One of them stumbles, bumping into a woman nearby, and she yells in protest. The commotion makes its way to the aisle, so I try to step out of the way, but one of the men shoves the other and sends him stumbling forward. Before I can react, the guy hurtles into me, knocking me backward. My head smacks the edge of the chair behind me. Pain explodes in my skull. It’s so sharp, it’s practically blinding.
The world tilts and spins around me.
I hear shouting, and feel hands trying to steady me, but it’s all distant, like I’m underwater. My vision blurs. The edges darken like an old photograph.
The last thing I see before everything fades is the concerned face of a stranger leaning over me, their mouth moving with words I can’t hear.
And then…nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BASH
In those momentsConnor was choking me out, all I could think was that my parents were right. Everyone who left a mean comment about me on social media was right too.
I can’t do it.
But then I caught sight of Romilly’s alarmed face, and I knew I couldn’t let down the one woman who actually came to support me.
If I lost, all my hard work would be for nothing. The six days a week I spent training in the early hours of the morning before work with Romilly would be wasted. No sponsors would take a chance on me.
This is it,Bash, I thought.You’re finished.
So I did the only thing left I could.
I prayed. I asked God to give me the strength to win if He wanted me to. And then I somehow hooked my fingers between my neck and Connor’s grip.
Now, I look for Romilly’s face among the cheers of the crowd as I stand in the center of the ring.
She should still be right up front. Where did she go?
Sweat is dripping down my back, and my muscles are aching from the fight, but I don’t care. All I can hear is the thrum of my own pulse in my ears, the roar of the audience, and the aftershock of adrenaline still crackling through my veins.
Victory. I’ve done it.
Take that, social media.
Even though it’s only happened once before, winning is becoming a familiar taste. That, and the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
I wonder if my parents are watching me now, streaming the fight by some miracle. If they’re home in our ornate living room in Woollahra, judging my life choices. If they’re even watching at all.
It’s not even about money anymore; it’s about them accepting me as their son, despite choosing fighting over running their business. Maybe, just maybe, they’re proud for once. I know it’s a stretch, but I can’t help but hope, because here I am proving myself.
I’ve won a second time.
And it feels good. So good. For now, I’m merely basking in the crowd’s cheers, the flashes from the cameras, and the fistful of praise I’m about to get from the press. But I know none of it would matter if it weren’t forher. And now, I desperately wish she were up here with me, by my side instead of the ring girls.
I want Romilly.
Even though I haven’t found her yet, the thought of her watching in the audience makes nerves rattle through my body. It’s all I can think about as the announcer’s voice crackles through the loudspeakers. “And your winner tonight, the undefeated Bash the Smasher!”
The crowd goes wild, chanting on repeat, “Sebastian Black bashes back!”
I lift my fist and give them the cocky grin I know they’ll eat up. But all the while, my gaze darts around the crowd for Romilly.
As a reporter approaches me, I force the grin to remain on my face. He holds the mic out to me, and my body is buzzing. But my mind? It’s already halfway to her. I need to find her, but first, I need to get through this post-fight interview.
The interviewer starts by asking, “How does it feel to take home the win tonight?”
