47. Romy
47
romy
“ J ude!” I yelled, running down the stadium steps to get as close to the action as possible.
The crowd screamed and cried around me, but all I saw was blood dripping everywhere and Jude pinned to the ground.
“Miss, you can’t go down there.” Security stepped in front of me right when I reached the front row of seats. Seats left for celebrities, family, sponsors, the press. My last-minute ticket was only for general admission.
As soon as I had checked in and saw a Las Vegas flight flying out at the same time, I knew what I had to do. Instead of running away, I needed to run to him.
With a ticket to Las Vegas in hand, and a call to the school district to say I was no longer accepting the position, I chose him.
Once I landed, I told my Uber driver to take me to the MGM. When I got there, Summer Fight Night was well under way. There was no time to waste. I plowed into that arena with a mission, but now I was stuck between a security guard and the front-row spectators.
There was nothing I could do but watch him. I shuffled on my feet, itching to reach Jude. To show him that I was here. That he could win this fight.
“Alex!” I hollered, seeing him yelling through the cage. But he didn’t hear me. He was solely focused on Jude.
Jude’s arm was in Mike Reyes’s grasp as it snaked through to grab Jude’s wrist.
“Shit,” I said under my breath. “Get out of there, Jude!” I was screaming now.
Jude attempted to lean forward, pushing to sit up, but instead, his arm slipped behind his back.
I covered my gasp.
There was nowhere for Jude to go; his right arm was trapped under Reyes’s back.
Jude’s arm was going to rip out of its socket.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” was all I could say.
And then Jude’s yelling, “Tap! Tap!”
The ref rushed in. Reyes pushed away from Jude and started running around the cage, yelling in victory.
Jude could barely rise to his feet.
“Now the new light-heavyweight champion, Mike ‘Savage’ Reyes!” The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena.
The ref held up Reyes’s arm, while Mr. Venture buckled the championship belt around his waist. Reyes was bloody, veins popping in his forehead as he yelled in excitement.
The crowd lost it.
But all I could think about was getting to Jude.
“Alex!” I yelled again, hoping he could hear me. But the crowd was deafening.
I barely even heard the sportscaster interview Reyes from the cage. Jude was being checked out in his corner, and that’s all I cared about.
Then it was Jude’s turn to be interviewed. He limped to the sportscaster holding the mic. The moment he submitted replayed on the jumbotron.
“What went wrong?” The sportscaster shoved the mic in Jude’s face.
Jude shrugged, panting through his words. “Reyes proved he was the better fighter tonight. He earned that belt.”
The arena was quiet in reverence for the longtime champ. All I could do was hold my breath.
“I want to thank my team, my coach. We worked hard, even with a short camp.”
He took in a big, steadying breath, as if to hold back emotion.
“Sometimes you need to lose some to win some.” He gripped Alex’s shoulder, who stood beside him. “I feel like a winner tonight because I know now what I want is back home.” His voice cracked with his last words.
I covered a sob with my hand.
“Does this mean you’re retiring?” the sportscaster asked.
“I have no issue stepping aside and letting someone else have the spotlight, especially if they’ve earned it, and Reyes showed us all today that he earned this title.”
Jude tore off his gloves. The arena hushed, waiting for him to say more. But he said nothing.
Only quietly set his gloves on the mat and walked out, his corner following behind him.
The silence evaporated on a wave, cheers and hollers crescendoing against the dome of the arena.
“Jude ‘The Bull’ Larsen, ladies and gentlemen!” The sportscaster’s voice echoed through the sound system. “Stepping down as the champ and retiring as one of the best light-heavyweights in the sport of MMA.”
“Sir, please,” I pleaded with the security guard. “I’m Jude’s girlfriend.”
“Sure, missy,” he scoffed.
“Alex! Alex!” I yelled again, trying to get his attention before he took off with Jude.
Jude was already plowing his way through the crowd to exit the arena.
“Are you Romy Miller?” came a familiar female voice in front of the security guard.
I looked past him to see a beautiful, dark-haired woman dressed in a neat pantsuit and wearing a VIP badge. I recognized her from the press conference. Jessica. I hesitated for just a moment before remembering what Chuck told me.
“Yes, please, I need to get through.”
She nodded, extending her arm past the security guard. “Let her through.”
The security guard raised a brow to Jessica.
“She’s Jude Larsen’s girlfriend.” Jessica had a hard, no-nonsense edge to her voice, as if she dared you to contradict her. It was all the confirmation I needed that Jude chose me. Maybe I didn’t need to hate her after all.
The security guard stepped to the side, letting me pass.
“Come on. I’ll take you to him.” Jessica put her hand on my back, helping me navigate through the crowd.
Jude sat on an exam table in the locker room. A doctor cleaned up his cut and ran through concussion protocols. Alex held an ice pack to his knee.
“What day is it?” the doctor asked.
“Friday,” Jude responded.
The doctor nodded, holding a thick swab on the gash above Jude’s left eye.
I pushed forward, past staff, teammates, and other fighters mulling around the locker room.
“Jude!” I screamed, getting through the crowd.
He flinched when he turned toward my voice, his eyes going wide when they landed on me.
“Romy!” He tried to jump off the table, but the doctor and Alex pushed him back to his seat.
“Don’t get up,” I told him.
Alex stepped to the side so I could stand beside him. I gripped Jude’s still-taped hand, red with Reyes’s blood.
“What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t miss this. I had to be here for you.”
“Why didn’t you answer my calls? There’s nothing between Jessica and me. I know she answered my phone when you called, and I can explain everything.” He said it as though he knew I had to hear it.
“I know. I’m so sorry. I got in my head, and I got scared you didn’t want me.”
His bruised and swollen eyes sharpened. “I’ll always want you.”
“I know that now,” I croaked through a lump in my throat.
“What about the hearing?”
“It recessed early, and Chuck made sure I could get here for you.”
“I’m going to need to stitch this up,” the doctor interrupted.
Jude gave him a brief nod. “Hold my hand?” he asked me.
My eyes teared. “Always.”
He gave me that lopsided smirk, a little lazy with his fatigue, and despite his swollen, red eye, he was still the sexiest man I’d ever seen.
“Love you,” he mouthed while the doctor started stitching him up.
“Love you,” I whispered back.
My chest constricted, overwhelmed with love and the need to ease his pain.
“I’m so proud of you, babe,” I told him.
“Don’t move,” the doctor cautioned through a smirk.
As soon as the doctor tied up the stitch and snipped it, Jude was off the table. He gripped my hands.
“I want to hug you, but I’m gross.”
I tentatively raised a hand to brush a damp lock from his brow.
“I don’t care. Just kiss me.” I pushed up on my tiptoes. His hands, rough with tape and calluses, gently held my face as we pressed our lips together. So soft. So gentle. But so full of promises. Of forever.
“I’m ready to go home,” he mumbled against my lips.
We closed our eyes, our foreheads gently resting together. The locker room faded away as we absorbed each other’s touch. I gripped the waistband of his shorts. I wanted nothing more than to take him home—to Thornbrush—and take care of him.
“Me too. Let’s go home.”