Fighter's Kiss: An enemies-to-lovers MMA romance (Irish Kiss Book 3), page 25
“If you could please come as soon as possible, Ms Moore,” the woman insisted.
His wife?
He listed me as his wife?
My mind clung to this question because the alternative was a question I couldn’t bear to ask—was he alive?
My fingers were numb as the woman’s voice drifted farther and farther away.
“Hello?” I heard as if a faint echo down a long tunnel. “Ms Moore? Are you still there?”
I stared blindly at the black smoke coming from the burning bacon.
Oisin slipped the cell phone from my loose grip and placed it against his own ear. “Hi, yes, can you tell me what happened?” he said, his fear obvious. “Is he all right? Is he alive?”
I winced. No. I couldn’t think about that. I focused again on the fact that he listed me as his kin. It was easier. It was safer. My mind was doing what I always did—I ran.
“River, River, we have to go,” Oisin said, holding the phone away from his ear.
“What happened?” I asked as panic started to give my body an unwelcome jolt. I wanted the numbness back. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to hurt.
“They can’t tell us anything over the phone. We have to get to the ER.”
“What happened, Oisin?” I asked, turning to him with tears already pooling in my eyes, nails cutting half-moons in my palms. “What happened?”
Oisin had already hung up. He grabbed his coat and mine along with his keys before hurrying back to me and offering his hand to me.
“I don’t know, darling,” he said as tugged me to my feet. “They won’t tell me. We have to go.”
Oisin’s fingers in mine was the only thing that got me out of the cottage, down the lane, and into his car. If it weren’t for him, I would be a shaking mess on the floor of his kitchen.
“Oh, my God!” I gasped in the passenger seat as he floored it down the muddy country road. “Oh my God, Oisin, I just left. I just left him without saying anything.”
Oisin tried to comfort me by running his hand up and down my arm as the engine whined in protest at the speed. But I was far past being able to be comforted.
“I was just mad,” I said, struggling to breathe as I rocked forward and back. “But—but—but—fuck, I can’t breathe.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and my mind went immediately back to Declan’s face just before I turned and walked away. His eyes were calling out to me and I knew it. I fucking knew it.
And I walked away.
“What if that was the last time?” I cried, nearing hysterics. “What if that was my last chance to hold him and I fucking walked away?”
The drive to the hospital was agony.
I feared it was nothing compared to the pain I’d feel forever if Declan was—if he was…
I couldn’t say it.
I wouldn’t say it.
Why did I walk away?
Declan
I winced at the flash of the light and irritably shoved the doctor’s hand away to stop him from tugging at my eyelid. A low growl and a dark glare were all it took to keep him from trying to touch me again. We both already knew the obvious truth: I had a concussion. On my very first goddamn practice spar since the accident…
He’d been one of the up-and-coming fighters who’d trained at one of my gyms. At least he’d have a story to tell about how he knocked out the World number 1…ex-number 1, I reminded myself bitterly. Soon to be again number 1, I echoed in my head like a chant.
“I told you,” I grumbled, sagging forward on the edge of the exam table with a sigh and resting my elbows on my knees so I could rub at my pounding temples. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” the doctor said.
I stared up at the ceiling to avoid that frown of concern that was the exact same frown of concern as the semi-circle of doctors who trapped me in that bed that night after the accident. The glare of those unnatural phosphorescent bulbs and the rows of water-stained squares above me were exactly the same as the ones I stared at for days in my prison of agony, so I dropped my head to stare at the floor instead.
I couldn’t escape. No matter where I looked—I couldn’t escape it.
That grey speckled linoleum between my legs was the same. The wires and cords, like a pit of snakes, inches from my toes were the same. The stark white sheets, whiter than any corpse could ever be, that hung from the bed were the same, the exact fucking same.
Memories of being trapped in that car flooded my mind…smoke searing my eyes, tightening my throat, burning my lungs. The heart rate on the monitor next to me leaped as I felt that panic again. I was trapped.
I was fucking trapped.
In the hospital room, I clenched my eyes closed so tightly that it hurt. The darkness did nothing for the sounds that brought me right back to the night of the accident. The harsh beep of machines, the low whispers of nurses passing in the halls, the clang of metal tools on metal stands.
I tried covering my ears with my hands, but a memory just grew louder and louder. It wasn’t from my accident. It was earlier. Much earlier.
“I fell.”
The doctor’s thumb pressed at the bruises along my ribcage as I tried not to breathe to avoid the stabbing knives.
“I fell.”
I shook my head as the fear consumed me. The whispers, the beeps, the frowns. Louder and louder.
“I fell. That’s all. I just fell. It was my fault. I swear I just fell.”
He was going to be mad. He was going to be so mad.
“I fell.”
A cold hand grabbed my arm and I jerked back, chest heaving.
The doctor, a needle in one gloved hand, stepped back at the sight of my raised fist. “I’m just going to give you something to calm you down,” he said in a voice I knew was meant to soothe.
They all used that same fucking voice; it gave me the same terrified tremors.
“We want to help.”
They only made it worse. Far worse. I shuddered when I remembered my father closing the door slowly, so slowly, after we got home from the hospital, his dark eyes narrowed on me.
“I told them I fell.”
It did no good.
“Get that feckin’ thing away from me,” I said to the doctor. I only lowered my fist when he finally sighed and dropped the needle into the neon-orange disposal bin.
“Look,” the doctor said as he sagged into the same chair as before and crossed his arms. “You’re obviously on edge. I suspect we can add sleep deprivation and anxiety attacks to the diagnosis here today. But I need you to hear what I’m about to say, alright, Mr Gallagher?”
I didn’t have time for this. How much training time had I already lost with this trip to the hospital? I told Seamus when I came to that I was grand. I’m grand.
I’m grand.
“Is there some form you need to sign or can I just leave now?” I asked as I tried to stand.
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over me. The doctor rushed to grab my arm to steady me as I stumbled back to the exam table. The hammers in my head went into overtime on my skull and black dots appeared in my blurry vision. I was trapped.
“Mr Gallagher,” the doctor bent over so he was face to face with me as I tried not to gag, “I believe your condition is far more serious than you take it to be.”
I barely heard his words. I needed to get out of there. “Bollocks. It’s a bump on the head, Doc.” I attempted a casual tone, but it was undercut when I ducked my head from the harsh light. “I’m a fighter. It’s kind of in the job description.”
The doctor rubbed tiredly at his eyes underneath his glasses. “Does the job description include brain trauma, Mr Gallagher?” he asked. “What about death?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, glancing at the door next to the window overlooking the hall and the nurses’ station.
“I’ve looked at your MRIs,” he said slowly. “If you sustain another hit like you did today, I’m afraid there is a very substantial chance of both of those things, Mr Gallagher.”
Blinking against the harsh light, I stared at the doctor. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you can’t fight.”
I laughed and immediately regretted it as pain erupted in my head. “Good thing that’s not up to you,” I said with a wink.
I again pushed myself to my feet and leaned against the table, waiting for the nausea to pass so I could leave.
“I’m afraid it is up to me, Mr Gallagher,” he said.
The doctor’s voice was soft, but I heard him crystal clear even over those goddamn hammers. I took a wobbling step toward him that was meant to be threatening but failed when I was forced to reach out to the counter to steady myself. “What the fuck did you say?”
The doctor avoided my eyes as he fidgeted with his pen. “You need doctor’s approval to compete,” he explained. “And I can’t, in good conscience, Mr Gallagher, give that, knowing what I know about your health.”
I shook my head as I tried to comprehend what he was saying. “But I’m a fighter,” I said, eyes darting across the grey linoleum that was always the same, always the same. “I’m a fighter.”
The doctor gave me a soft smile. “You were a fighter, Mr Gallagher.”
I was trapped. The beeping. The wires. The goddamn phosphorescent lightbulbs darkened only by the trapped moths. I was one of those moths. I was one of those fucking moths.
My heart began to race painfully when the door to the hospital room suddenly opened and I heard my name like a lighthouse in the dark.
“Declan!”
River rushed into my arms and we crashed together back to the exam table. She squeezed me tight, and all it took was one inhale of her lavender shampoo to escape—escape the sterile room, the haunting memories, escape the fear that was dragging me down deeper, deeper, deeper into a cage of darkness.
Tears stained her cheeks and her eyes were red and puffy when she pulled herself back and looked me over. “Are you hurt?” she asked worriedly. “Baby, they called and I was terrified because we fought and I walked away without saying anything and what if that was the last time and—” She broke down crying.
I grabbed her quivering chin. “River, I’m grand,” I said with a gentle smile. “I’m grand.” Over her shoulder, I saw the doctor’s obvious disapproval.
“Are you sure?” River sniffled. “They said it was bad. On the phone they said it was really bad.” She looked up into my eyes, searching for the truth.
I laughed casually and pulled her tight to my chest, running my hands up and down her back. “They were just being cautious,” I told her while staring down the doctor. “I got knocked about a bit in practice and they just wanted to be cautious. I’m all cleared.”
The doctor stood and opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly interrupted him.
“I’m grand.”
He looked between me and River in my arms before sighing in defeat. “I’ll give you two some time alone then,” he said, heading toward the door.
“Thanks for everything, Doc.”
He shook his head as he closed the door behind him. I was fighter. That was what I was. No one would take that from me. Not even goddamn Death himself.
“Declan, you have no idea how terrified I was,” River whispered against my chest. Her fingers shook as she clung to me as if she wasn’t certain that I was truly there in flesh and blood. She peered up at me with those wide, sweet eyes beneath eyelashes dotted with tears…more beautiful than the dew-dotted blades of grass in the quiet, mist-filled glen just north of the manor. “I shouldn’t have left like that, I shouldn’t have—”
“River.”
“I never want to leave like that again,” she continued, tears streaming down her face. “I never, never want to—”
“River.”
“I could have lost you and—”
“River, you could use braces.”
That did the trick. River blinked slowly as she stared up at me, her mouth frozen open with half a word forever unspoken. A small frown tugged her eyebrows together.
I tried not to smile at how adorable it made her look.
“Huh?” she asked.
“There’s a small gap between your two front teeth,” I said, lifting her up easily by the waist and setting her on my lap as she continued staring at me in bewilderment. “And you’re going to get wrinkles, you know?”
“Wrinkles?”
I nodded. “When you smile, you scrunch your nose, so you’ll definitely get wrinkles here.” I pointed to each place on her face. “And because you smile all the goddamn time, you’re definitely going to get lines around these lips here and around these eyes here.”
As my thumb trailed along her cheek, I wiped away as many of her tears as I could. I wanted to erase them all. I wanted to take them all away. I wanted to believe they weren’t because of me. But they were because of me.
I had to make things right.
“You drink red wine and coffee like they’re not making any more of it,” I said.
River frowned. “You want me to stop drinking red wine?”
I smiled and shook my head. “No. I want you to have all the red wine in the world. I want you to have red wine from Argentina and Spain and California. And I want to go there with you. I want to see everything with you, taste everything with you, experience everything with you because you’re you, River. You’re completely and utterly you and no one else is like you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
I tucked a stray curl behind her ear and cupped the back of her neck. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry, baby,” I said. “Trying badly.”
“Go on then.” River placed her gentle, petite hands on my chest and looked at me as she waited.
“I was wrong. Your smile is nothing like hers,” I whispered. “You are nothing like her. I said it because I was tired and angry and a feckin’ eejit.”
The corners of her lips tipped up. There it was…that smile.
“I mean, look at you,” I said. “That smile is nothing like anyone’s. Not even close.”
She grinned. “Even with the gap between my teeth?”
“Especially because of the gap between your teeth.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And the red wine and coffee stains?”
“Perfection.”
River laughed as she wiggled closer to me on my lap. “What about when those wrinkles come in?” she asked as she ran her fingers down the sides of my face. “What about then?”
My fingers tightened on her back. “I’ll love each one more than the last,” I answered truthfully. “Because each one will mean you’re still smiling. And that’s all I want, River. I want you to smile.”
She leaned in, her hair falling down to curtain us from the world, and her eyes fluttered closed as she tenderly pressed her lips to mine.
We kissed and everything fell away.
The sterile, bare, stark-white hospital room walls collapsed.
The metal frame of that burning, mangled car disappeared.
The mesh link sides of the cage rattling with the cheers of the crowd fell, and I was no longer trapped.
I was free.
Declan
My finger traced constellations across the light freckles that dotted River’s back. The stars, so bright, so sparkling, so dazzling in the sky outside my bedroom window held no appeal for me when she was beside me. If I never saw the North Star ever again, I would be fine, knowing I had her body to guide my way.
River sighed in her sleep and nestled closer to me beneath the sheets. Her soft, steady breath was like a metronome for me, keeping time when all the clocks in the room seemed to spin, spin, spin. Staring down at her sweet face, I gently pushed a curl from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
After a moment of peace and tranquillity, I glanced over at my nightstand and the bottle of pain medication pills the doctor prescribed when I was discharged from the hospital to help me sleep. But the dull throbbing in my head wasn’t the reason I was still awake at that late hour, despite the exhaustion that weighed down my eyelids as if tied to boulders.
It was guilt.
It was guilt that ate at my stomach, made my legs restless, and buzzed like a thousand bees in my head.
I should tell her. I should tell her what the doctor said.
You’re lying to her. You’re keeping secrets from the woman you love.
She’ll find out. You should tell her the doctor’s prognosis before she finds out from someone else.
Lies...secrets...lies...secrets...lies...lies...lies...
I knew why, of course. I knew why I was hesitant, fearful even, to tell River about the true seriousness of my injury and the potential danger of stepping back into the cage to fight Dominic. I knew why I didn’t open my mouth.
It wasn’t because I thought she would try to convince me not to risk my health, my life; I knew she would. I knew with absolute certainty that she would. I didn’t tell River, not because I knew she would try to convince me, but because I knew I would listen.
I would step away from the cage. I would walk away from the challenge of my greatest rival. I would leave my title, the title I deserved, the title I earned, in the hands of another.
I was a fighter. All I’d ever known was fighting. Who would I be without my fists? What would be left when my entire identity was stripped away?
What would be left for her to love?
Who would be left for River to love?
Closing my eyes, I focused on the sound of her breathing and told myself I didn’t need the roar of a crowd when I had those tiniest of exhales from the pinkest of lips. I laid my palm against the small of her back and told myself that there was no need for the pain of knuckles against jawbone when I had the pleasure of warm, soft skin that goose bumped so deliciously at the faintest of touches. I told myself I didn’t need a title when I had her.
She was right there, right there beside me.
But for how long?
The voice snuck up on me like a king punch from behind, the most brutal act of violence. I tried to shove away the image of River and Niall emerging together from the forest, smiling, laughing, and whispering lovers’ secrets. I’d overreacted. I was tired, that was all. River wouldn’t do that to me. She wasn’t Giselle. She wasn’t Giselle. River was not Giselle.
