell him. I don’t want to keep this a secret.”

  She nodded. But what was “this”? “Great.”

  They stared at each other for a few moments until the knock sounded on the front door. Amara’s stomach plummeted, and she grimaced.

  “I’ll wait in here,” she blurted. “Until, I don’t know, the right time.” Like she had any idea how to do this.

  “Here goes nothing,” Travis said, cupping her face in his hands. He pressed a kiss to her lips and bolted out of the room.

  Amara paced the bedroom, wondering what sort of exit might work best. She could jump out and yell, Surprise, I’m fucking your best friend!, or she could wander out like nothing was wrong, acting unaffected by Eddie’s arrival while his jaw clattered to the ground.

  The front door opened. Time crawled to a standstill.

  “’Sup, bro?” Eddie’s voice rang shrill and foreign inside the cozy confines of Travis’s apartment, shattering the sweet cocoon they’d created overnight. She went to the bedroom doorway and leaned against the molding, crossing her arms over her chest. Eddie bumped Travis’s chest, grinning as he greeted his friend. His gaze skated over the kitchen toward the bedroom door. The grin slowly fell from his face.

  He stared at her for a few moments, eyebrows knit into a hard line. “Amara?”

  Travis rubbed at his forehead, leaning against the countertop in the kitchen.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Eddie glanced back at Travis.

  “I came over here because I forgot my work clothes too,” Amara said, voice finally appearing from the tight recesses of her throat. “Don’t freak out.”

  Eddie scoffed. “Oh, please. Are you guys fucking serious?”

  Travis bounced his fist over the countertop, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Dude, we didn’t want to keep this from you.”

  Eddie’s eyes widened, like they might pop out of his head. “Oh my God.”

  “Eddie, calm your tits.” Amara headed for the kitchen countertop, dropping her overnight bag there. “This isn’t the end of the world. Your best friend is hot, okay? Things happen.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  Travis grimaced, his worried gaze snagging hers. “It would be worse if we kept hiding it from you.”

  “Like maybe you’re hiding something from me,” Amara said, crossing her arms. “Tit for tat, huh, hermano?”

  Eddie’s eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze jerking between Amara and Travis. “Not fair.”

  “Yeah, exactly.” Amara slid onto one of the stools lining the kitchen island.

  Eddie’s jaw squared as he looked at some spot on the floor. “So, what? You guys are dating now?”

  Travis said, “Yes.”

  But Amara said, “Not exactly.” Tension swelled in the air among the three of them. Amara nibbled on her lip, unsure what to say next. This had just been fucking between them. And it was both a relief and unnerving that Travis thought it might be more.

  “You know what sucks?” Eddie’s voice came out softer, more wounded. “To find out the two most important people in my life have been lying to me.”

  “Hermano, we weren’t lying,” Amara said. “This just…happened, okay? Life happens. And now you know.”

  “Dude, I’m sorry.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest, looking like he’d been slapped.

  Eddie huffed, spinning on his heels. “Whatever. I gotta go to work.” He stormed across the living room, retrieving a small bag from behind the couch. Without a glance at either of them, he left the apartment, discomfort steaming in his wake.

  Silence filled the apartment for a few moments as Amara fought to find something to say. Eddie’s reaction hurt. And more than that, she had a lot to think about now when it came to Travis.

  Maybe Eddie’s discovery should mean the end of it. Cut her losses and move on to someone who wasn’t so close to her brother…and someone who didn’t make her question the very fabric of her attraction to him.

  She could handle Travis as a fling. But not more than that. “You want some coffee?” He headed for the coffee pot. Apparently ignoring that awkward confrontation was best for now.

  “I’d love some. Add some whiskey while you’re at it.”

  She finished fixing her hair in the bathroom while Travis brewed coffee. Their responses to her brother’s question echoed in her head, Travis’s simple “Yes” bouncing like a scream in a canyon. Were they really dating? And last week he’d been avoiding her, acting like the smoldering embers between them were possible to ignore.

  The clinking of mugs and the smell of the brew calmed her, made her sigh as she wound her hair into a tight bun. If she was smart, this would be the last time she ever spent the night here. She’d gotten her fix. That had to be enough.

  Travis served up black coffee and creamer in two gray stoneware mugs. They clinked the mugs before taking their first sip.

  “Are you coming around to the gym after work?” He leaned against the countertop, adjusting the cuff of his shirt.

  “I’ll try. We’ll see how the day goes.”

  “Try to make it tonight.” He looked at her over the rim of his mug as he sipped his coffee. “At least to say hi.”

  She recognized the eagerness behind his words because it was the same thrum that pulsed inside her, urging to seek more Travis, as often as possible.

  Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his. Stars burst behind her eyes; giddiness sprang up from the core of her being.

  She was standing at the doorway of an immense labyrinth. And without realizing, she’d already stumbled inside.

  * * *

  Travis spent the slow car ride to the local TV station fighting nerves, which hopped like water on a live wire. A fucking punching bag would help right about now. Maybe he could spar with his opponent live on air. That might get some people ramped up for the fight. Give them a little taste of what could come.

  Or he could flip his chair and storm out of the interview early, give them some theatrics to look forward to.

  He’d had the worst morning imaginable in terms of readying himself for the promotional debut. With two weeks left until the big fight, he needed to be in top form. The sips of coffee that morning jolted through him, too, pushing his nervous stomach into a fist.

  And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop hearing Amara’s response to Eddie’s question in his head: “not exactly” dating.

  So what exactly were they doing?

  Call him crazy, but the last few days made things startlingly clear for him: Amara was meant to be with him and only him. Fuck that Tinder shit. Fuck the obstacles. The biggest one—Eddie—was out of the way. What was holding her back?

  Travis gripped the steering wheel, confusi
on searing through him. Waking up with her in his arms had left no room for doubt. It was the kind of thing he couldn’t even explain. She’s the one. And that was some scary shit.

  He used the Bluetooth in his truck to call Eddie while he crept forward in traffic. It clicked over immediately to voice mail. Probably he’d avoid him today; maybe he deserved that too. He felt like an asshole, but some things weren’t meant to be ignored. Like when you fall for your best friend’s sister.

  Travis groaned. God, he already wanted to see her again. They’d been apart for a half hour.

  A text came through, the melodic ding echoing through his car. The mechanized voice read the message in stilted English: “Good luck on your interview. What channel?”

  Travis smiled. It had to be Amara. If she’d be watching, he’d be sure to play up the tough-guy part. He used the voice commands to send a response with the channel and time of the interview so she could watch from work.

  Once he arrived at the studio, a blast of cool, sterile air greeted him in the lobby. He was ushered to the green room, briefed on the segment structure, given a once-over by makeup, and then sent out to take a seat behind a long table facing the camera. He sat on the far left, with the interviewer in the center, and his opponent on the far right. This was the LA headquarters for the premier sports network of the country, with plenty of international reach. Most local news channels would pick it up since Travis was their homegrown hero.

  At the other end of the table, his opponent sat down, eyes like slits as he looked Travis up and down. Victor Leon, a Bronx-based fighter known for his scrappiness and temper. The tension in the room skyrocketed. Travis tilted his head as a pretty assistant fiddled with the microphone clipped to the button of his shirt. She flushed as she worked, eyes darting up to look at him.

  “Morning,” he said, flashing a grin.

  She laughed and jerked away. She offered a hand. “Travis Holt.”

  He arched a brow. “You have the same name as me?”

  She pinched her eyes shut. “No, I mean… Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m meeting Travis Holt. I’m Julia. I… Oh my God.”

  He squeezed her hand. This shit never got old. “Nice to meet you, Julia. Thanks for the mic job.”

  She scampered away. The interviewer came out to take his seat, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “Holt. I’ve been waiting for this day for too damn long.” The interviewer was Mikey Rhodes, a seasoned MMA commentator and sports network favorite. They’d done plenty of spots together in their careers. Mikey clapped Victor on the shoulder too. He showed no favorites, even though Travis knew he was the darling in the room.

  Mikey settled into his spot, adjusting his mic. The lights got a little brighter, four cameras focused on them.

  “We ready?” Mikey looked to both of them. Travis sniffed, nodding, staring Victor down from across the table. Game on.

  Network music played. Once it dimmed, Mikey launched into a smooth introduction.

  “Here we are, folks, with the two most notorious, nefarious enemies in MMA history. To my right I have Victor Leon, also known as the Lion Victor, and to my left…Travis Holt, the infamous Heavy Holt. Both are UFC champs, both are in peak physical condition, but only one will win in two weeks. Gentlemen, how are we today?”

  Travis stared at Victor, a snide smirk on his face as he waited for Victor to answer. He couldn’t fight the edginess, the theatrics. He loved this part, for better or worse. “Go on, Victor. It’s okay to admit you’re scared.”

  Victor’s nostrils flared. “Haven’t been scared of you since I whooped your ass three years ago.”

  “Oh, you mean the time you got busted for fighting dirty?” Travis laughed, cracking his knuckles. A lot of their fans got heated about this particular spot in their shared history. Lots of emotion on both sides, but Travis’s fans were rabid about defending this loss. “Can we get this guy a drug screen on air right now? I’m curious. I just wanna see. I don’t trust him as far as I’ve thrown him.”

  “You ain’t ever thrown me before, pansy.” Victor spat.

  Mikey raised his hands. “Gentlemen. There will be no drug testing in today’s interview. Let’s cool it.”

  Travis held Victor’s gaze, scowling as Mikey launched into a brief history of the upcoming matchup and the involved sponsors. When it came to catching up with each fighter, Mikey started with Travis.

  “Holt, you’ve been doing quite a bit since your exit from the UFC. Can you tell us about your newest endeavor?”

  “I’ve got the best gym in LA,” Travis said, smiling at the camera. “We’re an MMA training camp, but Holt Body Fitness can meet anyone in any stage of their fitness goals. We’ve got something for everyone…and my stellar clientele proves it.”

  Mikey nodded appreciatively. “But it’s no secret that the only reason you went that route was because of your injury.”

  Travis hesitated, chest tightening as Victor smiled smugly, leaning back into his chair. “It’s true, Mikey. Blessings come in all shapes and sizes…sometimes even in the form of ACL tears.” He laughed, rubbing his hands together. “I found out that at the heart of it all, I’m a businessman.”

  Victor cackled. “Then I’ve already won this damn fight. You’ll be softer than butter, Holt.”

  Travis pressed his palms against the tabletop, leaning forward. “Go on. I like it when you underestimate me. Makes it easier to win the championship.”

  Victor scowled, and Mikey shifted gears, turning the conversation to him. Travis made a display of clenching and unclenching his fists on top of the table, never breaking his gaze from Victor. People ate that shit up—the tension, the drama, all of it. He had to do it for ratings, for the show aspect of it.

  The rest of the interview went by in a blur—lots of jabs, questions, and jokes—until Mikey wrapped it up, the sign-off music creeping in quietly. The music rose until the segment producer signaled and the camera lights switched off.

  “Great segment, gentlemen.” Mikey pushed back from the table, grinning at them both. “This fight is gonna be a moneymaker.”

  Travis bumped his fist as Mikey strolled off the set, then stood, heading for Victor. They bumped fists too, Travis nodding at him before heading out. It was always like that—good to smooth it over, to remind both parties this was part of the job.

  Outside the studio in the bright, late-morning air, Travis whistled on his way back to his truck. With the first interview down, the wheels were in motion. He couldn’t wait for Amara to see it…see what she thought. Almost all was right with the world.

  Now he just had to make sure his best friend wouldn’t hate him forever.

  Chapter 14

  Amara organized her paperwork time that day to coincide with Travis’s TV spot. That way, she could watch the interview online in peace, using headphones while tucked into her office, without the prying—and maybe judgmental—eyes of coworkers.

  She gnawed at her lip as she navigated to the sports network, clicking on the free live stream. The computer buffered for a moment, then commercials began blaring. She let it run in the background as she continued with her paperwork, glancing up every so often to check if Travis might have appeared.

  Upbeat theme music sprang to life. The show was beginning. She pushed the papers aside, bringing the laptop closer to her face. A shot of a well-groomed sportscaster opened up, and then the camera panned to Travis and his opponent. She didn’t even hear the other guy’s name; her heart nearly stopped when she saw Travis, devilishly handsome and masculine, smiling like he knew exactly how to work the cameras.

  Her heart drummed between her ears, the truth sinking in for the first time. He’s a celebrity. He’s on the most popular sports network in the country. This is serious.

  She watched in a daze, blinking when Travis and the other guy got aggressive with each other. Insults were tossed like candy. Was this normal? That sneer on Travis’s face sure wasn’t. And it didn’t look entirely like it was for show either.
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  Amara clutched at the edge of her desk, barely breathing as the interview went on. Travis was like a different man…one she’d never met. One she might have never jumped through hoops for.

  She barely recognized him. Cocky, aggressive, snide, arrogant. Still hotter than hell, all the qualities somehow sharpened by the high-definition of the show, like they came through the screen at quadruple the power.

  When the segment ended she X’ed out of the sports channel, letting silence fill the office. Nothing made sense. She was horny but simultaneously turned off. Something archetypal appealed to her, something to which she didn’t entirely consent. The way exposed Victoria’s Secret models could snag anyone’s attention, even if people didn’t believe women had to be a size zero.

  Travis was the same way. His cockiness and overflowing masculinity snagged her, but in a way she wished it didn’t. But that sort of senseless aggression and grudge-holding wasn’t what she wanted in her life…wasn’t what she thought men or women should aspire to.

  Yet Travis blasted it across the airwaves, reinforcing that to probably thousands of young boys lapping him up like a new soda.

  Amara swallowed hard. It was the guilt that got her most. Like somehow, someway, she wasn’t serving her profession the best way she could. Dating a lethal fighter… How did that help save people?

  She let her head fall into her hands, confusion steaming under her skin.

  First Eddie, now this. Nothing really made sense anymore.

  And the most confusing thing was that, despite it all, she only wanted more Travis.

  * * *

  Amara let herself into the apartment later that evening with a sigh of relief. Home at last. The living room was dark, lit only by the glow of the television. Her mama turned in the armchair to greet her.

  “Amara! Por dios, un dia largo.”

  “I know, Mama. I had a lot of work.” She dropped her purse and overnight bag and bent over to embrace her mama while she sat in the chair. The scent of her was comforting, making a swell of emotion rise up.