Tornado (18+)

37- Tez

I'm coasting on the adrenaline pumping through my veins, carried along by the crowd of people in high spirits around me as we make our way towards the dressing room. My name is bouncing out of one mouth then another from the swarm of bodies all bidding for me to pay an ounce of attention their way.

With a casual glance around the arena, a lazy painful smile, and a brief wave of the title belt, I give them what they are so hungry for then disappear behind the curtain with an exhale of relief. The cool air hits me, instantly soothing my overheated body. I can breathe easier back here than out there. Brent is in my ear the second we are free of the press and fans.

"You did fucking great out there, kid. You really did. I'm so proud of you!"

I want to jump around and rejoice, rub it in the faces of all those who doubted me, but I can't feel as excited by it all as everyone else does. I'm just moving through the motions. The photographs. The post-fight interviews. The banter. The laughter.

"Where's Paisley?" I shout over the hum-drum of the corridor to Lucien.

Momentarily, his face bears confusion as he scouts the immediate vicinity, then turns to me with a shrug. "Dunno. I'm sure she hasn't gone far."

"She said she'd catch you up, she had something to do," Bailey answers, smiling.

"Like what?"

I don't receive an answer. The door to the dressing room opens and a bottle of champagne is shaken, the jets of sticky liquid spraying in my direction and causing the grazed rough patches of my skin to sting like a bitch. With gritted teeth, I move through the room to another round of laughter and congratulations suffocating me. The medic is in my face again, cleaning the cut on my cheek. I'd refused any further treatment ringside; I didn't feel it was that severe and could wait until the fanfare had died down.

"Do I need stitches?" I ask with a laugh.

"Not on my watch, kid. But you know the score, Terence. Go home from here take an ice bath, anti-inflammatories, drink plenty of water and rest."

I nod, my body tiring further as I relax in the chair while he tends to my cheek. The buzz in the room is reaching fever pitch and my head is beginning to throb angrily. I let it fall against the metal locker behind me where I half growl, half groan. Now my focus on winning this fight and burying Tommaso has come to fruition, I can concentrate on spending more time with Paisley and enjoy our relationship. I've neglected her a lot in recent weeks. I feel we need to regroup and see where our heads are at.

I want to check that she's still as happy with me as I am with her.

Out of nowhere, a soft, delicate hand grasps mine, another cradling my good cheek. I nuzzle my head into her palm, finding the comfort of her touch mollifying to my wandering thoughts.

"Are you okay, Tez?"

I smile into her presence with a nod.

"Are you sure? You look worse now than you did forty minutes ago," she says.

I look up at her. "It's nothing. I'll be right as rain by the end of the week. Besides, the fight itself is the fun part of all of this."

She leans back, staring down at me with horror like I've just cracked a sick joke. "Tell me you're not serious? How can this-" she sweeps her hands up and down in the direction of my body, "be called fun?"

Lightly grabbing her wrist, I pull her down onto my lap, laying my head on her shoulder. "The training camp is the hardest part of fighting for me. The bumps and bruises I accumulate over those many months make these ones easier to cope with. When I'm in the cage, I don't have to hold back anymore and that's where I find the fun in the fight."