Because she’s still my girl, isn’t she? Even after everything? All the bullshit that’s happened over the past two weeks only emphasized how far gone I am for her. How hard I fell for this brilliant, sexy, incredible girl.
And she’shere.
Does that mean she cares about me after all? There’s no other reason she would seek me out again, is there? Did she change her mind?
"She's been cheering the loudest," Jax says as I continue to stare at Dani in wide-eyed shock. Then he lets out a chuckle. "I didn't think it was possible, but she's even louder than Remy."
"Fighters, are you ready?"
In any other moment, the ref's shout would've shocked the ice back into my veins and gotten me back into fight mode. But Dani chooses that moment to mouth something at me and my heart stops for another reason. I can't make out what she says but the look she gives me when she says it is enough to convey the message.
She wants me. She came back to me.
"Fighter, are you ready?"
The ref's words pierce through the bubble—of happiness, of relief, ofsomething—in my chest. I tear my gaze away from Dani and turn back to the cage, now remembering that I'm in the middle of a fight. A fight that I'm losing.
But with this new cocktail of emotions growing in my chest, comes a new feeling.Determination.
"Come on, Aiden, let'stakethis round from him! This isourfight!" Coach's voice filters into my brain and finally—fuckingfinally—fills me with adrenaline. Adrenaline that I need to perform the way I need to, the way I know I can.
"There we go, Aiden,there we go!" screams Jax, clapping enthusiastically as the arena roars around him.
"Fight!"
The second the word is out of the ref’s mouth, I bite down on my mouthpiece and stride forward.
Red must sense something has changed because he’s not as in-my-face at the start of this round as he was the last two. He still comes right at me, but it’s not with the same intensity as before.
We exchange a few punches. I throw out my jab, just like Coach called for, and Red throws a combo of his own. We both land. I pop out a double jab and follow it up with a right cross that just barely grazes his temple. Suddenly, Red is eyeing me up and down, respect blazing in his eyes for the first time since the fight started.
But tangled with that respect is the same determination I’ve seen on plenty of other fighters, the expression that takes over when you find a worthy opponent and double down on your desire to win because of it. So it shouldn’t surprise me when he unleashes a barrage of punches, each one thrown hard enough to hurt me if they landed. And despite the fact that he outstruck me and knocked me down in previous rounds, it isn’t until I hear his corner make a call that I realize his striking might be better than I’m giving it credit for.
“Three count! Throw the three count!”
The first punch lands flush on my chin and snaps my head back. The second comes with so much extra power that my vision starts to blink in and out. And it’s as I’m staggering backward, watching in slow motion as that third punch comes for my temple, that the realization crystallizes in my mind: this is the shot that’s going to put me down. If this punch lands, I’m going to lose this fight.
And that thought is so… abhorrent, sounacceptable, that my resolve strengthens instantly. Determination tightens my muscles, and fire flames in my blood.
Fuck giving up, that’s not who I am. In the cage, in life, anywhere. I’m a goddamn fighter.
So as I watch that third punch move toward my temple, time slowing to a crawl, I make the decision to fucking fight. And towin.
I duck under the punch at the last second. I feel my opponent’s glove skim the top of my hair, but it doesn’t matter because I’m already driving a hard shot into his liver with the same motion.
I hear the breathwhooshout of him, the oxygen driven from his lungs with a single shot. He doubles over and backs away, desperately trying to put some space between us.
Because he knows what’s coming. He knows that posture in front of another fighter is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
I’m on him before he even gets his breath back. I’m throwing punch after punch, alternating between his head and his body, never giving him a chance to cover up entirely or guess where I’m going to strike next. And when his back hits the metal chainlink fence and my fist connects with his liver once more, a sense of victory settles over me. Not because the fight is over, but because I'm finally able to put him in the same position he's had me in for two thirds of the fight.
He drops to the mat and in seconds I'm on top of him, raining down punches the same way he did to me. He tries to hold on to me to keep me from having enough space to attack, but all that does is make me switch to the shorter range elbows. One of them splits his eyebrow open and the sight of blood on his face makes me immediately feral. I increase the power of my shots tenfold.
"Fighter, protect yourself! Fighter, you need to protect yourself!"
The ref's words fuel me even more than the sight of blood does. I throw faster, and harder, and I don't stop until I see the ref leaning in out of the corner of my eye, getting ready to stop the fight.
It only takes a few more punches, and one more elbow, for the ref to throw himself between us, his arms waving off the fight.