The room wasn’t anything fancy, with white walls and a simple wooden desk. To the right were a couple of hip-high bookshelves stacked with textbooks and on top were family photos. I noticed Aspen in one frame, and he was standing beside a much shorter woman, who I thought was his mother. Beside them were Nick and another woman I assumed was Aspen’s aunt. It was a nice photo, and they were all smiling.
“Just tell me what you want to say,” Fallon finally snapped, glaring. “You don’t want me to fight in the cage.”
Nick glanced up in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” Fallon slumped back in his chair, and if I hadn’t been holding his hand, I imagined he would be crossing his arms and pouting like a child. “You don’t want me to fight.”
“Stop putting words into the doctor’s mouth,” I murmured.
He shrugged. “It’s true, though. I can see it in his eyes. He’slookingfor reasons.”
“Again with the assumptions, tater tot.” I nudged him and gave him a pointed stare.
Nick sighed and rested his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together. He looked at Fallon for a long moment before smiling. “Believe it or not, Iwantyou to be part of MMA again. From what Aspen tells me, you enjoy it.”
“But?” Fallon deflated, slouching in his chair. “There’s a but.”
Nick chuckled gently. “No, there isn’t. Your test results are good, your sugar levels are stable, and I believe you’re in the right health condition to fight.”
Fallon sat up straight again and his eyes widened. “Are you fucking serious?”
Nick’s laughter doubled and he nodded. “Yes.Butyou must have regular checkups. While you can do whatever anyone else can, you need to be careful. The wrong hit to those ribs could set you back again. Overtraining with diabetes could knock you out—literally. Your life depends on regular health monitoring, and my cousin loves you. I won’t let anything happen to you, am I clear?” He pursed his lips. “Aspen will come to me and ask about you, and I will be honest with him. I want you to have a checkup once a month. No arguments. Fighting is a risk for anyone. So not only will you be getting those checkups, but I will be your doctor for your fights.”
Fallon blinked. “For my fights?”
Nick hummed in acknowledgement. “Whenever you have a match, I will be there to offer medical help. I will be checking your glucose levels before and after your match, and I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you. I’m assuming you remove your insulin pump for the fights, and however small, there’s always a chance something could take a nosedive, especially if the fight drags on for a while.”
Fallon laughed and slapped his free hand to his cheek. “I can fight.” He spun toward me. “Fuck, I can fight!”
I brought his hand up to my mouth without thinking and laid a kiss on it. “Ye can fight, tater tot.”
“Before you get too excited, there’s one more thing I want to discuss with you.” Nick cleared his throat and opened the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a business card and passed it to me. “I believe that Fallon could benefit from a support dog.”
Fallon’s smile disappeared. “What?”
“A working dog.” Nick offered him another gentle smile. “They are called diabetic alert dogs. They can smell the chemical change in your body and warn you if your blood sugar is too high. I know what you do is dangerous, but having a dog around will help. I know you don’t want a continuous glucose monitor to be in the way. If you’re training hard, the dog was the next best option to come to mind.”
“No.” Fallon shook his head. “Absolutely not. No dog.”
“Why not?” I tilted my head curiously at him after I read the name and number on the card. There was no logo or business, just a man’s given name. “It could help.”
“With what we do?” He went to stand, but I tugged him back down into the seat, which earned me a glare. “The dog would get shot or hurt, and I’m not fucking doing that, Rowen. I’m not.”
“Ye wouldn’t take it on dangerous assignments when we know it’s gonna get rough. It would mostly be for hanging around the house with ye.” I thought about my words carefully. While I was sure Nick knew what we did, I didn’t want to risk saying too much. I turned to Nick and held up the card. “Who’s this?”
“He’s a guy I know who can get you a dog quicker than going the normal way. For a wad of cash, he can have a well-trained dog to you in a couple of months.” Nick stood and clasped his hands in front of himself. “Think about it. You don’t need to rush into it, but it would really help. We could use the dog at your matches as well, in the locker room. I know you have your pump, but as you’ve learned, that’s not always the end all, be all for diabetes management.”
“Neither is a dog.” Fallon ripped his hand out of mine and shot to his feet. He offered Nick a nod. “Thanks, but no thanks, Doc. I agree to your other terms, but that’s it. See you around.” He made a dramatic exit out of Nick’s office, slamming the door.
I sighed. He was as stubborn as Cillian. I stood and shook Nick’s hand. “Thank ye. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Please do.” He chuckled. “He’s something.”
“He keeps your cousin on his toes.”
Nick’s laughter deepened. “I bet he does. I can’t wait to see how Aspen and Fallon interact at the matches. Oh, by the way, I didn’t see a kit on Fallon just now. That’s something else he should always carry. He needs a bag with insulin pens, a glucose monitor, and all the stuff that goes with them. In case something happens to that pump, he should have a backup plan.”
“I’ll remind him. I’ve seen him with one in the past.” After saying another goodbye, I left the office and the building entirely before I found Fallon waiting outside. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, pouting, as I had imagined he would’ve acted inside if I hadn’t been holding his hand.
