Devon
The tornado of barely leashed energy within me winds tighter. Soon, it’s going to explode. I just hope I can make it into the cage before that happens. It’s driving me crazy not having my fight brothers around, and not being able to spend the whole damn night in the same room as Harley. I want to help her prepare, to murmur encouragements in her ear before she goes out for her next two fights.
Fortunately, Ashlin makes it her job to keep me occupied. Seth’s ex is sweet, in a quietly competent kind of way. Her mouth is perpetually slanted up at the corners and I can tell how much she cares for Harley. It’s in her every word and action. I can’t help wondering how my gruff former coach ever wooed her in the first place. She seems like his opposite. Slim, delicate, ethereal—although she holds the pads with strength and calls combinations with a degree of confidence that surprises me.
After I lower my fists and tell her I’ve had enough, we sit side by side on a pair of chairs and I sip water while she twists a ring on the fourth finger of her right hand.
“So, you and Seth were married?” I ask, because now seems as good a time as any to get answers to questions that no one else is brave enough—or stupid enough—to ask.
“For four years,” she replies, continuing to twirl the chunky metal band. “But we were together for three years before that.”
“Seven years is a long time to spend with someone.”
She sighs, and her hands still. “If you love them, it’s nowhere near long enough.”
I glance at her, and see that she’s staring at a spot on the wall. “You can’t make a comment like that and not elaborate.”
Giving me a wry smile, she shrugs. “It’s not that different from most breakup stories. I loved him, stuff happened, it ended, and it took me years to recover.”
“I’m sorry.” My gut twists, and I wish I hadn’t pried. There’s anguish in the depths of her dark eyes that tells me she may not have fully recovered even now.
“Don’t be.” She sits on her hands, hiding the ring from view. “Just don’t break Harley’s heart. Whatever happened with Seth and I, she’s like a sister to me, and I don’t want her hurting.”
“You don’t need to worry about us,” I assure her. “I love her, and I plan to be with her long-term, if she’ll have me.”
Her phone vibrates, and she checks it. “Harley is on next. Want to head out and watch?”
“Yeah.”
We both stand, but before we reach the door, she stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Don’t give up on Harley. She can be stubborn, but when she cares, she does it deeply, and I can tell she has strong feelings for you.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “She’s it for me, so I’ve got as much time as she needs.”
We take one of the snaking hallways behind the stadium to a rear entrance and slip inside, standing against the back wall to watch. We can’t see much from here, but fortunately the action is being streamed onto a number of large screens, and I focus on one of those. I’ve seen Savage Rose fight a number of times, and she lives up to her name. I have every confidence that Harley can take her down though.
The first round starts, and the two women circle each other. While Harley is relatively unharmed from her earlier fight, Rose is sporting a bruise on the side of her torso and her lip is encrusted with blood. As they exchange blows, neither injury seems to bother her. She pushes forward, trying to drive the action like the pit bull she is, but Harley is magic when she moves. Her striking is effortlessly graceful. Xena, in the flesh. I can’t take my eyes off her.
Three rounds later, the final bell sounds and they’re both battered and blood-smeared. They bump fists, then sling arms around each other. The crowd goes wild, loving the show of camaraderie. The umpire stands to the side, and we await the decision with bated breath. I think Harley did enough to be crowned winner, but in the absence of a knockout or serious injury, it’s almost impossible to be certain. The announcer shouts her name and she launches a fist into the air. Rose nods deferentially, and they hug again before returning to their respective corners.
Beside me, I hear laughter, and turn. Ashlin is watching me with a broad smile.
“Everything I need to know about your feelings for Harley is written all over your face,” she says. “You love her.”
“I do.” I don’t care if it’s obvious.
“Good.” She nods toward the door. “Come on, let’s get you ready to go.”
Harley
“You were awesome out there.” Devon appears in front of me the moment I leave the room reserved for Crown MMA.
I look around, surprised to see him out of his preparation room. “What are you doing here?”
He tucks a lock of hair that came loose in my previous fight behind my ear. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”
He scans me up and down, but his expression doesn’t betray how terrible I look, even though I know it for myself because I checked the mirror. I wiped the blood from my face—some of it being Rose’s from a cut at her temple, and some of it mine from a bleeding nose—but there are smears up my arms and spotting on my crop top. On top of that, my eye is turning blue and my right thigh is killing me. All respect to Rose, she was a tough fighter and I’m lucky to have beaten her.
“Is Seth worried about you missing out on down time to help me?” he asks.
“Eh. He’ll get over it.” Honestly, I think he’d be eager to support Devon himself if not for his whole edict about refusing to train a couple. “Let’s get out of here before he comes along. You know he won’t be able to stop himself from giving you advice, and we’ve already worked out your game plan.”
A couple of men nod respectfully as I pass, and I return the gesture. It seems Seth’s plan is working. I’m gaining the kind of attention that might attract other women to his gym. We arrive at Devon’s room, and Ashlin greets us with the gear we need for the fight. A medic is standing beside her, and immediately moves to Devon to give him a once-over and measure his blood pressure before declaring him fit for duty.
“You can do this,” I tell him under my breath. “Feeling good?”
He steals a cheek-kiss and grins. “Feeling great. I’m ready to show this asshole what we’ve got.”
An usher arrives and leads us to the arena. Unlike me, Devon took a great deal of care choosing his walk-out song, and the moment it begins, I sense a change come over him. He’s focused. His attention is centered on the cage. All of the energy that’s usually busting from his seams is carefully directed at the opposition, who is already waiting.
He strides out, with me on his heels. A collective murmur rips around the stadium. Even in this modern time, it’s unusual to see a male fighter with a female coach—not that that’s what this is, but from the outside, that’s how it looks. I can’t see Seth, but I can feel his eyes on me. I pretend not to notice, and hope he won’t be too hurt that I’ve recruited Ashlin to help us.
When we reach the base of the cage, someone checks Devon’s mouthguard and gloves, then allows him to go up. I stride around the back, waiting for the opportunity to attend to him between rounds. Karson glances over at me, and his eyes widen, but then the umpire speaks to both fighters and the first round begins.
I don’t let myself scan the stadium for Seth. It’s important for Devon to have every ounce of my concentration right now. While the fighters move, I shout orders. Some he listens to, some he doesn’t. I expected nothing less. He may be the man I love, but he’s still a loose cannon.
The bell sounds, and Ashlin and I hurry into the cage. While she ices his torso—which has taken a beating from his opponent’s shin, I hand him a bottle and brief him on the changes he needs to make if he wants to win.
“Don’t try to fight him from a distance,” I say. “He thrives on that. You need to get into the pocket and put him on the back foot.”
He nods, his eyes wild with adrenaline. “Got it, boss.”
The umpire yells for the seconds to get out, and Ashlin and I return to our places. The next round only lasts thirty seconds. Devon crowds Karson, gets him on the ground, and forces him to tap out while the crowd—me included—scream our approval. The umpire raises his hand, and then Devon races down the steps, grabs me around the waist, and spins me in a circle. His mouth finds mine, and we kiss—hot and uninhibited—until he runs out of breath. If the crowd was loud before, it’s nothing compared to now.
When he pulls away, I say, “I love you,” and watch his eyes light up.
“Back at you, babe.” He glances somewhere over my head. Following his gaze, I spot Seth watching us thoughtfully. Ignoring him, I kiss Devon once more. “I want you front and center when I win.”
“I’ll be there,” he promises, and takes my hand as we head toward the back rooms. He nods to Seth when we reach his side, then he departs, going back to the room with his belongings in it.
“We need to talk later,” Seth mutters, the words loud in the quiet corridor. “About you and Dev.”
Stopping dead, I pause until he turns to face me. Is this the moment we’ve been waiting for? I should be happy, but all of a sudden, I’m annoyed at him for holding our futures hostage, whatever his reasons may have been.
“I’ve been thinking.” One of his brows flies up, but that’s all the response I get. Undaunted, I carry on. “I love Devon, and whether or not you believe it, we’re going to be together for a long time. We work well together, both in and out of the cage, and if you can’t find it in yourself to believe in us, I’ll seriously have to consider going elsewhere to be with him.”
He cocks his head. “You’d do that?”
“Yes.” Although the trembling in my chest reminds me I’d rather not. “We’re a package deal.” Now that I’ve made the decision, it feels right. I should have done it a long time ago.
He nods once, then returns to walking. I consider pushing the matter, but now isn’t the time. I still have one last fight to get through.
“Who’s my opponent for the final?” I ask.
“Enya Sears.”
Excitement buzzes in my stomach, shoving out the anxiety from our conversation, as I recall the freckled brunette who moves like a ballerina. The one beloved by America, who keeps falling just short of any major win.
Sorry, Enya. You’ll lose again tonight.
We prepare for the fight in silence, up until the last few minutes, when Seth talks me through his game plan, which is basically to outmuscle her. Enya is technically proficient—I recognized that from seeing her at the Steel Angels—but she isn’t powerful.
An usher comes to get us, and I stride to the stadium for the last time tonight. I’m the first one to arrive at the cage, so I shake my limbs to loosen them up. The audience goes bananas when she struts down the aisle. They love her, and I feel a pang of regret that I’m standing between her and the win she so desperately needs. Hopefully she’ll be able to pick herself up again when the night is over.
She enters the cage, standing opposite me. I nod to her, and she offers a small smile in return. If not for the bruises decorating her torso and the lump growing on her forehead, she’d look very much like the girl next door. I’m not fooled, though. She’s a worthy adversary who made it through two opponents to end up here with me tonight. The umpire calls us to the center, reminds us of the rules, and then the fight begins.
The first round is relatively even. A back-and-forth of exchanges, with each of us taking turns being the aggressor. We’re weary from our earlier bouts, and cautious to protect our injuries. She aims a number of kicks at my right thigh, proving that she was watching earlier when it got decimated by Savage Rose.
The second round goes the same way as the first. It’s a toss-up as to who’s in the lead, and even if Seth hadn’t told me in no uncertain terms that I need to up my game, I’d know entering the third round that I need to do something drastic to ensure my success. It’s time to leave the comfort zone. Yanking her close, I sweep her off her feet and pin her to the ground. It’s the first time I’ve willingly gone to the floor, but I have more chance of using my strength against her from here. It works well—at first. But then Enya makes a move I haven’t prepared for, and all of a sudden I’m the one who’s twisted like a pretzel and unsure of the way out.
To my side, Seth is yelling instructions. I try to focus on them, but there’s a pain in my arm, and I struggle to breathe. Closing my eyes, I tune out everything except the sound of his voice. My body acts automatically, following his commands, and seconds later, by some miracle, I’ve reversed our positions. Putting more pressure on her, I up the ante. She thrashes, but thanks to Seth, I’ve got her in such a good hold, she’s unable to break free. Finally, defeated, she taps out.
Stumbling to my feet, I offer her a hand and help her up. She congratulates me, although disappointment is etched in every line on her face.
“Thanks,” I reply. “Maybe—”
But then the umpire grabs my arm, and someone shoves a camera in my face. Enya shrugs, as if to say, “what can you do?” then slinks back to her corner.