Fighter's Kiss: An enemies-to-lovers MMA romance (Irish Kiss Book 3), page 29
“Hello? River?” Declan asked again, a slight note of panic in his voice. “Are you there?”
In the background, I heard two more men talking over each other. “Did she answer?” “Tell her.” “Is she there? Dex? Did she answer?” “Call her again; you have to call her again.” “Don’t stop till she answers. Until you tell her.”
I heard Declan’s voice low, hushed, and closer than before to the receiver. “River, please, if you’re there,” he paused, “please, just hear me out. I can explain everything.”
He tried to hide it, but I heard it: he was begging, pleading, praying.
Huddled close to me in the kitchen, Oisin whispered loudly, “What is he saying?”
“You make sure he understands that you’re not taking any of his shite,” Joan added, jabbing an angry finger toward me. “You tell him right now. You tell him if he hurt you, I’m personally coming to chop off his balls—”
“Joan O’Sullivan!” Oisin chastised.
Again, on the other line, I heard voices prodding Declan, “What did she say?” “Did you tell her? Dex? Dex, where are you going?”
Oisin bumped Joan out of the way to move in front of me, his concerned eyes consuming my field of vision.
“What did he say?” he pressed. “Did he explain the picture?”
“Did you tell him about his balls?” Joan interjected.
“River?” Declan’s voice was soft as the other voices grew fainter. “Can it just be you and me for a minute? Just you and me.”
Without answering, I turned from Oisin and Joan to walk out of the kitchen. They called after me, wanting to know what was going on, but I kept going, leaving them behind. On the line, Declan’s echoing footsteps matched mine as I made my way down the dimly lit hallway as long streams of rain created a grey curtain against the tall windows. A door closed on his end and I turned a corner on my end. The voices around both of us faded and died. I think we both understood without putting it into words that it was just the two of us now.
I felt the way I felt when his eyes found mine in the crowd of the red carpet. I breathed deeper the way I did when it was just him and me at the overlook at the top of the hill, our shoulders brushing against one another. A stillness I’d only ever experienced in the first light of morning with Declan’s arm around me, his soft exhales warm against my back, washed over me.
I was certain Declan felt the same.
Sagging against the wall, I slid down, pulled my knees tight to my chest, and tucked them under the warm fleece of his faded sweatshirt as I waited.
“River, I know how the photograph looks,” he started. “I know what they’re writing in the papers about it, about me, about her.”
About them, I thought. About them reuniting, the perfect love story. About them fitting together. About them moving past their respective rebounds, their distractions, their temporary playthings…
“I want to be honest with you, okay?”
I nodded as if he could see me. I still couldn’t manage to speak—I still wasn’t sure I even wanted to speak.
“River, I invited Giselle over to my hotel room last night,” Declan admitted. “It was me.”
Almost before his words were even out of his mouth, I was already biting down on my pointer finger to hold back a devastated sob. I clenched my eyes shut as fresh tears, hot and stinging, slipped down my cheeks.
“I invited her over because I needed her signature.”
Opening my eyes, I stared out at the garden in the rain. “What?” I choked out.
It was the first word I’d uttered to him since our goodbye two nights before. It wasn’t exactly Shakespearean, let alone even poetic in the slightest, but for some unknown reason, Declan acted like that single word rivalled the entirety of Sonnet 18 after a prolonged moment of silence.
“Hi,” he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion.
I could almost hear the tears in his eyes, the tightness in his throat, the relieved weight in his heart.
Swallowing and leaning my head back against the wall to stare up at the intricately carved ceiling, I sighed. “Hi.”
Declan laughed softly. “It’s ridiculous how much I love the sound of your voice,” he said. “It’s completely bonkers how much I wake up every morning longing for you just to open your mouth, to say anything, to say everything. It’s mental how much I missed it the moment I left your bedroom the other night. It makes no sense, no sense at all.”
I held my cell phone to my ear with quivering fingers. I wasn’t sure if I was shaking because of fear of what Declan would say next or hope for what he might say.
“It makes no sense at all why you would love me the way you do, River,” Declan continued. “It makes no sense at all.”
“Declan…” I whispered softly in the empty grey hallway.
“But I realised yesterday that I want it, I need it,” he said. “I need that improbable, irrational, ridiculous love.”
I waited, listening, yearning.
“I realised yesterday that I need you, River.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks, but this time a smile tugging at the corners of my lips accompanied them.
“So I called Giselle over to finally have her sign the divorce papers,” he explained. “I’ve had them for a long time, but I’d never had a reason to let go. I thought my victory in the cage would finally be the reason, but it’s you. River, you’re my reason.”
I laughed a laugh of pure joy, happiness, elation.
“I’m ready to have a new life, a new start with you,” he said. “You’re all I need. I’m ready. I’m finally ready to be free. Free with you. Free because of you.”
My heart pounded when I pondered what he could mean by that—a new life…a new start…could he mean…?
“So you’re coming back?” I asked despite the lingering fear for his answer.
“Of course!” He laughed. “You’re the only place I want to be.”
I smiled. “This afternoon then?” I asked.
There was pause on the line. “What’s that?”
“This afternoon,” I repeated. “Would the jet be ready to bring you home this afternoon?”
Another pause renewed the anxiousness that made my fingers fidget.
“River, I still have the fight,” he said slowly.
I frowned. “Oh, I thought you said—”
“I have to win,” he interjected. “I have to win and then I’m coming home. Once I win we can be together, truly be together.”
I silently ran his words over and over in my mind as the rain fell and fell.
“River? Baby?”
Realising I hadn’t said anything for a while, I smiled and laughed softly. “Right, right, of course,” I said quickly. “I’ll be watching, baby.”
“I love you,” Declan whispered.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I love you, too.”
We hung up, but I couldn’t quite find the energy yet to stand. The same thought kept me frozen where I sat, shivering on the cold, hard floor, alone:
If all he needed was me, then why did he need to win?
River
In the manor’s theatre room, I was watching the pre-fight press coverage with Oisin and Joan, who thankfully was no longer gunning for Declan’s balls after I explained the misunderstanding and told her what he had hinted at. My phone rang again.
Handing the bowl of popcorn smothered with homemade salted caramel sauce to Oisin, I fished my cell phone out of my hoodie, fully expecting it to be another call from Declan.
I frowned. It wasn’t Declan, but Niall.
Joan reached for the controller to turn down the volume on the reporter at the stadium in Dublin as I answered.
“Um, Niall, hi,” I said.
Oisin lifted his eyebrow in surprise of his own as he stared at me.
“How are you?” I asked.
“River, I have to tell you something.”
The serious, urgent, worried tone in Niall’s voice immediately made me sit up and return my wine glass to the chair’s arm rest cup holder. “What’s wrong?” I asked, trying not to let my voice sound the exact same way.
On the line, Niall sighed and the longer he waited to speak, the harder and harder my heart thudded in my chest.
“Niall?” I couldn’t wait any longer; I couldn’t. “Niall, is it Declan? Is he okay?”
“Yes, yes,” Niall immediately answered. “Well, no. I mean, right now he’s all right. But—”
“But what?”
“Shite,” Niall said, “Declan’s going to murder me for this, but I thought you needed to know, or at least, that you deserved to know.”
I narrowed my eyes, suddenly adding suspicion to my anxiousness. “Know what, Niall?” I asked slowly.
Oisin turned in his chair at the tone of my voice.
I glanced over at him as the silence on the line grew longer and longer. “Niall?”
There was another pause. Then I heard him sigh. “Look, River, I’m still on Declan’s doctor’s notification list. I guess in all the preparation for the fight, Seamus forgot to take me off of it when Declan fired me or something. Or, I don’t know, maybe it takes a few days for those requests to go through and—”
“Niall,” I interrupted, unable to take the drawn-out uncertainty any longer. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I know about Declan’s concussion a few weeks back and, like I said, I think it’s fair you do, too,” Niall said.
Relief flooded my body as I sagged into the chair, running a hand over my face. “I already know about it,” I said. “He got a concussion from sparring with a new partner. I was at the hospital when they released him.”
I heard Niall mutter “shite”, and it was clear I wasn’t intended to hear it.
“The doctor said he was fine,” I continued, frowning in confusion.
“Is that what the doctor said or Declan?” Niall asked.
“The doc—” I paused as I recalled the moment I rushed into the hospital room, tears already in my eyes. I fell into Declan’s arms and…
“River, despite whatever Declan told you, he’s not fine,” Niall said.
Any sense of relief disappeared as my body tensed, as if about to receive a physical punch to the gut. “What do you mean?” I whispered.
“When he was admitted, they performed a CT scan and—”
“I don’t know what any of that is,” I interrupted in frustration. Frustration and fear. “Just tell me what it means.” I could sense Niall’s hesitation as my palms grew slick with sweat, my cell phone suddenly slippery in my shaky grip.
“It means that because of the trauma from his past fights and the accident, if Declan takes another hit to the head there’s a high possibility it could result in serious brain damage…” Niall paused. “Or…death.”
The blood in my veins ran cold as I hung up immediately, barely even aware of what I was doing as my fingers fumbled to dial Declan’s number. I could hardly hear Joan and Oisin’s concerned prodding from the rush of blood in my ears. My foot tapped impatiently as the time between each ring stretched into an infinity after infinity.
“Fuck,” I groaned when I reached Declan’s voicemail. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I didn’t bother with leaving a message. “How long till the fight starts?” I asked Oisin as my numb brain tried to find the contacts on my phone to call Seamus.
“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” Oisin asked, gently touching my arm.
“Just tell me how long!” I snapped, panic flooding my voice.
“About three hours now,” Joan answered for him as I lifted the phone to my ear.
My prayers grew more and more desperate as each ring passed. “Please, please, please,” I whispered, clenching my eyes shut to avoid seeing Dominic’s deranged eyes at his pre-fight press conference on the screen in front of me. “Please pick up.”
“River, what’s going on?” Joan asked, leaning forward in her reclining chair. “Riv—”
“Seamus!” I shouted the second I heard him pick up. “Seamus, I have to talk to Declan.”
“River?” Seamus asked over the pounding of heavy rock in the background.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” I said. “Seamus, is Declan there? I really need to talk to Declan before—”
“Bummer you’re not here, River,” Seamus interrupted. “The fight is going to be spectacular.”
“Okay, but that’s why I’m call—”
“Hey, did you post to his social this morning?” Seamus interrupted me yet again. “We really want to make sure we’re engaging fans all throughout today. It’s crucial you link everything to his merch site, yeah?”
I grinded my teeth in frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Seamus, I don’t give a fuck about selling some goddamn t-shirts!” I shouted. “Niall just called me and—”
“What? Who?”
“Niall,” I repeated. “He said—”
“He said exactly what the doctor said to Declan, sweetheart.” Seamus spoke to me as if I was a five-year-old and it caught me off guard.
I glanced at my cell phone in confusion before pulling it back to my ear. “But—”
“You didn’t think Declan knew?” Seamus asked, his voice dripping with condescension, each word coated with poison.
I hated him in that moment. I hated even more the fact I couldn’t avoid…he wasn’t lying.
Still, I fought against it, because it was all I could do.
“If he knew, he wouldn’t fight,” I whispered, sounding uncertain even to myself.
Seamus’s laugh was cruel, cruel like kicking a helpless, wounded dog. “Because of you?” He chuckled darkly. “Because of his undying love for some vagabond assistant?”
I stared numbly at my fingers in my lap. They were useless. Declan was out of reach. Perhaps he would always be out of reach. Perhaps he had never truly been in reach of my touch.
“Listen, girl,” Seamus hissed. “Declan Gallagher is a fighter. He is going to fight no matter the risk, because it’s all he knows.”
It isn’t, I protested weakly in my head. He knows my finger tracing little circles on his palm as we lay together in bed. He knows the sound of my footsteps by his side as we hike through the forest outside the manor. He knows my love.
He must know my love.
“It’s just a stupid title,” I muttered, already feeling defeat creep in like a heavy fog in the night to hide the path I thought I knew by heart. “It’s not worth it.”
Seamus paused. “To him, it’s worth everything.”
These words brought the sting of tears to my eyes and I refused to believe them. They couldn’t be true. Because if the title was everything—that meant I was nothing.
I’d been nothing my whole life.
“Just let me talk to him,” I pleaded as my one last dying gasp. “Please, Seamus, just—”
“Who’s that?” I heard Declan’s voice suddenly in the background, a swift wind to sweep away the fog.
I was shouting Declan’s name when the line went dead. “Declan?” I cried out. “Declan?” Even after checking the screen and seeing with my own two eyes the “Call Ended” message, I still shouted his name again as I pushed myself hastily out of the chair. “Declan? Declan! Fuck!”
Slamming my phone to the plush carpet in the theatre room with a whimper, I covered my face with my hands as hot tears of frustration and pain streamed down my cheeks.
Joan and Oisin were at my side, arms trying and failing to wrap me into a tight hug as I squirmed away.
Pacing in front of the large screen that now displayed footage from Declan’s old fights, I shook my head. “I’m helpless,” I said as I tugged at my hair. “I’m helpless, always fucking helpless.”
“River?” Joan reached for me, but her hand fell limply to her side when I marched past her.
I couldn’t stay still. Not now.
“I thought I was done being helpless. With Declan I felt…” I laughed after my voice trailed off. “Who was I kidding? Who was I fucking kidding?”
As I spun on my heel to impatiently march the other direction across the screen, Oisin suddenly grabbed my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks. “Now listen here…” He pointed a finger at me. “You’re helpless only when you don’t have fabulous friends—say, one with impeccable style and one who could lay off the gin—”
“Hey!” Joan protested behind me.
“Who will do anything in the world for you,” Oisin finished. He levelled his eyes intently on mine. “Let us help you, my little voodoo queen.”
Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as I collapsed into Oisin’s outstretched arms. “You don’t understand!” I sobbed, sniffling against his silk robe that was indeed rather impeccable. “He wasn’t cleared from his last concussion. They fudged the doctor’s certificate somehow. If Declan fights tonight, he could…”
I couldn’t bear to utter the word.
Oisin gasped.
Joan cursed.
“I need to get to him, but he won’t answer and Seamus won’t let me talk to him and there’s no other way I know how to—”
“I’ll get the keys,” Joan interrupted.
Cheek still against Oisin’s chest, I blinked slowly in confusion and craned my neck to stare back at her. “Huh?”
“I’ll get my driving loafers,” Oisin said next.
“Huh?” I asked again.
Joan was ignoring my raised eyebrow as she looked over me at Oisin. “But how are we going to get her in?” she asked him.
“In where?” I asked, still not comprehending.
“No bother, darling.” Oisin winked at Joan.
Why was nobody answering my very reasonable questions? Had I become invisible all of a fucking sudden?
“No bother?” Joan smirked.
A tiny grin tugged at the corner of Oisin’s lips as he casually assessed the cuticles on his right hand. “I may have made a certain stadium head event planner a pancake or two back in the day.”
I frowned. “Stadium?”
“Then it’s settled?” Joan asked Oisin, both still ignoring me.
