Chapter 12
Riley
I’ve been avoiding Jacob for a week. Ignoring texts from Renata, screening calls from the gym, and burying myself in hospital work until I’m too exhausted to think about my hands on his skin or the sounds he made when he came.
Seven days of trying to forget how I ran from his apartment like a coward, my medical ethics in shambles around me.
But here I am anyway, standing against the back wall of The Red Corner like an addict who can’t stay away from his drug of choice, waiting to watch Jacob fight the biggest match of his career.
It’s partially Bobby’s fault I’m here. I called him that night after fleeing Jacob’s apartment, my voice so shaky he thought someone had died.
“I fucked up,” I told him, gripping my steering wheel with white knuckles, parked outside my building but unable to go inside.
“What kind of fucked up? Like ‘oops, I left the oven on’ fucked up or ‘I need an alibi’ fucked up?”
“I crossed a line with Jacob.”
The silence on the other end lasted three seconds before Bobby squealed so loudly I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “You hooked up with Mountain Man? Holy shit, Riley! I need the deets right now.”
“No details,” I said firmly. “It was a mistake. A massive violation of professional ethics.”
“Fuck ethics,” Bobby replied. “Was it hot?”
It was. God, it was scorching. But I couldn’t admit that. “It was a mistake,” I repeated.
“That’s not a denial,” Bobby sing-songed. “I’m officially your gay guru now. First step: you have to talk to him.”
I didn’t promise anything, but his words stuck with me through the sleepless nights that followed. Now I’m here, not to talk, but to watch. To make sure Jacob’s shoulder holds up. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
The Red Corner heaves with energy tonight.
It’s packed wall-to-wall, the cage lit dramatically by blood-red spotlights.
The smell of sweat, beer, and adrenaline hangs heavy in the air.
I’ve tucked myself into the darkest corner, but my height makes me visible in a crowd.
I keep scanning faces, terrified of running into Dr. Parker again or anyone else from the hospital who might question why I’m here.
The announcer’s voice booms through the warehouse, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for! Tonight’s main event!”
I wipe sweaty palms against my jeans, my heart rate spiking.
“In the red corner,” the announcer continues, “undefeated in his last twelve fights, weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds of pure destruction… Cassius ‘The Crusher’ Lewis!”
A massive figure emerges from a side entrance.
Even from a distance, The Crusher lives up to his name.
He’s at least Jacob’s height but carries more weight, thick slabs of muscle across his shoulders and chest. His head is shaved, his face set in a permanent scowl.
The crowd’s reaction is mixed—some cheers, some boos.
Cassius raises his arms, basking in both.
“And in the blue corner,” the announcer’s voice rises an octave, “your reigning champion, the man, the myth, the legend… Jacob ‘The Brickhouse’ Mancini!”
The crowd erupts as Jacob strides toward the cage. He’s wearing black fight shorts and nothing else, his body glistening with oil under the harsh lights. My breath catches in my throat. I know exactly how those muscles feel under my hands, how they yield to pressure, where they hold tension.
Jacob circles the cage once, acknowledging the crowd, his gaze sweeping across the warehouse.
I shrink back against the wall, but it’s too late.
Our eyes meet across the sea of bodies, and recognition mixed with anger flashes across his face.
He looks away immediately, focusing on his opponent, but I know he’s seen me.
My stomach drops. I should leave right now. But I’m rooted to the spot as the fighters are introduced and the rules explained. Then the bell rings, and everything else fades away.
The fighters circle each other, gauging distance. Jacob rolls his right shoulder, and I hold my breath, watching for any sign of limitation. But his movement is fluid, uninhibited. His stance is solid and balanced.
Cassius lunges first with a left hook that Jacob blocks easily. They exchange a flurry of blows, testing each other’s defenses. Jacob’s shoulder moves perfectly, no compensation in his form. The tension in my chest eases slightly.
“He’s fucking gorgeous,” a woman beside me says to her friend, eyes fixed on Jacob. “Look at those abs. I’d climb him like a tree.”
Her friend laughs. “Get in line. Half the women here would drop their panties if he looked at them twice.”
I clench my jaw, focusing on the fight instead of the women’s continuing commentary on Jacob’s body.
Cassius lands a hard right that snaps Jacob’s head back. The crowd gasps. I find myself gripping the edge of a nearby table. Jacob staggers slightly but recovers, circling away, resetting. Blood trickles from a cut above his eye.
The round ends with both fighters still feeling each other out. Jacob returns to his corner where Renata waits with water and instructions. I can’t hear what she says, but Jacob nods, his eyes fixed on his opponent across the cage.
The second round begins with renewed intensity. Jacob changes tactics, moving in close where Cassius’s longer reach is less advantageous. He lands a series of brutal body shots that make Cassius wince. The crowd roars its approval.
When the third round starts, both men are bloodied but still strong.
Jacob’s right shoulder shows no sign of fatigue or pain.
He looks like a different fighter from the man I first met in that locker room, afraid his career was ending.
Now he moves with absolute confidence, like his body is an instrument under his complete control.
Cassius catches Jacob with a left that staggers him, following up with a knee that nearly connects with Jacob’s jaw.
Jacob blocks it at the last second, then counters with a combination that backs Cassius against the cage.
A right hook makes Cassius’s knees buckle, and Jacob pounces with a flurry of strikes that Cassius can’t defend against.
The referee jumps between them, waving his arms. Cassius is down, and he’s not getting up. The crowd erupts, screaming Jacob’s name as the referee raises his hand in victory. The sound is deafening, a wall of noise that pushes against me.
Jacob’s face transforms as he smiles broadly, arms raised. He looks younger, unburdened. Beautiful. He climbs the cage, acknowledging the crowd that chants his name. Then his eyes sweep the warehouse again, and this time when our gazes lock, his expression hardens. The smile disappears.
That’s my cue to leave. I turn, pushing through the bodies that press in from all sides, heading for the exit. The crowd moves like a living organism, slowing my progress. By the time I reach the side door that leads to the parking lot, I’m sweating and desperate for fresh air.
“Dr. Shepard!” a voice calls from behind me.
I turn to find a man approaching, one of the fighters I’ve seen at Knockout Gym. Vance, I think his name is.
“Jacob wants to see you,” he says, jerking his head toward a hallway. “Asked me to catch you before you disappeared.”
My chest tightens. “I was just leaving.”
“He was pretty clear about it.” Vance gives me an apologetic shrug.
Heat crawls up my neck. I look back at the exit, then at Vance, weighing my options. I could make an excuse, slip out while Jacob’s still occupied. It would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing.
“Fine,” I say instead, even though every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to run, following Vance deeper into the warehouse, away from the still-celebrating crowd.
He leads me to the locker room and gestures for me to enter. “He’ll be here soon. He’s just wrapping up with some press.”
I nod, and Vance leaves me alone. I pace the length of the room, trying to calm my racing thoughts. What am I going to say to him? What could I possibly say that would make what happened okay?
The door swings open, and Jacob fills the frame. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt that stretches across his chest and the same black shorts he wore in the cage. His hair is damp with sweat and pulled back. The cut above his eye has been cleaned but not stitched. It’ll scar.
He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it like he’s blocking my escape. His eyes are dark, unreadable.
“You ran,” he says simply.
I swallow hard and say nothing.
“You ran after what happened.” Jacob pushes off from the door, taking a step toward me. “After what we did.”
“I shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” I say, retreating a step for each one he takes. “What happened was… inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate,” Jacob repeats, the word hard in his mouth. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” My back hits a locker, cold metal seeping through my shirt.
Jacob stops, leaving a few feet between us. “You were never officially my doctor,” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest. “All our sessions were off the books. At your place or mine.”
“That doesn’t make any difference.”
“It makes every difference if it matters to you.” He takes another step closer, and I press harder against the locker.
“I know I crossed a line,” I say, my voice tight. “I know I violated every standard I’ve ever held myself to. I know I—”
The door bangs open, cutting me off mid-sentence. Renata strides in, beaming, then stops short when she sees us.
“Oh! Am I interrupting something?” Her eyes dart between us, reading the tension in the room.
“Doc was just congratulating me on the win,” Jacob says, not taking his eyes off me.
“As he should be! And we need to celebrate!” Renata walks toward me, arms outstretched. “Riley, you’re a miracle worker. Look at him! Shoulder’s perfect, full range of motion, no pain.” She pulls me into a hug before I can stop her.
Over Renata’s shoulder, I catch Jacob’s furious stare. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as Renata squeezes me tightly. I carefully extricate myself from her embrace, aware of Jacob’s gaze tracking every point of contact between us.
“I can’t take credit for this,” I say. “Jacob did all the work.”
“Don’t be modest.” Renata turns to Jacob. “You need to shower and change. Everyone’s heading to my place for the after-party.”
“I should go,” I begin, but Renata cuts me off with a sharp look.
“You’re coming too. Both of you.” She points between us. “The heroes of the night. Non-negotiable.”
“Renata, I really can’t—”
“I said non-negotiable, Riley.” Her tone is light but firm. “I’ve got a bottle of that Japanese whiskey you like. The one you can’t find anywhere.”
I hesitate, and she pounces on the opening.
“Great, it’s settled. Jacob, hit the showers.” She snaps her fingers at him. “Five minutes. I want to get out of here before the crowd thins and traffic gets bad.”
Jacob doesn’t move, still staring at me. “We’re not finished,” he says quietly.
“Yes, you are,” Renata corrects. “For now.” She grabs my arm, steering me toward the door. “Riley’s coming with me. You can follow in your car when you’re ready.”
I throw a glance back at Jacob as Renata pulls me away. His expression is unreadable. Some masochistic part of me wishes I could stay and hear what he has to say.
But Renata is already pushing me through the door, chattering about the party and who will be there. The last thing I see is Jacob, standing alone in the middle of the locker room, watching me go with those dark, knowing eyes.