Chapter 23
Three weeks ago, I married the love of my life. The week following, he paid Daniel to keep Carter training and we took off to Antigua. It was a barefoot luxury of secluded beaches, sleep, sex, relaxation, foods, and of course, in Ryker style, more sex…everywhere. We wanted peace and quiet and we got it.
It went too fast and right when we returned, he went straight back to work head first.
He’s worked really long hours, long days, and long weeks to get Carter ready. He’s been at the gym sun up to sun down. I bring them lunches and occasionally watch them, more Ryker’s sexy body than anything. He’s stopped keeping his face clean shaven and now is sporting a sexy scruff. It’s different, but it looks good on him.
Carter’s gained weight. He’s not a little scrawny kid any longer. He’s more cut with a defined muscle line. To me, he’s built like a swimmer—broad shoulders, big chest, and flat stomach on slender hips.
Today is Carter’s first fight and I can tell he’s nervous as hell, trying his best to conceal it. This is also the first fight we’ve attended since my attack and Ryker is, although focused on Carter, struggling to keep himself in check. He’s worried. How do I know? He’s asked me like a bajillion times if I’m good.
Kyce stands with Ryker, hyping Carter up. It was a long road to recovery, but eventually the brothers made up. Thank God. And in the dark, as we laid tangled together, Ryker admitted he was happy Kyce kept tabs on us, and that looking back now, he realizes he was more disappointed at himself for not being able to protect me and needed to lay the blame on someone else.
It makes my heart smile seeing them annoy the hell out of each other again.
Ryker grabs Kyce by the arm and pulls him to his face, nose to nose. “Do you have her?” Ryker’s words are slow, enunciated, and stern with a matching seriousness to his glare.
Kyce nods. “One hundred percent.”
Ryker’s gaze softens resting on me with a raised brow. “I’ve got my money on the other guy.”
“You too?” I tease.
He clutches my hands and pulls me into him. “He’s going to demolish the guy.”
“Look who his coach is,” I boast and then narrow my eyes. “Wanna wager?”
He smirks, challengingly. “What’s the ante you don’t already have?”
I pull him by his neck and whisper in his ear. “He wins, I have my way with you. All the control.”
He shakes his head. “You’re placing a hard ante.”
I giggle because it’s the one thing he demands during sex. “I know.”
He exhales. “Fine.”
I kiss him. “Please don’t worry about me. I promise I’m safe.”
“If you need—”
“To pee,” I interrupt. “I’m holding it until you can hold my hand,” I say with a smile. “Don’t worry.”
He kisses my forehead before pulling back. His gaze glasses over and he’s back to his stoic ways, steady and strong with wicked determination.
Kyce interlaces his arm with mine and we start out the door. Before we exit, I turn around and call out. “I love you, husband.”
His spine snaps straight and he cranks his neck at me with warm eyes. His smirk is laced with pride and it lingers until he switches back to Carter.
There’s two things he loves—I love you and being my husband—and when I say them together, it cracks his tough shell.
We’re traveling down the hall when a group of reporters flock, bombarding us with questions.
“How have you been since the attack?”
“Is it true it was a lover’s quarrel?”
“Did you know Mr. Henderson?”
“How was the honeymoon?”
“Is Ryker any different as a husband?”
My heart is racing. I squeeze into Kyce a bit more, tucking my head into his shoulder. He barks for them to back up and to leave us alone without stopping our pace, but they don’t quit until we hit the arena’s entrance.
The nervousness I’m experiencing isn’t the same as it is when Ryker is in the cage. Instead, it’s less extreme but more intense. It’s not worry that the man I love will get hurt. No. Now it’s switched to concern for all his hard work. All of Carter’s. I’m scared for Carter, regardless of how much I know he’s grown perfectly into place. I’m afraid of what will happen if Carter loses and the direct hit Ryker’s ego will take.
The lights dim. The crowd roars. Orange strobe lights scatter across the countless people. Ear splitting screams burst from all around us. Anxiety begins to crawl up my neck and cover my skin. I lean into Kyce, but he stands as the white light illuminates the entrance, pulling me to my feet along with him.
Carter strolls unperturbed, shadowboxing. Ryker’s eyes, even from here, scream murder. It’s as if he, himself, is walking into the cage. Fans, mostly Ryker’s, reach out to get a touch, a simple tap, and both men grant them their wishes.
Carter gets checked in and sprints around the ring, shaking out his arms until he reaches Ryker on the other side of the chain-link fence. Ryker’s eyes find me without any emotion before flicking back to his fighter. Ryker speaks and Carter nods his head.
I know this is eating Ryker up. I know he wants to be in the cage, the one fighting, inflicting the pain, and celebrating the win. Part of me breaks knowing how badly this must be hurting his feelings.
Walsh, the opponent, comes in and the referee brings them to the middle to state the rules I’ve come to realize are repetitive and the same as every other fight.
The bell dings and out lunges Walsh. Carter feints and strikes, landing it. Walsh wraps Carter up against the fence where Ryker is and I can see him shouting things while Carter struggles to keep his bearings.
Walsh slams several punches into Carter’s ribs, and I can hear the grunts and air rushing from him. It’s a sound that scares the hell out of me.
Kyce places his hand on my knee with soft eyes. “You good?” he mouths.
I’m shaking like a leaf but I nod.
The crowd gets louder pulling my view to the ring. Carter is advancing forward, firing off punches and forcing Walsh backward. Step for step, punch for punch, Carter slams his knuckles into Walsh while he bends and blocks. Walsh throws a kick into Carter’s thigh and the smack is unnerving, but it doesn’t seem to bother Carter.
Ryker worked with him on that and it was so brutal I almost puked. I ended up leaving the gym that day.
I hear Ryker yell something and in a swift movement, Carter steps in on his left leg and slams Walsh with an ugly right upper cut, sending him to the mat.
“Stay on him!” Ryker roars. “Stay the fuck on him.”
Carter complies and dives on top, driving his gloved-covered knuckles into his opponent’s face. The ref circles and then shoves Carter off.
The whole arena comes alive in a thunderous rumble of screams and shouts. Kyce and I are both on our feet. Carter turns toward Ryker and yells in celebration. Ryker rushes the cage, shoving through the people already flooding the floor, and bear hugs Carter, lifting him completely off the ground.
I smile and squeeze Kyce’s arm.
He won. Carter won. Elation surges my heart.