Tornado (18+)

25- Tez

By morning, the hysteria surrounding Tommaso Russo and I has reached new heights. Breakfast shows are replaying his video. Radio stations are hosting phone-ins and polls, the sporting sector has gone into a frenzy, and I'm sat in the middle of it all completely fucking bewildered how this has even happened.

I never have, nor would I ever call him out.

This has come out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning and I'm left sinking underneath it all.

Paisley was fuming last night, a pent up ball of fire that I've never seen before as she tried to micro-manage the situation and pacify her father and Jackson until late into the morning.

Tommaso is a prime fighter who's only ever lost one fight in his professional career. He's the type of fighter you work up to, not go all in feet first with. He's out of my league and if I felt unprepared for next week's fight in London, then I have zero confidence I can ever defeat a reigning champion.

"Do you have any idea of the shit storm we're in the middle of here?" Brent screams, chucking several British tabloid newspapers down on top of his desk.

I glance to Paisley but she looks away the second our eyes meet. "Of all the fucking people you can pick a fight with, you chose him?"

"For the hundredth time, I didn't fucking call him out. I have never spoken to the geezer in my life!" I can feel the egg whites and rye toast I had for breakfast churning in my gut. "That's the god's honest truth!"

Jackson raises from his chair and towers over me. "So are you saying Russo is making this up to pick a fight with you?"

I shrug, my mind empty of any rational thoughts right now. "I don't know. But if he has, why would he pick on me, we've never crossed paths before. This makes no sense."

Brent lights another cigar, his third in the two hours we've all been screaming at each other in the office of Stallone's. "Maybe it's payback for some grisly secret you're hiding, would that make any shitting sense to you?"

A sardonic laugh flies from my mouth, and my hands make wild gestures in the air towards him. "Do you honestly think that's even a plausible reason? I've never heard of anything so ridiculous!"

"Tez, he has proof you called him out. Russo has been posting it everywhere," Paisley says.

I narrow my eyes and glare at her. I know how bad this looks and I'm desperate to redeem myself to her but it's proving pretty damn hard when she sides with everyone else in the room, except me.

"How many more times do I have to say it, Paisley? These messages he has are from an exact Instagram account like mine. Same name, Bio, and profile picture. I showed you my account, it has no messages in it to him."

"But we can't find another Instagram account using your details. Could You have deleted them? They were date stamped and timed during your period of heavy drinking when I first came to check out Stallone's. Maybe you blacked out, it's not the first time, is it?"

The tension in my body swims towards my feet propelling me to jump up. She flinches. "You honestly think I did this, don't you?"

She shakes her head no, but I can see in her face she's unsure. I can't blame her especially after some of the stories I've told her about my loss of control when I've been paralytic. But I'm pretty fucking certain though I'd remember a heated exchange spanning over seven messages with a fighter that could end my career before it's even begun.