Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BASH
In those moments Connor was choking me out, all I could think was that my parents were right. Everyone who left a mean comment about me on social media was right too.
I can’t do it.
But then I caught sight of Romilly’s alarmed face, and I knew I couldn’t let down the one woman who actually came to support me.
If I lost, all my hard work would be for nothing. The six days a week I spent training in the early hours of the morning before work with Romilly would be wasted. No sponsors would take a chance on me.
This is it, Bash, I thought. You’re finished.
So I did the only thing left I could.
I prayed. I asked God to give me the strength to win if He wanted me to. And then I somehow hooked my fingers between my neck and Connor’s grip.
Now, I look for Romilly’s face among the cheers of the crowd as I stand in the center of the ring.
She should still be right up front. Where did she go?
Sweat is dripping down my back, and my muscles are aching from the fight, but I don’t care. All I can hear is the thrum of my own pulse in my ears, the roar of the audience, and the aftershock of adrenaline still crackling through my veins.
Victory. I’ve done it.
Take that, social media.
Even though it’s only happened once before, winning is becoming a familiar taste. That, and the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
I wonder if my parents are watching me now, streaming the fight by some miracle. If they’re home in our ornate living room in Woollahra, judging my life choices. If they’re even watching at all.
It’s not even about money anymore; it’s about them accepting me as their son, despite choosing fighting over running their business. Maybe, just maybe, they’re proud for once. I know it’s a stretch, but I can’t help but hope, because here I am proving myself.
I’ve won a second time.
And it feels good. So good. For now, I’m merely basking in the crowd’s cheers, the flashes from the cameras, and the fistful of praise I’m about to get from the press.
But I know none of it would matter if it weren’t for her .
And now, I desperately wish she were up here with me, by my side instead of the ring girls.
I want Romilly.
Even though I haven’t found her yet, the thought of her watching in the audience makes nerves rattle through my body. It’s all I can think about as the announcer’s voice crackles through the loudspeakers. “And your winner tonight, the undefeated Bash the Smasher!”
The crowd goes wild, chanting on repeat, “Sebastian Black bashes back!”
I lift my fist and give them the cocky grin I know they’ll eat up. But all the while, my gaze darts around the crowd for Romilly.
As a reporter approaches me, I force the grin to remain on my face. He holds the mic out to me, and my body is buzzing. But my mind? It’s already halfway to her. I need to find her, but first, I need to get through this post-fight interview.
The interviewer starts by asking, “How does it feel to take home the win tonight?”
“It feels amazing. I’d like to thank Romilly Westfall for supporting me tonight, I’d like to thank my sister, Ingrid, for believing in me, and most of all, I’d like to thank God.”
“What’s next for you, Bash?”
My gaze scans the audience before I answer.
When I still don’t see Romilly in the crowd, a nervous knot forms in my chest. I nod absently at the interviewer.
“I’ll be training hard for my next fight.
” But inside, all I can think is, where is she?
Where has she gone off to? The question repeats itself in my head as I finish the rest of the interview, drowning out the buzz of the reporters’ questions and the flashes from cameras.
Maybe the fight was too much for her and she left early.
The idea disappoints me, but I know it’s possible. And worse is the knowledge that this is only the beginning of my career. Deep down, I’ve been hoping she’ll be here for every step. I want her at every fight, right up front, just like this time.
Every interview, every endorsement, every media coverage I’ll get in the coming week are all steps toward being the man I need to be for her.
Towards being someone who can offer her more than my parents’ money, or an extra set of hands at her pet salon and a risky, long-distance future.
I’m going to be here with her, and little by little, show her I’m worthy of her trust, and eventually, hopefully, her love.
But I can’t deny a small part of me will crumble if she decides she hates me fighting as much as my parents do.
My winning set of moves replays on the Jumbotron, but I hardly notice. Because a small crowd in the audience captures my attention. Through the tightly-packed bodies, I catch sight of Romilly’s green dress, and then finally, her face.
She’s here .
And then, just as quickly, my relief shatters.
The sight of the paramedics lifting Romilly onto a stretcher cuts through me like a knife. The world goes still as my blood turns to ice.
I can’t breathe.
The stretcher moves through the crowd as the paramedics push it toward the exit. Romilly’s head is tilted back, her face ashen, a trail of blood staining the side of her temple.
It feels like the ground has been yanked out from under me.
I don’t even hear the words the reporter is still saying into the mic. I don’t care . She’s hurt. Or worse.
No. Don’t go there, Bash.
My body moves before my brain can process what’s happening. I push past reporters, fans, security, and anyone standing between me and her. I need to get to her, need to know what happened and make sure she’s okay. I need to hear her voice, to see her eyes focus on me, to feel her hand in mine.
“Romilly!” Her name tears out of me as soon as I’m at her side. I sound desperate, panicked, even to my own ears.
The paramedics stop pushing when she stirs and gently adjust her position on the stretcher.
As soon as I reach her side, I gently cradle her face in my hands. “What happened? Who did this to you?” I can barely get the words out.
Her eyes flutter open, but it’s clear she’s not fully with me. Her lips part like she’s trying to speak, but nothing comes out. Just a faint breath, a whisper of confusion I can’t decipher.
“Talk to me. What happened?” I brush a hand against her face, comforted by the warmth, despite the panic suffocating me. “Please, talk to me.”
"There was a fight and she got knocked down," says a paramedic.
Romilly blinks slowly. Her gaze wanders, refusing to focus on anything. I’ve never seen her like this before, and it terrifies me. Getting choked out feels like nothing compared to this.
“I’m here,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.” I thread my fingers firmly into hers.
“We need to move her.” A paramedic ushers me backward so he can continue pushing the stretcher forward.
I don’t let go but speed-walk alongside it, outside to the parking lot. I follow the entire way, holding her hand, until they shut her into the ambulance.
The gasps and murmurs from a few people who notice me barely even register.
I practically black out as I find my car and get inside, following behind on the way to the hospital.
It takes me much too long to find a parking spot, and I’m about to give up and leave my car in the middle of the road when I finally find one.
Hysteria claws up my throat when I think about what could be happening to Romilly without me there.
I throw myself at the check-in desk. “Romilly Westfall. I’m here to see Romilly Westfall. Right now.”
The nurse at the computer widens her eyes at my tone and takes in my appearance.
I’m shirtless, still in my fight shorts and gloves, and most likely have blood on my face.
The nurse grimaces, but types away to find the room number.
When she sees it, her fingers pause and she ticks. “Are you family?”
“No,” I grit out. “No, but I’m her boyfriend.” The word sounds so stupid. So insignificant, especially at a time like this. I hate it.
“She’s on floor B in room 221, but unfortunately you can’t go in. It’s the trauma unit, so family only.”
I think my throat might be closing. I try to swallow the lump that’s lodged there.
Family. I’m not family.
“But she’s my—” My voice cracks, and I bite it back, swallowing the bitterness in my mouth. “I don’t care. I need to be there with her.”
The nurse offers me a pitying glance. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait out here.”
But I ignore her. I storm past the desk to go find Romilly’s room.
“Sir! Stop. You need to wait out here, like I said.”
“I will burn this hospital down before I do that,” I tell her as calmly as possible.
As I continue, I register the sound of her calling security.
Several armed men approach me, ready to restrain me.
The cocky side of me thinks I could take them all.
But the more rational side knows I’ll be completely useless to Romilly if I try to fight them and end up getting arrested.
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll wait out here.” I take the nearest seat and rest my face on my fists. Closing my eyes, I do the only thing I can at a time like this.
I silently pray, Please. Please let her be okay.