We enter the empty elevator, and I lean back against the wall, preparing myself to deal with the she-demon whenever she reveals herself from the shadows.
Andrew says, “Son of a bitch... you know, I heard that Dune Legends has a new sports therapist, and it was a quick hire.”
“So?” I grunt, still thinking that the name is ridiculous.
“I bet he fucking hired your ex to get into your head or to know your weaknesses. I know his coach. It’s something he’d do. Could explain why she’s here, if she’s with her fighter.”
I open my eyes, not doubting any of that. “Jesus Christ, when did MMA fighting become a soap opera?”
Andrew snickers and pats me on the back as we get off on our floor. “Oh, I’ll make it one for them. I’ll confirm my suspicions first, but you just relax and shower, man. I’ll handle the drama. Got two daughters; I’m used to it.”
I grumble and go back to the room we share. We were going to get separate ones, but the hotel booked up so early in the year that we only had the option of one of us getting to be alone.
I sit down on the bed, collecting myself.
This isn’t what I need before the fight. It was supposed to be all about Julie, not this extra shit. Now my mind is all over the place, and so is my focus. I’m a tough fucker with skin as thick as weathered leather, but everyone’s got their Achilles heel.
Mine is all the ugly stories and memories from before I moved in with Sarah.
It just throws me off, that dormant bitterness always rising in my chest. Shitty parents and toxic ass people ruined the whole first half of my life. Then Sarah almost fucking died.
Channel it.I need to channel all of this for the competition.
Maybe I just need to shower, watch something on Netflix, and turn off my phone. We’re not fighting tomorrow, but it’s the first time in years I’ve been back in the limelight.
I need to find my center.
Looking at my phone and hesitating before holding the power button, I see missed calls and texts from Andrew.
Then I see another.
She-Demon 8:49 PM:Hey, Joey. Wondering if I could talk to you tomorrow at the gala?
I leave it onreadand open up my messages for Julie, reading our conversation from the airport. A rare, genuine smile forms on my face.There’s something about her, man.
That rock that pitted in my stomach earlier—the one with Heather’s name engraved on it—sinks even fucking lower at the thought of this scaring Jules off.
What the fuck do I do? I don’t have any feelings for Heather. I’ve buried my childhood underneath a scarred part of my heart and punched my way through my teens and twenties. I hate talking about that shit.
I just wanted to fucking enjoy my time with a woman that makes things simple. That actually complements my life. How do I just casually bring up drama like this?
Get through the gala, then the fights, and deal with all of this afterward.
But, holy hell, if Heather tries to talk to Julie…
J U L I E
* * *
I constantly tossand turn that night, periodically glancing at my phone in a hopeless effort to see if Ryder—for some reason—will send a message; my screen remains bare, save for the general notifications from other apps.
Sleep finds me at some point, and I wake up around nine in the morning. After yawning and stretching, I stare at the ceiling, replaying the previous night in my mind.
Ryder actually touched the most intimate part of me. And he wantsmore. Of course, no matter how wonderful it is to relive his hands on my body, we’ve crossed a very deep line: I feel that clarity after a night of drinking and bad decisions.
As the nagging questions whip my sanity back and forth, I don’t let anything linger. There’s absolutely no desire to back off, so what’s the point in worrying?
I make coffee with the small Keurig by my mini fridge and sit next to the window, looking at Zillow for an apartment. Curiosity gets the better of me as I explore house rentals, hoping for some kind of yard space. After sipping on mediocre coffee, I send messages to a few agents.
