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Heart pounding, I nod. “I love you too, knock ‘em out, baby.”
“If I do, will you marry me?”
Eyes widening, I check his expression and realize he’s serious, his eyes full of surety. “I’ve been waiting almost two years, and this is the moment you choose to propose?”
“Can you think of one better?” The man cares absolutely nothing about outsider’s opinions at this point, and I admire him for it. I’m not quite there yet, but I love that he keeps pushing me and always will. This is the biggest of tests, and I refuse to let it cripple me. He’s pushing me the way I have him, refusing to let me lurk in the shadows. And he’s the source of the strength I need to dwell with him in the spotlight. I shake my head, smiling.
“So, Priss? Will you be my wife?”
“Marry you? Fine. One condition.”
“Name it.”
“I want KO by the sixth round.”
“Fuck, you drive a hard bargain.”
“Nah,” I scrunch my nose, “you just need a little faith.”
“I believe what I can see, and damn have you shown me.” He chucks my chin with a gloved hand before he’s whisked away toward the ring where his opponent waits.
It was a little under a sixty-second exchange, and the most exhilarating seconds of my life. High and dazed, I join the gang who’re holding my seat.
“Hey, woman!” Clarissa says, pulling me into a hug as I stand stunned, half-assed greeting them all and returning their embraces. When Troy releases me, my eyes land on Trevor, who has grown into a monster, his build similar to his brother’s when I met him. He sticks out his full bottom lip in a pout. It’s then I know Lance’s proposal was planned. I lift my shoulders in a helpless shrug and he gives me his brother’s breathtaking smile. I match it before averting my gaze back to Lance.
“He looks incredible,” Clarissa says at my side. And he does. He’s put on more muscle in the last few months. He’s a trim gladiator at this point. I’m still dumbfounded at times I’m his.
And so are others.
My reception was just as grueling as I expected it to be. The irony? Being the champ’s girlfriend got me some national attention as a dancer. The nightmare of constant ridicule turned into a sort of blessing. But it hasn’t been fun. None of it has. I’ve had to cut ties with social media. Lance forced me to turn mine over to his PR after seeing the backlash of our coupling. He’s gotten downright vicious with a few reporters despite our game plan and had to apologize publicly for addressing some comments on Twitter. He may not give a shit about what others say about him, but I’m a different story. Together we’ve been his publicist’s worst nightmare. At times, I thought I would never be able to show my face in public again. But here we are, still fighting, still standing, still us. The microphone lowers into the ring and my stomach turns as Clarissa grips my hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, in the red corner, standing six-foot-two and weighing two-hundred and twenty-four pounds, with a record of eighteen and oh, Lance ‘The Blanket’ Prescott.”
I’m already on my feet, screaming for him as he lifts his arms up and gives the crowd a short nod.
Otto is announced next, and that’s when Lance goes business. In his eyes, a determination I’ve seen countless times before. The beast is there, locked up, waiting for the gate to open. His opponent is a warrior and has an undefeated record as well. This is going to be a fight, but Lance has an edge, most of his wins being knockout, Otto’s technical.
Lance is very much the comeback kid in the ring. Heart in my throat, I’m too nervous for small talk as Clarissa leans into me.
“What’s going on in your head right now, girl?”
“It’s just…nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
I turn and give her a smile. “This is going to be good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The first bell rings, and Lance comes out last, light on his feet, his movements drawing Otto in, who misses his first throw. Lance begins his dance, his head bobbing, his muscular legs shifting easily from one foot to the next. I’ve never seen him so fluid, so confident. It’s been months since his last fight, but I can’t believe how much he’s grown in just that short amount of time. I’m in utter awe as I watch him handle himself in the ring with the two-time champ.
Lance lands a one-two combo dizzying Otto, and shortly after Otto lands his first punch. The camera pans in on Lance’s face at that exact moment, and when Lance smiles around his mouthguard, the crowd goes apeshit.
“He’s playing with him,” Clarissa says in shock and awe. “This guy is toast.”
“Easy, killer,” I say, looking on in a daze as Lance dominates the first round. He’s fighting a two-time heavyweight champion and making it look like a day in the park. I couldn’t be more stunned. Otto seems…intimidated, his posture as weary as his expression. It’s as if Lance has broken some barrier within himself and we’re all bearing witness to it.
