Page 165 of A Little Broken

He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.

“Paaaaxton Six,” the referee booms. “Lead guitarist for the billboard-smashing band, IndieCent Voooows!”

Sweat clings to my hairline, and the world starts to spin, my bottom lip quivering like a freaking leaf. It hits out of nowhere. The panic. The fear. The full-blown fucking meltdown threatening to swallow me whole.

Breathe, I remind myself. He’s fine. He’s right…he’s right there. And he’s fine.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I don’t care what happens to others. It’s what I promised myself all those years ago, and it hasn’t been an issue with the exception of a select few, including Rory who’s more averse to risk than I was to committed relationships before I met Pax. So why do I care? Why is my body being thrust into fight or flight mode when it’s only a fight? A simple, stupid fight? My braingets it, but my other senses? Yup, I’m pretty sure I’m about to have a panic attack. Or puke. Or both. Or?—

“Trust me, your boy’s gonna be fine,” Roman interrupts. His words cut through my inner spiral like a cold knife through butter. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to keep me from crumbling to the ground. “Stand here,” he adds.

His touch is nothing but mechanical as his hand falls to my shoulder and he tugs me closer to him a bit away from the stage.

Stand here. Stand. Here. I can stand here.

I hold on to the order, willing my legs not to give out, no matter how much they feel like Jell-O.

Satisfied, Roman lets me go and folds his arms again, looking as menacing as before when another man takes the stage. Who is this guy? Tiger stripes ink the skin along his back, reaching around his ribs and fading along his front. I’d laugh at the ridiculousness if he didn’t look like he could kill me with a single swat of his meaty hand.

But wait. Why would he be joining Pax on the stage unless?—

“He’s fighting Pax?” I choke out.

“Goes by Killian,” Roman informs me. “Don’t worry. Pax can take him.”

My head shakes back and forth. “You don’t know that! He’s huge and?—”

“He’ll be fine, Tate,” Roman says, barely casting me a glance. “Your boy might look like he was spoon fed all his life, but he knows how to fight. He’s got this.” He hesitates. “He better, anyway.”

I pale even more. “Why?”

“Because I have two grand on him.”

“Two grand?” I squeak. “Are you serious?”

“That’s pocket change compared to some of the numbers we’ve been dealing with lately. Now, pay attention. Once the ref blows the whistle, the fight starts.”

Just like that, the whistle blows, the sound ringing in my ears, and Killian explodes forward, throwing a quick jab-cross-hook. Paxton narrowly dodges and counters with a sharp leg kick that echoes in the run-down warehouse. When it connects with Killian’s outer thigh, I flinch back, covering my mouth. Holy shit. Okay, so maybe this isn’t so bad. I’m fine. Pax is fine. And I have no reason to freak out.

Everything. Is. Fine.

And also, like, damn. That was kind of hot.

Or at least it would be if I could convince my body to stop freaking out for two seconds so I could appreciate Paxton in all his half-naked glory. How is it that my brain and body can feel so…out of sync like this? Is this normal? It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. Focus. Focus on Pax. On the way he looks. Confident and shirtless and…see? Still hot. Now, if only I wasn’t so distracted by the possibility of Pax being on the other end of Killian’s fury so I could actually enjoy the view, that’d be great.

“How does it end?” I ask Roman, forcing my feet to stay planted where they are when all I want to do is climb on the stage and drag Paxton off of it. “How do they declare a winner or…whatever?”

“First to surrender loses.”

My eyes bulge. “I’m sorry, did you say first tosurrender?”

“Yeah. Now, pay attention.” His meaty hand falls on top of my head, and he turns my face toward the stage like I’m his own personal doll, but I’m not ready to drop the conversation quite yet. Not when Paxton’s in the center of the ring, fighting for his life.

I push, “And when you say surrender…”

Roman shrugs. “Tap out or pass out. Those are house rules.”

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