Chapter 37 – Braelyn
brAELYN
Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
Is he sick? Hurt? I don’t know, but he was covered in sweat, and his face was all red when he came over to me.
He didn’t look right. Not like Roman. Even like that, his focus was on me, and when he brushed my finger over where his tattoo is hidden beneath his tape, I decided there’s a very real explanation for those pictures.
Roman isn’t Adam, who is drunk and belligerent, shouting directives toward this Curtis guy like an angry parent on the sideline of their kid’s soccer game.
Roman, my Roman, wouldn’t cheat. He loves me. I know he does. That’s all there is to it.
But I don’t know what to do with this.
Roman is getting the shit beat out of him, and Roman doesn’t do that. Is it because of me? Because he wasn’t training as hard as he typically would because he was spending so much time with me instead?
Curtis lands another blow to Roman’s back, and I let out a cry I can’t suppress, tucking my face into Hayes’s chest. His arm wraps around me, and he holds me tight.
“It’s okay, Brae. He’s tough.”
I grasp his shirt in my fist. “What the hell is going on? Can they call the match? Make it stop before he gets really hurt?”
“They can’t.” Forest puts his hand on my shoulder. “Just stay like that and don’t watch.”
“Don’t watch?” I parrot incredulously. Meaning don’t watch Roman get knocked around the ring like a rag doll.
Jesus. He’s done. He has to be done after this.
I don’t have stuff with me. Just my bag of basics that I always bring to clean up a cut or two.
I don’t have anything major, and Katy and Bennett have a new baby, so if he needs surgery…
if he’s bleeding internally… I stop myself there with a sob I bite my lip to suppress.
He’s so grounded for this. So freaking grounded. After he explains the photographs, he’s going to promise he’s never boxing again.
“Fuck yeah!” Adam shouts. “Hit him again, Curtis! Get that motherfucker.” How is that the same guy who came to the hospital tonight to get Psycho Stalker Barbie off my back? How is that the same guy I loved and would have married?
Talk about dodging a bullet there.
I pull away from Hayes and turn to Adam, ready to hit him everywhere he’s urging Curtis to hit Roman. I start to charge at him when a hand wraps around my waist. Hayes is pulling me back.
“That won’t help Roman,” he tells me sternly. “If you get into a shouting or fistfight by the looks of you with your ex, Roman will get distracted, and he can’t afford to get distracted right now.”
Ugh!
“Adam, you’re the biggest piece of shit on the planet. Who cheers for someone else to get hurt?”
Adam gives me a look, his eyes all glassy, and his friends around him watching me with equally drunk eyes. How much did he have to drink tonight?
“The ex-best friend of the guy who stole my girl. That’s who. I think I’m entitled to my cheering, Braelyn. When will you see that he’s bad news? He’s going down. And when that happens, there will be plenty of time for us to talk about everything.”
“Yeah, not gonna happen.”
“He is!” he swears adamantly, but he totally misinterpreted what I was saying. Adam could be the last man on earth, and the survival of humans was in my uterus’s metaphorical hands, and I’d sit my ass on a beach with my vibrator and watch the world end.
Hayes gives me another tug, and I willingly go back to him. Adam’s not worth my effort. I stand with my back to the ring, grateful I chose this position as another round of jeers and “ohs” hits the air. It smells of sweat and blood and pain, and my insides roil.
Forest and Hayes are tense, their bodies rigid, but they’re staying quiet, holding vigil beside me.
The end of the round is called, and I release a breath. I’m shaking terribly, and I spin around, my arms wrapped around my chest while I search and search, but I don’t see him. He never takes these breaks. He usually comes over and chats or smiles or makes sure that I’m okay amongst the fray.
But he’s not doing that tonight.
Forest locks an arm around my shoulder and holds me close, Hayes tightly against my other side.
“Just breathe, Brae,” Forest whispers to me. “It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”
“Yeah,” Hayes agrees. “He might not be as pretty as he normally is for a while, but he’ll be fine.”
I’d laugh or smile at that if it were possible for me to.
The next round starts and it’s the same as the others with Curtis wailing on Roman, who gets a hit in here or there. I’m not sure how much more I—or Roman—can take. Roman manages to stay up through the fifth, but when the sixth round starts, everything changes.
Curtis comes out swinging, and Roman doesn’t see it in time or is too banged up to react as he otherwise would. Curtis nails Roman in the face, and Roman goes down hard. A scream lurches from my throat, and I bury my face in Hayes while clutching Forest’s arm. I can’t watch. I can’t fucking watch.
But I also have to see, and I peel my face away from Hayes’s shirt just as the announcer calls out, “One.”
Is Roman out? I can’t tell. He’s on the ground and it’s not looking good. Adam is hooting and hollering, cheering and talking about how much money he just won. I can’t pay attention to him. I’m too focused on my guy on the ground.
“Two.”
Jesus. My heart is pounding so hard, and I don’t want Roman to lose, but I also want this to end. I don’t want him to get hit again. I can’t take it and he can’t either.
Just before the announcer calls three, Roman moves and slides himself up to his feet.
“No!” springs from my lips. No more. Please, Roman, no more.
Roman staggers a step, and the announcer guy checks him. I can’t hear what Roman says, but whatever it is, it appeases the guy because he steps back. Curtis’s smug grin slips when he sees Roman back on his feet. He thought he won. He thought that was it.
He squares his shoulders, gives Roman an incredulous head shake, and gets himself back in position to end this once and for all.
Curtis charges like a bull, his arm up and fist rearing back.
Just before he makes contact, my eyes slip closed, but then I hear a different noise from the crowd. Shock and delight.
“Holy shit!” Hayes yells, shaking me.
I open my eyes to find Roman pounding Curtis’s face and stomach. Blow after blow, hands switching off. Fists covered in blood. Muscles moving as if he had never been on the ground or hit once.
“No!” Adam shouts. “What the fuck?!”
Curtis shuffles backward toward the edge of the ring, his hands and arms up defensively, but he can’t stop Roman.
There are no ropes here. This isn’t professional boxing.
There is the line of the ring and the crowd beyond. This is also Fight Club rules, and they only call you out or stop the match when you’re on the ground. Curtis hits the line, and the announcer tells him he has to get back in the ring or he’s out.
Curtis sidesteps to his left while wildly throwing a punch to try to knock Roman off him.
It doesn’t work. Roman doesn’t relent. He lands a hard jab to Curtis’s side, very likely cracking some ribs, judging by Curtis’s reaction, and Roman takes that, rears back with his right fist, and lets it fly.
It lands straight into Curtis’s face beneath his eyes and against his already fractured nose.
It knocks his feet out from under him, and he drops to the ground in a heap of dead weight, his body hitting the ground with a bounce since he didn’t do anything to break his fall.
It’s horrifying to see. The sound alone is enough to make someone’s stomach turn. But that’s it. It’s over. Match done.
Curtis is out, and Roman wins.
Somehow, Roman ripped a rabbit out of his hat and pulled off that victory.
I have no clue how, but I don’t care. I tear myself away from Hayes and Forest and race straight toward Roman just as the announcer declares him the victor.
He turns just in time, and I launch myself at him, pressing myself against his sweaty, banged-up, and bloody body.
“Oh my god! What the hell? What on earth just happened?” I pull back. He’s a total mess and can barely hold me. “Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
I get a crooked smile, and he dips to kiss me. Before our lips make contact, the sound of Adam losing his drunken mind pulls us apart. I twist to see Adam rampaging toward us.
“This is fucking bullshit!” he booms, his arms flying about. “No fucking way you just won that. This is a setup.”
Roman doesn’t reply. He simply shifts me until I’m tucked under his heavy, sweaty arm.
“You piece of shit!” Adam jabs his finger at him. “Do you know how much you just cost me? You’re going down for this. You have no clue. You’re going down, and then you’re going to die, and I’ll be watching the whole fucking time.”
“Bye, Adam.” With that, Roman walks us to the back room.
“You’re dead!” he calls after us but doesn’t give chase. “Your life is over!”
For a few minutes, it’s just us in here, and I help Roman up onto the table. I open my bag, moving quietly and methodically, my thoughts all over the place. This honestly might be one of the worst, most intense days I’ve had in I don’t even know how long.
Gloves snap onto my hands before I reach for his, pulling them out in front of him and removing the blood-saturated tape. His knuckles are an absolute mess, cut up and split in some places.
I can feel him watching me, and truthfully, I don’t want to look at his face yet.
“You can ask,” he says after a long, tense beat.
I shake my head, the after rush of endorphins hitting me hard and making me quake.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re mad at me then?”
A laugh bursts from me. “This so does not feel like the time for that.” I get the tape fully off and move on to his body. His left flank is purple with bruising. Gently, I press in on the spot, and he hisses in a breath and tenses.
“Are you short of breath?”
“No.”