The Outlaw

22

TWENTY TWO

It took a monumental effort to comprehend what I was witnessing, my mind clawing its way up through the thick fog of shock.  The cacophonous sounds of screams were enough to burst an eardrum, the echoes of triumphant shouts vibrated the floor beneath my feet, and the shuttering of cameras were heard clicking in a rapid-fire succession. And yet to me, the sheer volume of noise faded into a muffled buzzing in my ears—as if I had been pulled underwater.

There was a burst of activity happening around me but my brain couldn't process anything but Travis.

Travis caught my eye in the crowd, his gaze inscrutable. I studied him as he stood tightly reined, silent and unmoving. There was nothing on his face that I could read but his chest lifted and fell rapidly as he exerted deep breaths which I knew had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with his formidable will of not showing his true reaction.

Travis firmly believed he would not win. And he just proved himself wrong.

My breath caught inexplicably. I was so fucking proud of him.

Jerking back to reality, my friends immediately attacked me to congratulate me, as if I had played any part in Travis' triumph. I laughed out loud, not entirely startled by the sudden rush of joy. Cameron continued to hold onto me as I witnessed Travis announced as the winner, a massive smile splitting my face in half. The novelty of it all was something straight out of the movies—the referee lifting his arm before he was handed the extravagantly designed championship belt.

There were no words to describe exactly what I was feeling at that moment but it was one of profound happiness and elation—without the terrifying possibility that it could be taken away from me. It was weird—in the best way—to able to feel that sense of security and contentment.

From previous knowledge, I knew Travis wasn't one to bask in his glory but he endured it for the sake of the masses. He acknowledged the gaudy celebratory he received with a simple nod. And shook the hand of his opponent who offered a customary felicitation. Even reciprocated a brief hug from his trainer, Hank.

Afterward, they directed him to ringside—near to where I stood outside of the cage—a photographer awaiting with the referee. Travis participated in a short conversation with them, and then turned to look at me again.

Blowing out a slow breath, my heart twisted in the way it always did as a curve of his lips softened his mouth. Then he outstretched his hand, beckoning me to him. I looked to Cameron who gave me an amused glanced, releasing his hold.

"Go," he mouthed, nudging his head in the direction of the cage.

At that point I was hanging on by a thread, and without volition, I almost broke out into a run, pushing my way through to get to him.

Travis met me at the bottom of the steps. I caught his wrist but he moved lightning-quick, lifting me at the waist so hard my feet left the floor.

Just as he pulled me into his tight embrace, there were only three words I wanted to tell him.

"You did it." I softly murmured in his ear, adoration colouring my voice.

Travis drew back, his gaze unyielding. The expression in his eyes underlay with the irrefutable sexual intensity that first beguiled me to him, but at that very moment, there was a loving openness in those fierce greens. A look I knew that was mine alone. He didn't say anything back, but that meant to me more than words ever could.

*

Despite Travis' reluctance, we lingered a while longer after the match had ended. Travis claimed a wide space on the floor and we remained there as the focus of much attention.