Hot tears pour from my eyes, soaking the red of my dress, turning it darker. God, I fucking hate this dress and this color.
But Jensen’s back on his feet, unfazed save for the blood. A long, sharp whistle splits over the crowd, and both men relax, backing up to their corners. Thank God, a moment to breathe. Jensen returns to his corner. Brothers is waiting, holding out a crushed water bottle. Jensen takes it, drinking then spattering the rest over his head. He shakes like a dog, eyes squeezed shut.
That had to hurt.
Leland is doing a loop, pacing the side of the cage closest to me. Our eyes meet, and the corner of his mouth turns up.
Got him, he says without speaking.
My hands are cold, and I can’t move. Leland turns his back to me, running his hands over his face to clear the sweat. I look past him, watching Jensen talk with Brothers in the far corner. Brothers is touching his temple with a balled up rag, talking earnestly, while Jensen is listening, nodding.
The referee whistles, tapping his wrist. Jensen pulls back from Brothers and starts circling to the center of his side. Leland shakes his shoulders out again. They’re both glistening with sweat, but to my untrained eye, it seems like Jensen is less fatigued. Or maybe that’s just me hoping too much.
The whistle blows. Round two.
This time, Jensen goes right on defense. Leland, clearly bolstered by the sight of blood, is more aggressive. He’s moving in, swinging,darting back out, but Jensen is holding his own, battering him back while barely making contact.
They do this for what feels like forever.
What is Jensen doing?
Back in Montana, I saw him drop both those fighters like it was nothing. If he really wanted to, he could do some damage to Leland, but he’s doing everything he can to not take or throw a punch.
The whistle blows. They part, shoulders sagging.
This time, when Leland goes to his corner, he’s winded. Our eyes meet, and I still shrink back, but it’s a small victory that he’s struggling to catch his breath. Jensen has his back to me, tired but more collected than Leland.
The referee whistles. They walk back in.
Jensen cracks his neck. Leland’s fists go up fast. In a second, they’re back at it, sidestepping and sparring in the center. I lean closer, going as far as the first step. The bodyguards move in, encircling me, but I ignore them.
Leland is wearing down.
The crowd is turning on them. They want blood, not a boxing match. People hang over the edge, arms between the spikes as they beat on the cage in a driving rhythm. I swear, it’s matching the swift pump of my blood in my ears.
It hits me all at once. Of course, how did I not see it? I’m so terrified, I can’t think straight.
He’s buying time for Kayleigh to get Landis out.
My lower lip trembles.
If I get out of this, I’m going to marry this man. I’m going to make sure he wakes up to a fresh cup of coffee and a blowjob every morning for the rest of his life.
He didn’t need to help me. His life was fine in Montana. But he hauled himself to the other side of the country, faced down his demons, and now he’s cage fighting my piece of shit ex-husband so I have a shot at getting my son back. Flowers and diamonds can go to hell. This is the most romantic thing anybody has ever done in all of history.
Everything goes still.
The crowd is a million miles away.
Jensen Childress loves me.
Maybe he’s not good with his words, and he’s pretty prickly sometimes, but his actions are loud and clear, and they have been for a while. I think he’s been in love with me since the beginning—he’s just too damn stubborn to acknowledge it.
Crack.
I blink, the cage coming into focus. Leland stumbles backward, and Jensen sprints to the side. Crimson streams down the side of Leland’s neck—Jensen made contact good and hard this time. Hope rises.
Please, finish him off.
