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“Who’s making you sad?” he asked then, voice slurred and sleepy. “Tell me, baby.”
“Nobody, Johnny.”
“You lie and it hurts my heart,” he groaned, tightening his hold on me. “All those marks. It hurts when I know someone’s hurting my Shannon.”
“Johnny—”
“Who’s hurting you, baby?” he slurred sleepily. He yawned loudly and then sighed. “I’ll fix it.”
“It’s a secret,” I breathed, feeling my body shake.
“I won’t tell,” he whispered.
Inhaling a trembling breath, I clenched my eyes shut and pressed my lips to his ear. “My father.”
I waited several beats for him to say something. He didn’t. When I opened my eyes and looked at his face, I realized why.
Johnny was asleep.
67Plan B
JOHNNY
Everything hurt.
My balls. My legs. My dick. My head.
I felt like I had been mowed over by a freight train.
There was pressure on my chest. Something wasn’t right. And I could smell coconuts?
And then I remembered.
It was over. All my hard work. All the years of relentless, grueling training sessions had been for nothing. Because my body quit on me.
And now I was broken.
Jerking awake, I snapped my eyes open, feeling panicked and close to the edge of a nervous breakdown. For a few moments, I stared at the ceiling, just absorbing the devastation washing through my heart like a tidal wave of destruction. Inhaling several deep breaths, I moved to sit up, only to flop back down when I noticed the small frame curled up on the bed beside me.
Holy shit.
“Shannon?”
“Hmm?”
“Shannon,” I croaked out, nudging her with my hand. “Wake up.”
Yawning quietly, she crept out from where she had been nestled in the crook of my arm.
“You’re awake,” she said, smiling down at me.
I nodded warily.
“You remember where you are?”
I nodded again.
“Do you remember the match?”
