Making my way down the aisle toward my seat, I’m flanked on either side by Reggie and Trent having to hold crazed and screaming fans back until they realize that I’m not one of the fighters coming out of the tunnel. Flashing my ticket and all access pass to the usher, he leads me to the first row behind the commentators. Thanking him, I look around the crowded arena for my dad but don’t spot him.
“You guys go on and walk with Deac; I’ll be fine,” I yell to the boys.
Leaning in so that I can hear him, Reggie asks, “Are you sure you don’t want us to at least wait until Guy makes it over?”
Shaking my head no, “I’m fine, Reg, really.”
Scanning our surroundings for what, I don’t know—it’s not like Andrew is going to come after me here—he finally agrees and jerks his head, indicating for Trent to follow him. Watching them stride quickly back the way we came, I take out my phone to check the time and see a text from Cristiano.
Cristiano: Just thinking about you, preciosa.
Groaning I ignore the text and shove the phone back into my purse just as my father slips into the chair next to me. He hugs me and presses a kiss to the side of my head before releasing me to shake the hands of the commentators as they turn to greet him. My father is treated with much respect in this world of tight-knit men. He and Joe Love both. They have trained many talented fighters, making a name for themselves and the gyms that they own. Waving to me, they jump into action when the sounds of Imagine Dragons “Radioactive” starts playing, signaling that Deacon is making his way to the Octagon. His intro song is drowned out by the roar of the crowd chanting his name over and over, louder and louder the closer he gets. I can feel their excitement; the energy is a living thing rolling off of each and every spectator. They’ve missed him and I don’t blame them. That he is able to make his comeback in his hometown could not be any more perfect. Chicago loves him and they are not shy about letting him know.
Deacon is all fluid grace and rugged strength. Every move precise and calculated, nothing wasted. He is one of the best fighters in the organization, his style all his own. Never taking my eyes from him, I think back to something that he once told me.
“There are fighters that actually love to fight, Frankie. It feels as natural to them as breathing. It’s the only time they feel completely free, free to be who they really are. There aren’t any pretenses or prejudices in the cage. A fighter can be just that—a fighter—and he’s championed for it. I’m one of those fighters, Princess. That’s who I am through and through and I’ll never apologize for it.”
This is where Deac shines the brightest and although I am more nervous than usual, I need to remember that. I’m not sure why tonight is so much more nerve wracking than the hundreds of other fights I’ve watched, but it is. I’m a hot mess, on the verge of chewing my nails off as I watch him stand at the bottom of the platform having his hair, hands, gloves, and mouth piece inspected before he’s allowed into the cage.
I let my eyes rake over him. I think he is literally the most beautiful man on the planet. Standing in all of his inked glory, wearing his black boardshorts with the hot pink writing across the ass and front. I marvel, not for the first time, at a man secure enough to wear pink in an arena such as this. He never even thought twice about it. I said that I wanted bright pink and black as the gym’s colors so that I could incorporate my dance studio and he said okay. So there he stands, sporting neon pink and owning it.
Once he’s cleared, he hops up the two steps and holds still so the cut man can swipe Vaseline over his eyebrows, nose, and cheekbones to help prevent them from breaking open. Hair pulled back in a tight man bun, mouth piece in place, he’s finally let into the cage where he does a sweep of the arena, arms open wide. His cocky-as-hell smirk in place, I know that he’s trying to spot me. I also know with the lights and my height, he won’t be able to until everyone is sitting. He stands there listening to his dad and Sonny as he sways and bounces on the balls of his feet, completely immune to the fact that Tamasino’s intro music has started and that the crowd again is going wild, though there’s a lot more booing coming from loyal Deacon fans. As Bruno “The Devil” Tamasino finally makes his way into the cage, Deacon turns around and smiles at him.
As the announcer rattles off their stats, I can hear the commentators discussing Deacon’s comeback and what they feel the outcome of this fight will be. They’re split down the middle, but I’m with the one who thinks Deacon is going to take it early.
Watching the men meet in the center with the referee and stare each other down has chills of anticipation running down my spine. Anticipation for the fight, and if I’m honest, for what’s to come after. Looking at that sexier-than-should-be-legal smirk, I’m reminded of all the wicked things I let him do to me and the things I want him to do again. Brushing away those less than pure thoughts, I turn my focus back to the Octagon just as I hear the ring of the bell indicating the start of round one.
Deacon moves around the cage and I can see him assessing Tam, reading him to see what his best course of action is going to be, and then BOOM he strikes! I don’t see it coming, and by the way The Devil flies back into the cage from the beautiful push kick that Deac got him with tells me he sure as hell didn’t see it coming either. Once up against the fence, Deacon goes to town on Tamasino’s upper body, throwing jab after jab, showing no mercy and not slowing enough to give the other man time to do anything but cover his guard as best he can.
Finally able to break away from Deacon’s assault, Tam tries to sweep Deac’s legs, but has no luck, so instead dives for his waist, hoping to take him to his back. My father places his hand on my bouncing leg to try and calm me, but it’s no use. Chuckling, he just pats my knee and takes his hand away, allowing me to resume my nervous bouncing. Not wanting to take my eyes off of the fight, I glance quickly at the clock to see how much time is left in the round. Less than a minute remains, thankfully, because the last four minutes seemed like an eternity. Counting down in my head now, I shoot to my feet excitedly when Tam hits the ground hard after another well placed kick from Deacon.
When the bell rings signaling the end of the round, Deacon’s fans are on their feet screaming his name, encouragement, and of course, the random offering of sexual favors. I’m able to laugh it all off, releasing the breath I’ve been holding and look over at my dad.
“I think he took that round, don’t you?” I ask him excitedly.
He smiles down at me and I can see the love for this sport, for our fighter, shining in his eyes. Smiling back at him, I lace my arm through his and squeeze. He bends to my ear and starts speaking to me in Italian.
“I've missed seeing him like this. Fighting again and happy. I was very afraid for him when you were hurt,” he says solemnly.
Pulling back slightly to look up at him, “Afraid that they wouldn't let him come back? I thought it was only two or three fights that he missed, Daddy?” I ask, confused, feeling the guilt of him forfeiting any fights at all wash over me once again.
“No, not afraid of that, afraid for HIM. He had so much anger and hate in him, it seeped through his skin, out of every pore. Sitting there by your side it festered—I was afraid it would consume him. We all were.” Shaking his head as though clearing the image, his voice becomes animated.
“The thing that makes Deacon such a skilled fighter is that there is no rage inside of him. No demons he is battling that make him angry.”
At my raised eyebrows he continues.
“Yes, he has a quick temper and oftentimes reacts before thinking, but that is outside of the cage. In there, he’s not at war with anything. That's where he finds his peace. His fighting is pure artistry. He reminds me of you very much in that aspect. You're both artists in your own way.”
Hearing him say that makes me think that he was reading my mind just a moment ago.
“Watching him fight is no less beautiful than watching you dance. You're both made to do it, cara bella,” he tells me tenderly. “He's like a feather floating on a breeze, weightlessly riding the wind, until that air starts to swirl around him violently and the lightness of the feather no longer matters, because now in the tempest, it is a deadly, living thing. That's our Deacon. Pain is his art and he's incredibly adept at it.”
My father is old school Italian. He has a way with words that always paints such a vivid picture. A picture that has a way of invading every piece of me. Soaking in the simple beauty and truth of my father’s words, I let my eyes find Deacon. Taking in all that he is, all that he stands for, I finally admit to myself that he’s it. He’s my forever. He always has been. I don’t love him because he’s Deacon. I love him despite it. I love him simply because I’m in love with him. It seems ridiculous to just now realize something that I’m pretty sure I’ve always known.
Deacon asked me if I’m confused about my feelings for Cristiano. I’m not.
He’s thought that Cristiano and I have been reconnecting and I hate that. I think that we’ve moved past all of that for the most part, but still, it bothers me that he felt he couldn’t come to me and just ask. I would have told him that, yes, Cristiano has been trying to convince me that we are better together than I remember and that we could be that way again, but that I know the truth now.
The truth is, Cristiano lost his shine all those years ago the minute Deacon came home from the service. Cristiano had been my first in many ways, and to an extent, I might even regret that a little. Looking back now, I realize that he had just been filler. I had loved him, true, but I missed Deacon so much that I allowed myself to get swept up in Cristiano and all of his mystery and newness. He lavished me in attention and affection, and with Deacon gone, I took every bit of what he offered. We had so much in common, and he was hot, sexy, and totally different from Deacon. Added up, it all made it easy to do.
Cristiano was never it for me, he could never be it for me, because whether I had realized it or not, that had always been Deacon. I don’t want to fight Deacon or my feelings anymore. I love him and I need to tell him. I also need to figure out if I am prepared to be with him, if I can handle all that it entails. There are so many Sylvias in Deacon’s not-so-distant past. I know it will be something that I have to overcome. I’ve always been a little jealous of the women that were with him, no matter how briefly, because whether I realized the depth of my feelings or not, he’s mine. He always has been. Am I strong enough to handle them? Him?
I’m pulled out of my musings by my father nudging me and pointing to the cage and Deacon standing over in his corner waiting for the bell to start the next five-minute round. Now that everyone in the arena is sitting in their seats, we have a clear view of one another. He raises his hand and wiggles two fingers at me to remind me of our talk earlier. It’s so unlike him—he’s usually so focused—but nonetheless, I smile at him, shrugging my shoulders, mouthing, “We’ll see.”
He smirks that beautiful, confident, Deacon smirk and nods in acceptance before turning his attention back to Sonny and whatever he’s saying.
Exactly sixteen seconds into the second round, Deacon takes out Tamasino with a Superman Punch that stuns him stupid and has him flat on his back. Once they are able to get The Devil up onto his feet, the men are brought to the center of the ring where Deacon, being the gracious fighter that he is, shakes Tam’s hand and says something in the other man’s ear. The referee raises Deac’s arm in the air, a smile splitting his slightly battered face, softening him, as the announcer proclaims him to be the winner of the night’s bout by way of a knockout.
Standing on my chair so that I don’t lose sight of him as the arena explodes into thunderous applause around me, I’m able to catch his eye. I give him two thumbs up and a little fist pump that makes him smile even wider before I hold up two fingers and wink.