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Agony. Pure, unadulterated agony.
My whole leg felt like it was going to explode. Lightning shot through my muscles, threatening to splinter my bones. It was all I could do but collapse onto the mat, unable to keep my balance or my composure.
McConnell was on top of me, slamming his fists down against the sides of my face. I brought my arms up to cover my head for protection, but I had no time to recover. I couldn’t tell up from down, left from right. He even went after my bad shoulder, but I didn’t dare cry out. I couldn’t give the referee an excuse to call the match.
I refused to walk away without my victory.
The bell saved me.
Dylan helped me sit up on the stool he brought from the cage side. “Holy shit, dude. Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”
I swatted his hand away. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“You don’tlookfine. Why did Bob say to go after your knee?”
“Because I—” I exhaled through gritted teeth. “It’s bad, Dyl. Real bad. My knee’s been killing me for ages. I made the mistake of telling Bob, but that was before he ditched us. Didn’t think he’d stoop that low.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dylan demanded. “Why would you keep something like that a secret?”
“You know why.”
He sighed. If Bob had still been my coach, he would have told me to suck it up and quit being a whiny baby. But Dylan wasn’t Bob. I trusted Bob as far as I could throw him.
Dylan, I trusted with my life.
“You’re going to have to tough it out for me,” he said. “And then after you win, I’m taking you to a doctor. Keep your weight off your bad leg and find a way to finish this. Knock him out as soon as you can. Don’t let this drag on to the fifth round.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“Julia’s here.”
I perked up. “What?”
“She’s upstairs with Patrick in a private suite. He just texted me. She says to kick his ass.”
I wasn’t sure if Dylan was lying for my sake or not. Either way, it helped. The knowledge that Julia might be here somewhere, cheering me on from a distance, was all the motivation I needed. I’d come this far and talked a big game. It was time to make good on all my promises.
The moment the fourth round started, I showed no mercy.
Yes, I was in pain.
Yes, I’d taken a beating.
But I wanted to win more than I wanted to complain.
McConnell’s moves were predictable and dragging. He was getting tired while I found my second wind. I threw a jab, a cross, and then came at him with a roundhouse. He clumsily telegraphed which direction he was going to move to get out of the way.
So I struck, nailing him on the side of the head with all the strength I could muster.
He went down with a hard slam, out like a light.
I flipped Bob off with a bloody smirk.
Victory tasted a lot like copper.
