He lifted his chin, forgoing staring at the laces on his trainers. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, plum.”
Libby met his gaze, worry written on her face as she assessed his eye. “Raz, are you sure? It’s already got a blueish tinge to it.”
She was trying to help. Of course, she was. She loved him. And he loved her. He wanted to let her in, but it was too dark inside his heart, too raw, too exposed. His only defense was to put up his guard.
“That’s what happens to boxers. I’m going to get hit and bloodied up, and if you can’t take it…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I’m on your side, Raz. I’m only concerned.”
She was. He could see the tenderness in her expression. But isn’t that what got him here? Thinking she was the answer.
“I have to do everything in my power to beat Silas Scott.”
“I understand.”
“Do you, Libby?” he barked.
“Champ?” Briggs called from the front.
“Yeah?” he said, grateful for his agent’s interruption.
“We’re here. I thought you might want a minute to get yourself together.”
He stared out the window as a steady stream of rain pummeled the ground, the angry drops assaulting the roof of the SUV as Briggs turned onto the drive leading to the Victorian. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed.
He ran his hands through his hair and blew out an audible breath. Agitation prickled beneath his skin, begging him to move, to sweat, to pound the heavy bag until his knuckles bled and he couldn’t raise his hands.
“I’m good, Briggs.”
His agent nodded with a dubious bend to his placating smile.
What he wanted was to stop feeling, to stop fighting the battles in his head. He had to focus on doing whatever he had to do to leave Silas Scott a bloody pulp, lying on the ground, pleading for the round to end. What he needed was that gleaming, glittery belt around his waist and the ref raising his hand into the air in victory.
“How about I get a bag of frozen peas and you can ice your eye before we head back to the barn?”
“No, please, plum. Let’s get this over w—” He stopped himself. “Let’s go,” he said, amending his words. He could feel Libby’s eyes on him, but he had to talk to Aug. The fight was in five days. Every minute not training was a minute lost. That was the ugly truth.
“I’ll be in shortly. I have a few calls to make,” Briggs said, eyes locked on his mobile.
Damage control to tamp down the fallout from the video, no doubt.
More bloody damage control.
He could feel Libby surveying him from head to toe.
“Your eye doesn’t look too bad. How’s your side?”
“Plum, I’m fine,” he spat. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t mean to be cruel. He took a breath, forcing himself to modulate his tone. “He didn’t get me that hard, plum. He threw those punches to show me he could.”
“We were ambushed. Silas planned to catch you off guard, Raz. He said those awful things on purpose.”
What she didn’t understand was that her explanation didn’t make it any easier.
Moving like his legs were made of lead, he grabbed their bags and exited the car, barely registering the rain. He helped Libby out and observed the SUVs parked along the gravel drive. Everyone was here, and then it hit him.
There was a damn good chance they’d seen the video.
“Are you ready to go in?” Libby asked, trepidation coating her words as the scent of Mitch’s cheese toasties mingled with the clean scent of rain as music and voices floated from the barn.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied, manufacturing what he hoped was a pleasant demeanor. But it didn’t work on Libby. If anyone could sense he was out of sorts, it was her.
“I love you. We’ll be okay,” she whispered with such conviction it nearly cracked his heart in two.
He nodded, but there was no we when it came to his mental game.
And as of this moment, his mental and physical game was utter horse shit.
Pull yourself together.
They entered the barn. The earthy scent of hay usually lifted his spirits, but not today. He took in the space. Sebastian, Phoebe, and Oscar were preoccupied with Plum and Beefcake, feeding the animals cut-up apples while the adults huddled together, staring at their mobiles.
Another jolt of clawing doubt entered his bloodstream.
He’d called it. The video was out there for all to view.
He stiffened, shame weaving itself in with the sour doubt weighing like a stone in his belly.
His sisters caught sight of him first as he nodded to Granny Fin and the rest of the group.
Calliope and Callista plastered on smiles, pocketed their phones, and headed over.
“Raz, are you okay?” Callista whispered as she hugged him, then glanced over her shoulder at Sebastian.
“The lad doesn’t know about the video, does he?”
“Of course not. The kids have no idea,” Calliope answered through a hug. “Our mobiles send us an alert when you pop up in the news. We figured it was another Hawaii sighting.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “So, everyone’s seen it? Augie’s seen it?”
“Yes, and—” Calliope began, but he cut her off.
“And we’re not talking about it,” he said, his voice a husky rasp.
His sisters exchanged a worried look.
Concerned marred Calliope’s face. “Are you okay, Erasmus?”
“What did I say about us not talking about it? It’s a party. We should put on a happy face,” he added, glancing at Sebastian, still busy on the other side of the barn.
Calliope turned to Libby. The women looked at each other as if they weren’t sure what to do.
He didn’t have a clue either.
“Callista and I are happy to meet you in real life,” his sister said, falling back on pleasantries.
“Me too. Thanks for helping out with Sebastian while we were…” Libby trailed off, tossing him another wary look.
It was as if the Snake’s stunt had tainted everything that had happened in Moloka’i.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He’d planned it out in his head. They’d arrive at the party, and he’d surreptitiously slide the wooden box in with Sebastian’s gifts. When they gathered to open presents, the boy would have plucked it from the pile. When he opened it, that would have been the cue, the moment he’d drop to his knee and give his son, and himself, the best gift they could ask for—a life with Libby.
“Dad, Mibby, you’re back!” Sebastian cried, all smiles. “Look at the decorations. I helped Auntie Calliope and Auntie Callista. And look at Plum and Beefcake, and look at what Oscar gave me,” the boy prattled, excitedly jabbering a mile a minute as he plucked a rectangular box from a table loaded with presents and cake. He removed the lid and held up a framed photo. “Oscar made the frame at camp, and he took the picture. It’s you and me and Mibby and the donkeys after Mibby won the Ass-in-Nine.”
He stared at the image in his son’s hands. Bloody hell, if only he could go back to that time when everything in life was so clear.
But it wasn’t clear. His attention had shifted.
He’d lost sight of what he had to do.