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“No,” I confess.
“His competition tonight is tough, but he’s been training like a beast. Try not to scream if you see blood.”
“I’m not squeamish,” I lie.
“Oh my god!”I dig my nails into Austin’s arm, and he grunts, but I can’t even bring myself to apologize after Dylan just got punched so hard in the face his mouthpiece flew out.
“He’s okay, princess,” Brady says. “He’s still in the fight.”
The ref waits for Dylan and his opponent to finish a quick break before restarting the fight. Dylan dances to the left when the guy throws a punch, but he catches a foot to the ribs.
Covering my face, I shake my head, as though to dispel the memory of Dylan taking hits. “I can’t watch.”
“He’s okay,” Austin says, echoing Brady’s reassurance. “He’ll be disappointed if you don’t see him come back.” Ever so gently, he tugs my hand away from my face, lacing his fingers through mine.
The first round ends with Dylan taking a few more hits. My stomach is in knots, but when he glances in my direction and gives me a smile, sweat dripping down his face, I take a breath. He does this all the time. It’ll be fine.
Brady’s arm brushes mine and I glance at him. He studies my face for a second before shaking his head and looking away. Whatever. My brain literally can’t worry about what Brady is thinking when I’m so freaked out about Dylan getting hit.
When the second round begins, I brace myself for more of the same, but it’s like a switch flipped. Instead of dodging punches, Dylan attacks. He’s so fast. His punches hit hard, so hard that his opponent stumbles more than a few times. Dylan doesn’t stop to breathe. Doesn’t give the other guy a chance to recover. His attack is vicious and relentless, and soon enough, he has his opponent on the ground.
Dylan is on top of him in a matter of seconds, pulling some ground move that has to break bones. The other guy screams but does some crazy maneuver that breaks Dylan’s hold. Giving him space, Dylan retreats to his corner and his eyes find mine again. They’re sparkling with delight, and he arches an eyebrow, as if to say,What? You thought I’d let him win?
The next two rounds, Dylan toys with the guy, like a cat playing with a mouse. I know it. The crowd knows it. And his opponent, while still putting up a good fight, seems to know it too. The guy’s jabs grow wilder, more desperate, with each passing round, until he’s too exhausted to do a good job defending himself in the last round.
Dylan corners him and, with one brutal hit, knocks the guy off his feet. Screams and cheering erupt from the stands. I cup my hands around my mouth and cheer for him, along with Brady and Austin, as he’s dubbed the victor. My heart is pounding, no longer in fear but exhilaration.
He won! Dylan won!
There are still a few fights left, but Austin nudges me, jutting his chin toward Brady, who is making his way out of the auditorium. We find Dylan talking to a pretty reporter, who is standing a little too close. My hackles rise and Brady’s hand clutches my wrist, like he expects me to claw her eyes out. I shoot him a nasty look and wrench my arm away.
Dylan catches the movement and leaves the reporter with a frown on her face. He jogs over to us, sweaty as hell, and before I can stop him, he grabs me and pulls me into a hug. It should be disgusting. I should pull away. But I keep finding myself ignoring reason, more often than I care to admit. I laugh and wiggle in his hold but don’t actually try to escape.
“Were you scared for me?”
“No.” I push at his chest.
He gives me a few inches but keeps me captive in his hold as he stares down at me. “Liar. I heard you scream.”
“You got hit!”
“Hardly,” he says with a scoff. “But I appreciate your concern.”
“You could have knocked him out in round three,” Brady interjects.
Right. Brady is here. Not wanting any more shit from him than I already get, I wrangle myself from Dylan’s hold. Dylan’s eyes track me as I take a few steps back.
He winks at me before responding to Brady. “It was foreplay.”
Austin chuckles. “Well, he’s primed and ready now. You kicked his ass.”
“It would’ve been smarter to knock him out sooner.” Brady crosses his arms over his chest. “You got cocky.”
Dylan’s features darken, and I unwittingly step between him and Brady. The youngest brother gives me a curious look, but since I’m already here, I might as well make it count. I whirl around to face the oldest. Brady is scowling at me like I’m scum on the bottom of his shoes, and his eyes cut through me like a serrated knife, leaving behind jagged scars on my soul.
“Don’t ruin Dylan’s moment.” I put a hand on my hip. “You’re being a jerk for no reason, and it’s honestly pretty messed up and rude.”
Silence settles between the four of us. Austin glances between me and Brady, like he’s waiting for the moment when he has to jump in to protect me. Brady’s mouth is half-open, but he’s speechless for once in his life.
