Page 37

“How do you survive that?”

“By realizing the love he offered had conditions attached. Conditional love is just manipulation in a nice wrapper.” Micah turns fully toward me. The mattress creaks under his shifting weight. “I spent years learning to be proud of the man I am. Learning to stand in the light instead of shivering in the dark. Theo helped. Victor helped. But ultimately, you have to decide your own life is worth more than someone else’s comfort.”

He cups my jaw. I remember what these hands felt like in the cage. Now he’s careful with me, and somehow that’s harder to take.

“It doesn’t happen overnight.” Micah traces the line of my cheekbone with his thumb. “But it does happen. If you let it.”

I lean into his touch. My eyes burn. I fight the moisture pooling in the corners, blinking hard to keep it at bay.

“I can’t be public.” The words slip out before I can stop them, a desperate plea for a lifeline. “Not right now. Not with the fight six weeks away. Jason will use it. The media will tear us both to shreds. I’m not ready for that.”

Micah studies my face. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, filling the tiny apartment. Outside, a delivery truck rattles past, shaking the windowpanes.

“I won’t be anyone’s dirty secret, Zane. I spent too much time building this life to hide in the shadows for another man’s comfort.”

The rejection stings. I pull back an inch, the instinct to isolate kicking in. If he issues an ultimatum, I will fail it. I can’t burn my life to the ground today.

Micah catches my chin, stopping my retreat instantly.

“Listen to me.” His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth. “I’m not asking you to hold a press conference. I don’t need you to walk down a red carpet holding my hand. But behind closed doors? In here?” He gestures to the small room around us. “You have to show up. No hiding. No pushing me away when the guilt gets too loud.”

He drops his hand, letting it rest on my knee.

“I’m asking you to stop running from me.”

The simplicity of the request shatters my remaining defenses. He isn’t demanding I blow up my legacy today. He is just asking me to stay. To stay when I get scared instead of making it his problem.

“The fight is in six weeks,” I point out. The reality of our profession hangs in the space between us. “We have to step into a cage and tear each other apart.”

“I know.”

“How do we do that? How do I throw a right cross at your jaw after this?”

Micah steps closer, his gaze unwavering. “You throw it with everything you have. You don’t hold back. If you pull your punches, if you hesitate for a single second because of me, I will never forgive you. We’re fighters, Zane. When the cage door closes, you are my opponent. I will do everything in my power to put you on the canvas.”

A fierce surge of respect courses through me. He isn’t asking me to compromise my career. He isn’t asking me to soften. He demands the exact opposite.

“I will break your guard,” I warn him, the competitive fire flaring back to life, mingling with the heavy current of desire.

“You can attempt it.” Micah gives me a look that makes me want to prove it. “But when the final bell rings, the fight ends. We leave it in the cage.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I can do that.” My voice sounds like a fractured rasp. “I think. I want to try.”

Micah smiles. A genuine, unguarded curve of his lips brightens the entire cramped room. I want to keep him smiling at me like that.

He leans in.

There’s no frantic desperation this time. No fighting for dominance. He touches his lips to mine with a devastating gentleness.

I freeze for a microsecond. Every kiss I’ve ever experienced involved teeth and rush, a frantic race to an end goal fueled by alcohol or denial. Micah takes his time. He traces the seam of my lips, coaxing them apart. His lips are warm, and he isn’t in a hurry.

My hands find his waist. I pull him closer, sinking into the contact. His fingers thread into my hair, guiding the angle, deepening the kiss at a pace that makes my blood hum.

It feels like a promise.

A tear escapes. It tracks hot down my cheek, soaking into the space where our mouths meet.

Nobody has kissed me like this. Like he has all morning. Like I’m worth taking his time with. I don’t know what to do with it except kiss him back.