I walked forward to shake my opponent’s hand. His grip was firm, and he grinned, ignoring the blood on his face. “First fight?”
I shrugged. “Something like that.” It wasn’t, but it’d been over a year, and I was in hockey shape, not fighting shape.
The woman stepped back then rang a bell.
We circled each other, sizing each other up. He struck first. I dodged, following up with a jab at his ribs. It hit, just barely. We leapt back from one another. Another jab, a right hook, and then he kicked me backward, his heel slamming into my solar plexus.
Fuck!
“Idiot,” my cornerman muttered. “He’s stronger than you. Your advantage is stamina, not strength. Wear him out.”
Right.Use your fucking brain, Cole.I danced back, keeping light on my feet. My opponent lunged forward with another heavy right hook. It was too slow, too predictable. I slipped under it and hammered two quick jabs into his ribs, then a third. He grunted, stumbling back.
“There you go,” my cornerman called. “Keep moving.”
We circled again. He feinted left then came in hard with an uppercut. I twisted away, felt the air rush past my jaw, then drove my knee into his thigh. He buckled but caught himself before he went down.
Blood dripped from his nose onto the mat. His breathingwas ragged, his guard dropping with each passing second. I waited, patient, letting him burn through whatever fuel he had left.
He charged—sloppy, desperate. I sidestepped and caught him with a hook to the temple. His eyes went glassy. I caught him under the jaw, fast and clean, and his knees gave out. He hit the canvas hard.
The ref stepped in, waving his arms.
The crowd exploded. People were on their feet, screaming, money changing hands. I stood there in the center of the ring, sweat and blood dripping down my chest, my lungs burning as I waited for the relief to hit.
It didn’t come.
Eva’s face was still there—haunting even this victory with her betrayal, her lies, the way she’d looked at me when I told her exactly what I’d thought of her. My knuckles throbbed, split open and raw.
Declan caught my eye from the front row. He gave a single, approving nod then turned back to the man beside him, as if I didn’t exist now that my usefulness had ended.
The cornerman, who’d never even introduced himself, climbed down from the ropes without a word and strode back to Declan, irritation in every stiff line of his body. I grabbed my shit from the locker room, shoved my bloody hands into my jacket pockets, and walked out through the back exit.
The alley was cold, quiet except for the muffled bass from the club. I leaned against the brick wall and stared at my split knuckles, blood already drying in the creases.
I checked my phone again. Tristan hadn’t called or texted.
I’d won. Too bad it felt like losing.
The rattleof my blinds opening and the bright morning light drove a pickax into my eye. No, my skull. No, my ear.
“Get the fuck up,” a familiar voice growled. “Where the fuck is Tristan?”
I blinked, casting my mind about, trying to follow the thread of the conversation. The world felt fuzzy around the edges, reality sliding away from me like water. Why did I hurt so fucking bad this morning?
“He’s gone, and so’s your car,” Haruto continued.
I scrubbed my face, wincing at the bruise on my cheek. “He’s driving up to New York. Thinks Eva’s in the hospital.”
“You let him go alone? In this weather?”
I shook my head, confused. “What?”
“Classes are canceled until the city can plow the streets,” Haruto growled. He pulled the curtain aside, revealing a stunning winter wonderland blanketing the city.
No no no no no.I scrambled for my phone on the bedstead and called Tristan.Pick up pick up pick up pick up.My heart sank with each unanswered ring.
“Yeah?” Tristan’s voice was tired but alive.
