Page 62 of From Best To Bested

“Ooooh, guess I hit a nerve there.” Roman quivered with dramatic flair, almost smiling at how much it pissed off Ezra. “Said every guy, gal, and nonbinary pal when they fucked Stacy, and she actually came.”

Not his best attempt at slut shaming Stacy, but he wanted to really drum in the fact that she fucked around with everybody who caught her eye. It was actually what Roman loved about her, admired even, craved when she granted him time at her side or in her bed without the distraction of another partner. He’d known who she was from the first day their paths crossed. She was honest and uninhibited and never submitted to norms that didn’t fit her way of life. It made him a little sick, bad-mouthing her as she lay dead in the ground—because of him—but the posturing hurt Ezra more, which fueled Roman.

He could almost hear Stacy whispering words of encouragement, ways to cut down her memory. She’d never liked bullies, and if Ezra had acted like this when she was alive, she would’ve never tolerated it.

“I almost feel a little better about offing the bitch, knowing she doesn’t have to endure your cheap ass version of what love is.” Roman slapped his fist into his open palm and made a splattering noise.

He let his fingers mime Stacy’s corpse dancing in the air the same way he recalled it a billion times before when drowning in his regrets. Only this time, there wasn’t shock on her face before the truck slammed into her. No, she smiled in Roman’s memory, blew him a kiss even, and reminded him that no one ever deserved to suffer.

Stacy loved love and believed in joy and pleasure above everything else. Wallowing in pity for his actions would be admirable to a different soul, but chances were, Stacy shook her head at Roman for not living his life and moving on. She was toofucking wise for him, which was why he never convinced her to really date him. Ezra never convinced her either, hence why she fucked Roman and so many other partners up until the day she died.

“I gotta ask, are you trying to break me for revenge, or are you hoping I’ll be as easy as your dead not-a-girlfriend?” Roman gave a minxy grin, doing his best to imitate Ezra. It probably didn’t work, probably looked silly on Roman, but he stayed strong the same way he had during every gala and event and pretentious party he’d attended with Stacy.

“And if you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll reward your efforts,” she would whisper when dragging Roman somewhere outside his world of possibilities. “Just fake it until you make it, baby.”

She kept calling out to him, reminding him how true strength looked. He repeated the mantra to himself silently until Ezra bolted toward him and walked right into an easily avoidable strike. Roman knocked him away with a punch to the face and a trip of his leg.

Roman could win this. He saw it now.

They continued clashing, and Roman thought back to every sparring match he held back, every time he intentionally faltered, every time he stood silent and listened to Ezra’s lectures on things he already understood. Roman pummeled him, outmaneuvered him, and bested him in every way conceivable. There were techniques Roman had long since forgotten, but his body reminded him through pure instinct, instinct he’d trained himself to quiet. Now, he let his body rage, let himself shine, let himself be the best he could possibly be.

Roman stayed close to Ezra’s right side, almost feeling guilty at how easily exposed he kept himself. But Roman had warned Ezra a thousand times over, and he never heeded the advice. Why would he? He was champion, and Roman was just somecheap hole meant to serve. Now, though, Roman put away all the shame he carried and hit Ezra harder each time.

A flash of Stacy’s corpse struck his mind when he hit Ezra in the jaw, and he glimpsed Levi in the corner of his eye. The silent dread of failure sparked for a moment. Just a moment. But that was all it took. Roman had been down this path of failure too many times before.

“Got you, bitch.” Ezra wrapped an arm around Roman’s throat and prepared to beat him the same way he had the first time they met.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He defended himself and blocked Ezra’s arm before he stole Roman’s breath. Once he’d secured himself, he shifted his position ever so slightly and shoved Ezra away.

And then the impossible happened. Ezra stumbled and tumbled on nothing in particular. It was as if Roman’s defense carried more force than anticipated, or some ghost in another realm knocked Ezra’s footing off. Roman didn’t believe in ghosts, but he also forgot to believe in himself and his strength. It was easier to think a ghost had rescued him than that he’d rescued himself.

Ezra’s head hit the arm of his throne chair with a powerful crack and a heavy thud as his body slammed onto the floor. His neck had twisted too far before landing on the ground. Blood streamed too much.

It was over. It was really over. Just like that. A careless misstep with a push harder than expected to stop a trick that’d ruined his life once before. Roman had defeated Ezra and left him bloody, broken, and unconscious on the ground.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Roman sat inside the champion’s suite alone, unsure what to do with his restored title. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Sure, the crowd cheered for Ezra’s downfall, but they’d soon want to see Roman’s defeat once again. He wasn’t the man he was before, and too many inmates believed he wasn’t worthy of such a title, such respect.

It didn’t bother him as much as it should’ve. Things like this, watching his back and fearing for inevitable outcomes, used to haunt his every waking moment. Now, Roman felt like he could breathe again. Ezra was gone. Gone for good.

Roman lay down in his bed and closed his eyes without worry for the first time in a long time. The next few days were a blur of events. Roman found himself lost in sleep most days, finally getting restorative rest instead of the bare minimum to simply survive. When his energy did return, he used it to wash away the pink in his hair, to work out the muscles he’d neglected for far too long, and to dream about the possibility of maybe better days ahead.

Levi had been released from the infirmary and announced they were once again bunking together. He walked into the cell, bruised and face covered in bandages, but he smiled the entire time, unwilling to let what happened take away his joy. Romanwinced at the limp Levi had, worried it wouldn’t heal properly, especially not here.

“Oh, you’re cool with me being on top?” Levi joked, nodding to the empty bunk.

Roman rolled his eyes. Then he smiled just a tiny bit. It was crass and absurd, and if anyone else had made the joke, Roman would’ve recoiled, reminded of everything he didn’t want to dwell on. But having Levi give him a carefree grin set Roman at ease. They wouldn’t be who they were before, but Roman couldn’t wait to explore their friendship, find out their new dynamic, and survive together.

No. More than survive. Roman wouldn’t settle for that any longer. He wanted to be happy, to be truly happy. To live and look forward to life.

“See, I knew my jokes were comedian-level gold.” Levi waggled his finger at Roman’s smiling face.

Without a second of hesitation or a chance to regret it, Roman swooped in close and kissed Levi. It wasn’t incredibly intimate, and even though part of him wanted to run his hands over Levi’s broad chest, he settled for the taste of Levi’s lips. Brief and fleeting and enough to make Roman happy.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Roman said, unsure what he really wanted. “I don’t know what we are. What we’ll be. What I want.”

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