I glance away and tug on my fighting outfit. Afterward, I pull my hair back into a tight ponytail and then braid it, wrapping two elastics around the ends, so it won’t let loose during the fight. My stomach tightens after I finish, realizing that every little thing I do is only taking me toward the inevitable. With a huge breath, I walk out to do my pre-fight stretches. There’s no point in getting any more injured than I need to by pulling a muscle because I didn’t put my all into the fight, even though I already know how it’s going to turn out.
A knock sounds on the door, and Magnum opens it. A guy I recognize from the warehouse sticks his head in. “The fight before yours is about to wrap up. You’ll be on soon.”
I nod with a sickening twist to my insides. I’m not sure I’ve ever not wanted to do something so much in my entire life. Something that I knew I had to do, but didn’t want to, and it’s fucking killing me. I’ve had mini pep talks with myself all day about picking up my ovaries and doing what needs to be done, but I still come right back around to the simple fact that I don’t want to.
I just don’t fucking want to.
The guy leaves, and Magnum walks toward me. He moves my chin, so I look up into his hazel-green eyes. “Focus.”
I nod.
“Future.”
I nod again, threads of steel spreading out to harden my veins. Johnny moves to my back, pressing close to me as he massages my shoulders. I stretch my neck from side-to-side while he digs his fingers in. “Have I told you lately that I think you’re perfect?”
Magnum moves in from the front, and suddenly, I’m in a Magnum-Johnny sandwich, each pressing against me, their body heat breaking through the tension and flowing through me.
My mouth parts, and Jacob takes advantage, swooping down to press his lips to mine. Johnny drops his head to kiss the curve of my neck, and suddenly, my mind is preoccupied in a completely different way. I moan, relishing in the love from all sides, not wanting it to end.
Before it can get too far, Jacob pulls away, pinning me with his gorgeous stare. Johnny works his lips up my neck. “You have a lot to look forward to, babe.”
A shiver runs through me. If they’re promising me an incentive, this might be... No, it’s still going to suck, but I’ll take it as a recuperation present.
Johnny reaches over to grab my robe off the bench and helps me put it on. Magnum pulls it closed in front, hands lingering near my hips. “Remember how much he cares for you,” he says, his voice a little off from his usual sure tenor.
“I know,” I tell him, giving him a small smile. I create some space between us all, so I can continue my stretches. I get another five minutes before the same guy returns to lead me to the middle of the ring. My dry throat sticks, so I swallow the thin air as I walk out after him. My robe billows out, but I can’t even enjoy it because I’m so focused on what’s waiting for me when I get out there.
Johnny and Magnum follow after me, but I may as well be by myself. I block out everything I’ve built here and focus on the insurmountable task ahead of me.
The crowd’s excitement level ratchets up when they first see me. It allays some of the nerves, but frays others. Johnny and Magnum act like bodyguards beside me, but people still get their hands in to brush against my skin. I hardly notice. The arena drowns out. I see them, their mouths open, their hands raised while I walk down the path to the middle of the room, but I don’t hear them. My mind works on overtime to mute it all out.
I almost stumble when I walk into the circle to find Brawler step out at the same time I do. He’s so fucking handsome. I thought so the first time I saw him. He’s even hotter now that he’s got fighting shorts on, a bare-chest, and fists clenched like he wants to beat the shit out of something.
I bite my lip, eerily aroused by the scene in front of me. His eyes are more of a cobalt blue today, not the swirling turquoise I’m used to seeing. The ink on his body appears darker, more pronounced. The tribal tattoos swim up his arm as if moving while he shakes his hands out. The angel wings on his neck are alive, beating life’s blood into him.
I’ve only ever seen Brawler fight once. From up in the Crew box in the warehouse. Sure, I’ve seen him train a bunch of times, but this will be something. I’d kill to have a spot front row, watching him tear into somebody.
The crowd roars. The nameless, faceless people around us are literally just that: nothing. Their faces are all striated and muted, like nothing matters but Brawler in front of me.
The guy who’s taken over for Brawler for the night steps into the middle of the circled area. Real bleachers rise up along the circle, reaching all the way to the ceiling. It’s so hot in here, my skin already sticky with sweat. Gone is the smell of stale beer from the warehouse, even though alcohol is still all around. They’ve just gotten fancier. It’s not just cheap beer, it’s mixed drinks and shots too. One of these days, I’ll have to come to the fights just as a spectator. Wouldn’t that be nice?
“For your final fight on this opening day,” the guy shouts amidst a chorus of screams. “Uppercut Princess versus Brawler!” He draws Brawler’s name out and goosebumps skitter over my expectant skin.
He nods at both of us and backs away.
Right. So, this is it. This is one moment that will define my life. It’s odd to know it before it even happens, and not just look back at it years later and pinpoint the very second things changed. I already know the first blow will change things. It’s just up to Brawler and me to fix it later.
I treat the fight like training at first. I creep in, just as I would do if we were in Jax and Finn’s boxing ring. I look for his tells. I plan my attack. When the first opportunity comes, I don’t take it.
Fuck.
I shake it off, circle around him and start again. Brawler looks just as content to do this with me, play with each other, but it won’t work. My gaze darts up. Like with the warehouse, a special boxed area for the Crew sits atop everything else. It’s fancier, but what fills it is the same. Big Daddy K is front and center in the window. Johnny is next to him, fists clenched at his side, but it’s K who grabs all of my attention. He’s leering, a half-smile on his face is more predatory than anything. He’s the perfect representation of an enemy in beautiful clothing.
I lick my lips and focus back on Brawler. I send a silent thought up, hoping he’ll forgive me for this, and then I head in. I attack first because I know he won’t. If any one of the guys is too good for me, it’s him. Hell, it’s not just me. He’s too good for the Heights. He’s too good for most things. He’s been through the shit that has taught him who he wants to be.
He’s just...fuck. He’s good. Not halo worthy, obviously. None of us are, but he’s just…good. There’s no other word for it.
He blocks my punches and attacks with some teasing ones of his own. Just like he would in training, telling me he could’ve got me if he wanted.
I smile at him, and he smiles back.
Fighting someone you train with is difficult. They know you. They know your style, and I’m not even counting the fact that neither one of us actually wants to hurt the other. It means I have to do something unconventional.
I run at him. He’s stunned, pausing briefly. I plant my foot on his thigh, grab his shoulder, and glance an elbow off his head. I didn’t throw it as hard as I could have, but the audience loves it.