Page 26 of The Fight

Like he can read my mind, he reaches for the corner of the blanket and tugs it free, ruining the neatly made bed. I maneuver awkwardly, pulling the rest out from under me, then position myself at the top in the center. When I lie down, he pulls the blanket over me and steps back.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, he leaves.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SHAY

It’s been a few days since the fight, but I’ve replayed it in my head over and over. I won, sure, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Not with how it ended. I shouldn’t have lost it, I know that. The second his fist connected with Blair, though, something snapped inside me. The rage, the instinct to protect her—it overwhelmed everything.

I couldn’t see anything but him. I didn’t care about the rules, didn’t care about the ref, and I didn’t care about who was watching. I just wanted to make him hurt. Make him regret laying a hand on her.

And I did. I made sure of it.

But now, thinking back, all I can feel is the weight of what actually happened. Austin trying to pull me off, the crowd, people shouting my name, blood on Blair’s face… The moment she grabbed me, her voice cutting through the chaos, was like a bucket of cold water. I finally saw what I was doing, saw the fear and confusion in her eyes.

I’ve been in a lot of fights, but I’ve never felt anything like that. It wasn’t just about winning. It was personal. And that’s what’s eating at me. I lost control, and for a fighter, that’s dangerous.

I don’t regret defending her, but the way it ended… I can’t shake the feeling that I crossed a line. Blake hasn’t called since, and I know he was watching. I guess maybe he’s waiting to see if I’m just another hothead who can’t control himself when things get real.

I shake the thoughts away. I couldn’t give a fuck about Blake right now. If he wants to dip, that’s on him. Just goes to show he isn’t who he said he was.

I stand in front of the mirror, tightening the knot of my tie. The black suit I’m wearing fits me like a glove—it’s one of the nicer ones I own, pulled out only for special occasions, which I guess tonight qualifies as such. My dad’s engagement party.Ourdad’s engagement party, I guess.

I stare at my reflection, but my mind isn’t really focused on the party or the people who will be there. It’s on Blair.

It’s strange. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t stand her. She was nothing but a disruption, an unwanted complication in my life. The girl who showed up out of nowhere with her attitude, making my life even more difficult than it already was. She was a thorn in my side, a reminder of everything I hated about my dad moving on. And I’m sure she felt the same about me. We were two people forced into the same world and both unwilling to accept it. But now, it’s different.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to tame the mess of thoughts running through my mind. Somewhere between the fights, the arguments, and that night, something shifted. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but I know it did. The way I feel about her isn’t the same. I’ve stopped hating her, stopped seeing her as a source for my problems.

She’s still a problem—but in a completely different way.

I think back to the locker room, to the way she looked at me, to the taste of her lips, the feel of her body under my hands. I can’t get that out of my head, no matter how much I try. And thething is, I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget the way she makes me feel—alive, reckless, and God help me, I want more.

This whole situation is messed up. She’s practically my stepsister, and yet I can’t stop imagining her in ways that are anything but brotherly. It’s like every time I’m around her, I’m drawn in whether I want to be or not. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t want her, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping me.

I adjust my jacket, staring at my reflection one more time before heading out of my room. Tonight is supposed to be about my dad and Sylvia—their engagement party—but they seem unimportant in my thoughts. All that’s left is Blair. How is she going to look tonight? Is she thinking about me the same way I’ve been thinking about her? Does she feel the same fucked-up pull, the same tension?

I shake my head and head down the steps, making a beeline to my Jeep so I can head to the club. This is dangerous, this thing between us. It’s a risk I’m not sure I should be taking, but at the same time, I can’t stop it. Not anymore.

**

The back patio of the club is a goddamn spectacle. The tables are covered in white linens with crystal glasses and small candles. Large flower arrangements sit at every center too. It feels like an endless line of perfectly curated photos. Roses, lilies, white orchids—all arranged perfectly in their glass vases.

I move toward the open bar, then lean against it. Soft music spills out of the speakers, and people I’ve never even seen before mingle around, every last one of them in fancy suits or expensive dresses. Raising my hand, I signal the bartender and request a whiskey. As he nods and moves to the row of perfectly kept bottles of booze, I feel a clap on my shoulder.

“You’re looking good, son,” my dad says.

I turn around and face him, but his eyes are on everyone in the crowd.

“Thanks.” Although the sting of him and Sylvia together has lessened, I’m still not thrilled about my mom being replaced.

He finally turns back to me. “You know, Sylvia is really going all out with this. Try not to ruin it for her, okay?”

I roll my eyes and reach for the tumbler the bartender quietly placed behind me. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m here, in a damn tux like requested, and keeping to myself. I have no plans to fuck up your perfect little party.”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he gives me a weak smile, then slips back into the crowd.

I take a long sip of my drink, the burn of the whiskey reminding me I’m still here despite everything in my gut telling me I’d rather be anywhere else. I’m trying to drown out the noise, trying to ignore how my dad’s smile always gets under my skin, but it’s hard. Everything seems like a performance, and I’m nothing more than a reluctant participant.

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