Page 72 of The Naughty List
“There you are.”
I nod. “So it would seem.”
She offers me a sympathetic smile. “He says he’s not doing this without you. So if you really don’t want him to, all you have to do is say the word.”
“Okay,” I say weakly, pulling all the oxygen I can manage into my lungs before opening the door.
I don’t have the first clue what I’m going to say to Jonah. Since the minute Mikey appeared at the group home, practically dragging me outside, talking about how I had to come to The Garden, everything has been a blur.
Blood rushes in my ears as I step into the darkened room.
“Jonah?” I call into the darkness after the door closes behind me.
“Over here.”
Jonah is lying back on an angled table that looks like something from a doctor’s office.
I walk slowly over to him. In his tight fighting briefs, I can see every sinew, every muscle, every vein in his perfect body.
He seems broader and more defined than when he left. My mind can’t process how so much can change in one week. It makes me nervous about what else has changed.
He breathes deeply before opening his eyes. “You’re in your pajamas.”
“I was at apajamaparty. Kind of a prerequisite.” My black and red flannel buffalo plaid PJs are not exactly what I’d hoped to have on to greet Jonah when he returned. But here we are.
“The kids doing okay?”
My breathing slows closer to normal. “Yeah. They’re great. I brought Zeus and Achilles for the little ones to play with. Miss Nancy is letting the older ones watch the fight.”
“Really?” Surprise colors what I can see of his face.
“She didn’t plan on it. She ordered it so she and I could watch. But some of the older boys had a phone and were already sneaking and watching anyways. She figures this way at least she can cut it off if it gets too bad.”
“Meaning if I get beat to a bloody pulp.”
I shrug, turning my head so he can’t see how hard I’m trying not to let that mental image assault my mind.
“You weren’t coming to watch?”
I swallow thickly. “I don’t know if I can watch, Jonah. I couldn’t finish watching this Stryker guy pound on a stranger on the Internet. Seeing him do that to you…live and in person…” A sob threatens to escape my throat but I swallow it down.
“Hollis,” he begins, sitting up and turning toward me. “We need to talk.”
My body trembles at the sound of my name falling solidly from his lips. “You picked a heck of a time for a chat.”
He reaches out, taking my hands in his. “It’s more than a chat. I have to tell you something. Something important.”
I wait, holding my breath. “So tell me.”
“There is nothing in my life—not the WDA, not the UFC, not all the charitable donations in the world, not even Zeus and Ache—more important than you.”
Even I hear my own sharp intake of breath.
“If you don’t want me to do this, then I will call it off here and now and face the consequences.”
“Because of what happened with Sarah and your child all those years ago?” My eyes drift to the tattoo on his inner forearm. Numbers symbolizing a day he’ll never be able to repair.
He shakes his head. “Because of you. Because I won’t do anything in this life where a possible side effect is losing you.”
