“Mom’s new fiancée,” I reply.
His brow furrows in surprise. “I didn’t know she was even dating someone.”
“Neither did I,” I say meaningfully.
“Oh.”
We don’t mention it again, but I can’t get the situation out of my head. It has catastrophe written all over it, and I’ll be the one left trying to pick up the pieces. That’s always how it is when the Romano women get their hearts broken.
Seth checks my supplies. When an usher comes for us, Seth and Leo accompany me into the stadium. I raise my arms as the audience cheers, hoping if I put on a good game face, perhaps I’ll be able to trick my mind into focusing on what comes next. I spot a couple of pretty brunettes sitting near the aisle and wink at them. One of them blows me a kiss. Usually I’d be thinking about how I could find her later, but instead, she vanishes from my mind the second I look away.
That’s how I know I’m in a bad place.
I’m distracted. Something I never should be going into a fight.
We enter the cage, and the umpire checks my mouth guard and wraps. I stand to one side of the octagon and my opponent, a barrel of a man, stands opposite. They summon us to the center, but I don’t hear the umpire’s usual spiel about safety blah blah blah because my mind won’t settle.
I return to my side and wait until the buzzer signals the start of the first round.
My opponent moves forward, circling around me. I throw the first punch, but it isn’t as crisp as I’d like, and he evades and throws a counterstrike. My brain struggles to process his actions, and the fact that responses have been drilled into me repetitively is the only thing that saves me from getting flattened immediately.
Get your head in the fight.
I try to read his cues. To see what he’s going to do next. But then I catch sight of Mom and Kevin behind him, in the front row seats they must have reserved.
Next thing I know, I’m on the mats, in a left side arm bar. The pressure on my upper arm and shoulder is intense. I struggle to break free, but he’s pinned me well. I can’t see a way out, but I don’t want to give up either. Not so soon into the fight. It’s fucking embarrassing.
“Tap out,” he growls in my ear, deepening the pressure.
I refuse.
He tightens the hold again. Sharp pain explodes in my shoulder, and I gasp, my vision swimming.
That isn’t normal.
Something seriously bad just happened.
I think I might be sick.
My shoulder throbs, nausea churning in my gut, and reluctantly, I reach out and tap the mat. When my opponentreleases me, I clutch my arm and gaze sightlessly at the ceiling, hoping I haven’t just lost more than a single fight. This feels like the kind of injury that could ruin my career.
Chapter One
Tony
After one day of being coddled by my entire family—who have seen fit to invite themselves to move into my home temporarily—I’m yearning to be alone to suffer in silence. First, the Romano women descended on the hospitalen masseafter my injury, and then when I was discharged after an MRI scan confirmed my rotator cuff tendon had been torn, they formed a protective shield around me and haven’t given me a chance to breathe since.
My family means well. They’re doing their best to prevent me from dwelling on how this could derail my career. According to the doctor I spoke to last night, and the physiotherapist who visited earlier today, I shouldn’t train for at least two months. After that, if the tendon is healing well, I’ll be able to have a staged return to work. If it isn’t, then I might need surgery, which would mean several more months of recovery. Either way, it throws my training schedule out of whack. Best-case scenario, by the time I build myself up to fighting fitness, I will have beenout of action for five or six months. That’s a lot of time in my world.
And what do I have without training? My life has been MMA and parties for ten years.
“Tony,” Stella says, bustling into the room. She, Mom, and my other sisters have been taking turns to sit with me as though I’m an invalid while the rest of them gossip in the kitchen. Mia just left, so I knew one of the others would be here within a couple of minutes. I’m just glad it’s Stella and she’s come alone.
“What kind of Italian man has nothing more than milk, eggs, and protein powder in his kitchen?” She throws her hands up in disgust. “It’s a travesty. How am I supposed to cook for you when I have nothing to work with?”
I sigh. “Nobody asked you to cook, Stel. If we need food, I can order in. There are a couple of good places nearby that deliver.”
“Pah!” She glares at me, her hands going to her slim hips. “Don’t insult me like that. You need real food to build your strength up. I’ll send Bianca to the shop.”
