Page 28 of My Little Secret

Chapter 12

SADIE

Hawk’s textlodged itself in my heart like a spear launched from afar. Between the fight wrapping up and my family’s fast exodus out of the arena and to the airport, I didn’t have the heart to write back to him to tell him meeting up was impossible.

We always bolted after the matches. It was Brute’s MO. After two weeks in whatever match location, he was ready for his own bed. We had a red-eye to New York, arriving the following morning. I didn’t write back until I was buckled in my seat on the airplane. And it actually hurt to write the words.

“We’re already on our way back to NYC. I wish more than anything I could see you right now. At least hug you and tell you what a great job you did.”

His response came before the attendants barked at everyone to put their phones in airplane mode. “Leaving already? Breaking my heart Sadie. I’m dying to kiss you one last time.”

I grinned. “We already had the last kiss remember? This is breaking the rules now.”

“I smashed those rules up in the octagon tonight. Now we do what we want.”

That text thundered through me for the entire flight home, even when I’d drifted to sleep. I saw Hawk with my eyes closed, thought about him when I was awake. He put words to the thing that I was afraid to admit. God dammit, I wanted to see him. So much it was stupid.

The fight didn’t change anything, not really. If anything, it made it more complicated. Now I’d be saddled with just a little bit more promotion against Hawk, since they’d be fighting the rematch in January. But maybe there were ways around that. Especially if this thing with Hawk got…serious. Or something.

We greeted NYC the next morning bleary-eyed and zombie-like. We all hugged and said our goodbyes at baggage claim, everyone taking a different taxi to our various locations. My apartment was in Brooklyn, a studio that boasted a kick-ass rooftop garden and weekly cookouts in the summer. Brute didn’t live too far from me—on energy-filled days I could walk to his place instead of taking the subway. Our parents lived on the Upper West Side in a swank condo that increased so much in value each year I was afraid to ask what people were offering.

In the taxi back to my place, I couldn’t think of anything other than Hawk. We texted a bit that morning—I told him I’d made it back, he asked me if I’d dreamt of him, I’d told him yes, for roughly a year—and then I passed out until the afternoon. When I woke up, more texts from Hawk waited for me. I greeted them with glee.

We texted like this the entire day…and then the entire week…and then we started the multiple-times-daily calls. Days blurred together in a giddy haze. I met up with friends, who wondered about my glow. I told only my closest friends about the secretive thing blooming between Hawk and me. I didn’t see my brother much, so it was easy to hide it. But Christmas was coming, and I doubted I’d be able to keep it hidden. Because one this was certain: I was done lying about it.

Every year we met at my parent’s condo, and this year was no exception. It was family time on steroids: Christmas sweaters, tree-shaped cookies, sappy music. In particularly inspired years, we would color-coordinate with each other in advance. Mom took pictures that served as cards later on in the year. The trademark white tree took up a full fifth of the living room, bursting with huge bulbs and multi-colored lights. Presents littered the base of it; the entire house smelled of turkey. It was great to be home.

“Brutie.” My brother and I grinned when we saw each other. He had a floppy red Santa hat tugged down over his head, which was stubbly with new growth.

“Little sis.” He smashed me into a big hug. Maybe he’d forgotten about how pissed he’d been at me two weeks ago. I could only hope.

We lounged on couches until more family showed up: uncles and aunts, cousins, a few family friends. Dinner was served, as delicious as it was ostentatious. As everyone sat rubbing bellies and refilling wine, uncle Don turned talk to Brute’s career.

“Man. What a fight that last one was, huh?” He swirled his wine in his glass, eyes glinting at Brute. “You came out strong.”

Brute flexed a little, casting his gaze down at the table. “Yeah. Those judges had it in for me. Who gets a unanimous draw?”

“You both fought so hard,” I said, sipping at my wine, loving the lick of tipsiness. My phone had been buzzing in my pocket with new texts from Hawk, but I couldn’t look. Not yet.

“But Brute better than that other one.” Don waved his hand dismissively. Brute shot me a look.

“What do you think, Sadie?” Brute’s voice came out edged with tension. Looking right at me.

I cleared my throat. All eyes turned to me. “Yeah.”

My parents shared a glance. So Brute hadn’t forgotten so quickly.

Tension sizzled over the table, but the rest of the family was joyfully unaware. Conversation went to the coverage, the payout, how it felt to be a status symbol. Later, as I helped to clean up the dishes, Brute cornered me in the kitchen.

“So you never answered my question.”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge my response. He’d drunk, probably more than he was used to. But sincerity shone through his voice.

“About what?”

“About who fought better—me or Hawk.”

I sighed. “Why does it matter? I’m not a judge. My opinion has no bearing on this.”

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