20
THE CROWD AROUND Megan buzzed with energy, the scent of sweat and beer cutting through the air. Lights pulsed and flashed, strobing in time with the music pounding through the speakers. Megan shifted in her seat, her palms sweaty, her stomach in knots as she waited for the same thing everyone else in the building was waiting for: Gabriel “The Sandman” Maddox.
Blood dotted the canvas covering the octagon, and she made a note in her notebook.
The arena vibrates with anticipation as we await the champion, the most prestigious fight saved for the end of the night. The blood of both the fallen and the victorious seasons the octagon, a constellation of pain and violence, manifested in bright red drops splattered against the canvas-covered battlefield.
“How do you do that?” asked Jules, leaning over Megan’s shoulder and reading what she’d scribbled.
“Do what?”
“Just make that up on the spot? I could never do that.”
Megan smiled and shook her head. She knew Jules was trying to distract her, and she was grateful for it. Truth be told, she’d been dreading coming to the fights tonight because it meant seeing Gabe again, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with the mixture of emotions seeing him would bring.
“I don’t know. I just . . . do.” She laughed. “That’s not a very good explanation, but it’s something that’s always come naturally to me.” There was something deeply therapeutic about putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, and she’d spent a lot of time over the past few days journaling, trying to process everything that had happened, both the good and the bad. For once, it wasn’t really helping. Even writing was failing to help her cope in the face of her biggest heartbreak.
She knew it would just take time. If she could put distance between the present and losing Gabe, she knew that eventually she’d heal. Somehow. Maybe.
The arena’s lights dimmed and the opening strains of Ludacris’ “Get Back” started playing. The crowd let out a roar, and Megan’s stomach flipped over. Camera flashes strobed, red and yellow lights flashing around the perimeter of the arena, adding to the power of the moment.
Leandro Oliveira appeared in one of the entranceways to her right, flanked by his team, a look of cocky determination on his face. He was wearing the usual Mereo gear, but he’d had his sweatshirt emblazoned with a Brazilian flag and his name. He strode confidently into the arena, pushing his hood down as he walked with his shoulders back. Fans reached out to him as he passed, but he ignored them, focused with a laser-like intensity.
He arrived at the steps leading up to the octagon and pulled off his hoodie, his muscles rippling in the flashing lights. Megan’s skin prickled, worry for Gabe churning through her. She knew he was a talented fighter, strong and skilled, but Oliveira looked equally strong, and she could practically feel the determination and hunger rolling off of him.
One of the referees stepped forward and examined him briefly before allowing him into the octagon. He bounded up the stairs and then dropped to one knee, closing his eyes for a moment and then crossing himself before rising and jogging to his corner.
Oliveira’s music faded away, and she could barely hear the opening strains of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” over the roar of the crowd. The pulsing lights intensified, and her heart beat like hummingbird wings, fast and frantic. For a second she thought she might actually be sick. When she’d first started writing her series of articles, she’d researched the fighters and watched Gabe’s highlight reel. But watching a collection of highlights on YouTube was entirely different from seeing him fight live, knowing she loved him. Knowing how much he hurt. Understanding the pain that propelled him into the octagon. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.
A spotlight flared to life to her left, and there he was, maybe only fifty feet away, even though the gulf between them might as well have been miles. His hair was pulled back into a knot, and he wore the plain black-and-white Mereo gear. He started to move into the arena, and she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have the same determined stride as Oliveira, the same cocky set of his shoulders. His face was . . . She couldn’t even tell. It was just blank, as though he could’ve been standing in line at the grocery store. He didn’t look like a man about to fight in order to sate his demons, or even for his career. He looked . . . hollow.
An ache flared up through her chest as he got closer, and when he was about five feet away, their eyes met. She forced her lips up in a smile, and the light shifted in his eyes, his brows drawing together slightly. He gave her the tiniest nod and then looked away, heading past her toward the octagon.
He went through the same inspection as Oliveira and entered the cage. The lights got brighter and Gary Watts, the WFC’s tuxedo-clad announcer, stepped in, microphone in hand.
“Good evening, Las Vegas!” he yelled, drawing out the last syllable of the word, competing with the swelling cheer of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening!” He thanked the Nevada State Athletic Commission and introduced the three judges scoring the fight, as well as the referee. “And now! Five rounds to determine the WFC light heavyweight champion!” The crowd vibrated around her, and Megan’s hands shook with anticipation. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to see this. It was too hard. It hurt too much.
“Introducing first, the challenger! Fighting out of the blue corner, holding a professional record of twelve wins and one defeat, standing at six feet two inches tall and weighing in at two hundred four and one-half pounds . . . Leandro ‘O Caçador’ Oliveira!” Leandro threw his arms up in the air and smirked at Gabe, radiating athletic confidence. Megan couldn’t help but smile at the chorus of boos mixed in with the cheers.
Gary pointed at a somber-looking Gabe, who seemed immune to everything around him. He rolled his neck slowly. “Fighting out of the white corner, holding a professional record of twenty-one wins and three defeats, standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and six pounds, presenting the reigning”—Gary pointed at Gabe with a sharp jabbing motion—“defending”—another jab—“undisputed light heavyweight champion . . .” The crowd got so loud that Gary smiled and waited for the cheers to die down. “Gabriel ‘The Sandman’ Maddox!”
Megan wanted to cheer for him, but she couldn’t. She was terrified of what would come out of her mouth if she didn’t keep it firmly closed. Afraid she might cry, or scream, or distract him somehow.
The referee motioned both fighters into the center of the octagon and went over the rules of the fight before inviting them to touch gloves. They did and then retreated to their corners, waiting for the referee’s signal to start fighting. He pointed at each of them and then clapped his hands together.
She felt as though she were watching everything from underwater. Here, but not. Close, but far. Blurry and trapped. She had to remind herself to breathe as she forced her gaze to the men in the cage.
Both men emerged from their corners, meeting again in the center of the octagon. Gabe threw out a testing kick that Leandro absorbed as if it was nothing. Suddenly, Leandro lunged forward and connected with two hard punches that landed on Gabe’s face. Megan gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. God, she hated this, watching him get hit. Watching him suffer on purpose for what had happened to him. She couldn’t stand it. It physically hurt her to watch, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Leandro tried to follow up his combo with a kick, but Gabe caught his leg and dumped him to the ground. Megan was positive he was going to pounce on Leandro, maybe even try to get him into a crucifix, but he didn’t do anything. Just stood with his fists raised and waited for Leandro to vault back to his feet. She could see the look of confusion on Leandro’s face as he and Gabe circled each other. Leandro shot his fist out, and Gabe dodged the punch, but didn’t return fire. They circled each other again, neither one engaging with the other, studying and waiting.
Megan’s entire body was in chaos. Her heart beating wildly, her skin tight and prickling, her lungs burning because she kept forgetting to breathe. Her heart aching, her mind racing, her soul empty and broken. She glanced up at the clock. Still three minutes to go in the first round. She was never going to survive watching this. She watched the man she loved take another punch, this time a hard shot to the stomach, and she wrenched her eyes shut.
The screaming crowd faded to the background as Gabe tried to concentrate on what his trainer was saying. He was sitting on a stool in his corner while Buck yelled in front of him. With only sixty seconds between him and the start of the final round, he knew he should try to pay attention. His fans and his trainers were counting on him to pull off a victory. He’d come out pretty strong the first two rounds and landed a few solid punches and kicks. He’d likely win those rounds on points from the judges.
But as the initial adrenaline had worn off, he’d found it harder and harder to stop searching for Megan in the crowd. Every time he looked out through the wires of the cage, her face had greeted him. Usually her brow had been furrowed in concern. He’d been surprised when he’d first seen her here, but then realized she must be here for an article. Her smile hadn’t hidden the hollows beneath her eyes, and he wondered if she was okay after the cancer scare, if she was having trouble sleeping. He wondered if she missed him as much as he missed her.
The last time he’d looked at her she’d given him a thumbs-up, and he’d taken a hit because he’d been distracted. The cut man pressed an enswell against the cut on his brow to stem the flow of blood, and Gabe winced. It hurt like a bitch, another sign that his head wasn’t in the fight. Usually he never felt the pain of his battle wounds until after the fight was over.
His gaze automatically went to where she was sitting next to Jules and Nick. She had leaned over to hear something Jules was saying to her. Her brow furrowed and she nodded, then she glanced up and their eyes met. A start of electricity moved through him, heating his skin and causing it to tighten.
“Maddox!” Buck shouted and jabbed his shoulder. “What the fuck you looking at out there? You need to be in here. Focus on beating this fucker.”
Gabe shifted his gaze back to her. He wasn’t in this fight, hadn’t been since he’d stepped into the cage. He didn’t care about Oliveira and winning. His heart was sitting twenty feet away from him. He knew right then that he didn’t want this. His demons were gone. There was nothing left to fight against. The only pain he fought now was the pain of losing the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. He needed Megan.
“I’m looking at my future.” If she would have him.
Buck turned his head to scan the crowd but seemed confused when he looked back at Gabe. “Your future is ten seconds away. Fight Oliveira. Keep your chin down and look for him to drop his left hand. You need to win this round, Maddox. You got this!”
Buck moved back, and Gabe rose to his feet. The stool disappeared and all the trainers and cut men left the cage. The door closed behind them with a final metallic thud. “Fight,” the referee said from the middle of the octagon.
Gabe held his fists up in front of him, keeping Oliveira in his sights as the man started to circle around and look for an opening. Internally, Gabe found himself counting the seconds until he could leave the octagon and go find Megan. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He’d spent five years chasing his demons in this goddamn cage. Seeing her, he knew he was ready to leave them behind once and for all. He wanted to live his life again. With her.
Fuck, he wanted a life. For the first time since he’d woken up from that accident, he wanted to feel something good. He wanted Megan, and all of her warmth and light and goodness.
“Fucking fight me, asshole!” Oliveira raised his hands in the air, making himself a target.
Gabe realized they’d just been circling, so he swiped out at him, and Oliveira easily moved out of the way. Oliveira grimaced and a growl tore from his lips as he charged Gabe, taking him down. They rolled for a bit, virtually matched in strength so that neither of them could easily gain the upper hand. Finally, Oliveira slipped behind him and nearly got him in a rear naked choke, but Gabe blocked him with his forearm. Oliveira didn’t give up the position.
“You fight me, Maddox! I win because I beat you, not because you give up.”
Gabe managed to push off and land a left-handed punch over his shoulder, making Oliveira loosen his grip enough that Gabe could scramble to his feet. “Not giving up,” he said. What he was doing felt like the opposite of giving up. He was fighting for something that actually mattered. A chance to be free of the demons and pain he’d carried around for so long. A chance to fight for a future with the woman he’d fallen in love with. For the first time in five years, his heart beat with excitement. The shadows that had dogged him receded into the background and he felt hopeful, like a condemned man who’d broken free of his shackles. Lighter and damn near euphoric.
Oliveira scrambled to his feet, barely blocking a kick from Gabe, and they exchanged a series of leg kicks. Gabe landed a high kick that had Oliveira doubled over, clutching his side. It was an opening that Gabe should’ve pounced on, but he had no need to go for blood. He didn’t want this anymore. He glanced up at the clock and saw that there were fifty-eight seconds left in the fight.
“Get him, Gabe. Go for the kill!” someone from his team yelled.
When Gabe looked over, Oliveira had recovered and was coming at him. He managed to block the first blows, but the last two got him in the face, reopening the cut on his forehead. He saw gray for a minute, but shook it off and managed to stay on his feet. Pain used to mean catharsis, but not anymore. “Fight me!” Oliveira yelled and kept coming.
Gabe blocked him, but didn’t return the blows. He silently counted down the seconds, timing them with his heart beat. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen . . . That was all that stood between him and what he wanted, more than he’d wanted anything in a long time. Somehow, he managed to wait until the buzzer sounded and the ref jumped between him and Oliveira.
Oliveira looked furious, as if he’d been cheated of his prize. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Gabe didn’t care. Megan was on her feet with the rest of the crowd, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. The blood from his cut dripped down his face and stung his eyes, causing him to squint. He was aware of a scuffle and turned to see someone on Oliveira’s team with a hand on his chest as if holding him back.
“You okay?” Buck asked as he came over to Gabe’s corner with the other guys on the team. Gabe shook him off and paced his side of the cage. His sanctuary had become his prison. Maybe it had always been that way, and he’d just been too afraid to leave it. Too afraid to see the truth of what it was.
Finally Watts came in with his microphone and the referee took his place between Gabe and Oliveira. It was all formality at this point. Gabe didn’t care who won. He wanted to be out there with Megan, and he looked over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t left. She stood with her fingertips over her lips, anxiously waiting for the announcement.
The ref took both of their wrists as Watts shouted into his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, after five rounds we go to the judges’ scorecards for a decision. McCall scores it 48–47, Keliher scores it 49–48, and Velasquez scores it 49–47 for the winner by unanimous decision . . . Leandro ‘O Caroçon’ Oliveira!” Watts raised Oliveira’s arm, and Gabe jerked away.
Bypassing his team, he made for the gate, running down the steps and going straight for Megan. He came to a stop in front of her and reached for her hand, but was hesitant to touch her until he knew how she felt. “I love you, Megan.” She gasped as if she’d never expected that, and guilt twisted inside him. Several people brushed by him, and the noise around him swelled. He tipped his head in the direction of the dressing rooms, and she nodded hesitantly. Without waiting a second longer, he pulled the metal barrier out of the way and took her by the hand, leading her down the walkway and into the backstage area of the arena. A hush enveloped them, the excitement a dull hum on the other side of the cinder-block wall.
He pulled her against him and ran a hand over her hair. He was so thankful that he was touching her again that he almost forgot to breathe.
“I’m sorry you lost,” she said, staring up at him, confused but hopeful. He could see the hope shining out of her eyes, and that hope was everything. God, he’d missed having her in his arms. He felt whole again. He traced her jaw with his fingertip, wanting to touch her more, but he hadn’t taken off his gloves.
“I’m not,” he said. He wanted to press his forehead to hers, to get closer to her and inhale her scent that made him feel so whole and alive, but figured she wouldn’t appreciate having his blood on her. “I’m sorry I was a selfish asshole. I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t give you what you want because I was scared. I know now that I was wrong. I was wrong to let you believe that, wrong to let you push me away. I’ve figured out that I don’t want this.” He gestured toward the arena. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I only want you. So I’m begging you, please, give me another chance to get it right.”
She bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. Her eyes were big and bright, and she inhaled a shaky breath. “Tell me why,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was scared because I love you in a way I thought I’d never feel again. It’s big, and intense, and it was easier to run away from it than run to it. But even though I’m still scared, that fear doesn’t outweigh how fucking much I love you.” And loving her meant that Natalie and Mason were gone. It was stupid, because they’d been gone for a long time, but loving her meant that he had to accept that in some small way he’d moved on with his life. But it didn’t mean that he had to love them any less, and he knew that now. His love was big enough for all of them. Megan had taught him that.
She blinked and a tear tracked down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. “I love how smart you are. I love your kind heart. I love your sense of humor. I love your gorgeous body, and your generous soul. I love every part of you, Megan, and I want to be there for you, no matter what. I swear to God I won’t hurt you again.” He’d rather cut off his own arm than cause her that kind of pain again.
She pulled back, her eyes bright with tears, and she smiled. “You mean it?” She said it almost like she couldn’t believe it. “Because I’ve missed you so much, Gabe. I felt like a part of me went missing when . . .” She swallowed thickly. “When I knew we were done.”
He took her hand and pressed it over his heart. “I’m here. And I promise I’ll stay. I love you. I love you, sweet girl.” He’d say it a thousand times if that’s what it took to make her believe it. “It tore me up to think of you dealing with the cancer scare on your own. I know why you didn’t tell me, and I understand, but I want that, Megan. I want to know everything there is to know about you. And I want to let you in. I want it all with you.” His heart thumped against her palm, and he hoped she could feel the sincerity and the certainty of what he wanted with each beat.
“Oh, Gabe.” She smiled through her tears at him, and seeing that smile was like seeing the sun break through the storm clouds. “Yes. Yes. God, I love you so much.”
He laughed, feeling like king of the fucking world. Gathering her up into his arms, he kissed her. Fuck the belt. He had Megan. Nothing else mattered.