62. Chapter 59
Chance
I fucking hated weigh-ins.
Getting up on the scales, pretending like I didn’t feel like I’d been robbed of all forms of energy, pretending like I was still me in this state.
I wasn’t me. I was a fucking ghost of what I would be in twenty-four hours’ time.
But she was holding my hand. She hadn’t let go since she’d found me in the field behind Knock’s. Had held it for the last of my water load, and for the big challenge of letting all of that water go. She’d sat in the sauna with me for every round, quietly sipping on water beside me.
She’d held my hand during the hot bath and sweat suit rounds, waiting patiently and quietly beside me. Because that was what she did, she brought the quiet.
The only time she’d let go was to check the bath temperature, or to go and eat. Which, at that stage, I had been confident in saying that I fucking really could have gone for a bit of bread.
She squeezed my hand three times, and I looked down to her with an eyebrow raised. Sunny was ready and waiting, with a soft but bright smile on her face. She looked the perfect picture of sunshine in the yellow sundress she was in today.
I’d listened to Marilyn beg her to wear it this morning, and to her softly argue about not wearing it. She’d taken one look at me, in what would be my third-last round in the sweatsuit, and caved.
Like I said, she brought the quiet.
She grinned up at me, and I couldn’t help but plant a quick kiss to her forehead. I couldn’t form words or even think of something to say to her, to tell her how grateful I was. We’d barely spoken in the last twenty-four hours, but her actions had spoken plenty.
I squeezed her hand back three times.
“Next, to the scales. One half of the main event to compete for the undisputed Light Heavyweight Championship belt of the Ultimate Fighting League. The number one contender. Chance Riordan.”
“Remember to suck in your stomach for the cameras,” JJ told him.
I snickered.
I stepped onto the scale, standing tall with my chin up. It took everything in me not to falter, not to tremble. I was barely sure I was there—my mind felt so hazy I wouldn’t have been surprised if I woke up from this.
“Chance Riordan. Weighing in at two-hundred and five pounds.”
I held my arms up at my shoulders, flexing my biceps for the short, tubby man behind the camera.
“Five, four, three, two, one,” he called. Then, the asshole, ate a handful of chips from a jumbo bag I could smell from here.
Ease up, mate. You’re in no condition for what you’re thinking.
The chunky prick shot me a thumbs up, signalling me off the scales.
“Next to the scales. The other half of the main event to compete to defend his current title as the undisputed Light Heavyweight Championship of the Ultimate Fighting League. The champion. Randy Rager.”
Speaking of pricks …
Randy shoulder-charged me as he passed, but I caught his foot leaving him to clumsily fumble over his feet.
“Been walking long?” I sniggered.
JJ, Dylan, and Sunny all laughed behind me.
“I’m fuckin’ coming for you, Riordan,” he growled back.
“Keep it in your pants, will ya?” I tossed over my shoulder, sending a wink Sunny’s way. Her hourglass figure looked absolutely ravishing in that goddamn sundress. And knowing she hadn’t wanted to wear it? I’d happily tear it off her.
“I’ll keep it in hers.”
Sunny’s face dropped, as did my joking demeanour.
“The fuck did you just say?” I asked in that quiet, painstakingly smooth voice.
Turning towards him, that ugly, fucked-up smile he wore. his face looked like mine—cheekbones hanging out and jawline sharper than ever. He was completely drained of water.
‘ You could still take him, ’ my mind whispered.
“You heard me.” Another flash of that grin. “Quite a piece you got there, Riordan. Be a shame if you had to share her.”
Every last ounce of energy rushed my body instantly, fuelling adrenaline as if it was a re-feed and a gallon of water. My fingers tingled in anticipation and my toes pushed me forward. I’d crossed the room quicker than I’d realised I could in this state.
The clouds over my mind cleared, narrowing in on the cunt on the scales. I briefly registered the look of surprise on his face before I dove on his hips, picking the prick up and throwing him onto a nearby table. There were vague sounds of things crashing to the ground, and I think I was yelling?
Someone caught my raised fist before I could land it square on his jaw. His face was going purple. Why was it going purple? Why was he holding his breath? Another hand tugged on my wrist, pulling it away from his throat.
Oh, that was why.
“You’re dead, Riordan,” Randy rasped as multiple pairs of string arms dragged me away. I thrashed, pulling, and freeing myself gradually from their grip. But there were at least three of the fuckers, and every time I gained on one, another grabbed me twice as hard.
“I’m coming for you and her,” was all I heard before they rounded me past a corner.
A flash of a head of blonde hair pushed past us, heading for that prick face.
Fuck, I need food.