Defeating the Odds Page 6

  I am in for gambling. What are you in for?

  Ball is in your court.

  Ford.

  From: Damon@HillsRehabFacility.co.uk

  To: Ford@WoodLakeRecoveryCentre.co.uk

  Subject: Friendly Support System

  Message:

  Hey, wow gambling, that’s some heavy shit. I’ve had plenty of people gamble on me before, but then, when you’re a star MMA fighter, like me, you get used to it.

  So, did you see that kick-arse England rugby game? Are you allowed to watch TV and shit over there? This place is okay. But I really don’t think I need to be here.

  At least I have a gym to train in and some of the employees are hot to look at.

  So, my mate Sam tells me I need to give this whole buddy thing a go, as I could actually end up helping you.

  How are you coping in the recovery centre?

  Speak soon.

  Damon.

  I close the laptop down. I’d been tempted to check out the MMA rankings, but I knew if I saw that bloody name above mine, I would lose my shit, and after all I don't want that to happen. I am here to control my temper, and to do that, I need to control my actions. I’m just not convinced any sort of therapy will ever help me overcome the hatred I have for that man.

  My heart is beating a hundred miles a minute. Sweat is pouring down my body. I pump my legs faster, taking me back to the starting line. My morning run does fuck all for the tension raging through my body. I’d woken from a dream this morning that had left me on edge, then when I’d seen Cleo at breakfast, my tension had turned into anger. She had a fresh bald patch on her head, and that pissed me the fuck off. When I’d cornered her outside the common room, she had finally caved and told me that her meeting with her family had been cancelled because her parents couldn’t be bothered to come and see her.

  I slow my pace, doing my usual cool down, and make my way through the doors of the centre and to my room, gripping the back of my t-shirt and pulling it over my head along the way. I see a few female staff members and patients look my way. I throw them a wink and open my door. My room greets me in the typical manly way; my clothes are thrown all over the place. I know I have to clean it up before Spencer comes and inspects my room. From what Kyle has told me, if he finds it in this state he will put me on kitchen duty. I strip off the rest of my clothes and walk into my bathroom. Thank fuck I don’t share with anyone, because they would have the fright of their life if they saw my hard-on first thing in the morning.

  Once my clothes hit the floor, I stand in front of the mirror and admire my body. I am in pretty damn good shape, if I do say so myself. The team train three or four times a week, sometimes more if we have a big game coming up. I run my hands over my chest, down over my stomach, and over my rock-hard abs. Elliott’s face pops into my head and my dick jumps at the image. I need to fuck, but there is no one here to help me out with that. I grip the base of my dick and walk into the bathroom, where I turn the shower on. I climb in and the hot water washes over me. My skin prickles as the heat hits my hard dick. I shiver and take hold of my throbbing rod, pumping it slowly. I wanna relish in the feel of my pending orgasm.

  What I would give to feel a tight ring around my dick.

  I keep the slow pace, picturing Elliott bent over taking my cock in his tight arse. My spine tingles, and without warning, my climax rips through my body and out of the tip of my cock. I pant, trying to catch my breath. Leaning my forehead against the cold tiles, I take a few deep breaths, slowing my heart rate down. I shiver as I climb out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist, before sitting at the table and opening my laptop. I log in to my email and see that Damon has replied to my earlier message. I click the icon and see what the bloke has to say.

  I run my eyes over his reply and take in his words. An MMA fighter, huh? His name is Damon.

  Holy fucking shit, it can’t be, surely?

  How is that for bad fucking karma?

  Fuck me sideways and up the fucking arse.

  My heart rate spikes as I think about the other night, when my world went to fucking shit. It was his fault. I slam my clenched fists down on the desk, making the laptop jump. I click on the reply button and send my email to the fucking prick.

  From: Ford@WoodLakeRecoveryCentre.co.uk

  To: Damon@HillsRehabFacility.co.uk

  Subject: Friendly Support System

  Message:

  Are you Damon Vardy, by any chance? If you are, then it is all your fucking fault that I am in this fucking shit hole of a place. I lost big time the night you almost killed Noble in the cage. I lost my mother’s house, you motherfucking cunt. I swear to God, if I ever see you I will fucking rip you to pieces.

  Fuck this system. I am fucking DONE!

  I hit send and slam the laptop shut. I don’t bother to log out. I need to get out of this room. The walls are closing in on me. I throw off the towel and pull open the drawers that contain my clothes. I pull on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, sans underwear. I slip my feet angrily into my trainers and walk out of my room, slamming the door closed behind me. Spencer is walking towards me. The smile slips from his face when he sees the anger I feel sharpening my features.

  “What’s wrong, Ford?”

  “I…” I stop and take a deep breath. My teeth are clenched so tight I am sure I will crack a few of them. My fists open and close in anger.

  “Breathe, Ford. Come on, let’s take a walk.” He grips my elbow and steers me towards the gardens. I take a deep breath, inhaling the cool, fresh air. My heart slows a little and my breathing calms. I roll my neck, making the bones crack. I follow Spencer over to one of the benches and take the seat next to him. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

  “Talk when you are ready, man.” Spencer’s voice fills the room. I nod but don’t say anything. So many thoughts are running around my head. How the fuck can I talk to Damon knowing that he is part of the reason I lost so much that night. I know he isn’t fully to blame, but fucking hell, it pisses me off to know that he is part of the reason.

  “I’ve been talking to the guy on the emailing buddy system thing,” I explain.

  “That’s good, right?” he asks. I bark out a sarcastic laugh.

  “It was until he gave me more information about himself. He is Damon Vardy, Spence.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah. I can’t talk to him. I don’t need to do this buddy system shit. It is pointless. I just fucking can’t.” My anger starts to boil again, and I stand up and pace back and forth in front of Spencer. My fists clench and unclench as the unbridled anger surges through my body.

  “I do understand where you are coming from, Ford. Believe me, I do. But you can’t lay blame on Damon for what you’ve done. You placed the bet. He didn’t hold a gun to your head and force you make the wrong choice that night, or any other night.”

  “He cost me my mother’s fucking house,” I reply.

  “Again, not his fault,” Spencer says calmly.

  “Not his fault?” I repeat his words. “I LOST MY MUMS HOUSE!” I yell at him. I feel my face burning with rage, yet Spencer just sits there and takes it. I lift my hands to my head and grip tightly on my hair. How the fuck can this not be Damon’s fault? The odds were on Noble to win. He should have fucking won the fight. But no, the wanker, Damon, went and lost his temper and almost killed Noble in the cage. One minute the fight was evenly matched, and then Damon snapped and lost control.

  “Ford?” I hear Spencer calling my name, but I can’t talk. “Ford!” He yells my name this time as he gets up in my face. “Sit down and talk to me. Screaming and shouting isn’t going to get you anywhere.” I take a deep breath and sit next to him. We sit in silence for a few minutes, then Spencer speaks up.

  “Ford, how do you know he is the Damon Vardy?” His question makes my heart skip a beat.

  “I just know. I can feel it. How many MMA fighters do you know that are called Damon and are in rehab.
It’s way too much of a coincidence if you ask me. It is him.” I turn to look at him and make my point.

  “I don’t need this buddy system, but I get that it is mandatory, so if you want me to do it, then I suggest that you and the doc work something else out. I am not talking to the prick again. Simple.” I lean back and stare out at the manicured garden in front of me. My mother loved her garden. Fucking hell, I screwed that right up, didn’t I? My chest aches for all the trouble I have caused my family. I know I can stop the gambling whenever I want to, but the thing is...I don’t want to stop. I love the fucking thrill of it.

  “I’m going to my room.” I stand and walk away from Spencer. Once in my room, I fire up the laptop again and try to log in on my Facebook. I sigh in relief when it lets me. I know exactly who I am going to get in touch with. I find his name and click on the messenger button.

  FORD: Dude, you need to do me a favour. Place a grand on City beating Wolves this weekend. You know how it works. Thanks, fella.

  I click the send button and my skin buzzes with excitement from placing the bet. This had better pan out. I can feel this is a good bet. I smile at the laptop as I scroll through the newsfeed. Fuckers are going on with their perfect fucking lives while I’m stuck in this place. I lean back in my chair and lock my fingers together behind my head. I push the chair back on its back two legs and watch a video one of the boys posted. My room door slams open, scaring the ever-loving fuck out of me, so much so that I almost lose balance and topple to the floor. Doctor Wilks stands at the threshold with Spencer behind her. He looks so fucking disappointed. He shakes his head at me and looks down at the floor.

  “Why, Ford?” he asks.

  “Why what?” I reply. I know what he is asking, but shit, I can’t be arsed being the good boy right now.

  “We monitor every laptop and computer in here, Ford. We know that you just messaged a gentleman to place a bet for you. I was going to come and talk to you about setting you up with a new email buddy, but I can see the effect that Mr Vardy is having on you. So, I think it would be best that you keep emailing him. You need to sort through your issues, and I believe he is the one to do that with,” Dr. Wilks explains. “I will also let your brother know of this slip up, and he will be asked to come in and see you.” With that, she walks away from my room. My chest hurts as the guilt sets in, as I take in the look on Spencer’s face.

  “No need, man. No need,” I say, and walk into my bathroom. I don’t need him to tell me how he is disappointed in me. I can fucking see it. And now Nick is coming in. Just what I fucking need - not.

  It has been a fucking week since I got that angry email from that Ford guy. And I am the one that is in anger management. I think he needs to be here too.

  I pull up the response that I sent.

  From: Damon@HillsRehabFacility.co.uk

  To: Ford@WoodLakeRecoveryCentre.co.uk

  Subject: Friendly Support System

  Message:

  What the hell, man? Yeah, I am Damon Vardy, and I did not lose you your mother's fucking house. You did that by gambling with it. If you knew your shit and did your research, you would have bet on the right fucking person. I was always going to annihilate him.

  I am the sure-fire thing. I do not lose. Ever!

  Rip me to pieces? I’d like to see you fucking try. Bring it on!

  Something was niggling inside me. What was it? Concern? I’d hardly spoken to this bloke. Why would I care how he was feeling?

  I click on ‘compose a new message’ and begin typing.

  From: Damon@HillsRehabFacility.co.uk

  To: Ford@WoodLakeRecoveryCentre.co.uk

  Subject: Friendly Support System

  Message:

  Hey, man.

  It’s not sitting right with me that you haven’t responded. I get that you’re angry with me, but you don’t know anything about my life. You don’t know what that scum of a fighter did to me and my family.

  I needed to put him down. I needed him to pay.

  What makes me really angry is that I’m stuck in here while he is out there getting all the attention and sympathy. He ruined my life!

  I have to work hard to get out of here. If he takes my number one spot in the rankings, I’m going to be livid. And to get out of this place, I need you to talk to me. It’s compulsory.

  If I can help you, I’d like to.

  Damon.

  I wait and stare at the laptop for another half an hour, hopinghe responds.

  I finally get fed up and slam the lid down. I glance around the communal room, surprised to see only a few people. A couple of guys are sitting in front of the TV, another one is on a laptop, and a young girl is reading in the corner of the room.

  I jump to my feet when I hear my name coming from the TV. I storm over and stand behind the guys.

  “Reports say that Damon ‘Hot Head’ Vardy is in rehab, following the attempted murder.

  What the fuck? Murder? They’re calling it attempted murder now? It wasn’t called that when Hunter almost killed Manning in the cage almost three years ago.

  “Noble is on his way to making a full recovery and has been released from hospital. His coach stated, ‘Noble will come back fighting strong and more determined than ever to take that number one spot from Vardy, the man that almost killed him’. There you have it, Noble is determined and will fight until he has that number one spot from Damon Vardy.”

  “Shut that crap off!” I look over my shoulder to see Will standing there. One of the guys aims the remote control at the TV and clicks the red button. “You okay, Damon?” Will places his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.

  “I’m fine,” I grit out, before storming towards the back door. I will not let that man have my number one spot. I will work as hard as I possibly can to get out of this place and back into the cage.

  As I head towards the gym, something catches my eye. Sam is out on the field, running. I thought she had already done her run this morning.

  I hurry to the gym, throw my shorts, t-shirt and trainers on and run down to the field. I stretch and warm up my body as I wait for Sam to get closer. As she rounds the corner and heads towards me, I jog on the spot. When she reaches me, I take off, running by her side.

  “You okay?” I ask. She says nothing. Her chin dips closer to her chest and she increases her speed. I struggle to keep up with her. Something is seriously wrong. After running around the field twice, I can’t keep up anymore. I slow down and stop but Sam carries on, keeping up her pace. How her legs aren’t burning, I don’t know. This is more than just focusing on her training. She is hashing something out, and I need her to talk to me.

  As she goes to run past me, I circle my arms around her waist and lift her off the ground.

  “What are you doing?” she screams, and thrashes about in my arms.

  “Talk to me. What’s happened? You’re pushing your body too hard. You’re going to crash and burn. Sam, please.”

  “I’m fine. Please, put me down,” she asks quietly. I place her on the floor but make sure I keep hold of the tops of her shoulders. I spin her around to face me, and that’s when I see her red, swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.

  “What the hell has happened?”

  “I need to stretch.” She pulls away from me and starts stretching.

  “Sam.” I say her name more forcefully. Her eyes snap to mine and tears start trailing down her cheeks.

  “I… I was…” She’s struggling to talk, wringing her fingers.

  “Come with me.” I lead her over to the pool and tell her to sit on the edge. I pull off her trainers and socks, and she dangles her feet into the water. I do the same and wait until she is ready to speak.

  “I was emailing Hailey today. She’s been having a bit of a rough time. I wanted to help her. Anyway, just as I was about to close the laptop down, I received another email. From Blake.”

  “Your boyfriend?” She nods. “Everything okay?” She shakes her head.

  “He… He said
that he couldn’t be with me anymore. That my anger issues were causing him stress and he needed to be out having fun. He… He’s met someone else.” She cries, covering her face with her hands. I pull her in closer to me and let her cry into my chest.

  “You’ll get through this. You’re a strong, independent woman. Why were you out here running?”

  “Because I didn’t want to accept it. The running makes me forget.”

  “That in itself is progress. You didn’t turn to anger.” Her head pops up from my chest and she looks at me in surprise.

  “Oh, my god, you’re right. I wasn’t running because of anger. Normally I would have blown up and gone crazy. Am I healing? Am I fighting this?”

  “To me, it sounds like you are.” I smile.

  “Thank you, Damon. You’re a great friend. I’m glad I met you here.”

  “I’m glad that I met you too.” Did I help her? Did I help her by making her talk? My mind flits back to Ford. I wonder if he has replied yet.

  “Damon.” I glance over my shoulder to see Will. “Phone call.”

  “Phone call? I didn’t realise we got phone calls here,” I say.

  “Yeah, go to the reception desk. That’s the only place guests can speak on the phone." Will explains and I turn to Sam.

  “Thanks. See you at dinner.” I jump up, grab my trainers and run towards the building with bare feet. Who knew I could be so excited about a phone call.