Page 112 of 4th Degree

Attention automatically travels to Remy and Lucy, as they step up beside Jax. And it’s Lucy who speaks for them.

She makes strong eye contact with Mr. Barton, and her voice is loud and sure when she says, “I know the story that you heard about Dominic this week. And believe me, if there were any truth to it, I would applaud you for taking steps to protect young women. Because sometimes it’s really hard being a woman in the MMA community. But…when I tell you that Dominic is the protector of women in this sport, I mean it with every fiber of my being. I’ve seen the type of coach that the gossip in your hand is talking about. I’ve even been on the receiving end of it, terrified and confused and hating myself so much for giving in to the manipulation of an authority figure.” Her eyes dart to me. “Dominic was the first one to make me feel safe. Everything you read in that post? Dominic is the one who protects women from men like that. You’ve got this whole thing backwards.”

There’s a low murmur of voices around the room. I can’t make out any words, or figure out who’s talking, because my eyes are stuck on my fighters, my students who came in here, outraged on my behalf.

“Look, we all know what this is about,” Tristan says loudly. “We all saw the post—the person who wrote it made sure of that. And I can tell you that it was posted out of revenge, specifically to ensure this kind of fallout for Dominic, but that won’t matter to you, will it? Because you still saw the pictures, and you still need to protect your organization. So, let’s nip this in the bud. Let’s talk about it.”

“Tristan…” I warn, nerves vibrating through my body. I know he’s right, to an extent, because I can’t just keep saying it’s not what it looks like, but I’m a private person, and this is not something I ever wanted to talk about.

Especially without having Skylar here.

But Tristan must have seen something in the president’s eyes, something that looked like an opening, because Mr. Barton slaps his papers on the table and looks to me.

“Fine. Let’s talk about it, then. Dominic, do you deny starting an inappropriate relationship with a student?”

I clench my hands into fists before forcing myself to relax again. “No,” I say tightly. “I don’t deny it.”

There are murmurs around the room again. I’m losing them.

“But I do deny every conclusion you falsely drew from that information and from those pictures.”

Mr. Barton quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Then let’s talk about those conclusions. Did you initiate the relationship with Miss Vega?”

“No.” But again, I force honesty. “But being the authority figure, I should have stopped it. So yes, I accept all the blame. Since that’s what you’re really asking.”

There’s a flash of admiration in his eyes. Did they expect me to put it all on Skylar?

“Have you had other relationships with…young female students?” he asks. Though it looks like it pains him to do it.

“No. God, no. I have never, ever crossed a line like this with any student, young or otherwise. I pride myself on being a coach and mentor, and being someone women especially can feel safe coming to. Hall of Fame induction aside, I hate that that’s even being questioned right now.”

I wince and rub my temple, desperately trying to figure out what to say, how much to say, and how much I’m even capable of admitting.

Resolve hardens my spine. Straightening, I glance around the room. “Look, I should probably wish that it had been anyone else but Skylar to walk into my gym. I know how it looks to see us together. I’ve known this whole time. And yeah, if she was older, we probably wouldn’t even be having this conversation, because it’s the age gap that’s fueling this fire. I know how this looks, believe me.”

Awareness trickles in, and for the first time since Skylar came into my life, I don’t feel guilty about the decisions I’ve made.

My gaze locks on Mr. Barton’s. “But the truth is, I wouldn’t change a thing about Skylar. I wouldn’t have her pick a different sport, because her love for this sport is what makes her eyes light up. And I wouldn’t make her a day older, because every single thing she’s gone through in her life has made her into the person that she is today.”

Mr. Barton’s softening expression shifts finally to pity. “Dominic, I can appreciate that you think so highly of your students, but the fact of the matter is that there isn’t really a good reason to be dating a nineteen-year-old?—”

I love her. That’s the good reason.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. The piece I’ve been missing. I’ve been wondering why I couldn’t stay away from her? Why being with her always felt more important than any possible risk we faced? This is why. Because I love her.

This isn’t just some passing infatuation because she’s young and pretty and forbidden.

I love her.

As soon as the realization takes over, desperation seeps from my pores. Because I need them to understand. “I know you think I’m just some creepy older guy chasing a young girl,” I rush to say, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. “But you’re so, so wrong. I’m not just sleeping with her, I’m with her.” I shake my head as I drop my gaze. “And I’m not with her because she’s nineteen. I just…happened to fall in love with a woman who was born nineteen years ago.”

Admitting the truth feels equal parts cathartic and terrifying. Because realizing I’m in love with her might make things clearer in my situation, but it doesn’t tell me where I am with hers.

Suddenly, I know exactly where I need to be. And it’s not here. Because this award, and this community’s opinion of me, is no longer the most important thing in my life. I don’t care if they judge me for who I love.

Nothing is worth losing Skylar.

“I need to go,” I tell the board. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting. You make whatever decision you feel is right. Take the Hall of Fame award, take my career, take my 4th degree blackbelt. I don’t care. She’s worth all of it.”

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