ADAM rolled his neck until it cracked, twice. He glared at Eddie and Kyle, who stood across from him with twin scowls in place. Their irritation was to be expected, but he didn’t much care for their two cents. His life choices were his own, whether they agreed with that notion or not. “You two gonna stand there and be grumpy assholes all night?”
Eddie sighed and shot Kyle a side-eye. “What do you expect? Your head isn’t in the game. You’re gonna get eaten alive out there.”
“And if I am? Who fuckin’ cares?” Adam pounded a wrapped fist into the palm of his other hand. Maintaining his title was no longer at the top of his priorities list. In fact, ending his career sounded better and better with each passing minute. “I’ve had a good run. Maybe it’s time for someone else to take the title.”
“Bull-fuckin’-shit.” Kyle strode over to Adam and gave his shoulder a forceful shove. “Since when are you the type to roll over and play dead? You’ve got a real fuckin’ shot at winning tonight if you’d get your head outta your ass.”
Adam swung a leg over the bench he’d been straddling and stood, using his height and post-training-camp girth to tower over his manager. “I’m ready to retire, Kyle. You knew it was coming.”
“Yeah, when it naturally progressed to that point. Not because you gave up.” Eddie folded his arms and leaned against the wall, disappointment written all over his face. “I never thought you’d be one to throw a fight, Littrell.”
Adam blew out a breath and shook his head. “I’m not throwing the damn fight.”
“You might as well be.” Kyle frowned, his own frustration etching lines into his forehead. “Stepping into that octagon without the goal of winning is the same thing.”
Kyle wasn’t wrong. Adam’s drive to win was no longer there. It’d been disappearing for a while now, replaced little by little with the hope for a future with Bo. Watching him walk away hadn’t changed the shift in his thought process, especially after the phone call he’d received following weigh-in earlier that day.
The sight of Bo’s name flashing across his screen had been enough to turn Adam light-headed and giddy. The last few weeks had been pure torture. A hell unlike any he’d known before. He’d dug into training for the distraction, but his heart hadn’t been in it. If either Eddie or Kyle had been paying attention, they would’ve caught on to his shift in focus long before now.
The caller wound up being Lulu rather than the man he’d hoped for, but the few rushed words she’d spoken brought a grin to his face even now.
According to her, Bo was as miserable as he was and, quite possibly, missed Adam as much. She’d also made it clear she planned to drag her brother’s ass back to Vegas. Back to their home and back to him.
Her one question, before she’d hissed into the phone that Bo was coming and she had to go, was to ask if Adam would take Bo back if they returned. He hadn’t even cared if she meant as his PA or as his lover. He’d said yes, without a doubt.
Which meant, for the first time in two agonizing weeks, he had hope again. Because even if Lulu couldn’t convince Bo to move, Adam was going to get his man back. The reason he lived in Las Vegas in the first place was his UFC career. If that was over, he’d be free to live anywhere. And if Bo would have him, he wanted that anywhere to be wherever Bo called home, be it Berkeley, Las Vegas, or parts yet unknown.
If he could get Bo back in his life—for good—Adam would move to the North fuckin’ Pole, for all he cared. The location didn’t matter, only the company.
“I’m not gonna actively try to lose, but I’m not gonna kill myself either. I’ll give a solid effort, but if Zaragoza brings the passion I’ve seen in our training videos, the belt belongs to him.” Adam adjusted the groin protector beneath his fight briefs. Errant images of Bo in the throes of his own passion had it fitting a bit tight. “If he wants it more than I do, he deserves it.”
Eddie huffed out a mirthless laugh. “The better fighter is who deserves it, Littrell, and you’re a better fucking fighter.”
Outside the locker room, Adam’s arrival was announced. The familiar echo of the exaggerated voice boomed and bounced through his head for what he hoped would be the last time. A moment later, his entrance song blared into the packed MGM Grand Garden Arena.
He took a step forward and clapped his manager and coach on the shoulders, giving them both a conciliatory squeeze. “It’s been an adventure, boys, but I think it’s high time we lay the Beast to rest.”
ADAM groaned when the peal of his doorbell reverberated through his pounding head. He didn’t budge off the couch, where he’d taken to sleeping after Bo left. Instead he willed the unwelcome visitor away and cursed them with every foul word his aching brain could generate when the bell rang a second time.
Pushing to his feet, Adam swayed and grabbed for the arm of the couch. He pressed a gentle hand to the side of his head, where Zaragoza had damn near knocked the thing off his shoulders, and suppressed a wave of nausea by puffing out his cheeks and holding his breath.
Going to the hospital for a scan like his coach—now ex-coach—had suggested might’ve been a good idea. It wasn’t like Adam had never had a concussion before, but he was getting on in age, and the more of the damn things he suffered, the riskier they were. And there was no doubt he’d been concussed. Even if Adam had set out to win, it was unlikely he would’ve succeeded. Zaragoza—fifteen years Adam’s junior and built to the top of the weight class—had entered the fight guns blazing.
The fuckin’ chime clanged through his brain a third time. Adam glowered at the door. It was only a few yards away, but in his present state, it might as well be hundreds of miles. He shuffled to the foyer and gave the door a yank, fully prepared to bitch out whoever stood on his porch.
Until he saw who it was.
“Holy crap.” Bo’s eyes bugged behind his glasses. He stepped forward, and before Adam had a chance to prepare himself, those soft, familiar hands cupped his jaw. “Why didn’t anyone dress this? Have you at least been using ice?”
“Ah, no.” Adam rolled his lips in to hide a smile when Bo’s brows pinched at his response. Some things never changed. Bo was built to fret and mother.
Bo ran a gentle thumb over Adam’s cheekbone. His left eye was damn near swollen shut, and if the blood crusted over his face the last time he’d looked in the bathroom mirror meant anything, he had at least a few open wounds. Eddie had come after him with the first aid kit following the fight, but Adam had refused his care. He’d wanted to go home. Prepared to retire or not, the severe beating he’d taken had dealt more than physical damage. His ego had been smarting, as well.
“And why not?” Bo tutted and dropped his hands. He grabbed one of Adam’s wrists, tugging him toward the kitchen. “Hasn’t anyone been looking after you since I left?”
Adam obeyed when Bo pointed to a chair and ordered him to sit. He bit his split and swollen bottom lip to stop the ridiculous grin threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth. “Eddie tried. I wouldn’t let him.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Bo grumbled as he dug through the cupboard he’d cleared and stocked with a myriad of first aid supplies all those months ago. “And you call me stubborn.”
A chuckle slipped free before Adam could stop it. “You are stubborn.”
Bo rolled his eyes as he approached Adam with a fistful of bandages and tubes of antibiotic and pain-relieving creams. He dropped his booty on the table beside Adam before retrieving one of the premade ice packs he kept stocked in the freezer. He offered it to Adam, one brow raised. “Hold this wherever it hurts.”
“We’re gonna need a lot more ice if that’s the only specification.” The grin he’d tried to hold back stretched his lips into a smirk when Bo’s brow crept farther up his forehead. He accepted the ice and pressed it to his temple like a good boy.
Seemingly satisfied with Adam’s cooperation, Bo shifted his attention to the items on the table. He opened bandages and uncapped the various liniments before tugging over a chair so he could sit facing Adam. He frowned. “Cheese and rice, Adam. You look like crap.”
“I never claimed to be pretty.” Adam chuckled, dropping his ice pack at Bo’s silent behest so he could tend the cut over his eye.
When Bo signaled him to return the ice to his swollen face a few minutes later, Adam obliged. “Can I ask what you’re doing here? Not that I’m complaining, but….” He shrugged. How did he tell the man he loved he hadn’t been sure he’d ever see him again? Least of all back in his kitchen. In Vegas. Without his sister. “Wait, where’s Lulu?”
Had she succeeded in talking her brother into moving already? No, that wasn’t possible. For as damaged as she’d sounded, the move would be a difficult one. Not something Bo could make happen overnight.
Which meant what? Why was Bo here?
Adam shifted in his seat, his stomach dropping when Bo averted his gaze and busied himself with cleaning up bandage wrappers rather than answering Adam’s questions. “Bo?”
Bo sighed, darting his eyes to meet Adam’s. He swallowed and offered a weak smile. “Lulu’s in rehab, and I….” He mirrored Adam’s own helpless shrug. “I saw your fight last night. I-I was worried about you. I know how much it meant to you to keep your title, and I… I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Adam’s heart slammed to warp speed beneath his ribs, and his stomach did a delighted flip back to rights. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave, noting the hour for the first time. It was only a little after nine o’clock. Considering the main card event—his and Zaragoza’s title brawl—hadn’t started until 10:00 p.m., Bo had either hopped an early flight—which was unlikely, considering his penny-pinching ways—or driven all night long. And he’d done so because he cared about Adam enough not to want him to face the loss of his title alone.
Before Adam could formulate a proper response that didn’t entail the profession of his undying love and a lot of teary-eyed begging for Bo to take him back, Bo bounced to his feet like a loaded spring. “Coffee. You need coffee. Why isn’t your coffee pot programmed to make it automatically anymore? You can’t function without it.”
Adam huffed out a laugh. “It kept brewing sludge rather than anything resembling coffee, because I can never remember to add water or replace the filter and grounds. So I turned the damn thing off.”
Bo readied the machine and turned it on before easing back to his seat. He fiddled with one of the ointment tubes and cast his eyes to the floor. “If you’d rather I leave—”
“Fuck no.” Adam dropped the ice pack to the table with a dull thud. He leaned forward and took Bo’s warm hands in his nearly frozen grip. “I was just wondering. I hadn’t anticipated finding you on my porch this morning. It’s a welcome surprise, but an unexpected one. That’s all.”
Bo gave Adam’s hands a squeeze and scooted forward on his chair. His brilliant green eyes locked on to Adam’s. “I’ve missed you. So frickin’ much.”
That was all Adam needed to hear. “Me too, babe. Me fuckin’ too.” He pulled Bo into his lap and buried his battered face in the soothing familiarity of Bo’s neck. Bo snaked his arms around Adam’s ribs and blew out a gentle sigh.
Everything was perfect. Adam’s injuries disappeared, as did the distance and time that had separated them. His only care in the world was the comfort of Bo’s slender warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest, serving as proof Bo was alive. He was real.
In that moment, nothing else mattered, and anything that did could bloody well fuckin’ wait.