Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Read Online Free Page B

raising a kid all by himself, while struggling to make a living in the oil business.
    Those wrinkles around my dad’s eyes? Those grey hairs, outnumbering the black? He’d earned every damned one of them.
    “So, right back at you, son,” dad fired back, as I was lost in thought. “What are you gonna do, now you’re back?” He snorted. “Don’t you have a big fight to train for, or something?”
    I practically winced when he said that.
    “Actually, I’m between fights right now,” I told him, pushing a lump of egg around my plate with my fork. “Nothing’s lined up for the moment – but I’m sure it’ll happen.”
    Actually, I wasn’t so sure. That was the whole reason I was back in Freeport. I’d just taken two hard losses in the MMA League – first, against my best friend and training partner, Nikolai Bukov, and then against newcomer ‘Bruiser’ Broderick.
    Those two loses at put me right at the bottom of the league – and, as MMA League CEO Dan Blanc had warned me last time we’d spoken, “I don’t know how long we can keep you even there.”
    There weren’t any new challengers on the horizon. I was too lean and rangy to drop a weight class. As far as my fight career went, there was a very real possibility that I was washed up at 27 – nowhere left to go but join the ranks of the could-have-made-its.
    “Something’ll turn up,” my dad offered a rare moment of solidarity. “You’re an Oates, Travis – and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s never any shortage of men trying to kick our asses out there.”
    I snorted. If only.
    “Well, listen,” Dad pushed his empty plate away. “While you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. I’ve got all your old weights and shit, under a tarp out back. Set ‘em up and keep yourself busy.” He snorted dryly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to always keep yourself in fightin’ shape – ‘cos you never know when you’re gonna have to go toe-to-toe with some motherfucker.”
    It was good advice – and, as I slid out from the breakfast nook, and scooped up the dirty plates, I realized that hefting some iron and working out might be the perfect way to keep myself sane around here.

Chapter Eight
     
    Roxy
     
    My dad had always told me, “Roxy. If something’s trouble, you’re better off just leavin’ it the hell alone.”
    That went for hornet’s nests, stray dogs and the Middle East – that last one especially, as it where he’d lost his big toe - serving his last deployment in the Navy, during Desert Storm.
    I’d never had anything like that to deal with; but the advice was still good – which is why I was kicking myself, as I powered the old truck across the water to Quintara, and the Handy Villas Trailer Park .
    Travis Oates was trouble – the kind you definitely should just leave the hell alone.
    But I couldn’t.
    Which was why, on the passenger side of the big, bench seat of my truck, were three foil-wrapped cheeseburgers and fries.
    They were fresh from the Jetty Shack, and smelling up the whole cab. My stomach rumbled as I smelled the fresh-grilled beef and the scent of hickory smoked bacon. They were just the way I remembered Walt and Travis liking them, and as good an excuse as any to see them both again.
    The truck rumbled over the cattle grate of the old trailer park, and I powered down to Walt’s doublewide. As I pulled to a halt in front, I saw both Oates boys out in the back yard, rooting through piles of junk buried under an old tarp.
    I honked the horn, and wrenched open the creaking door. Travis and Walt looked up at the noise, and I saw Walt’s face break into a grin as he recognized me.
    “Well, hello, girl,” the old man swaggered out from the back of the trailer, and waved a bandaged hand. “Why brings you out here?” He snorted, and jerked his thumb towards Travis. “Not that I ain’t happy to see you, but I’ve got this jackass lookin’ after me