“Good. ’Cause if my coach wants me, he’s got me.” We share a look of understanding as we both stand, and I glance at the clock. The seconds have never ticked faster.
We have seven minutes to get to the Underground.
Once outside, it’s five minutes and counting. I take a look at the hotel cab line and swear.
Half a dozen people in line and no cabs pulling in.
“All right, Oz. Let’s get you a much-needed workout.” I trot to the sidewalk and check to make sure that he follows, and he groans and tries to catch up as I start running like hell to the Underground.
FORTY-FIVE
RINGSIDE SEATS
Reese
“Reese?” Brooke calls my name from the bedroom door. “You ready?”
I leap out of the bathroom, where I was tying my hair back in a braid, and nod. “I’m so nervous.”
She laughs and hugs me, happily so.
“You don’t look nervous,” I tell her as she goes to give some last-minute instructions to Racer and kisses him good night.
She grins privately. “Whatever happens, Remington will be celebrating tonight.”
“Why do you say that?”
She leans over to tuck Racer in bed. “Because I’m pregnant.” She smiles so wide as she looks back at me. “I’m pregnant and Remington is going to be thrilled. Nothing matters more to him than we do. Right, Racer? A little sister, or a little brother?”
“No,” he says frowning, sitting up in bed. “My mommy’s mine!” He squeezes her. And she laughs and smacks his rump and settles him back down to bed, and nods to Diane.
We take the elevators to where Pete waits with an SUV. And then we both head out of the hotel, past Central Park and toward the East Side, to the warehouse of the Underground.
There are easily fifteen thousand people present, and Brooke leads me to a row of empty front-row-center seats.
I can smell the metallic scent of blood and sweat and beer and warmth of too many humans together. The sight of the ring so close makes my breath hitch.
“How you do it, I don’t know,” I tell her as we wait.
She pats my thigh reassuringly. “It gets easier. It’s never fun when there’s blood.”
“There’s going to be blood.” I exhale, preparing for it.
She nods. “It’s the final. They fight for all.” She scowls and waves Pete over. “What’s the delay?” she asks.
“They’re saying Maverick isn’t here.”
“What do you mean?”
Pete purses his lips in concern. “If he isn’t here in a minute, he’ll be disqualified.”
I glance at Maverick’s corner with a sinking feeling in my gut, then I tell Brooke, “Something happened. There’s no way Maverick would miss this fight—”
“Reese—” Brooke tries to appease me when the announcer speaks.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen . . .”
And Pete glances at Riley, who waves a signal at him, and Pete turns to us with a grin.
“It’s on,” he says.
And oh god.
It’s on.
FORTY-SIX
LAST FIGHT
Maverick
Oz is pacing in the back room of the warehouse like an angel of death, hair sticking up, eyes bloodshot, jaw set in determination. “Okay, kid, you better not dump me for anything new and shiny. I’m sobering up for real now.”
I look at Oz, smiling to myself.
“This better be fucking worth it.” He jabs a finger at my bare chest. “When I get sober, I want to realize I got something good in my life.”
“You do, motherfucker. You got me.”
He nods. “Now go show Riptide he taught you well.”
“I will,” I vow quietly, and I let Oz tape up my hands.
“Nah, fuck, it needs to be perfect,” he grumbles. He unravels one of them and tightens it up.
I’m pumped up and wired after wondering for a hot second whether I’d even make it to the fight. After Oz, after the run, my veins are crackling with testosterone.
Tate wants a big fight, his last fight.
And suddenly I just want to fight.
“He told Brooke this is the best match of his life, and Reese says he means it,” Oz says.
“Hell, it’s the best match of mine.” I look up. “Reese told you that?”
“I talk to Reese sometimes,” he says, smirking. He slaps the back of my head. “You were right. I think she’s with us.”
I exhale, drag my taped hand down my face. Then shove my hands into my gloves.
Because I’m the challenger, I get called out first.
“. . . so please welcome our challenger of the night, the fucking underdog of the season. It’ll be a miracle if the match lasts past the first round. No rookie EVER has survived that long against our champion. But this isn’t just any rookie, ladies and gentlemen, oh no. We give you, here at the Underground, MAVERICK CAGE—THE AVEEEENGER!”
Oz opens the door, and I tap my gloves and head outside, the competitive juices flowing through my veins.
Dozens of lights are trained on the ring. Every single eye in the arena trained on me as I hop inside and jerk off my robe, then wait quietly in my corner as they call Tate.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our defending champion of the Underground, the undefeated KING OF THE RING, we give you, REMINGTON TATE—RIIIIIIPTIDE!”
The crowd comes alive, and Oz cackles in my corner, amused. I scan the crowd for Reese—and my gaze stops on a woman with short dark hair and eyes like mine behind a pair of prim glasses.
Mother.
Her hands are trembling in her lap, and I look at her in apology. This is why I didn’t want you to come before, Mother.
You’re not going to like this one bit.
But she smiles a brave smile, and I cant my head at her in gratitude for coming. Behind her, Ward gives me the finger and Seneca lifts his fingers in a mocking peace sign.
I glare at them, but I’m glad they’re close to my mother. The last thing I want her to feel is alone here, among thousands, with no one cheering for her son.
Tate takes the ring like the king does.
He hits the floor soundlessly.
I stand here. Ready. Waiting.
He turns around. His fans go wild.
I prowl to the other side of the ring as the crowd cheers him. And there, sitting next to Brooke, is the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen.
We have seven minutes to get to the Underground.
Once outside, it’s five minutes and counting. I take a look at the hotel cab line and swear.
Half a dozen people in line and no cabs pulling in.
“All right, Oz. Let’s get you a much-needed workout.” I trot to the sidewalk and check to make sure that he follows, and he groans and tries to catch up as I start running like hell to the Underground.
FORTY-FIVE
RINGSIDE SEATS
Reese
“Reese?” Brooke calls my name from the bedroom door. “You ready?”
I leap out of the bathroom, where I was tying my hair back in a braid, and nod. “I’m so nervous.”
She laughs and hugs me, happily so.
“You don’t look nervous,” I tell her as she goes to give some last-minute instructions to Racer and kisses him good night.
She grins privately. “Whatever happens, Remington will be celebrating tonight.”
“Why do you say that?”
She leans over to tuck Racer in bed. “Because I’m pregnant.” She smiles so wide as she looks back at me. “I’m pregnant and Remington is going to be thrilled. Nothing matters more to him than we do. Right, Racer? A little sister, or a little brother?”
“No,” he says frowning, sitting up in bed. “My mommy’s mine!” He squeezes her. And she laughs and smacks his rump and settles him back down to bed, and nods to Diane.
We take the elevators to where Pete waits with an SUV. And then we both head out of the hotel, past Central Park and toward the East Side, to the warehouse of the Underground.
There are easily fifteen thousand people present, and Brooke leads me to a row of empty front-row-center seats.
I can smell the metallic scent of blood and sweat and beer and warmth of too many humans together. The sight of the ring so close makes my breath hitch.
“How you do it, I don’t know,” I tell her as we wait.
She pats my thigh reassuringly. “It gets easier. It’s never fun when there’s blood.”
“There’s going to be blood.” I exhale, preparing for it.
She nods. “It’s the final. They fight for all.” She scowls and waves Pete over. “What’s the delay?” she asks.
“They’re saying Maverick isn’t here.”
“What do you mean?”
Pete purses his lips in concern. “If he isn’t here in a minute, he’ll be disqualified.”
I glance at Maverick’s corner with a sinking feeling in my gut, then I tell Brooke, “Something happened. There’s no way Maverick would miss this fight—”
“Reese—” Brooke tries to appease me when the announcer speaks.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen . . .”
And Pete glances at Riley, who waves a signal at him, and Pete turns to us with a grin.
“It’s on,” he says.
And oh god.
It’s on.
FORTY-SIX
LAST FIGHT
Maverick
Oz is pacing in the back room of the warehouse like an angel of death, hair sticking up, eyes bloodshot, jaw set in determination. “Okay, kid, you better not dump me for anything new and shiny. I’m sobering up for real now.”
I look at Oz, smiling to myself.
“This better be fucking worth it.” He jabs a finger at my bare chest. “When I get sober, I want to realize I got something good in my life.”
“You do, motherfucker. You got me.”
He nods. “Now go show Riptide he taught you well.”
“I will,” I vow quietly, and I let Oz tape up my hands.
“Nah, fuck, it needs to be perfect,” he grumbles. He unravels one of them and tightens it up.
I’m pumped up and wired after wondering for a hot second whether I’d even make it to the fight. After Oz, after the run, my veins are crackling with testosterone.
Tate wants a big fight, his last fight.
And suddenly I just want to fight.
“He told Brooke this is the best match of his life, and Reese says he means it,” Oz says.
“Hell, it’s the best match of mine.” I look up. “Reese told you that?”
“I talk to Reese sometimes,” he says, smirking. He slaps the back of my head. “You were right. I think she’s with us.”
I exhale, drag my taped hand down my face. Then shove my hands into my gloves.
Because I’m the challenger, I get called out first.
“. . . so please welcome our challenger of the night, the fucking underdog of the season. It’ll be a miracle if the match lasts past the first round. No rookie EVER has survived that long against our champion. But this isn’t just any rookie, ladies and gentlemen, oh no. We give you, here at the Underground, MAVERICK CAGE—THE AVEEEENGER!”
Oz opens the door, and I tap my gloves and head outside, the competitive juices flowing through my veins.
Dozens of lights are trained on the ring. Every single eye in the arena trained on me as I hop inside and jerk off my robe, then wait quietly in my corner as they call Tate.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our defending champion of the Underground, the undefeated KING OF THE RING, we give you, REMINGTON TATE—RIIIIIIPTIDE!”
The crowd comes alive, and Oz cackles in my corner, amused. I scan the crowd for Reese—and my gaze stops on a woman with short dark hair and eyes like mine behind a pair of prim glasses.
Mother.
Her hands are trembling in her lap, and I look at her in apology. This is why I didn’t want you to come before, Mother.
You’re not going to like this one bit.
But she smiles a brave smile, and I cant my head at her in gratitude for coming. Behind her, Ward gives me the finger and Seneca lifts his fingers in a mocking peace sign.
I glare at them, but I’m glad they’re close to my mother. The last thing I want her to feel is alone here, among thousands, with no one cheering for her son.
Tate takes the ring like the king does.
He hits the floor soundlessly.
I stand here. Ready. Waiting.
He turns around. His fans go wild.
I prowl to the other side of the ring as the crowd cheers him. And there, sitting next to Brooke, is the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen.
