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Yet he doesn’t seem capable of admitting his shortcomings, even when he’s obviously losing.
“You’re going to go down, pretty boy,” he spits, his eyes darkened with anger. Adam goes for a left hook that I have little problem dodging, and he tumbles forward, managing to avoid landing face-first on the mat at the last minute. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
I shake my head, making sure to let him know he’s no match for me. My smirk and the way I move around him to enrage him further work all too well. His hubris and hatred blind him, and because of this, his movements become clumsier as he tries to land fierce blows.
What he achieves instead is leaving all of his weak points exposed, allowing me to prolong the fight just to ensure he understands he will never win. “You don’t fucking deserve her! Tyley was mine, and you just stole her away from me!” He screams with frustration, managing to land a blow to my side but opening himself to a kick that leaves him breathless and doubled over.
“She stopped being yours a while ago, fucker,” I whisper, pushing him back. I watch him fall on the mat and then struggle to move back up to his feet. “You’re never going to win this, and you’re never going to get her back. It’s time you accept both of those facts.”
By the time the final bell echoes, the referee raises my hand, declaring me the victor. The crowd erupts in cheers, but I barely register the noise. Instead, I stare straight at the empty seat, and just as I had feared, she isn’t there.
That empty seat plagues my dreams, and when sunlight floods into my bedroom, forcing me to open my eyes, it feels like I haven’t rested at all.
“You missed the celebrations last night, Gray,” Tate says. I loathe how chirpy he sounds first thing in the morning.
I ignore him, rolling over in my bed and throwing the blankets over my head. I’m not ready to start the day yet. But Tate isn’t about to walk away without getting me moving.
“Moping around isn’t going to solve anything,” he says, yanking the sheets onto the floor. Under his exasperation is a mild concern.
“Don’t treat me like a goddamned child,” I snap. “If I want to sleep in, then that’s what I’m going to fucking do.”
“Save the dramatics for the ring, Gray. You have an interview scheduled for noon, and it’s already ten thirty. You’re getting up even if I have to come in here with a bucket of ice water.”
Responsibilities, interviews, sponsorships – the machine that is my career won't stop just because I’m drowning in self-pity. With a groan, I push myself out of bed, the familiar ache in my muscles a stark reminder of the fight.
“Aren’t you worried the shiner on my eyes is going to be off-putting for some of my target audience?” I ask, opting for snarkiness since I can’t ignore him.
“Quite the opposite, in fact. You getting into fistfights at clubs is one thing. Keep it in the cage, and everyone will be happy. As one of the secretaries in my office puts it, a few bruises make you look rugged and sexy. I don’t happen to agree, but the audience is king.”
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders to force a semblance of composure. It’s going to be a long day, for sure.
“Fine, but first, I’m going to take a shower and put some ice on this damn eye.”
“Good call, champ. I already ordered breakfast, so it should be here by the time you get out of the shower. It’s the most important meal of the day, can’t miss it.”
I grunt in response, not in the mood for small talk or platitudes. It takes me close to half an hour before I feel ready to start the day. I make my way into the kitchen, where the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs welcomes me.
A bag of ice is waiting for me next to my plate, and I grumble a quick ‘thank you’ before digging into my breakfast. I’m halfway through when my phone buzzes, announcing an incoming message. I half expect it to be from Mike or one of my other buddies—not Samuel, though, that’s for sure.
When I see Ty’s name on the screen, my heart bounces in my chest, a sudden surge of hope leaving me foolish and giddy.
Hey Grayson, this is Tyley…
I know you've been trying to reach out, but this isn't the right time for the conversation you want us to have.
After everything that went down, I need time to figure out what's going on in my head and what I want from my life. What happened between us is messed up, and I'm still too mad at you to see things in any other way than in anger and disappointment. If we're going to talk, I need to see what happened from all different angles, or else we'll only end up hating each other, and I don’t want that.
I know this sucks, and you're probably swearing at your phone right now, but that's the way it is. When I'm ready to chat, I'll let you know. This doesn't mean I'm totally shutting you out forever, or at least it doesn't mean that yet. If you start stalking me like Adam did, it’s be over for good. Until then, please respect my need for space.
My heart plummets as swiftly as it rose. I run a hand through my hair, trying to process Ty’s message. She needs time, space, and understanding – things I don’t know if I can give her despite desperately wanting to.
I should call her—tell her to hell with all that bullshit. Either she talks to me today, or we’re done. But even the most stubborn, self-centered idiot out there could guess that giving her an ultimatum would only lead to disaster.
So what now—am I supposed to wait? For how long? I’ve never been the patient sort. But if it means a second chance with Ty, maybe I can grow into one.
Those two sides are clashing inside me, fighting for control, and when the dust settles, I’m not sure which will win.
“You look like a kicked puppy. What’s gotten into you?” Tate’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I force myself to look up at him, trying to correct my expression so he won’t inquire any further.
