They think I’ve got a few broken ribs, but without X-rays, they can’t confirm it. It doesn’t fucking matter. Can’t do shit for them anyway—I’ve had broken ribs before from football. So, I told them to wrap them and call it good.
A couple of hours ago, I woke up sitting next to her bed with her hand in mine. She was still asleep, so I got up and showered. It took longer than usual, and I thought I was going to pass out a few times, but I managed.
“That should be good,” the young nurse says, adjusting the straps to my sling.
“I really do encourage you to go to the hospital—”
“I’m good,” I interrupt the doctor.
He purses his lips and looks at the nurse, nodding his head once. “Let us know if you need anything,” she says before they walk out.
I stand and remove the sling from my shoulder, throwing it on the couch. Pulling out a joint from my jeans pocket, I open up her French doors and step out onto her balcony, lighting it up, looking out at the tree line behind the house.
My cell starts ringing in my back pocket, and I pull it out. “Hello?” I answer with the joint hanging between my lips.
“Reaper.” Mathew’s laughter fills my ear. “Damn, man. I don’t know what that was, but you ran out before you could collect your winnings.”
“It wasn’t about the money.” I pull in a long drag, lean my head back, and slowly let it out.
He snorts. “I guess when you’re already part of the one percent, what’s thirty grand.”
I roll my eyes.
“You went forty-three minutes, man.” It felt like days. “And managed to take him down in less than three once you stood up.” He laughs. “I’ve got fighters wanting to bet how long they can stay conscious without throwing a punch. They’re trying to talk me into changing up the rules.”
“What do you want, Matthew?” I ask, taking another hit.
He’s silent for a second before he speaks again. “Just to check on you, man. What you did … I don’t know what it was for, but I hope it was worth it.”
I turn, stepping into her bedroom, and look over at my doll sleeping in her bed. I want to shake her, beg her to open her eyes, but I know she needs the rest. Her body needs to recover. So, I’ll wait for her to wake up on her own. “Yeah, it was.” And I’d do it again.
“Well, just know that whenever you want a fight, you’ve got a spot.” He hangs up.
Stepping back on her balcony, I put my arms on the railing, bow my head, and close my eyes, thanking God I was able to get her back.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
HENLEY
I OPEN MY eyes and blink a few times. Looking around, I take everything in, in the darkly lit room. The crème and brown walls, the four-post white bed, and the smell of lavender. I’m at Lisa’s house. In my old bed. The comforter envelops me, and I close my eyes. Opening them again, I half expect everything to disappear.
Am I hallucinating? Am I dead? Either one is possible.
I take a second to take in any injuries. My throat hurts, and my stomach muscles are tight like I got too drunk and spent all night hugging the toilet. But other than that, I don’t feel too bad. Closing my eyes, I run my hand down my face. Time is gone. Again. I don’t remember anything after waking up in a concrete room. Scout was there … I begged him. I still don’t understand what happened. Why he helped Steve … He was still alive. Why had Law lied to me about that? He sounded terrified when he realized Scout had shown up at my father’s and understood I wasn’t lying about Steve.
I go to sit up, but something pinches my arm. Pulling it from under the covers, I see an IV in the crook of my left arm. I follow the small line to a machine by the bed. A bag hangs off a hook, almost empty.
A sound has my eyes going over to the French doors—they’re open. The white curtains gently moving from the night breeze. I see a figure standing out on the balcony but can’t make it out in the shadows. “Who’s there?” My voice cracks, and I clear my sore throat.
Whoever it is pushes off the railing and turns around. The figure steps into the room, and my heart rate picks up.
“Hey, little doll,” Law says, his lips turning up just slightly.
My shaking hands go to my mouth as I gasp. “Law.” His name is a whisper because that’s all I can get out. “What happened to you?”
He looks like he was beat within an inch of his life. A black eye, busted lips, cuts and bruises dot his gorgeous face along with stitches and bandages. My eyes sweep over his white T-shirt that says Death Valley in black letters, and I can see bruises on his arms along with scratches.