Fighter's Kiss: An enemies-to-lovers MMA romance (Irish Kiss Book 3), page 31
He’d listen to me.
He’d step out of the cage.
He’d leave the title behind.
He’d be safe.
He’d be loved.
I just had to push a little further… I just had to try a little harder… I just had to reach a little farther…
“Declan, you’ll lose everything if you fight,” I said.
I meant those words to be a gentle, guiding light, but I could see immediately that they were a violent strike of lightning.
The moment they fell from my lips, unheard to anyone, Declan jerked back as if I struck him. “Everything?” he asked, his voice so soft I could barely hear him. “Everything?”
“Declan, I—”
“Everything?”
I flinched as his tone grew louder, harsher, angrier.
I glanced over my shoulder at the two security guards watching me before turning back to Declan who was breathing heavily to the point of panting. “Declan, please—”
“Everything?” he roared. “I have nothing!”
It was my turn to step back in shock. “Declan, what do you mean?”
“Without my title I have nothing,” he said, pupils wide, cheeks flushed. “Without my title I don’t have fame. Without my title, I don’t have money. Without it I don’t have success.”
I shook my head, “Baby, I don’t—”
“Without my title,” he interrupted before pausing and hanging his head between his arms which quivered as he gripped the mesh of the cage with a white-knuckle grip. “Without my title I don’t have a single reason for you to stay, for you to be with me, for you to ever lov—”
His voice trailed off as I stared at him in horror.
“I don’t deserve you, River,” he whispered.
I stared mutely at him. I swallowed heavily to fight back the emotion that caught in my throat. “Declan, why would I want a silly, shiny belt when I already have your strong arms around me at night?”
He kept his head bowed as I sucked in a shaky breath.
“Why would I want fancy shoes when all I want is to be barefoot in the wild grasses with you?” I reached out, interlaced my fingers with his through the cage, and leaned close so my lips grazed the mesh. “I don’t want the world, Declan,” I whispered, “I just want you.”
“River…” He squeezed my fingers through the mesh of the cage wall. “I’m fighting for you.”
“Don’t,” I said, softly but firmly. “Declan, if you have to fight, fight with me, not for me.”
I smiled when he lifted his head just enough for me to see his raised eyebrow.
“We’ll fight about what flowers to plant in the backyard if you want to fight,” I continued.
I grinned when I noticed the intensity of his gaze soften.
“I’ll fight with you over the acceptable volume to play Whitney in the morning.”
This earned a small chuckle. I moved in closer.
“We’ll fight about everything, alright?” I promised. “Oisin’s best dish, the colour of the walls in the foyer, how many chickens we can keep, the hiking path we take each morning, the names of our children one day…”
Declan’s eyes met mine.
I pressed my palm against the mess of the cage, fingers reaching for him. “Come fight with me, Declan,” I whispered.
I watched the struggle play out in his eyes. I knew his past; I knew how difficult this was for him to let go of. But I also believed he knew I loved him and that I would catch him when he fell. It took everything in my power to hold back a sigh of relief as Declan lifted his hand to me.
“Time out’s over, Gallagher,” the referee called behind him. “We fighting or what?”
Declan’s eyes again met mine as he dropped his hand. “I…can’t,” he said simply.
Who knew it took only two tiny, little words to break a human heart? I stared at him from across the barrier between us. Despite the bruising and swelling around his right eye, he did, in fact, look fine, perfectly healthy. And yet, in that moment, it seemed to me as if I’d already lost him.
With a shaking voice, I said, “Neither can I.”
I couldn’t watch him risk his life for a silly title.
I couldn’t stand by as he hurt himself in my name.
I couldn’t be with a man who didn’t trust my love was enough.
I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to tell him what he’d meant to me. I wanted to utter the three words I knew he didn’t believe. But my throat was tight and I couldn’t.
So without another word, I dropped my hands from the cage, from Declan’s cage, and turned around.
Declan
Just moments before, she seemed to hear the softest whisper from my lips, the faintest pulse from my heart, the tiniest flutter of my eyelashes as I stared deep into those sweet almond eyes.
But as I called out to her as she turned, it was as if no sound came out at all. Her head did not flinch toward me, her shoulders did not make even the slightest turn, her footsteps did not pause, did not hesitate, did not slow.
“River!”
I screamed at the top of my lungs, but I might as well have been shouting her name deep underwater the way the noise of the crowd swallowed it whole mere inches from my lips. I clutched at my throat as if she’d stolen my vocal cords and dragged them behind her across the concrete floor as she disappeared into the sea of fans hurrying back to their seats for the start of the second round.
“River!” I tried again.
If I could have heard myself, I would have heard panic. If I could have heard myself, I would have heard pain. If I could have heard myself, I would have heard anger.
But I couldn’t hear a goddamn thing.
I sure as hell could feel it, though.
Still kneeling at the edge of the cage, I rattled the mesh and pounded my fists violently against it, startling some fans in the first few rows like some wild beast at the zoo. To me the cage had always been a place of freedom. When I was fighting, I barely saw it surrounding me.
But in that moment as I shouted for River till my throat grew sore and my lungs burned, the cage was my prison. And yet that wasn’t what made my blood boil with rage and my old scars burn with fury.
It was the fact that I was in a fucking prison I could get up and walk straight out of if I wanted to.
I pushed myself to my feet. I could step out of the cage, my cage. I could run after River.
But I didn’t want to.
I wanted to stay. I wanted to fight. I wanted to win.
I wanted to show her she was wrong. I wanted to show her I needed this title. To show her this was who I was, who I am, who I always would be: a fighter.
“Gallagher, time’s up,” the referee said behind me.
I whirled around, face hot, fists clenched. “Just give me a goddamn minute!” I shouted.
As the referee fell back on his heel and lifted his hands in front of him at the sight of me, I noticed the judges’ table just past him. My eyes fell again on the belt displayed there for all to see.
The referee braved a step toward me and said as I continued to stare at the belt, “Look, Gallagher, we have millions of people watching who paid a shit ton of money. We have to sta—”
“What’s that thing made of?” I interrupted, eyes transfixed over his shoulder.
The referee frowned and followed the path of my intense gaze. “What? The belt?” he asked. “Gallagher, stop fucking around.”
“What’s it made of?” I repeated.
“Um, I—I don’t know?” The referee moved to grab my arm, but I tugged it away. “Gallagher, I’m going to have to start deducting points if you—”
“Just tell me what the fuck it’s made out of!” I shouted.
“Let’s go, Gallagher!” Dominic bellowed from the other side of the cage.
My mind whirled and I couldn’t look away from the belt.
Plastic? Was it made of goddamn plastic? Aluminium? Gold? Fucking platinum?
I tugged at my hair as I tried to remember what it felt like holding that belt after one of my victories, after any of my victories. I dug through the deepest corners of my mind and for the life of me couldn’t remember what it felt like to lift that stupid thing over my head as a stadium of faceless spectators chanted my name.
But I could remember what River felt like. Closing my eyes, I could feel her in my arms as if she was physically there. I could imagine the softness of her breath against my neck, the whisper of her kisses along my collarbone, the heat of her body on mine as we made love.
I tried to remember how I felt winning the title, but there was only an emptiness. A loneliness. A darkness.
With River, there was fullness. Her laugh filled a room, her music filled the manor, her smile filled my vision till it was all I could see, even when I closed my eyes. With her, there was closeness: her chair close to mine on the balcony, her footsteps close to mine on the hiking trail, her fingers close to mine when I thought no one could reach me, when I thought no one would ever try. With her, there was light, beautiful, pure, unending light. The rain may fall and the bad memories may cascade like sleet and the old scars may sting like the howling wind on the darkest of nights, but with River—there was always light.
I’d done nothing at all to deserve it.
I’d earned none of it.
And now I wanted to throw all of that away for a hollow piece of plastic and a deafening roar from the darkness surrounding me that would soon fade and die, leaving me again alone, empty, and still inside my cage.
I looked around the stadium and realised I wanted none of it, I needed none of it. Without a word to either the referee or Dominic, who were both staring at me in bewilderment, I turned toward the door of the cage.
I was ready to be free.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Dominic shouted after me.
I ignored him.
“Gallagher, we’re starting in thirty seconds,” the referee added. “Whether you’re ready or not.”
I ignored him, too.
“Fight me!” Dominic screeched. “Goddamn it, come back and fight me!”
Anger dominated his voice, but I heard something else there, too…fear. I knew that feeling all too well and for a moment, I actually felt bad for Dominic. Fighting was his life, his everything, and I was taking it away from him. A title meant nothing if the other fighter forfeited, and what was he without a title?
“What is that pretty little thing of yours going to think if you walk out?” Dominic called, growing desperate as I pushed open the cage door. “Aren’t you going to fight for her?”
No, I thought with a grin. No, I wasn’t.
I didn’t have to.
Just as I was about to step down the stairs to run toward River, Seamus blocked my path. The colour of his face burned a brighter red than even his fiery beard as he jabbed a vicious finger into my chest, forcing me backwards. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he hissed. “Don’t you dare fuck this up for me over some bitch.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stared down at him. “For you, Seamus?” I asked darkly.
“Goddamn right, for me,” he said, practically shaking with anger as he gripped the sides of the door. “I’ve given everything for this title, made sacrifice after sacrifice, and I’m not going to lose it. I will not let you take it away from me.”
His words sounded familiar to me as I assessed him silently. The anger, frustration, and drive stirred what felt like a long, distant memory. His pupils blown wide, his ragged breath, his quivering fingers all reminded me of someone I used to know…me.
Me, without a curly-haired girl who danced into my life. Me without loud music at 7 a.m., without wet footprints across my expensive rugs, without sunshine-yellow paint on my white walls. Me, without fullness, closeness, light.
“Ten seconds, Gallagher!” the referee shouted as the announcer indicated on the speakers the start of the second round.
Me without River.
I grinned down at Seamus and patted him on the shoulder as he looked up expectantly at me. “You’re fired, Seamus.”
His eyes narrowed immediately in anger. “What?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, nodding for him to move aside. “I have a title to forfeit.”
His face was a full-blown red. “Get back inside that cage right now or—”
“I’m never fighting again.” I leaned close to him and said as calmly as possible, “But if you don’t move, I suppose I have one last brawl left in me.”
Seamus’s face darkened as he finally shifted to the side. “You’ll regret this.”
I barely registered the bell for the start of the second round—it was as if the noise was already fading far, far into a past I never wanted to return to. I was going toward my present, my future.
I was going toward my River.
As I took the first step out of the cage, I noticed Seamus’s eyes widen in surprise and his mouth open to shout my name. But it was too late to realise my mistake; it was too late to realise the cage would never let me go.
There was a blinding pain in the back of my head.
Then there was nothing.
River
I expected him to stop me.
As I turned my back on him, on us, I expected to hear the rattle of the mesh behind me as he pulled himself to his feet. To feel the floor shake beneath me, and not from the pounding of the crowd in the stands, but from the pounding of Declan’s feet as he ran across the cage to rip open the door, leap down the stairs, and sprint to me.
I expected his hands, rough in his gloves, to grab my arm and whip me around to face him…to stumble into his chest as Declan lifted my chin so my eyes, already wet with tears, met his. I expected him to say, “I don’t need the title. I need you. Nothing in this world is worth losing you. Your love is enough, River. Your love will always be enough.”
I was ready to say, “I knew you’d come after me.”
I expected him to kiss me as Dominic screamed at him to fight, as the referee screamed at him to fight, as the stadium and the whole goddamn world screamed at him to fight. That he would kiss me as his insecurities, doubts, and feelings of unworthiness screamed and screamed and screamed at him to fight. I expected him to kiss me and hear only the rhythm of my heart beating against his amongst the noise.
I expected too much.
Because as I turned my back on him, on us, I heard nothing.
As I faced the double set of doors down the long concrete aisle, I sensed no movement behind me.
As I took a step toward the exit, glowing a slickly neon-green above me, I felt not even the faintest brush against my skin.
I passed the two security guards and glanced up at each of them, sending a quick, desperate prayer that maybe they’d stop me as I walked past. They held me back before when I was trying to get to Declan. So why couldn’t they stop me, just for a second or two, when Declan was trying to get to me?
They could check my purse. They could step in front of me to inform me that I needed a stamp to get back inside once I left the arena floor. They could just ask for my name even, as a security precaution, of course.
I’d pretend like I hadn’t heard them in the noise of the stadium, filling up again for the start of the second round.
“What’s that?” I’d shout.
I’d give Declan a few more seconds, a few more seconds to stop me from leaving.
But I moved past the two security guards and their dark, focused eyes, which scanned the crowd, didn’t even bother glancing down at me.
Tears started to pool in my eyes as I moved closer and closer to the double doors. Soon, I would be pushing them open. I would be walking through them—they would be closing behind me with one final, definite thud.
Soon, it would be over.
He might still be coming to me, I reassured myself even as a heavy sadness settled in my heart. He’s just explaining to the referee that he’s forfeiting.
But I refused to look back over my shoulder to check. I couldn’t. It was the Number One Rule of Running:
Never look back.
Never.
As I slipped through a large group of VIP fans with lanyards hanging from their necks lingering in front of the set of double doors, I listened for my name.
I heard only Declan’s.
The first tear of what I knew would be more than I could count, trailed down my cheek as my hand grasped the door handle. “He’s still coming,” I whispered to myself as I squeezed my eyes shut. He’s still coming…
I lingered there for longer than I should have. No matter how much my fingers quivered and my chest ached, I should have shoved open those doors and marched out. But I waited…
He won’t let me leave.
One…
His feet are carrying him toward me, his hand is stretching out for me, his lips are calling my name.
Two…
He loves me. Declan Gallagher loves me.
Three.
If it weren’t so damned loud in there, perhaps I would have heard my heart breaking. As it was, I just felt it.
I shoved open the doors.
I stumbled out.
I didn’t even hear them close behind me.
My footsteps echoed in the long, empty corridor as I walked, then ran, then sprinted toward the back exit where earlier, the head event planner had slipped me in.
I never wanted the hallway to end. I wanted to run and never stop. I wanted to stop and curl up into a tiny ball on the floor…scream at the top of my lungs. To never utter a single word ever again. I wanted to punch a wall, to kick and fight, to bloody my knuckles and drink in the pain. Too feel nothing. I wanted to be numb forever.
The air inside the concrete corridor felt unmoving, heavy, and oppressive, and so when I finally escaped the stadium, I breathed in deeply, only to find the air in the open parking lot the exact same. I folded over and rested my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“River?”
I heard again the roar of the crowd and the voice of the announcer. For a moment, I thought that the last few minutes were but a terrible, terrible nightmare. I thought I’d imagined it and really, I was back inside, and this time—Declan really was going to follow after me.
