Page 220 of Repairing the Wreckage

Finally, I can actually see Griff. His dazed expression squeezes my heart. I raise my hand and wave wildly.

“Winner by knockout in the third round,” the announcer shouts, “Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal!”

Griff raises his hands high.

Underhill’s clapping and grinning like a proud papa.

The arena security guards who walked us down earlier notice me at the bottom of the steps and push some guys out of the way. “Let her through.”

I run up the stairs but step carefully onto the canvas, so I don’t trip. Griff’s looking toward our seats. I open my mouth to shout his name, but I break into a run and end up squealing a bunch of nonsense. Underhill steps out of my way and I crash into Griff.

“There you are!” He grins down at me. “How’d I do?”

“Amazing.” I study his face. He’s red around his right eye but not bleeding at least.

“I feel like I could’ve gone ten more rounds with him.”

“You looked like it.”

He bends down and kisses my forehead. “Were you okay?”

“Yes.”

Someone taps his shoulder and he swivels away but still keeps his arm loosely around my waist.

A man wearing a blue polo shirt, carrying a microphone, stops in front of me. Behind him another man holding a camera aims it at me. Nerves flutter in my stomach but I lift my chin and smile.

“You and Griffin have been together for a while, correct?” The man with the notepad asks. “This was a big fight for him. His debut. Now that he won, are you hoping for a marriage proposal this weekend?” The reporter shoves his microphone in my face.

Griff’s still distracted with questions from a different reporter.

I rest my hand on his sweaty chest to capture Griff’s attention, then answer the reporter. “Do you just assume every woman is waiting for a marriage proposal? Or am I special?”

“Well…” The guy works his jaw up and down but can’t seem to answer.

“This is Griff’s weekend.” I glare at the reporter. “His victory. He trained hard for this fight. Everyone said he was the underdog this weekend, but he dominated this cage. Why don’t you talk about that? I want him to enjoy every second of his win. That’s the only thing I’m ‘hoping for’ this weekend.”

He pulls his microphone back, ducks his head and scribbles something on a notepad, then turns and mutters something to his cameraman.

“Thank you, Miss Holt.”

“Sure.”

Griff wraps himself around me and lifts me so we’re eye to eye. “Thank you, Muffin,” he says in a low tone meant for my ears only. “You know I definitely plan to ask you that one day.”

I tighten my arms around his neck and dust my lips against his sweaty cheek. “And I plan to say yes,” I whisper in his ear.

Someone brushes a hand against my back and Griff carefully lowers me to the ground. I tug my dress into place.

Remy’s standing behind me, glowering at Griff. “You lift her up any higher, she was gonna be flashing all these cameras.”

“Good thing you were here to block them, then.” I slap my brother’s chest.

“Get over here.” Remy pulls Griff in for a hug. “Fuckin’ proud of you, brother. That was…incredible. You owned the ring.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

---