Fighting for Mine: The TKO Love Series, #1

By Nadirah Foxx

A future MMA star. An artist with a dream. A tragic past.

Ten years ago, Chance Hanlon and Ximena Ibarra were the hottest couple in town. Then a tragedy broke them up and changed their lives. When Ximena's father dies, the couple comes face-to-face.

This time Chance is ready to fight outside the octagon for something more important than a title or a belt.

Will the fighter be victorious outside of the ring in the only battle that matters?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avanturine Press
• Release date: Aug 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9798223485438

Book preview

1

On the day we buried Papa, I didn’t focus on the mahogany casket with its elegant lines nor the meticulously dressed mourners. No. The most striking, most brilliant object—a three-carat blinding oval-cut diamond—sat on my finger. Robert Westmore, the man who put it there, failed to attend. He was on yet another business trip. Despite being surrounded by my family, I felt utterly alone and ashamed. Because of my tragic accident, I didn’t come to El Domingo often.

Liar!

Rarely did I come home. Instead, I opted to visit my family at one of my brother’s houses in Albuquerque. Preferring to avoid everything—and everyone—since my unfortunate disaster.

So the contemptuous stares, albeit inappropriate for the occasion, made perfect sense. Frankly, I wanted a distraction. My father’s death devastated me. Nobody told me that his illness had a permanent expiration date.

Everyone knew but me. Papa did an excellent job of hiding the truth from me. Naturally, he trusted my oldest brother, Dr. Ángel Ibarra. Undoubtedly, our father thought he was protecting me, but I didn’t need guarding. I wasn’t that fragile.

Rubbing my thumb across the silver band, I thought about Papa’s cold eyes as we rode to the cemetery. No matter what mistakes I made, the man had always been glad to see me. Would he be happy with my latest blunder? Papa didn’t like Robert. Losing my father, somehow, made the idea of marrying Robert wrong.

A chilly rain fell as the stretch limo wound its way over the curved path toward our destination. The churning gray skies were an appropriate backdrop to the marble, concrete, and granite headstones. Ángel and I rode with Mama while each of my other brothers were in other cars with their respective families.

Mama, are you all right? he asked in his deep voice. Ángel, a perfect baritone, sang a flawless rendition of Papa’s favorite hymn during the church service. My brother could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes.

Our mother was a trooper, not shedding a tear. From a distance, Mama seemed perfectly calm and sophisticated. She wore her best black lace dress, and her hair and makeup were impeccable—just a touch of sheer-red lipstick. Despite her age, our mother didn’t wear sensible, low-heeled shoes. Last Christmas, she bought herself a pair of black patent-leather strappy sandals with a four-inch heel. Mama strutted in the secondhand shoes as though they were custom-made.

Despite her appearance, Mama’s heart was broken. She’d lost the love of her life and her best friend. Much later, when everyone had returned home, I expected her to cry behind doors. My grandmother and great grandmother behaved the same. Neither woman showed her grief. Mama had claimed that they didn’t want to worry the family.

Bullshit.

My philosophy consisted of informing others when in pain. Well… I adhered to it most days.

"How many times must I say not to worry about me? José and I prepared for this day. I made my peace with the Lord. I’m all right, mijo."

The procession stopped on a hill at a site with a pop-up awning. When the driver opened the door and the gust of wind ruffled the hem of my dress, I noticed the rented structure. Leave it to Ángel to think of providing a little shelter against the elements.

The small mass we had earlier at Our Lady of Sorrows was for family. Everyone who wanted to pay their respects to the town’s most popular sheriff showed up for the graveside service. Glancing around at all the mourners and my enormous family, I wondered if we had enough room for everyone.

My brother, Diego, had five kids plus his wife was huge with another one. Cristóbal and his wife had three kids. Junior, a recent widow, had four girls. Ángel and I were the only ones unattached without children.

Mama, always wanting to be in charge, took over. She corralled the rowdy kids and made the older ones hold the younger siblings. My siblings and I occupied the front seats. I sat at the end of the row, where I placed my crutches on the floor away from curious eyes.

Thank God the ceremony was brief. When Ángel gave the eulogy, I breathed a sigh of relief that no one asked me to speak. Not that I didn’t want to say anything. Staring out at all those faces—some accusing me of being a terrible daughter while others wondered about the accident—wasn’t something I could do. Not that day.

The one person who had all the details didn’t care. He didn’t even stick around after the incident. Thankfully, the selfish prick was absent.

Mumbled voices garnered my attention. People began pointing. Even the priest stopped speaking and glanced up from his Bible. I turned toward the source of the distraction.

Damn, I spoke too soon.

Chance Hanlon, the cause of my misery, attempted to sneak in unnoticed. A few well-meaning individuals blocked his path. Ángel sneered while my other brothers rose to their feet.

Breathing became difficult, and my chest hurt.

Ten years had passed since I last saw him, but my traitorous heart skipped a beat. He was a hot man in a suit and tie. His garments clung to his body like doing so was vital to their existence. Why did he come?

Chance’s steel-blue eyes scanned the crowd and then landed on me. A flush crept across his cheeks, and the corners of his mouth had an almost imperceptible twitch. But the man didn’t flinch. He didn’t show any sign that seeing me moved him. I, however, practically fell off my chair.

Mija?

The words wouldn’t come. Mama grasped my hand. At some point, Ángel left the podium and stood beside us.

What the fuck is he doing here?

Ángel! Mama gave him a stern expression and then swiveled in her seat.

If I didn’t say something, Chance would make a scene. Clearing my throat, I summoned up what little courage I had. What are we going to do? He shouldn’t be here.

My mother said, José was like a father to that man. Chance has a right to pay his respects too.

Right?

Since when did he earn any privileges in my life or the lives of my family? He lost that benefit the night he betrayed me.

If it weren’t for Chance Hanlon, I might be a lawyer just like Diego. Thanks to Chance Hanlon and his gigantic ego, I couldn’t walk out of that tent. Neither of those things would happen because I gave my heart to a no-good bastard.

Swallowing hard, I averted my gaze.

Somehow, the ceremony continued, but my concentration left the room. Instead of focusing, my mind stayed in the back row with the jackass. He had a lot of damn nerve to show up. Ten years without a word, and then he just appeared like nothing happened—or he did nothing.

The service completed, and people stood around me. Leave it to Chance to screw up my father’s funeral.

Neighbors shuffled forward, saying their goodbyes, but I stayed put. Even if I could have jumped from my seat, my legs wouldn’t have held me up.

Ángel, acting as head of the family, shook hands and offered kind words to all the people who spoke to him. They said things to me too, but I didn’t acknowledge them. Hell, I barely heard them. My thoughts focused on how my entire world fell apart ten years before. Thanks to Chance, my life shattered like glass. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed him approaching.

What did he want?

The tent cleared out except for my family. As long as Chance Hanlon was nearby, they wouldn’t leave me alone. They remembered the pain and the heartache he put me through. Diego and Cristóbal, looking like younger versions of Papa, stood ready to fight. In case things turned ugly, Junior gathered up the wives and kids and headed toward the exit.

News flash. Things became ugly when my former boyfriend appeared.

Ángel said, Go-go and Cris, leave with Junior. I’ll handle this.

Diego’s eyebrows knitted together. Are you sure? You might need us.

I didn’t come to fight, said Chance. The first words from him in years.

Then why did you? I spat out. This is a family event!

Mija! Mama admonished. Behave yourself. She glanced up at the man. Thank you for coming. José would have appreciated you being here.

Despite the relationship he had with Papa, my ex didn’t belong at the cemetery. Chance needed to slither back into whatever hole he crawled out of.

You should leave us alone with our grief. My voice cracked. He picked the wrong day to return to El Domingo.

Chance stood as still as a statute in the cemetery. He sank his hands into his pockets and clenched his jaw. In a controlled voice, just like he’d rehearsed the lines, he said, I had to pay my respects. My former love stepped forward, and Ángel moved toward him.

Later, man. Wait until she’s gone, my brother suggested. Don’t rub this shit in her face.

Ángel! Mama reprimanded again. Language!

Without looking at her, my brother said, Sorry, Mama, but this piece of trash doesn’t deserve decency from us.

Chance pursed his lips. You’re right. I’ll wait outside.

I wanted him to go far, far away. Run back to Avery Clarke. Or just go some place, so I wouldn’t be near him again.

The clanking of my crutches—a pair of high-tech ergonomic supports Robert had made for me—interrupted my thoughts. Ángel stood beside me. Come on, sis. People are waiting for us.

Of course a slew of neighbors waited to enter my family’s compact house. They’d bring enough casseroles and cakes to fill Mama’s fridge and freezer for months.

Reluctantly, I took the items from Ángel and pushed up to my feet. The wheelchair, although easier, made me feel helpless.

Chance’s eyebrow shot up when I clumped toward him. His kissable mouth slackened, but no words emerged. Instead, he grimaced and averted his eyes.

Was that shame? I should have used the chair and made him feel worse.

§

The rain stopped, and a bitter cold, not uncommon for late October, settled on the landscape. The stormy weather would soon depart, leaving behind frigid temps. Another reason why I hated coming home. Ever since my calamity, my body had a hard time regulating temperature. When others were hot, I felt cold and vice versa. Southern California’s mild climate suited me best.

Rather than squeezing a ton of people into our childhood home, Ángel rented out the only event hall in town. Although sizable, nothing was spacious enough to put distance between my memories and my reality.

I placed my hands in my parka pockets. Not exactly a fashion-forward choice, but nobody wanted to take me out. The only man who cared was in Dubai. Thinking about Robert should have put a smile on my face, but I didn’t feel joyous.

Robert was a kind man. We’d met in a coffee shop in Los Angeles. At the time I didn’t want to be bothered, but he was relentless. If I hadn’t loved the coffee and pastries they served, I would have stopped going.

Forgive me. I promise I’m not stalking you, but you’re so beautiful, he said.

I glanced up at the excessively average man—mousy-brown hair, dull-brown eyes, and kind of short in stature. He wore a cheap-looking navy-blue suit. Even his shoes screamed frugal. I always believed a person’s clothes said a lot about them. His attire screamed cheap. He might even be someone who couldn’t satisfy a woman in bed as well.

You need to work on your pick-up lines, I quipped and lifted my cup.

He chuckled. My name is Robert Westmore. Mind if I sit?

Last I checked, it’s a free country.

Of course, the importance behind his name didn’t register with me. A few days passed. Then I listened to the nightly news and learned the identity of my stalker—none other than Robert Westmore the Third, CEO of Westmore Industries.

Was I awestruck?

Hell, yes!

The inexpensive suits and cheap shoes suddenly made sense. Wealth didn’t happen if one spent all their money on stuff.

His status didn’t interfere with our budding friendship. Every day, I’d show up at the coffeehouse, and every day so would Robert. Eventually, he went as far as having my order ready and waiting at our table by the window. Not once did he ask about my legs. He didn’t even flinch the day I arrived in a wheelchair—not the fancy contraption he eventually purchased for me.

You can tell me I’m being nosy, but may I ask how you maneuver around town? You don’t have a caretaker with you.

I’ve learned to be self-sufficient. Having access to transit services helps too.

His eyebrows knitted together. That must be expensive.

Yes, it is.

Robert tapped his fingers on the table. One more question. What do you do for a living?

I started not to answer, but I couldn’t remember the last conversation I had with someone not in the medical field or related to me. I’m an artist. Mostly sculptures.

Robert’s eyebrows shot up. What if I told you I owned a gallery?

On the pretense of wanting to view my artwork, Robert drove me back to the two-bedroom house I rented. When he saw where I lived, he immediately arranged to display a few pieces at his Santa Monica gallery. In time, my sculptures caught on, and I became a featured artist.

And his fiancée.

Tell me your thoughts, mija.

Mama, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s freezing.

Says the one wearing a winter coat. Besides, it isn’t as cold as you think. She sat beside me on the edge of the stone fountain. Are you all right?

I side-glanced at her. A lie sat on the tip of my tongue, but I desperately needed to speak to someone. Mama, why did he come?

She bobbed her head. Ximena.

Damn. Mama didn’t use my full name often. When she did, she had something important to say.

Yes, Chance left you heartbroken, but something tells me you did a number on his too.

How can you say that? He got caught with his pants down!

Mama tapped my arm. True. To this day that still makes me uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. Does Chance know everything that happened to you?

I don’t care what Chance Hanlon knows. He didn’t bother sticking around to find out.

Instead of condemning the man, ask him why he left.

Oh, I understood perfectly why a guy left a girl. Chance just wasn’t that into me. Our relationship must have been some sick, twisted dare instigated by Avery. Hearing his side of the tale was unnecessary.

No, Mama. There’s nothing I—

Your father and I always asked questions of you and your brothers and received the full story. Remember, Chance was part of our family once. He deserves the Ibarra treatment too.

Wrong.

The Ibarra treatment meant fairness before judgment. Chance deserved a swift kick to the balls. I should have done that when I caught him instead of driving off.

Mija, your father’s integrity is why so many people, including Chance, came to his funeral. It’s also why he’s with your brothers now.

My mouth dropped.

He couldn’t be here. Why was he inserting himself back into my life?

Make him leave, Mama.

I’ll do no such thing. He brought his son.

I swallowed hard. The child was a blatant reminder of what transpired years before. How could I deal with that?

He’s a beautiful little boy, mija. Mama leaned closer. He didn’t come to the funeral, but Chance told CJ about your father.

An invisible fist reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. Papa had been about fairness, but nothing was fair about my life. Chance was to blame for how the situation turned out. Part of me had hoped never to lay eyes on him again.

2

Damn.

I didn’t mean to upset her. I only wanted to pay my respects to a man who had been more of a father to me than my own. Sheriff José Ibarra helped me channel my anger and do something meaningful with my rage. If not for him, I wouldn’t be a real contender on my way to fighting professionally.

Papa Joe gave me a home after I faced up to my gin-soaked bully of a father. A man I simply called Lor. Yes, I bore his name but not his same ill will for others.

At one point, I thought my future was bright. To think I had a family and a girl who loved me, and I screwed up. Fucked the wrong girl and broke Ximena’s heart into a million pieces.

Still, I should have stayed away. Seeing her again broke me. I imagined the pain my appearance caused her. Why the crutches? Did she injure herself?

Regardless of how she felt about me, I had to say my last goodbye to her father. But from the scowls on her brothers’ faces, I realized the family wanted nothing more to do with me. Ángel, Junior, Cristóbal, and Diego were like my friends and brothers, but clearly they considered me scum.

As teens, the five of us got into all kinds of shit together. What changed? I glanced down. Maybe their animosity had to do with the miniature version of me clinging to my leg.

Chancellor Clarke, called CJ despite not being a junior, was the outcome of one regrettable night ten years prior. Truthfully, I barely recalled the details. I woke up in my car, looked at the dashboard clock, and realized I was late for a meeting. Earlier that day, I talked to a potential trainer. At some point, the meeting was rescheduled, but I didn’t remember changing the date.

Hell, I didn’t remember fucking Avery. Obviously, I had sex with her, otherwise CJ wouldn’t be there. But why Avery? I had never liked the girl—still didn’t. Too many times Avery came on to me, but I wanted no contact with her. I had no tolerance for clingy girls—still didn’t.

My confusion prompted a paternity test. Half-truth. My manager insisted on verification before I started paying Avery money. Syd French didn’t play around. He said too many fighters got caught up in the nonsense because of a supposed one-night stand.

But the test proved what I already knew.

A few years before, I accepted the responsibility and stopped trying to figure out why it happened. I even tried having a relationship with Avery.

But the woman wanted marriage. Not something I wanted with her. My heart belonged to another, so I did the next best thing. Since Avery’s parents provided a nice house for her, I paid child support, although I was not legally obligated. I just wanted to take care of my son.

CJ couldn’t be the reason for the Ibarra boys’ annoyance. They met my kid as a baby. Most likely, their anger pointed to why he existed.

I got that.

Every fucking day, that simple fact irked the shit out of me. Then, I noticed CJ’s picture or a scribbled drawing he made for me, and I calmed down. My son wasn’t to blame for his old man’s fuck up.

Suddenly, the door banged open. The ash-blonde, azure-blue-eyed pain-in-my-ass stormed in like she owned the place. Technically, the venue belonged to the Clarke family. So I guess she did.

The addict-thin woman pushed past people who eagerly got out of her way. Her gaze narrowed on me and CJ. She stalked right up to us. I set my drink down on the bar.

Why is my child with these people? she bit out.

I hated how Avery disrespected me in front of my son. Calm down. I didn’t take him to the funeral. He’s only visiting his family.

"His family? She laughed callously. These people aren’t his kin."

Did I mention she hated Ximena Ibarra with a passion?

Avery pointed a pink-painted claw at herself. I gave birth to him. Let’s go, Chancellor.

My son gazed up at me with his ocean-blue eyes. Dad?

Go on, CJ. I’ll come by tomorrow.

He nodded and went back to our table to grab his jacket.

In a lowered voice, I said, A little unnecessary, don’t you think?

If you wouldn’t take him where he didn’t belong…

If I hadn’t put my dick where it didn’t belong…

I’ll come by early in the morning to pick him up for breakfast. Please have him ready to go.

Her eyes widened, and her lips twisted. Oh, now you want to be a father?

People were staring. Ángel and his siblings smirked in my direction.

This isn’t the place, Avery. If you want to talk, we can do it tomorrow. Unable to listen to her grating voice another minute, I walked over to CJ and kissed the top of his head. Love you, buddy.

Love you too, Dad.

Despite the ordeal with his mother, my son was the best thing in my life. Without a reason to stay, I chose to leave rather than watch him go.

§

Honestly, I had no place to be since I didn’t live in El Domingo. After I buried Lor, I left town. I had the keys to his house, but I didn’t want to go back. Doing so was more of a punishment than trying to remember the happy times I had in that place.

When I reached the courtyard, I stopped. Just a few feet away sat the woman I lost. The woman I would have done anything for. Instead, I did everything to.

I broke her heart.

I kept my distance, not by choice.

My meeting in Albuquerque went well. I had a trainer. He wanted me to move closer to his gym instead of commuting from El Domingo. I told him I needed to discuss the matter with my girl.

When I returned, I went straight to the Ibarra home, but Ángel blocked my entry.

What gives, bro? I adjusted the duffel slung across my chest and shuffled my feet.

I was so excited to speak to Ximena. She could attend the University of New Mexico while I pursued a career as an MMA fighter. We’d have everything we wanted.

Ángel planted his legs wide and folded his arms. You’re not my brother. You don’t even qualify as a friend.

What the fuck? Man, where’s Ximena?

You’re not welcome here anymore.

Since when? I tried to push past him.

He pushed back.

On any given day, I could clean the floor with the man. He was no match for me. We used to spar together. The last time we did, I knocked Ángel out. A few minutes later he woke up and never wanted to mess with me again.

Ximena wants nothing more to do with you. He reached inside the door and held up two more of my duffels. Ángel shoved them at me. Take your shit and get out. Come here again, and I’ll stick one of Pop’s rifles so far up your ass you’ll taste the bullets!

I heeded the warning, tossed my shit in the vehicle, and sped out of town.

In hindsight, I was wrong. I should have stuck around and spoken to Ximena herself. Months later, I’d learned about the car wreck, but not all the details. Instead of tracking her down, I heeded Ángel’s warning and tried to forget the love of my life.

But I couldn’t…

From the shadows, I watched Eleana Ibarra kiss her daughter’s temple and then walk away. Ximena slipped through a door on the other side of the courtyard.

Did I dare go to Ximena?

After so many years, would she forgive me?

The only way to find out was to talk to her.

My feet slogged across the ground, closing the distance between us.

Ximena.

Her head whipped up. She smiled like the girl I remembered, but as soon as she saw me, her face darkened.

My life in a few words.

I evoked rage in every woman I messed with. For ten fucking years, I avoided relationships with anyone.

About a year before, I became so lonely I considered trying again with Avery. I offered to move in with her and help raise CJ. She didn’t want to shack up. She said I had to marry her or keep walking. I chose the latter.

Get the hell out of here, Ximena spat out.

I’m leaving. I just wanted—

What? You wanted to rub your relationship with Avery in my face?

There’s nothing between us, I said flatly.

Ximena’s eyes went cold. So your son means nothing?

In a cage fight, that would be hitting below the belt.

I raked a hand over my face. That isn’t what I meant, or what you asked. CJ is everything to me.

She mumbled, I used to be everything to you.

You’re still everything to me.

We should talk. Can I sit down?

My ex shook her head vehemently. Nothing you say will change how I feel about you. I hate the ground you walk on!

Speaking of walking…

When did your injury happen? I asked innocently.

When? She practically choked on the word.

Did I say something wrong?

You’re an asshole, Chance Hanlon!

I could be as patient as the next guy, but my tolerance ran thin. She accused me of something I had no knowledge of.

Holding up my palms, I said, Hey, can we at least get in sync? I read about your crash in a text message. It didn’t say what happened.

Her brow furrowed. From whom?

Reluctantly, I said, Avery.

That figures. The bitch couldn’t wait to tell you my awful news. Ximena reached for her crutches. I rushed to help her. Stop! I’ve been doing this without you. I don’t need you now!

Okay. I backed up and let her stand on her own. Is this permanent?

She bit her lip. "Are you saying