Page 22 of Duke
My eyes flicker open to see the rafters in the ceiling of the warehouse, and I grunt with pain from the flat of my back. The crowd is losing its shit, the roar so loud and angry it’s near deafening. What the fucking hell? Confused, I groan. Someone beside me tries to touch my arm, and I lash out, realizing belatedly it’s the ring doc checking me over. My brow furrows as the ref calls a victory by knockout for Wilder Emory.Motherfucker.
The weight of it all crashes down on me. There are so many bets that probably went to shit because I came into the cage with an injury.Oh, fuck. What have I done?My heart clamps hard inside my chest. And my rib cage feels like it’s caving in on my lungs. I can’t breathe. But whatcouldI have done differently?
I breathe out in haggard, tense exhales. A moment later, I recognize that I struck the doctor and hadn’t said a goddamn thing to apologize. Slowly, I grit out, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t know what I was doing.”
“It’s alright, son. You got your clock cleaned good. Sorry to tell you that.” The older gray-haired man grimaces as he grips my head in his hands, looking into my eyes. One, then the other and back again, gently humming as he does. He moves his finger around in front of my face, encouraging me to follow it with my eyes. I don’t know what he’s looking for. Blown pupils or something, maybe. Signs of concussion. Does anyone realize it’s my arm that’s jacked up? Or did it just look like I got knocked out? Fuck, I don’t know which to hope for. Cold, hard,uglyreality slams into me.
Jesus Christ, I just lost my first fight ever. My dad’s going to kill me.
“Bear!”
I hear Lennon’s panicked voice right outside the cage, and when I turn my head, all three of my people are right there, hovering. Wild-eyed. Nervous. I swallow hard. Guilt swamps me, practically sucking me under. Maybe I deserve to be engulfed by the fucking mud. I’ve shocked my friends. I’ve disappointed myself.
And one look beyond them, and I see the scariest shit ever. I was right in my earlier assessment. I’veenragedmy father. His face is an ugly, ruddy red as he hisses under his breath to Tristan, shaking his head vigorously at whatever his friend replies. Thank fuck I can’t hear either of them. Derek Pierce is good at keeping everything hush hush. He’d never allow anyone else to hear the venom he’s likely spewing. He’ll save the explosive tirade until he gets me alone. Then, he’ll let loose with his fury.
I frown, watching Wilder climb the cage and throw his arms up in a V for victory. Blowing out a hard breath, I shake my head. Nice of them to announce Wilder’s win before I was even up off the fucking mat. That’s unheard of. I grind my teeth and take advantage of the hand the doc is offering to help me up. I make it to my feet relatively easily, but I’m unsteady as fuck and don’t let go of the doctor for a full ten seconds as I try to get my bearings.
By that time, Wilder has bounced down to the mat, and turns to me with a smile that’s somewhere betweenEat shit, loserandSorry for your embarrassing fucking loss.He holds out his hand to me, and I gingerly grasp it in mine. He lifts his chin toward my arm, eyeing it with a bit of a smirk. “You didn’t have to fake being injured to have an excuse for losing to me. We all know I’m the better fighter.” He shakes his head, withdrawing his hand, then turns away with a demented chuckle, striding his cocky ass out of the ring with his head held high, leaving me to my misery.
“Fifteen minutes, Bear. In the fucking office, you hear me?” I knew this was coming from my dad, so I simply exhale sharply through my nose and nod my understanding. He spins on his heel, pointing at a few of the security guards who are standing around watching the soap opera unfold instead of doing their jobs. “Get everyone outta here. Now!”
A moment later I leave the cage with my jaw tightening as my face floods with embarrassment. I take an unbalanced and wobbly few steps down from the raised platform. I’m terrified to meet the eyes of my friends—these people who mean so much to me—because I’m afraid of what I’ll see there. I falter on the last step, and they close the distance, Mason and Duke both putting out steadying hands for me to grab onto to. I’m dizzy and probably shouldn’t even be standing right now, but I’ll be damned if I’m not walking out of here under my own steam. My eyes flick around the warehouse arena at all the people—some of them really fucking unhappy that they lost their wagers, while other nosy fucks are more interested in discovering how I just toppled so ungracefully from my throne.
“Bear, you’re gonna be okay,” Lennon whispers softly as she circles my waist with her arm, seemingly not caring about the sweaty, pathetic mess that I am.
As we walk through the remaining crowd, the jeering begins.
“What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
“He’s such a joke.”
“You lost. What the fuck? I’m out like three thousand dollars, you piece of shit!”
“Thought you were a sure thing, man. So goddamn disappointing.”
“Don’t listen.” Lennon tucks herself more firmly under my left arm. Mason’s on her other side, wrapping an arm around her back, and Duke walks on my other side next to my traitorous shoulder. We begin to move as a unit toward the back hallway.
Get me the fuck out of here.
I can feel Duke’s eyes on me, and finally allow my tortured gaze to meet his. He murmurs low so the vultures surrounding us don’t hear. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry it went like this, man, but it means nothing.” His blue eyes blaze. “Your father can get fucked if he says otherwise. He knows the score.”
And from my other side, Mason grits out, “This whole thing is his fucking fault, anyway.” He kicks at a bottle that’s in our path as we continue down the hall toward the dressing room. “He created this mess. Caused this chaos.”
The problem is, I only partially disagree. If I hadn’t been so goddamn weak as to get addicted to the painkillers the first time… if I hadn’t fallen right back into the same fucking pattern… That whole hindsight is twenty-twenty thing isn’t bullshit at all. I don’t know why I was stubborn when I knew my arm was getting bad. Should have just told the team doc. By surrendering to my pride and avoiding getting things checked out, I’ve well and truly fucked myself over.
“We need to get you healthy. That’s all that matters right now.” When I still don’t respond at all, Lennon squeezes me tightly. “Do you hear us? It’s you we care about. We’ll figure out how to handle everything else.”
I exhale heavily and nod as we get to my room and file inside. Mason shuts the door with finality behind us.
“Are you ready for the shit your dad’s about to give you?” Duke’s brow goes up, and I feel all eyes on me.
I press my lips together. “If you mean the shit about how I lost him a lot of money tonight. How I fucked up. How I’m a failure. How he’s going to continue to hold shit over my head, then yes. I’m as ready as I’m going to get.” I scrub my hands over my scalp, digging my fingertips into my skull. I’m unfit for discussing anything else. I point toward the bathroom. “Gonna shower. You can wait in the SUV while he flays me, if you want. I’ll be out as soon as I’m done.”
“I can help you in the sho—”
I don’t let Lennon finish. “No. I’ll be fine.” I need a minute to myself.
Mason lets out a low whistle, but keeps his mouth shut, despite the look on his face that tells me he thinks I’ve made a tactical error with Lennon.
