Page 63 of Filled

Then I sit in my truck with both hands on the wheel and let myself feel. The wreckage. The relief. The thing that’s been clawing from under my skin for weeks finally set loose.

Tomorrow, the real work begins.

14

BRADY

The bite at the back of my throat means I’ve been pushing too hard for too long. My hands are taped tight, knuckles already aching, and Dante’s circling me with that patient look he gets right before he ruins somebody’s night.

“Move your feet, Brady.” Victor’s voice cuts through the fog building in my head. He’s leaning on the railing outside the cage, arms folded across his chest. “You’re flat-footed. Dante’s gonna take that knee out from under you if you keep planting like that.”

“He’s planted because he’s tired,” Cruz calls from the bench. “Boy’s been going for forty minutes.”

“Boy’s got a fight in three weeks. Tired isn’t an option in the cage.”

I dip my shoulder, slip a jab, and come back with a low kick that Dante checks with the side of his shin. The impact rattles up my leg, and I hiss through my teeth.

“Better.” Victor again. “Now stop telegraphing the cross. I saw it coming from the parking lot.”

Jonah snorts from where he’s stretching on the foam roller. “Bro, he saw it coming from the next zip code.”

“Eat my whole ass, Jonah,” I snap.

“That’s not really a Brady thing, is it?” Cruz drops his water bottle and grins, all teeth. “More of a Dakota thing I would think.”

The cage goes quiet for half a second, and I clench my jaw so hard I think I might crack a tooth.

Dakota is sitting on the apron of the second cage, legs dangling, her blonde hair pulled up in a knot that’s already coming loose. She doesn’t blush. She doesn’t look away. She just raises an eyebrow at Cruz.

I lose my footing for half a beat, and Dante’s leg sweeps up into my ribs.

“Fuck.” I stumble sideways, catching myself on the cage. The mesh bites into my forearm.

“That’s what happens when you stare at the pretty girl instead of the guy trying to put you on your back,” Dante says.

“I wasn’t?—”

“Brady.” Victor’s voice has dropped, that tone he uses when he’s going to lecture you. “Eyes on Dante. Whatever else is going on, leave it at the door. You take that distracted shit into the cage on fight night, and you’re gonna get knocked out cold. You hearing me?”

I nod. Breathe. Try not to look at her again.

I look at her again.

She’s wearing those black leggings with the rip up the side of the calf and one of Dante’s hoodies—I know it’s Dante’s because he wore it to the gym last week and at the moment it’s swallowing her shoulders. The sight of it does something dangerous in my chest.

Dante notices me noticing. His mouth tilts.

“Reset,” Victor calls. “Thirty seconds. Brady, drink some water and get your head out of your ass.”

I drop down to the apron next to Micah, peel my mouthguard out, and squirt water into my mouth like I’m trying to drown the thoughts.

“You good?” Micah asks, voice low. He’s wrapping his own hands.

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah.”