Page 35 of My Little Secret

Chapter 15

HAWK

The rematch cameway faster than I planned. That week with Sadie in New York was a fast-paced dream, like the highlight reel of someone’s fabulous New York life. We celebrated the New Year, clinked champagne glasses, made out for hours at that private party in SoHo. All her friends knew about us after that, gave her the approving side-eye.

Between visiting New York every weekend and training my ass off, the days blurred together. By the time I left for Denver, Sadie and I were already saying “I love you.” She had yet to come to LA; she wanted to break the news to her family before she made that trip. Probably sometime the following month.

When we were apart, all it did was reinforce how I felt for her. We’d only been together eight weeks—eight weeks according to my count, three weeks by the official count—and I already knew: I wanted to be with her forever.

Sadie made me buoyant and excited. She made me laugh and made me think. And even though her family might struggle to see me as a son instead of a competitor, I knew I could prove myself worthy to them. Even to her brother.

The match-up was in the same Denver arena, at the same time, and seemingly with all the same fans. Like we were giving Hawk vs. Brute one collective do over. The space roared just as loud as Travis and I filed toward the stage, my hands freshly taped.

Except this time, I knew Sadie was rooting for me. She rooted for her brother too—she’d never stop doing that. And I couldn’t expect her to. From what she’d told me, Brute wasn’t coming around at all to the idea of us as a couple. He was cold with her, making mean comments. Still convinced that he’d lost the most precious woman in his life: his sister.

His belief that the whole thing was a prop to my ego was insane. I didn’t know what to do for them. Or maybe I did. I stepped into the octagon, eying Brute as he paced the far edge. The announcer walked the far edge of the ring, listing sponsors, while the ref gave us the rundown. When the bell rang, Brute and I stared at each other for a few seconds. This is it.

Brute launched at me again, coming on aggressive and swinging. All I could do was defense, until finally he slipped, and I got the upper hand. We sparred on the ground for a while, but the round ended after five minutes without a winner.

The second round progressed the same: intense physical contact with no obvious victor. Rounds three and four were more heated; we both realized shit was going down the same. Once, my fighting calm was broken by the fact that if this ended in a draw again, we’d never get out of this loop. Brute would always hate me. I’d constantly be pitted against him. It would be an infinite loop that forever sawed at Sadie and me.

Punches flew, knuckles meeting flesh, grunts puncturing the expectant hush of the crowd. Round four ended in a draw. I went to my side of the ring where Travis dribbled water into my mouth, shaking me by the arms, pepping me up for the last round.

“This is it. You’ve got him.” Travis searched out my gaze.

“I know. I know.” I looked back over my shoulder, finding Brute’s gaze waiting for me. “He got good.”

“Yes, he improved as a technical fighter, but you are the winner here,” Travis insisted.

“Right.” I blinked, seeing Sadie in my mind’s eye. It hadn’t been long, but I loved her more than I had loved a woman in my life. I’d do anything for her. The thought seared through me, leaving a painful wake. We’d already talked about her moving to LA someday.

But Brute was in the way. He’d always be in the way.

“Go get him,” Travis said, squirting more water into my mouth. He slapped my sweaty arms and sent me back out. The bell sounded for round five. The crowd whooshed around us.

I held my fists in front of my face, wondering what his approach might be. I wasn’t lying—Brute had gotten good. And I could still win this. But should I? I ducked as Brute swung—slow, a little lazy. He was tired.

I lobbed a kick to his side. He grunted, stumbling away. And then he came back, locking me between his elbows, squeezing me so hard that my vision went spotty.

I fought him off, wrestling him away until I had him against the cage. He hooked a leg around my waist and we clattered to the floor. His elbow slammed into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. The space behind my eyelids went red, a warning signal. He has the upper hand. Brute sensed it, came down hard on me. I rolled away as much as I could, trying to dodge the punches. He got me in the ribs, the chest, the sides.

I locked him between my legs, holding him there, and got in a few punches in my defense. Brute wavered, but he hammered down on me. The pummeling rain pushed me to submit.

But all my senses urged me to keep going. I knew the way out—could feel it through my ankle, the secret little loophole in this hold. My leg twitched but I silenced it. I went limp.

The bell rang.

Brute stood up and raised his hands in triumph. He rocketed around the octagon, flouncing as if he’d just saved the world. I rolled to my side, taking a deep breath, and pushed myself to standing.

The money belt came out a moment later and I slunk out of the ring, already limping. Travis squeezed my shoulder but didn’t say anything.

Brute came up to me a moment later, that glittery, ostentatious belt slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy.” He offered a hand, one of his eyes nearly puffed shut. A cut bled freely over his other eyebrow. “Nice fight.”

I took his hand, looking at him as if he was joking. Some sort of buzzer in the palm waiting to zap me, or the cameras about to zoom in and catch him shoving a pie in my face. We shook hands calmly—normally—and then he zoomed off again, goading the crowd into celebrating his victory.

Travis and I slunk down the aisle heading toward the dressing rooms. It seemed every set of eyes in the audience watched only Brute. Like nobody even saw us leave. I collapsed into my seat in front of the desk, groaning with the effort.

---