Page 206 of Repairing the Wreckage

I swallow hard, completely unprepared for this today. “Why you tryin’ to get me all emotional during fight week?”

His head snaps up and his eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I’m just messing with you.” I open my arms and pull him in for a tight hug, thumping him on the back a few times. “Thanks.”

“I’m really fuckin’ proud of you, Griff.” He holds out his hands. “And you gave me all that shit for manifesting when we were locked up.”

I snort, remembering his nightly ritual of wanting us to visualize our ideal lives or some shit. “No I didn’t. I manifested the shit out of my Chevelle.”

He snorts with laughter. “True. Did you think when we were fighting for our lives at Castle Correctional you’d end up here?”

“No, I figured I’d end up buried in a ditch in the woods.”

“I think we all did.” He cocks his head. “You ever think of looking up Ollie or any of those detention officers and paying them a visit?”

“Sometimes.”

“Karma’s been too slow for my taste.”

We’re wandering down a dark path I can’t afford to travel this week. “So you’re volunteering to spar with me, huh? Underwood’s gonna love you.”

His solemn eyes meet mine. “Whatever you need, brother.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Molly

When I return from shopping with Shelby and Ella, Griff’s trying to conquer an ice bath Underhill wanted him to sit in for a few minutes tonight.

That didn’t sound like anything I wanted a part of, so I stay in the bedroom and try on the dress I bought for Saturday night.

When Griff finally emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, I turn away from the mirrored closet doors I’d been staring into, trying to decide how I feel about the dress.

“Does this make me look like a fighter’s girlfriend?” I slide my hands over the smooth little pieces of silver sequins covering the dress. “Or a mob wife?”

Griff runs his heated gaze from my toes peeking out of my high silver sandals, to the short hem hugging my mid-thighs, to my hips, over my chest and finally to my face. “You look gorgeous.” His gaze drops to my legs again. “So good, I’m not sure I want you going out in public like that.”

I narrow my eyes. “You don’t get to veto my outfits if they look good.”

“I dunno. Gonna be a lot of horny fight fans in the crowd. Not to mention fighters from the earlier matches. One of them touches you, I’m gonna jump that cage and kill ’em.”

“Aren’t we sitting in the front row?” I tilt my head, trying to convey how silly he’s being. “With our entourage in attendance, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

His lips tilt to the side. “Will you be comfortable?”

“No. But focusing on breathing in this dress will help me keep my mind off of worrying about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve trained hard. Feeling the best I’ve ever felt before a fight.”

“Good, because I’m a wreck,” I finally admit, tired of holding that in.

A furrow forms between his brows. “You don’t have faith in me?”

“I have all the faith in the world in you. I still don’t like you getting hurt. Even a little.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” he promises. He runs his gaze over my dress again. “God damn, you look hot. Are you wearing the dress tonight?”

“No, it’s for fight night.” I bite my lip. “Although I bought a different dress. It’s purple. Maybe I should wear that instead?”

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