31. Two Wins.
I glance at the wall clock and in exactly 20 minutes I'll step into the ring and for the first time she'll be there watching me.
I don't know why I asked her to come. Maybe I wanted to show her what I look like when I'm not teasing or smirking. When I'm not hiding behind stupid banter or her biting sarcasm.
Maybe I want her to see the version of me that doesn't flinch and that bleeds for what he wants.
I have a match tonight, a huge one. The kind people pay to see, the kind that gets blood on the floor and a name carved a little deeper into the sport.
She's coming to watch me.
My hand slips into the pocket of my jacket, fingers brushing over the worn fabric of the pink ribbon I keep there.
The edges are frayed, soft from time and use.
It used to be tied to her ballet bag. I'd seen that ribbon a hundred times, but one day, I just took it, untied it quickly and shoved it into my pocket like some kind of thief.
Now, I lift it to my lips. A quiet, reverent kiss.
Not because I need luck as I always win.
But I need her.
She's somewhere in the crowd, probably already seated, probably looking for me while I'm behind the scenes, taped and ready, adrenaline buzzing in my veins—but it's not the fight that's making my pulse race.
It's her.
When the bell rings, I want her eyes on me. I want her watching like she did in the gym that day and she grabbed my jaw with those infuriatingly delicate fingers and said, "Look at me, you idiot."
And now I can't look anywhere else.
──────
My opponent is on the floor now, and the ref starts counting. I already know he's not getting up as I threw everything in me with that punch- my fear, my strength, my love for her.
I don't raise my fists in celebration nor do I shout. I don't even hear the cheers the way I'm supposed to. Its just noise
My eyes are already searching and then I see her.
She's smiling.
God, that smile. Bright, unfiltered, the kind that hits me harder than any punch I've ever taken. Her eyes shine as they lock with mine and then she nods. She saw what I did out here and she gets it.
She raises her hands and cheers in pure joy, like she can't hold it in any longer.
My chest tightens, and I smile back at her— the smile that's reserved for her only.
For a moment, it's like we're the only two people in this damn place. Me, in the ring and her just beyond it. A ribbon of space between us and thousands of unsaid things.
Yet somehow, in that one look, she says it all. I saw it and I'm proud of you.
She's proud of me.
Then she lifts her hand to her jaw and rubs it.
I look at her, my brows rising in confusion. "Your cuts, you idiot." she mouths, stepping closer to the ring, passing through the cheers and the crowd.
Of course she'd notice. It's noticeable, sure but with her, it's different. She doesn't just see it. She cares. She'll clean it up later with those soft, delicate hands of hers, like she always does, like it's her responsibility to fix the damage I walk into willingly.
She's standing so close now, hands resting lightly on the ropes, eyes locked on mine like she's the one keeping me upright.
"Meet me in the locker room in five." I say, my voice low, only for her.
──────
I'm already in the locker room, leaning back against the bench, shirtless. Obviously.
Not because I'm trying to show off.
Three minutes later, the door swings open.
Her laugh spills into the room first. Its light, carefree, and completely at odds with the blood and sweat hanging in the air. She's talking to someone with her phone's pressed to her ear, and she's grinning as she walks in like she owns the place.
"Clara! He definitely did not do that!" she laughs. "He is so in love with you, girl!"
Clara. Logan.
The corner of my mouth lifts. It's cute hearing her like this, so real and unfiltered. Like I'm getting a glimpse of her world when I'm not in it.
But the second her eyes meet mine, she pauses.
I'm watching her.
She catches the look on my face and smiles again, softer now. "I'll call you later, hmm?" she murmurs into the phone, already distracted. Then she hangs up and walks to me like the rest of the world just doesn't matter anymore.
Like it's just me and her
That's exactly how I like it.
"Why aren't you wearing your shirt?" she huffs as she walks over to me, a slight frown pulling at her brows, but her eyes? Her eyes are already trailing lower.
I smirk, unbothered, leaning back slightly with my hands braced behind me on the counter.
"I thought you'd probably want to clean up my... chest this time." My voice is casual, but I watch her closely. Watch how that pretty blush creeps up her cheeks, blooming instantly like I flipped a switch inside her.
She's never cleaned anything below my jaw before. Always stuck to wiping the blood from my brow, the cut on my lip, the bruises around my eye.
But this is different.
"I–uhm... okay." she says, biting her bottom lip like she's trying to concentrate but she's already standing between my legs.
Her hands hover for a second, unsure of where to start.
I can feel the heat rolling off her, her breath shifting with each second that passes.
I don't move. Don't say a word.
I just watch her and smile, again.
Her hands are soft as they ghost over the bruised skin on my ribs, dabbing at a smear of dried blood with the damp cloth. She's focused but I can feel her breath hitch every time I move closer
She's trying so damn hard to stay composed and I'm trying equally hard not to lose it watching her fall apart in silence.
I shift slightly, lean in just enough so my voice dips close to her ear. My hands move to her waist, resting there. "Perhaps you'd want to tie a ribbon around my bicep, Swan?" I murmur, smirking as I feel her stiffen slightly under my touch.
Her head jerks up, and that blush returns with vengeance.
She said that in the gym a while back when she noticed a group of girls blatantly staring at me while I was shirtless.
"What!? No! I-" She doesn't even finish the sentence. "I never said that!"
She has no idea how close I am to pulling her in and kissing her senseless. How hard it is to keep my hands still when she's standing between my legs, lips parted, skin flushed, acting like she isn't the reason I walk into every match ready to tear someone apart.
She finally finishes cleaning the cut across my ribs—silent now, focused again. Her hands linger a second longer than they need to, fingers brushing over my skin like she's memorizing every line.
Then she steps back a little and reaches for her bag, unzips the front pocket, and pulls something out.
A bandaid.
Pink.
What the actual fuck!?
She doesn't even look at me at first—just peels it open carefully, like this is part of the routine. Like putting a pink bandaid on a man who just knocked another man unconscious in front of a roaring crowd is the most normal thing in the world.
"Amara."
Her name leaves my mouth like a warning, but it's soft. Because I don't know whether to laugh or grab her by the waist again and kiss her for this.
A damn pink bandaid.
Of course she'd do this and make something as brutal as tonight feel... gentle.
She looks up at me finally, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking but refuses to back down. Her expression dares me to say something.
But I don't.
I just watch her press the bandaid over the cut—delicate, precise—like it's a crown and not something ridiculous.
For some reason it doesn't feel ridiculous- it feels like she just marked me hers
She doesn't stop at my ribs. Her eyes flick up to my jaw, where there's a thin cut, barely even bleeding now and without saying a word, she pulls out another pink bandaid from her bag.
"You're not serious." I murmur, my lips tugging into a smirk.
She raises her brows, looking entirely too smug for someone holding children's first-aid supplies. "Dead serious," she says, peeling it open with infuriating calmness "You're lucky I didn't bring the ones with cartoon ducks."
I huff a laugh. "You've been waiting for this moment, haven't you?"
"Maybe." Her grin turns wicked. "You should be more careful next time or maybe don't go getting hit in the face."
"I let him land that one." I lie.
"Sure you did, Ring Lord." she says, stepping closer again.
She's standing right in front of me now, between my legs again, close enough that I can memorize the shade of her eyes and probably give her a sapphire pendant which matched the shade of her eyes.
Just like the pink roses which reminded me of her lips.
She reaches up and brushes her fingers along my jaw—way more tender than she needs to.
She places the pink bandaid on the cut like she's crowning me with it. "There," she says, admiring her work with a tilt of her head. "Perfect."
I raise a brow. "You're enjoying this way too much."
She shrugs, all fake-innocent. "You look cute."
I narrow my eyes, grabbing her wrist gently. "Call me cute again, Swan, and see what happens."
She just laughs and if I don't kiss her soon, I might lose my mind.
"Also," I say, watching her as she pretends to carefully organize the contents of her bag, "what happened? You were laughing so hard on the phone with Clara."
She looks at me. "Huh? Do you have a problem if I laugh too hard?" she tries to raise one eyebrow, all sass and mischief, but fails. Both of them shoot up at the same time.
I bite back a smile.
I love it. I love your laugh. It's the only sound that cuts through the noise in my head and makes me feel like I'm not a complete monster.
But what comes out instead is "Yeah, I do. It's annoying." I roll my eyes for good measure.
And just to spite me, she laughs again—louder this time, free and warm and maddening.
"Clara was telling me something Logan did for her," she says, smile still stretched across her face. "He sculpted something for her. With the word 'beautiful' hidden in it. I mean, ugh, it was beautiful!"
I tense, my jaw clenching before I can stop myself.
Right. That kind of thing. The grand gestures. The thoughtful, poetic crap. She said once she liked that- someone who'd write poems for her, sing songs, probably draw her while she wasn't looking.
All I have are calloused fists and bruised ribs.
I feel ridiculous because I can't do any of that. I wouldn't even know where to start.
For the first time tonight, the win feels smaller.
Maybe being undefeated in the ring doesn't mean a thing when the man she's smiling about isn't me.
"Can I paint you?" I ask, my voice low as I slide off the counter and stand in front of her now, the distance between us suddenly feeling too much.
She blinks up at me, surprised. "What?"
"Can I paint you, Amara?" I repeat, this time slower. I probably don't look all that serious with bruises, sweat still drying on my skin, a goddamn pink bandaid on my jaw, but I mean every word.
Her blue eyes widen, confused and warm and so incredibly her and then she laughs softly. "Are you gonna paint me like one of your French girls?"
A smile escapes but it doesn't quite make it all the way because behind the joke is something that gnaws at me.
She really thinks that, huh? That this is just a line?
That I'd have images of other women in my head, that I'd use a moment like this to flirt the way some poet probably would. Sculpt her curves, write poetry, play the part?
But she doesn't get it.
I'd do any of that for her and only for her. Even if it's not in me naturally—I'd find a way. Just because she wants it.
"No, Amara." My voice drops lower now, every word pulled from the center of my chest. "You're the only one I want. The only one I crave."
She stills. That teasing spark in her eyes softens into something else—something unsure.
"You have no idea what you do to me." I murmur, stepping closer, "and what I'd do for you."
My hands itch to hold her again, but I don't.
"Then tell me, Xavier." she says, her voice soft.
"I feel safe around you, Amara. And that's... not something I've ever known. With you, I can breathe without pretending. I don't have to hide behind who people think I am." My jaw tightens. "You made me see myself differently. You gave me a reason to get up every day. The kids and you."
"My chest," I press my fist there, over my heart, "physically clenches when I see you hurt.
When I see you tired, or upset. Even when it was me that caused it, like the day I hid your shoes.
I thought it was funny until it wasn't. I should've known better.
I'll regret it until the day I die." My voice drops, "I swear to God, Amara, I will never let anyone hurt you. Not while I'm here."
I watch her eyes soften, the tiniest crease forming between her brows.
"And your smile..." My throat works as I swallow. "It fixes me. I didn't even think I was broken, but it puts me back together in ways I can't explain and I'll do anything to keep it on your face."
I step closer now, until I'm close enough to feel the faint warmth of her breath.
"I can't give you perfection. I can't write you poetry or paint you into a masterpiece but you are etched into my soul, my mind, my heart—like you've always been there.
I don't know if you belong to me, Amara.
.." My gaze locks onto hers. "But I know for certain—I belong to you. "
Her hand twitches like she's about to touch me, but she doesn't.
"I'm falling for you, Amara. I can't stop thinking about you. I can't imagine my life without you in it. You're in every corner of my mind, in every damn heartbeat."
It was at this moment when I realized something- I'm not afraid anymore, not of losing a fight or losing control.
But only of losing her.
"I can walk through the storm with you, Amara, and never lose my way.
Because you're my swan, they don't just swim beside the one they choose, they guard them, shield them, fight for them.
Even in the coldest waters, even when the world tries to pull them apart and I know.
. no matter what, you'll always be the one I'll circle back to. My only."
I'll always come back to my Swan.
"No matter how rough the current," i murmur, brushing my thumb against her jaw. "I'll swim back to you. Always."
Her lips part, her breath catching.
"Tell me, Amara," I ask, my voice pleading. "Will you swim back to me? Do you... think about me?"
For a moment, she just looks at me like she's holding something in that might shatter her if she lets it out. Then she swallows.
"I... I miss my family, Xavier," she says softly, her voice thick. "My maman, my papa, my brother. I miss the smell of our home, the sound of French on the streets, the way my mother would hum while she cooked. I ache for it every day."
I say nothing and just let her speak.
"But..." She shakes her head, her eyes glimmering. "I don't know why or how... I felt safe with you. Like I could breathe again. Like I was home, even when I was thousands of miles away from everything I knew. You made me feel that."
My chest tightens.
"I feel like I can tell you everything," she continues, her voice steadier now. "The truth. My fears. My stupid thoughts. I can be me with you and not what people expect, not the perfect dancer, not the perfect daughter. Just... me."
Her gaze drops for a second, and when she looks back up, there's something in her eyes that makes my heartbeat stutter. "You have no idea how rare that is for me, Xavier."
She steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of her skin, the faint sweetness of her perfume. Her hand comes up, almost trembling, and rests against my chest. "When I'm with you, I don't feel lost anymore."
Then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it, she says, "Je t'aime, Xavier."
(I love you, Xavier)
My pulse spikes. "Say it again." I rasp, because I need to hear it, need to feel it wrap around me like a lifeline.
Her lips curve, "Je t'aime."
And then she adds, her voice fierce in its gentleness "And for me... saying those words isn't casual, Xavier. I've never said them to a man before because in my family, when we say 'I love you' it's for life."
For a second, all I can do is stare at her, her words are still echoing in my head, louder than the roar of any crowd I've ever stood before.
I move before I can even think. One step forward, and she's backed against the counter, her hand still pressed to my chest like it's the only thing keeping her steady.
"Amara..." I murmur, the sound of her name almost a warning. But my voice is rough, torn from somewhere deep. "You don't get to say that to me and expect me to just—"
I don't finish.
"Exactly, I don't expect anything." She pulls me closer by wrapping her arms around my neck, "shut up and kiss me, idiot."
Then her lips touch mine
Its not like the first time, when we'd both leaned in for the la bise and our lips brushed by accident, making her mad, even though she didn't specify the direction.
Not like the second time, when she 'accidentally' pecked me in the barre.
This is nothing like that.
This is deep and deliberate, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, holding her to me like I've been starving for this.
She lets out the softest sound and I swear it goes straight through me. Her fingers curl into my shoulders, then into my hair, pulling me closer still.
Her lips are warm, tasting faintly of vanilla, something that's just her. I take my time, memorizing it. The way she leans into me, the way she exhales against my mouth, the way it feels like every damn piece of me is slotting into place.
I finally pull back, it's only because we need to breathe and because I want to see her.
Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. Her lips and mine are kiss-swollen.
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip "That-" I shake my head. "That's never happening just once."
I don't give her time to answer. I'm already on her again, catching her mouth with mine.
Harder this time, hungrier. My chest brushes against her, heat to heat, every breath between us sparking like it might set me on fire.
My sweatpants hang low on my hips, and her hands slide up my skin, fingers splaying over muscle like she's memorizing the shape of me.
My tongue slides against hers claiming and tasting her. She makes a small, startled sound in the back of her throat, and it wrecks me. I angle my head, deepening the kiss, taking everything she gives and demanding more.
When I catch her bottom lip between my teeth, I bite and she lets out a gasp. Then I soothe the sting with my tongue, swallowing her breath.
I can't stop kissing her. I don't think I ever will.
"I'm insanely in love with you, Amara." I murmur between kisses, the words rasping out like I've been holding them in for years.
"You... are my greatest win, Amara."
She makes a sound again, half gasp, half whimper. I keep tasting her like I'm afraid she'll vanish if I stop. My hand cups the side of her neck, thumb stroking the rapid beat of her pulse, and I kiss her like she's both my prize and my undoing.
Her fingers curl into my hair, tugging just enough to make me growl softly into her mouth. I break away only to breathe her in, my forehead resting on hers. "Every fight I've ever had, every match I've ever bled for- none of it means a damn thing compared to this. Compared to you."
Then she smacks my shoulder lightly, and I stop- I move back a little.
"Shut up, Xavier" she also pulls back just enough to glare at me, though her cheeks are still flushed and her lips are kiss-swollen.
My brows lift. "Shut up?"
Did I go too far? Should I have asked her before-?
"Yes!" she huffs, poking a finger into my bare chest like she's scolding me. "Let me respond now! You keep saying these ridiculously sweet things, and before I can even breathe, you just.. BOOM.. kiss me senseless and then I don't get to say anything!"
This is what it is about?
I'm fighting a grin. "Boom?"
"Yes, boom!" she says with exaggerated indignation, her eyes still a little dazed from the last kiss. "So now, you're going to keep your mouth shut, Ring Lord, and let me talk."
I lean back slightly, hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright, I'm listening."
She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously before taking a deep breath. "You drive me insane. You make me want to throw things at you one second and kiss you until I can't breathe the next."
I can't help it, my lips twitch. "That's your big speech?"
Her eyes flash. "I'm not done." She bites her lip, eyes darting away for a second before snapping back to mine.
"You are... the most infuriating man I've ever met.
You make me want to scream, and not just in the good way.
" Her hands press against my chest, right over my heart.
"But you're also" she swallows, "the only person who's ever made me feel like I'm more than just..
. pretty, but like I'm worth being fought for. "
Make her scream in a bad way?
I thought for a second but then her next words make me forget it.
Her voice softens, and she cups my face. "I'm insanely in love with you too, Xavier Hayes and I'm not saying it just once either."
And thats my second win, today. Yet the most important one.