Fight for Love Read online

  Rebekah finished up in the garden while Ricardo went across the street to the neighbor’s house to share his exciting news with his friends. It was just as well. He couldn’t make it any more obvious he had no interest in mucking about in the dirt unless it was under his terms.

  Tomorrow was the weekly Thursday night dinner with her parents. She would wait until then to tell them in person that not only was Rafael back in her life, but she was still married to him. She had a pretty good idea how they would react—especially her father. She could only imagine what the dinner conversation would be like as he issued warnings to her, while also trying to refrain from badmouthing Rafael in the presence of his grandson.

  She focused on the task at hand, not allowing the incredible truth that she and Rafael were still married to distract her from her gardening.

  That night, Rebekah sat in bed in one of her nightshirts. A pillow protected her bare legs from the warmth of the laptop resting on her outstretched legs. She was checking her email when she heard the door click open.

  “Mom?”

  Ricardo’s little round face poked into the room.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Without responding, he came all the way in and stood beside her bed. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “Do you think my dad will come back?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course he will. Why would you ask that?” Rebekah placed the pillow and laptop into the middle of the bed to give him her undivided attention.

  Ricardo shrugged, turning his eyes downward.

  “Ricky, why did you ask me that?” She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  Ricardo looked up at her again, his gray eyes wide in his face. “I never met him before because he was gone a long time. I want him to come back. I don’t want to do anything to upset him.”

  As if the guilt couldn’t get any worse.

  Rebekah clasped her son’s face in both her hands. “Your father loves you, and there is nothing you could do to upset him so that he won’t come back. The reason he wasn’t around before was because—well, sometimes grownups do stupid things, and me and your father did something stupid when we were younger, and that’s why he wasn’t able to see you before. But it had absolutely nothing to do with you. Understood?”

  He nodded, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

  “He told you he would take you to California, didn’t he?” Ricardo nodded. “Well, then, that’s what he’ll do. Okay?”

  “Okay.” A slow smile brightened his face.

  Rebekah took him back to his room and made sure he was settled before she returned to hers. She didn’t doubt Rafael would keep his promise, but she already knew what she would do if he didn’t. She would hunt him down and put her hands around his thick neck and strangle him. She would not let him break any promises to their son the way he had with her.

  She found it difficult to concentrate on responding to her email messages. Her vision became obscured with memories.

  Her parents had never approved of Rafael. He was too rough around the edges. It didn’t help she was still in high school, with a curfew. He worked at a local auto parts store, which was where they had met. She had gone in to get new windshield wipers for the car she had been gifted with from her parents her senior year. Rafael had come out to the parking lot to help her install them.

  The attraction had been instantaneous. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking. He had made her laugh, too, so by the time he asked for her phone number, she had been completely at ease with him and didn’t think twice about giving it to him.

  Over the next couple of months, her feelings blossomed. She helped him with his English, and he helped her with her Spanish. She learned he had moved to the United States from Mexico City the year before after his grandfather, who had raised him, had passed away.

  Initially, their relationship remained a secret from her family. Rebekah’s father was the pastor of a mega church in Atlanta, and he had certain expectations where his children were concerned. They did not include sneaking around with a young man who didn’t have a college education, had hardly any money, and didn’t attend church on a regular basis.

  During the week, they talked on the phone late into the night. On the weekends, their clandestine meetings were orchestrated with the help of her friends. She would say she was going to the movies or over to a friend’s house, when in fact, she met secretly with Rafael.

  When her father found out, he grounded her and insisted on meeting Rafael. She thought the meeting had gone well until her father informed her she was not to see him ever again.

  Unfortunately for him, his refusal to approve of Rafael only made Rebekah want to see him more. Their times apart were torture, their moments together precious. She distinctly remembered when everything changed…

  * * * *

  Rebekah and Rafael were in the back seat of her car, parked up at Stone Mountain Park. The windows were fogged from the heat of their heavy petting clashing with the low temperature of the cool fall night.

  She sat astride him, topless, as he kissed and touched her.

  With reluctance, Rafael tore his mouth away from hers. “It’s time to go,” he said, his voice thick and rough. “If we keep this up, I won’t be able to stop.”

  “No.” She clung to him, burying her face in his neck, wrapping her arms tight around him.

  “Rebekah, we already talked about this. If you do not get home at a reasonable hour, your father will be suspicious and we will never get to see each other because he will never let you out of his sight.”

  “I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice muffled against his neck. It got harder and harder to leave him after each stolen moment together.

  “Ángel,” he said, tilting her head up with gentle fingers, “we leave now, okay? And I will see you next week.”

  Reluctantly, she sat up. “I hate this,” Rebekah said tremulously after she had slipped her shirt over her head.

  “Rebekah, please, do not do this. You know this is hard for me too, but it is not forever. It is only for a short time.”

  “I don’t want to keep hiding.”

  “I know, mi amor. Me, either. But you must obey your father.”

  “I just want to be with you.” On the verge of tears, her lower lip quivered. “I love you.” She blurted the words without thinking.

  “Rebekah—”

  “I do!”

  “You do not know what you are saying. You are still very young. How could you love a man like me? I have nothing—I cannot give you the life your father has.”

  “In January I’ll be eighteen—I’ll be a woman, and I know about love. I love you, Rafe. I don’t care about money and all that stuff.” Sitting back on his thighs, she lifted her tear-filled eyes toward his, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. “Do you love me?” She hated the neediness of the question, but she had to know.

  He cupped her face in his big hands. “Si, mi amor. Te amo demasiado. Estoy loco por ti.” He had told her he loved her too much, and that he was crazy about her.

  “Promise?” Tears spilled from her eyes. He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs.

  “Para siempre.” Forever.

  * * * *

  Rafael settled onto the stool at the hotel bar in Manhattan. He’d been fortunate to get a last minute flight from Atlanta. Flying out tonight had been preferable to his original plan to fly out in the morning. It would save him some time, which meant he would be able to get back sooner to spend time with his son.

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a bittersweet smile. He already loved him fiercely, as if he had known him all his life.

  Both his parents had died an untimely death while in their twenties. They’d been teenagers when Rafael was born, and they’d lived a life of crime that eventually caught up with them when they crossed the drug dealer for whom they had worked. He didn’t want Ricardo to know anything about that kind of life. He would give him everything he never had growing up
and teach him to be a man in the same way he had been taught by his grandfather.

  If everything went well tomorrow, he would be back in Atlanta by tomorrow night.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asked, a young man with skin the color of rich mahogany.

  “Bourbon. Straight. And a menu.” He could tell by the light of recognition in his eyes, the younger man knew who he was, but he said nothing as he handed him a menu.

  “Excuse me,” a sultry voice said. A buxom brunette stood nearby. “Aren’t you a wrestler? Umm…what was it…La Sombra, right?”

  He didn’t doubt she knew exactly who he was. Some women had a way of pretending they didn’t know who he was so they wouldn’t seem too zealous in their approach.

  “That’s right.” He took in the plunging neckline, which showed off her humungous breasts. She had a narrow waist and wide hips. She wasn’t bad-looking, either, but she smelled like she’d soaked in a barrel of perfume.

  “Can I have your autograph?” she practically purred, pouting her ruby-red lips and sticking her chest out even more—as if he couldn’t already see her enormous breasts. Her well-manicured fingers retrieved a little notebook from her tiny beaded purse and placed it in front of him with a pen.

  “Who am I writing it to?”

  “Connie,” she whispered, pressing her chest against his bicep. He didn’t even have to work for it. It was almost too easy.

  Rafael pretended not to notice the pressure on his arm and scribbled the note as quickly as possible. “Here you go.”

  Connie took the notebook and pen and slipped both into her purse without taking her eyes from his face. “Are you staying here?” she asked, giving him a come-hither look, which, instead of enticing him, made his flesh crawl.

  “No,” he lied.

  Connie pouted again and stepped back. “I am,” she said coyly. “Room twelve-eleven, in case you’re interested.” Rafael watched as she sashayed out the door of the bar.

  “Must be nice,” the bartender murmured.

  “It can be a nuisance sometimes,” Rafael said, flipping open the menu. It was late, and he was starving.

  “I’d love to have that kind of problem.”

  No, you would not, Rafael thought grimly.

  * * * *

  At twenty-two, Rafael was big, strong, and a good fighter. When Marty took him under his wing, he went from no-holds-barred underground fighting to the wrestling amateur league. By this time, he and Rebekah had been married a year. The money he made barely supported them. Rebekah hadn’t liked the violence of underground wrestling, having to deal with all his cuts, bruises, and black eyes after each bout. She liked amateur wrestling even less, because Rafael had to travel often, leaving her behind in the motel room they rented weekly.

  She offered to get a job so he wouldn’t have to be gone as much, but Rafael wouldn’t hear about it. No wife of his would work. He would take care of her.

  While on one of his trips, he was taken by surprise when she called to tell him she was going to Atlanta. She explained that since he was gone for weeks at a time, she would stay with her parents for awhile.

  For Rafael, it indicated her unhappiness, which, in turn, was an embarrassing blow to his ego. Their relationship became more strained. They barely talked, and when they did, it was only to argue. He accused her of leaving him, which she vehemently denied.

  He flew back to Atlanta, hoping to convince her to return with him, but he could see she was becoming more entrenched in her life there. He had no doubt her mind was being poisoned against him, and she seemed to enjoy the comfort afforded by her father’s money. They were living separate lives.

  When he hit the road again for his bouts in California, he missed her, but their conversations became fewer and far between. The biggest mistake he had ever made happened just a few weeks after he left. He had won his matches, and he called Rebekah to tell her the news, but she wasn’t at home. Hours later, she still hadn’t returned his call, and he had felt dejected.

  Marty would sometimes rent a hotel suite so the six wrestlers he managed could celebrate after their matches. Tonight, they’d won a lot of money, so there was more food, more alcohol, and more women. Normally, Rafael would go back to his own room, but tonight, he didn’t want to be alone, and he needed a distraction from his thoughts.

  There were at least two groupies—or ring rats, as they were called—for each wrestler. While most of the women were wrestling groupies, a few had a professional air about them.

  “Hey, youngblood.” That was The Smasher, an older black wrestler with a gravelly voice who grew up in the seventies and spoke as if he were still living in that decade. He clapped Rafael on the shoulder. “There’s a whole lot of fine tail here tonight. You’re the star of this show. Take your pick.” He waved his hand in a kingly gesture, offering permission for Rafael to choose a woman.

  “No, thanks.” Rafael started to walk away, but The Smasher slipped his arm around his neck and held him in place.

  “You need to stop all this sulking now. Time to get with the program.” The putrid odor of bad breath mixed with heavy doses of beer and hard liquor drifted under Rafael’s nose. “That girl ain’t thinking about you.”

  Rafael stiffened. He didn’t bother to point out Rebekah wasn’t just any “girl.” She was his wife. It made no difference to the other men. They still teased him. Half of them were married with a wife and kids at home, but they didn’t let it stop their fun.

  “She all the way in Atlanta,” The Smasher continued. “She probably got her one of them college men by now. Or you best believe Daddy’s done set her up with one of them fine Christian men in his congregation.”

  The same thoughts had crossed his mind. Her father had never thought he was good enough and had said no when Rafael asked for Rebekah’s hand in marriage. So what would keep him from pointing out all the eligible young men available and capable of providing for his daughter in a traditional way?

  Angry, Rafael shoved the other man’s arm off his shoulder. The Smasher backed up, laughing as he did so. “Whoa, now,” he said. “Don’t get mad at me for speaking the truth.”

  “That’s my wife you’re talking about,” Rafael snarled.

  The Smasher looped his arms around the necks of two women standing nearby. “Listen here, this is America. You ain’t in Mexico no more, hombre. In America, you can have anything you want. Anything.” He pulled the two women closer to emphasize his point. They giggled. “If a tree falls on a bear in the forest…no, wait a minute…if a bear pisses in the woods and no one is around…no…ah, what the hell! You know what I’m trying to say. She ain’t here, so what she don’t know can’t hurt you.” With an exaggerated, drunken wink, The Smasher lumbered off toward one of the bedrooms with both women.

  Sick of what he saw and trying to escape his gloominess, Rafael headed out onto the patio for some fresh air. He was out there for a few minutes when he heard movement behind him. A bottle of beer appeared, connected to a female hand. He took the beer and turned to face the woman attached to the arm.

  She had a round face, large brown eyes, and short, dark hair. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Marisol.”

  She didn’t look like the typical groupie. Her hair wasn’t teased to the heights of small buildings, her face wasn’t padded with too much makeup, and her body was twice as covered as the other women inside.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re from Mexico City, right?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “That’s where my parents are from. I was born here in the States, but I visit every chance I get.”

  “What are you doing here, Marisol?”

  “I’m here with a friend.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s a fan of one of the other wrestlers. I can’t remember his name. Mind if I stay out here with you?”

  “No.”

  He brought out two of the dining room table chairs, and they sat outside and talked for some time. Later, when all hell broke loose, all he co
uld think was that he should have never gone to the suite in the first place. He never even touched Marisol, or any other woman there, but the fallout was as devastating as if he had slept with them.

  Two reporters for a national tabloid had been at the party that night with hidden cameras. Their assignment was to shed light on the wrestling industry and the athletes who traveled around, leaving wives and children at home. The exposé uncovered the drug use, drinking, and sex rampant in the industry.

  When the story broke, it was all over the news. He was still traveling at the time and called Rebekah immediately. As one of the more popular wrestlers, his name and image featured prominently in the piece, and there was no mistaking the distinctive Aztec tattoo on his left bicep. The colorful illustration depicted Mixcoatl, the Aztec god of war and the hunt.

  He had explained to Rebekah that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but she hadn’t believed him. Eventually, she refused to take any more of his calls. He continued to call until one night her father answered and told him to leave his daughter alone. She could do better than a liar and an adulterer. Rebekah sent a message to him through her father: She wanted a divorce.

  After he hung up, he was in a daze. Then, the consequences of his actions buried him under a weight of anger. With a roar, he attacked the hotel room. He broke apart the dresser and smashed the mirror above it with his fist. He never saw the blood or felt the pain of the shards imbedded in his hand.

  The noise finally penetrated the revelry of music and laughter in the other room of the suite. Wrestlers poured into the room, and he tried to smash them too.

  “Hold on, youngblood. Save it for the ring, son.”

  He was young, he was strong, and he had the adrenaline of anger and pain pumping through his veins. It took all five of them to restrain him. The room was in a shambles. Someone called Marty, and he rushed over to the hotel right away.

  Marty lectured him for a long time. “Use your anger in the ring,” he said.