I slide the small card from the envelope. 'Go out with me? Be my girlfriend?' it says. A glutton for punishment, I’ve reread those words over and over since receiving them with yesterday’s flowers. My heart flutters with each pass of my eyes as the memory of the first time I heard him say those words come to mind.

So much has changed since that day.

I sigh, sliding it back into its sleeve, adding it to the pile of others. Eight others to be exact. All with different messages varying from I'm sorry, Please forgive me? and I love you.

“It's beginning to smell like a funeral home in here,” Martha says, stepping into her office. I look up and smile apologetically.

“I'm sorry. I'll throw some of them out today.” My eyes dart around the room, saddened by the thought of tossing any of them.

“No, don't do that on my account. They're all so beautiful. He has good taste, but I'm afraid he's not going to stop.” She laughs softly, sliding into her desk’s chair and disappearing behind two large arrangements before pushing them to the side.

“He didn't send one today,” I reply, realizing my mistake the minute her eyes land on mine.

“Awe honey,” she says, sympathetically.

The florist arrives everyday by ten. It's three and no one has shown up. I look down at the stack of florist cards. “His fight is tomorrow night. He's probably gone already.”

“You should call him.”

I nod, knowing as much as my head wants to protect my heart, my heart wants what it wants. And it wants to call him. It wants him. “Mia honey, sometimes with love, we have to compromise. It's not always hearts and flowers. People will make mistakes and there will be misunderstandings and hurt feelings. It's sorting through all that noise and realizing what is important and then fighting like hell for it that determines its worth.”

I consider her advice, knowing that wrapped in her words, she’s talking about the marriage contract. Her and Francis were quick to come to his defense, reminding me he never asked me to sign anything. “You think I should fight for it?” I clear my throat, looking up to meet her eyes. “For him?”

Her eyes dot around the office, briefly stopping at each vase as a soft smile edges along the corners of her mouth. “Honey, it looks like he’s the one fighting. I don't think you'll have to fight for anything.” She chuckles.

I smile feeling relieved with her reassurance. “I’ll call him after his fight. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“He may need your support before then, Mia. Francis saw some footage of him—”

“Excuse me, Miss?” A questionable voice comes from the doorway, stopping Martha mid-sentence as we both turn. “Sorry to interrupt, the lady at the front said I could find Mia…” a short, balding man looks down at the large white envelope in his hand.

“I’m Mia,” I say, not waiting.

He smiles, scanning the bar code on the package and handing me the small electronic device. “Sign there, please.” He hands me the nondescript envelope in exchange of my signature and quickly says his goodbye.

I rip open the tab and slide the contents out. It’s an airline ticket, a VIP pass to his fight and a document with a small note attached.

‘Sometimes family isn’t the tree you were born on, but who you choose. This is me begging you to choose ours. Matthew and Brandon came home this week. I don’t need you to get custody of them, I just need YOU, Mia.’

Tears sting my eyes as I scan through the custody document showing Chance has been given full custody of Matthew Alan McKnight and Brandon David McKnight.

* * *

The taxi stops in front of the arena and I waste no time in flinging money in the direction of the driver. I open my door and drag my carryon bag out behind me. “Thanks,” he mumbles just before I slam the door and race toward the front entrance. I eagerly show the lanyard and pass Chance left in the envelope to the first man I see in a yellow shirt.

He looks down from his tall stature, smiling kindly as he looks over my pass. He pulls a radio from his waistband and twists a dial on the top. “Sir, can you please let me in. I know I’m late, but I need to get in. Chance—” He extends one finger, cutting me off mid-sentence as he announces my arrival into the little device. A jumbled reply comes back over the radio, but it’s so brief I can’t make it out before it goes silent.

“If you’ll step this way, someone will be up front momentarily to escort you to your seat,” he says calmly, but it does nothing to stop the anxiety from ricocheting through me. I need to get in there. I didn’t expect to miss yesterday’s flight or a delay on takeoff today that required us to return to the gate to be unloaded and then loaded again—three hours later.

“Sir, if you could just point me in the right—”

“Here he is,” he says, looking over my shoulder.

“Ms. Hall?” a deep voice asks and I turn, taking in the towering height of the African American man moving swiftly in my direction. He’s solid, not thick like Chance, but his shoulders are wide and his arms chorded with lean muscle. Despite the smile he’s flashing at me, he’s intimidating. “Mia, right?” he asks, stepping up with his hand extended and I nod, feeling little as his hand wraps around mine in a firm handshake. “I’m Milton, Chance’s bodyguard. We need to get you in there,” he says, turning toward the discreet door he came from. I follow him into a long narrow hallway. “I didn’t tell Vic why I was stepping away so he doesn’t know you’re here and I’m going to be honest, I don’t know who is going to be happier to see you, Chance or Vic.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, taking two steps to every one of his one, trying to keep up.

“Our boy is not doing so good.” A heavy, sinking feeling fills my gut and I force my feet to keep moving. From the very first night, I never liked the thought of Chance getting hurt, but knowing that I’m going to walk into that arena and possibly see it with my own two eyes has me feeling sick to my stomach.

“Is he fighting now?” I ask, not fully understanding the schedule of events. Months ago, Chance had said his fight was the main event and when I’d asked what that meant, he chuckled and said, “you’ll see.”

“He’s in the ring. I’m going to seat you with the boys—”

“The boys are here?” I interrupt, my excitement briefly allowing me to forget my worry for Chance.

“They are.” He turns and smiles, pausing outside a set of double doors. “You ready for this?” He doesn’t wait for my reply before pushing the heavy steel door open and the onslaught of shouting and cheering fills my ears. I swallow hard, following Milton into the dark arena. My eyes immediately draw on the bright light of the center and while I can’t see the fight, I know that’s where he is.

Big screen monitors suspend from the ceiling beams and my stomach coils with the close-up shot of Chance taking a series of hits to the ribcage before reaching out and clinging to his opponent as if he’s using him as support. I continue my steps, but my eyes stay glued to the screen as the referee breaks them apart and says something to Chance.

“We’re in the third round.” Milton yells over his shoulder, drawing my eyes forward. He stops and shakes hands with a big guy in a bright yellow shirt with the word Security written boldly across the chest before we pass to an area closer to the ring.

My feet freeze in place when I see Chance, my Chance, bruised and swollen with a cut over his right eye. “Come on,” Milton says, escorting me toward the front row. The seats are packed, excited fans shouting, some even standing to look around us as we pass. Milton points down the row of chairs, my eyes follow until they reach Brandon and Matthew. Brandon briefly looks my way before doing a double take and jumping from his seat. Matthew looks over, trying to grab his arm when he sees me and follows Brandon’s lead. They both wrap their little arms around my waist, giving me a lasting bear hug.

“You’re gonna have to take your seats. I’ll be up there though,” Milton says, pointing and drawing my attention back to the ring. Vic’s turning red, appearing to be on the verge of a heart attack as he’s shouting at Chance from the side of the ring. “Seats,” Milton reminds me and my feet start moving, pulling the boys in tow.

“I’m so glad you’re here. He’s not doing good,” Matthew yells into my ear. He looks up at me, his green eyes filled with worry and I smile, ruffling his blonde hair, trying to silently convince him it’ll be okay.

Brandon leans in. “Chance’s getting his ass kicked.” I look down with a frown and he nods his head, convincingly. I don’t bother scolding him. It looks to be the truth as my eyes rake over the two fighters. Chance’s opponent has a swollen lip, but he’s nowhere near in the shape Chance is.

“He’s going to win,” I say, hoping they didn’t hear the shakiness in my voice. I watch as Chance gets hit several more times before the bell rings. When they retreat to their respective corners, I let out a deep breath, realizing I hadn’t taken one since following Milton into the arena.

“He can’t lose,” Brandon says, wrapping his little arm around mine and I weep inside a little, realizing how much I missed all of them. Not only Chance.

Matthew taps me on the arm, pointing in the direction of the ring. Vic’s eyes connect to mine before he climbs down and stalks my direction. My eyes want to follow him, but they’re too busy taking in Chance’s sweat coated body as his corner crew talks to him. His face only lifts long enough for someone to apply salve to his cut before it slumps, looking back at the blue canvas.

“You! Get over here!” Vic says, angrily and my eyes shift from the ring. I stand and he yells something around me at the boys to stay put before stalking off. When we reach the walkway, he turns, heading toward the ring and my feet root still. He turns around, his eyes dropping to where my feet stand before lifting them to my eyes. “He needs you!” he says and my feet set off, practically running toward his corner.

“Chance!” Vic yells and Chance looks over his shoulder. His eyes immediately land on me and he blinks several times before he scrambles from his seat, trying to climb from the ring. “No you don’t!” Vic yells, splaying his hand over Chance’s sweaty chest.

I step around Vic, stepping up to the ring and Chance’s gloved hands frame my face. “You’re here,” he whispers with tears in his eyes and I nod, reflecting the same sorrow filled expression.

“I’m here,” I reply, choking back a sob. Seeing him in the flesh, sweaty, beaten and bloody brings everything in perspective.

“In my corner?” he asks.

I nod. “Always in your corner, Chance.” Ignoring the pain of seeing his eye cut and swollen, the lid turning a deeper shade of purple by the second, I smile reassuringly. “Now kick this guy’s ass so we can get out of here.” The corner crew starts talking and Chance steps away slowly releasing me in the process. I step down, our eyes linger on one another for a few seconds longer and he nods, smiling playfully before his mouthpiece gets slipped into his mouth. Vic steps up, mumbling something into his ear before he turns toward his opponent. His shrugs his shoulders, rolling his neck and bounces on his feet as if finding a renewed sense of energy. When the bell rings, I take another deep breath and watch from the sidelines.

I have no certainty on what tomorrow brings, I just know that I need him with me while I figure it out.