Page 116 of Finding Victory

“Sorry.” He laughs. “But it was so easy. You looked so scared.”

She growls at him. Literally growls. “That’s my career, you jerk. That’s how I feed my baby.” When Jack’s face falls with genuine remorse, she lightens up and smiles as she packs it away. “It’s fine. You were just playing. Y’all look great. Have an amazing night. Take pictures.” She stands and hugs each of us. “Text me as soon as anything important happens. I don’t have the pay-per-view, so I won’t know until it’s on the news. Please don’t make me wait that long.”

“I’ll text you,” I promise and take an envelope from my clutch. I press it into her hands and wait for her confused eyes to meet mine. She did three lots of professional hair and makeup today. I know how much that costs. We just did it not so long ago for the wedding. “That’s for today.”

“Oh, no.” She tries to push it back into my hand. “No charge. I wanted to.”

“Yeah well, I also want to.”

“Kit. I can’t accept. It’s too much.”

I roll my eyes. She literally has no idea how much is in there. “Please do. We would’ve had to spend that much no matter what. Your products don’t come free. Put it in Evie’s college fund if it makes you feel better. Or her birthday party fund. Whatever. But I insist, and I won’t take it back.”

This struggling single mother stares as pain and embarrassment crosses her ocean blue eyes, but finally accepting, she nods and has my heart relaxing.

She’ll take it.

She’s a single mother, new in town, no family to support her. I know she nearly cried the night we met, when she worried I’d pull my business when her sitter flaked. I have a feeling she needs this more than I do. But even so, this isn’t charity. This is me paying for a job well done. I sure as hell can’t do my hair or makeup the way she did it for me.

She pulls me in for one last gentle hug. “Thank you.”

* * *

We pull up to the curb outside the arena a little less than an hour after we left. My heart squeezes at the camera flashes blinding us through the limousine’s windows.

There are people e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e.

Paparazzi stand by the arriving limousines and clamor to get the first glimpse. Just like at the dinner, they don’t know who’s in the car, they just know they want to be firstjust in case. Crowds of people surround the cars and push to get close, and ticket holders line up around the large building holding signs and wearing different gym merchandise.

Obviously, we won’t have to line up or wait; Bobby organized security who wait near the curb waiting to escort us in. Normally, I’d think it was overkill, but not today. These people are going crazy outside the car.

“Are you ready?” Jack leans close with a white face and jittery movements. “Is there another way in? A back entry, maybe.”

Izzy shakes her head. “We have to go in this way. This is the circus we signed up for. The security guys will look after us.” She smiles. “I doubt Bobby sent idiots.”

I take a deep breath to settle my nerves, tap the window the way Bobby did that time, and robotically, our security turns and opens the door. I’m the first out, but I only have half a second of wide eyes and shouting in my face before my security turns and I come face to face with a familiar grin.

“Hey there, baby girl.” Mike moves in close to shield me from the pushy horde. “Heads up, they’re rough, and they’re here for you.”

For me?

I look around his broad shoulders and finally settle on some of the signs. A huge portion of them have my name on them. Or our gym name. Or Izzy’s name.

Izzy takes my hand with a smile, though her body shakes as much as mine. She was born into this life, and yet, she’s still shaking.

The crowd becomes more insistent the longer we stand in place, so Mike takes my arm and moves us forward as a group.

“Sign my gloves!” one person shouts, as another holds out a Rollin shirt and a pen. I’m… Staggered. I get their excitement for my husband, but I don’t dare take a pen and sign anything for fear it’s a prank and I end up looking like a pretentious tool bag.

Mike’s large body shields mine as best he can, but each time the wave of bodies push in closer, his shielding turns to crushing. Izzy clutches to my hand tightly and we move forward as fast as we can. Sweat trickles along my spine as the cheering shouts turn to ‘look at me! Look at me now!’

I can’t fight a crowd.

Mike can’t fight a crowd.

Izzy’s pregnant, and Tink’s attitude won’t cut it for this. Pressure squeezes me from the inside out as Jack’s body is jolted around. He’s big. He’s a fighter. But he’s still my little brother. My responsibility. The excited mob slam into me time and time again, and send a deep ache shooting through my arm. Every time I bring my hands up to push people away, I gasp at the fury bubbling inside my shoulder.

“Hold on,” Mike yells. He turns and waves more security toward us, and when they push their way through the crowd, he shouts instructions. “You’ve got the pregnant one. You get the kid. You get the midget.”

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