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She looks at me with tear-filled eyes. I want to hold her and kiss the pain away, the pain I caused. “Lance, I don’t ha
ve anything to say to you right now. You’re behaving just like him. What you just said hurt me, and I think we need to call it a night.”
I hang my head in defeat and close my eyes. Everything was going perfectly, and I had to fuck it up. Without saying another word, she stands and walks to the truck. She opens her own door and slams it behind her. The urge to punch something is taking over, but I won’t let her see me that way. Instead, I walk numbly to the truck and sit beside her. I stick the key into the ignition and start the engine.
“Hilary, can we talk about this, please?”
She ignores me and pulls her phone out of her purse. She rolls her eyes at the message, and I can’t help but glance over to see who it’s from. Travis—I should have known.
“Take me home. I’m done with this date, Lance. After all, I have a dick made of gold waiting for me.” She spits my words back in my face in a harsh tone.
“Are you serious? He texted you, so you’re ditching me to go fuck him?”
“What I do is my business, Lance. I’m not in high school anymore, I’m an adult. This was a date, and I said I’m done, so please bring me home.”
“I really don’t get you. I could make you feel a million times better than he ever could, and you’d never have to worry about me running around behind your back. Just get to know me better.”
She turns her head to stare out the window. I take that as my cue to begin the drive back to her house.
“Maybe you could,” she says. “But now we’ll never know.”
The ride back to her house is quiet. Guilt washes over me. I’m infuriated with myself and my actions. I finally got the one thing I want, and I already let her slip away from me. She was able to forgive me once, but I don’t think she’ll be able to do it a second time. When we arrive, I start to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Don’t, Lance. I can get out on my own. Uh, thanks…I guess. I’ll see you around.”
“Don’t go see him, Hilary. Please, just talk to me.”
“Bye, Lance.” She gets out, and hurries toward her car.
As I drive off, I see her speed away in the opposite direction. Fuck this night. It can go to hell.
Chapter 7
“Are you focused, Lance?” Howard asks me for the fifth time. I finally snap out of my thoughts and look up at him.
“Yeah, I am.”
“You’re up in a few. Did you even hear Blaize say your name?”
I’m not focused at all. I hear nothing going on around me, even though Garrett is in the ring right now fighting against Marcus Miller. Raegan and Whitney are ringside, cheering him on with every jab he throws. I’m stuck wondering whether or not Hilary was fucking with my head when she said she was got into her car. Did she go back to Travis? The crowd erupts into cheers as Garrett knocks Marcus to the ground. Marcus struggles to stay in the fight, but taps out, causing the crowd to cheer louder.
“You’re up. Get ready, and get your damn head out of your ass,” Howard yells as he throws my gloves to me.
I catch them and pull them on. Blaize’s voice fills the room as he booms, “What a hell of a match! I hope you’re ready for our next event, Lance Borel against Drake Newman.”
Again, the crowd erupts. Some chant my name, others chant Drake’s. I’ve never fought against him before, but I’ve seen him and when he’s on top of his game, he is a beast. Little does he know, I have so much pent-up aggression just begging to come out.
I think of how I tried to text Hilary at least half a dozen times, groveling like a lovesick puppy, but she never answered.
Drake makes his way to the ring, his confidence spilling over. His cheesy grin says it all. He’s badass and he knows it. He thinks he has this match in the bag.
When Blaize calls my name, I begin to bounce on the balls of my feet. This is it; I’ve got this. My grin is about as wide as Drake’s, and we lock eyes. He zeroes in on me and his grin becomes more malicious. Bring it on, motherfucker.
We shake hands as Blaize rattles off the rules. I could quote those things on any given night, but tonight my brain is going nonstop and my thoughts have absolutely nothing to do with this match.
Drake swings first, catching me completely off guard. The sweet, metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and I shake my head, aggravated. He attempts another hit, but fortunately my brain reacts, telling my hands to do their damn job. Drake sees that I’m struggling internally with something, and he’s manipulating it to his advantage. I’m not myself tonight. I was geared up, ready for one hell of a match. Ready to take my aggression out. Something has changed.
My stare leaves Drake for a split second, scanning the crowd of people who are wondering the same thing I am. Where is the Lance who kicks ass? Sweat beads profusely along my forehead and begins to stream steadily down my face. The bright lights seem to be playing tricks on me. A mere few feet from the ring stands Hilary and that dickwad Travis. His cocky smirk pisses me off, and causes me to almost forget that I’m in the middle of a fight—a fight that I’m losing.
