“Oh,” I exhale.
I wonder if this potentially being Nico’s last fight was the reason for the knockout. And then I wonder if he’s told his family about wanting to retire. Glancing at Alexander, I decide not to say anything just in case he hasn’t.
When my focus shifts back to the TV, Nico’s being interviewed by one of the announcers. He’s grinning, visibly invigorated by his victory, and the crowdloveshim. As much as Nico might feel like he fell into this career, it’s clear that he was meant for it.
The next ten minutes are a blur. There’s an interview, some pictures being taken, then the camera follows Nico’s departure from the cage and his walk through the arena. I’m still staring blankly at the TV when it transitions to the announcers talking about the next fight.
But then the door to the locker room slams open. And Nico’s here.
He stops in the doorway when my eyes lock on his. He’s grinning, practically vibrating with excitement, and I can see in his gaze and brightened expression that he’s happy I’m here. That he wants to pull me to him.
And yet, he still lets me make the first move. “Hey, Red,” he says fondly. “You made it.”
My vision blurs, and I let out a teary laugh as I rush toward him to throw my arms around his neck.
“Baby,” he murmurs, so only I can hear. When he brushes a soothing hand down my hair, I squeeze him tighter. “Why are you crying?”
I pull back to look at him, my hands reaching for his face to confirm there are no injuries. “Because that was really scary,” I admit with a laugh. “Are you okay? Is anything hurt? Why onearthwould someone do this to themselves?”
Chuckles rumble around us, and I become suddenly aware of our surroundings. Nico’s coaches and teammates have stepped into the room.
My face heats as I step back, but Nico grabs my hand before I can get too far.
I secretly love it.
“Good fight, Nico,” Alexander says, stepping forward to extend his hand for a fist bump. “The takedown was nice.”
Then his parents walk through the door, his mom rushing toward him for a hug. Begrudgingly, Nico lets my hand go to embrace her.
“Oh, honey, congratulations,” she says warmly, joy radiating off of her. “That was incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
The sentiment isn’t aimed at me, but evenIfeel how much she genuinely means it.
What must it feel like to have a parent say that? And mean it?
As if she hears my internal thoughts, his mom looks at me and smiles. “Thank you for coming tonight. I can only imagine how much your support helps him during his fight camp.”
And yeah, the sentiment hits hard. I don’t have enough breath to respond, so I just give her a smile and turn toward Nico.
He’s watching me, his heart on his sleeve. I can read every thought on his face.
Which only makes it harder to breathe. Because I think I might feel the same way.
“—yeah, I’ll tell him. You got it.”
We all turn toward the new voice and see a handsome man in a very sharp suit stepping into the room. He slides his phone into his pocket and looks at Nico.
“Good news, little brother, it looks like— Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we had company.” When he notices me, a charming smile curves his lips. He steps forward and smoothly reaches for my hand, his mischievous eyes never leaving mine as he lifts it to his lips.
Before he can say anything, I quirk an eyebrow and say dryly, “You must be Lucas.”
Again, the whole room laughs. But Lucas doesn’t seem offended. On the contrary: he seems pleased. And when Nico wraps an arm around my waist to pull me against his side, his expression shifts to amused.
“And you must be the lovely Scarlett,” he says, stepping back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Does this mean you’ll be joining us at the afterparty?”
Frowning, I turn toward Nico. “Afterparty?”
Nico just smiles and shakes his head. “It’s not what it sounds like. It’s just a tradition we have for after my fights. The whole family goes out to eat at whatever restaurant is still open—usually a pub—and we gorge ourselves on food and drinks.” I canhear the uncertainty in his voice when he asks, “Will you come with us?”
