Jagger swings again, but it looks like he’s running on empty.
Is this my fault? I know we weren’t supposed to have sex last night, but I gave in anyway. Is it messing with him? The change in his routine? It can’t be possible. Can it? A golf ball lodges in my throat at the possibility, my eyes clouding with the memory of last night. The way he moved inside me. The way his voice turned gravelly as he said he loved me. The way I felt whole and so…at peace. Now, here I am, freaking crumbling.
This is all my fault.
Ethan charges forward, but Jagger squats at the last second, turning the table and letting Ethan’s fists scrape nothing but air while he lands a quick jab to Ethan’s side. The crowd groans in response.
Okay. Okay, maybe it’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s got this.
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
A hand finds my arm, though I can’t tear my attention from the fight. “Vi, you all right?”
“Lex, not now,” I murmur as Jagger reels back and Ethan lurches forward in an attack. Jumping into the air, his arm cocked back, Ethan slams his fist against Jagger, and I gasp again, my eyes blurring with tears.
How is this happening?
I should’ve never given in and had sex with Jagger. I should’ve told him to wait until tonight. When we could fly high from the win instead of testing fate. One more night. Why didn’t we wait one more night?
“It’s like the asshole doesn’t even know how to fight,” Roman grumbles. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
I slept with him, that’s what’s wrong.
Guilt slices through me like a wicked machete, leaving me raw and vulnerable and…I seriously might puke.
It’s only a stupid superstition. I know this. But I can’t deny what’s unfolding in front of me.
Jagger’s losing. He’s putting up a fight, sure, and to the random spectator, it might even appear he’s giving it his all, but I know him better than this. And whatever he’s doing is nothing compared to what I know he’s capable of. Not even close.
It doesn’t make any sense. Because I’ve seen Jagger fight Ethan. Not only during the first fight night, but at the coffee shop, too. And that fight? It looked nothing like the one playing out right now. At the coffee shop, Jagger was quick. Determined. His hits landed, and they landed hard. Right now? His knuckles are barely grazing Ethan. It’s like he’s swimming in molasses. So what the hell changed? I cringe as Jagger’s head jerks to the side,giving me a glimpse of the blood draining from his nose like a broken faucet.
“Jagger, fight!” I scream. Panic claws its way into my throat, making it hard to breathe as I watch helplessly from the sideline.
Raising his fists, Jagger blocks Ethan’s combo, then drops his forearms at the last second, letting Ethan slip past his defenses for a deadly blow, drawing another groan from the crowd.
“That one had to hurt,” one of Ethan’s friends yells. He throws his head back, laughing. “Fuck, we’re gonna make so much money from this. I knew Ethan had this. Woo-hoo!”
Jagger shakes his head. I don’t know if it’s an attempt to shake off Ethan’s hit, or if it’s to clear his mind and block out everything happening around him. Not that it matters. Sweeping his leg, Ethan kicks the outside of Jagger’s thigh in three quick hits until Jagger staggers toward the edge of the mat instead of delivering retribution.
He’s holding back. Jagger Harden is holding back. But why? There’s so much on the line. His brothers’ money.Hismoney. Not mine, though.
“Keep it.” He grabs my cash and folds it back into my pocket then kisses my nose.
I didn’t think much of it then. Maybe I should’ve, but I didn't. Now, it all makes sense.
He’s throwing the bet.
He’s losing on purpose.
But why?
Why would he lose on purpose?
My lungs stall as the truth hits me harder than any hit being thrown in the ring.
Because Ethan Morgan owns my childhood home, and this is the only way Jagger can win it back.
His head pivots to the side as Ethan deals another ruthless blow. Spittle flies from his mouth, flicking onto the mat in aspray of red. His pride, his business, it’s all on the line, and he’s losing…for me.
