19. Eli
ELI
The booth at Rocco’s is the only one tucked far enough from the bar that I can hear myself think.
Dakota slides in first, sweater sleeves pulled down past her knuckles, the way she does when she’s nervous. Cruz drops in next to her, grinning, his thigh against hers like it belongs there. Dante takes the chair on the end so he can watch the door.
Brady’s the last one in. Hovers a second at the edge of the booth like he’s not sure if there’s space for him.
“Sit your ass down, Williams,” Cruz says, kicking the seat out. “You’re making me twitchy.”
Brady sits. His knee knocks mine under the table, and he jerks it back like I’m on fire.
“Relax.” I keep my voice low, the one I use when a fighter’s hyperventilating between rounds. “Nobody’s looking at us.”
“Everyone’s looking at us.” Brady’s hand goes to the back of his neck. “Cruz, why’d you wear that fucking shirt.”
Cruz looks down at himself. Black tank, his ink on full display, the eagle on his collarbone peeking up over the neckline. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“You look like you came from a porn shoot,” he replies.
“Thank you, baby.”
Brady chokes on nothing.
The waitress comes over and we order. Beers for the boys, whiskey for me, and Dakota asks for a Coke. Cruz raises an eyebrow.
“Driving,” she says.
“You came with us.”
She shrugs.
When the drinks arrive and the waitress moves off, I rap my knuckles once on the table. “We need to talk about how this works.”
Brady exhales like he’s been waiting to be told what to do with himself.
“First thing.” I look at each of them in turn. Cruz last, because he’ll make a joke if I look at him first. “Victor doesn’t find out. Not from us, not from anyone else. Not yet.”
“He’ll figure it out,” Dante says. “Eventually.”
“Eventually it’s fine. Now isn’t. Brady’s got a fight in less than two weeks. Dakota’s still building her record at Oath. I’m your coach on paper. If the commission gets so much as a whiff… ”
“They pull our licenses,” Cruz finishes. The grin’s gone for a second.
“And mine. Victor loses sponsors. The gym would be in financial trouble.”
Brady’s gone pale. “Jesus, Coach.”
“I’m not saying it to scare you. I’m saying it so we’re all carrying the same weight.” I take a drink, enjoying the burn of the whiskey. “We don’t do anything stupid at the gym. No touching, no looks that linger, no disappearing into the same locker room. Cruz.”
“I know,” he replies.
“Say it,” I demand.
“No grabbing your ass when you’re holding pads. Got it.”
Dakota snorts.
“I’m serious,” I deadpan.
“So am I, Coach. Look at me. Serious face.” He widens his eyes at me.
“Cruz,” Dante urges quietly, and Cruz settles.
“Outside the gym,” I go on, “we’re careful. We don’t all live in the same apartment. Not yet. Dakota stays where she is. Brady stays where he is. Cruz and Dante—you keep your places separate on paper even if you’re never in them.”
“We figured,” Dante says.
“Theo knows,” Cruz adds. “About me and Dante, anyway. He won’t say a word.”
“Theo’s fine knowing about you and Dante. That doesn’t break any rules, not really. He’s Victor’s, but he’s also family. We just don’t put him in a position where he has to lie to Victor’s face about the five of us.”
Dakota’s been quiet, fingers wrapped around her glass. She looks at me. “What about therapy? If I ever needed to talk to someone.”
My jaw clenches and I wonder why she needs therapy, but then, I’m about to enter a relationship with four of my fighters, and I clearly don’t know as much about their lives as I should.
“Find someone outside the gym network,” I say. “I’ll pay for it.”
“I can pay for my own,” she defends.
“Princess.” It comes out before I think. Her eyes lift to mine. “Let me do this.”
She doesn’t fight me, just nods, which is a small miracle.
Cruz reaches under the table.
“Phones,” Dante says. “We need a group chat that isn’t on our main numbers.”
“Look at you,” Cruz says. “Master criminal.”
“Bouncer brain.”
“Sexy,” Cruz fires back.
“Focus,” I say.
“I am focused.” Cruz takes a long pull of his beer. “On logistics. Of our beautiful, federally inadvisable polycule.”
Brady laughs, and it’s his first real laugh of the night.
“There he is,” Dakota murmurs.
Brady looks at her, and I watch something pass between them.
“You good?” I ask him.
He nods. Then shakes his head. Then nods again. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“None of us do,” I admit.
“You all seem like you do,” Brady supplies.
“We’re better liars than you,” Dante says, gently. “You’ll catch up.”
“Public stuff,” Cruz says, dragging us back. “The gym’s one thing. We’re a team, nobody questions us training together or grabbing food after. But we need to be smart about the optics outside of that.”
“Smart how?” Dakota asks.
“Romantic shit,” Cruz clarifies. “Holding hands at the movies. Five of us having an intimate dinner at a restaurant where we’re all leaning into each other. Showing up at Eclipse and spending the whole night in each other’s space. That’s when people start putting pieces together.”
“So what? We just pretend we’re not together when we go out?” Brady’s voice is tight.
“We are teammates,” Dante says carefully. “That’s not pretending. When we’re out as a group, we are gym-family. We just... don’t advertise the rest of it.”
“What about Brady’s fight?” Dakota asks. “We’ll all want to be there.”
“We’ll all be there,” I tell her. “That’s the easy part. Corner team, teammates in the front row—completely normal for a gym to show up strong for one of their own.”
Cruz nods. “I’m wrapping your hands and cornering you, obviously. Eli’s head coach, he’ll be in the corner too. Dante and Dakota will probably be cageside or in the front section. That’s how Oath does it. We show up for each other.”
“Victor will probably be there,” Dante adds. “Marco. Half the gym, honestly. Nobody’s going to think twice about the five of us being there together. We’re supporting our teammate.”
“And after?” Dakota’s voice is careful. “If he wins?”
Cruz grins. “After, the whole gym probably hits up Rocco’s or Eclipse. We celebrate with everyone. Then later.” His eyes flick to Brady, then back “We celebrate properly. At home. Where we can be as affectionate or horny as we want to.”
Brady’s ears go red, but there’s also relief in his expression.
“The point,” I say, “is we’re not hiding.
We’re just being strategic about context.
At the gym, we’re professional. In public as a group, we’re teammates, which we are.
One-on-one, in public we still keep it family, we don’t need someone seeing Cruz attached to Dakotas face and three hours later her kissing Brady.
In private, we’re us. It’s not perfect, but it keeps us safe while also keeping the gym free of scrutiny.
And one more thing.” I set my glass down.
“Whatever happens between us, in private—the second any of you needs or wants out, you say so. Doesn’t matter why.
Doesn’t matter when. The door’s not locked. ”
Dakota’s whole body stiffens next to Cruz and I wonder what I said wrong. Dante and Cruz’s jaws work and it’s Dante who clears his throat.
“Baby, you need to tell them,” he says, eyes fixed on Dakota.
“Tell us what?” I ask.
Dakota’s fingers tighten around her glass. She stares at the table for a long moment.
“My stepfather,” she says finally. “Gerald. He... he controlled everything. Who I saw. Where I went. Told boys to stay away from me—said it was for my protection, but it wasn’t. He wanted me isolated. Dependent on him.”
Brady goes very still beside me, he may not even be breathing. I feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
“My mom was an alcoholic. Checked out most of the time. Didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice what Gerald was doing.” She swallows hard. “He started when I was fourteen. Coming into my room at night when she was passed out. He’d... touch me at first. Then it became more.”
The atmosphere plummets from the weight of her words. You could hear a pin drop, but no one moves or speaks knowing she needs to say this in her own time. So, we listen.
“He raped me.” Her voice doesn’t waver but her knuckles are white around the glass.
“Multiple times. Between fourteen and seventeen. He’d tell me I wanted it.
That I asked for it by wearing certain clothes, by looking at him a certain way, by being too friendly.
He made me believe it was my fault. That I’d seduced him.
That I was the one doing something wrong. ”
“Dakota,” My voice breaks.
“I was a kid. I didn’t understand what was happening.
I thought.” She stops, breathes. “I thought if I just acted differently, dressed differently, stayed out of his way, it would stop. But it didn’t.
It only stopped when I started training seriously.
When I got big enough, strong enough to fight back. ”
Cruz’s hand has moved to the back of her neck now, anchoring her or himself I’m not entirely sure, but it is clear they both need it. His jaw is so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
I hold her eyes. “We’re not him. Not ever.”
“I know,” she says. Quiet. “I know that.”
Dante watches her from across the table, careful, the way he watches when he’s deciding whether to step in. She breathes out through her nose. Nods.
For a minute the table’s quiet. The bar buzzes around us, somebody on the jukebox singing something with too much steel guitar. I take another drink and watch my fighters. My people. My new lovers.
Cruz cracks first. “So.” He leans back, arm sliding along the booth behind Dakota’s shoulders. “Now that we’ve done the boring part.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’ve got that look,” I reply.
“What look?” he asks.
Dante runs a hand through his hair. “The one where you’re about to embarrass everyone at the table.”
“I’m wounded,” Cruz replies, hand on his heart.
“You’ll live,” Dante volleys back.
Cruz grins. Then his eyes go to Dakota, and her face is already pink because she knows what’s coming, she’s known Cruz long enough.
“I just want to say,” he starts, “for the record.”