This is not how I expected my first professional match to go. Physically I'm more than ready but mentally I'm not even here. Not even close. I'm too distracted by everything that's going on.
The South Bloods are giving me more jobs to do now that they realize how good I am with tracking and it's pissing me off because I haven't gotten anywhere myself. I'd thought it would take me a couple of months tops so I could get in and get out but it's been three months and still nothing. It's affecting everything in my life — my career, my relationship with Melanie, and it'll probably fuck up everything with Coach and the guys if they found out. Hell, Coach used to run the South Bloods back in his days and I know he keeps up with what they do now which is why I specifically asked Dante to keep my involvement a secret.
But that day I went to headquarters I could've sworn I saw Mitch — Coach's ex-partner when they were in South Bloods — and I'm positive he saw me. That's why I'm so on edge these days and being in the middle of this match isn't helping.
I swing my gaze toward the crowd, intimidated as fuck by the amount of people here. This may be my first professional fight but Fighter's Den has been on the map for years now so thousands of fans have shown up. A lot of the signs have names of the rest of the guys, fewer with mine, but I don't give a shit about that. I've never done well with crowds and it's taking everything out of me to not have a fucking panic attack. The constant flashes, the cameras in my face, it's all reminding me of my parents' death and I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw up.
"Emerson," I instantly recognize Coach's voice and look up as he steps inside the ring. I straighten up with my shoulders pushed back. I may be taller than Coach and admittedly have more muscle on him but that doesn't mean I don't respect the fuck out of him. When Coach commands your attention, you give it. "What the hell crawled up your ass?"
It's a valid question. I'm not exactly the most approachable person on my best day and today I'm even worse. Between my urge to just get the fuck out of here and wondering if he's figured out my secret yet I'm the last person that should be fighting today. I shrug now, not sure how to respond.
"This about your parents?" He asks in a low voice when he reaches me.
Did he have to mention them? I'd managed to put them at the back of my mind for the time being but now they're back. All day I've been thinking about the few memories I have of them. I'm not even sure if all of them are real or made up. What do I have left of them anymore?
"Your grandfather told me you don't do well with cameras," Coach sighs, running a hand through his hair. "If this was an exhibition match I could pull some strings but this is a worldwide viewing. I'm sorry, son. Nothing I can do except coach you through it. Just tune them out and focus on fighting. I'll get you out of interviewing so don't worry about speaking to reporters or any of that crap."
Fuck, I don't know why the thought of giving interviews never crossed my mind either. This is all part of the gig. There's too much going on and it's more than I can admittedly handle. This shit with the South Bloods, fighting with Melanie yesterday, especially fighting with Melanie. I don't know what the hell to do about us anymore. I can't deny how fucking hurt I felt when I realized she was hiding things from me, especially something like her uncle trying to contact her. I would kill that motherfucker in a heartbeat for her and she didn't even want to mention it? I know in the back of my mind this is how hurt she probably feels that I'm keeping secrets and it only makes me feel like a bigger asshole.
"Why are you making that face?" Coach looks pointedly at me and I try to school my expression but it's too late. He sighs now, hands going to his hips. "I know that look. Every single one of you assholes had your turn with that mopey, kicked-in-the-balls look. It's woman trouble, isn't it?"
Jesus, kill me. This is fucking awkward. I feel the back of my neck grow warm and look down because what the hell do I say to that? Coach talks to me about boxing or computers and occasionally Gramps but never women. Christ.
I hear him sigh again and look up to find him scrubbing a hand over his face. "You fucking morons. Every single one of you with your poor broken hearts and whiny attitudes when you fuck things up with the women you love. And you idiots always let it affect your fighting, always getting distracted. It's like you're on another planet right now and this is your first professional match for fuck's sake."
I honestly have no idea if he's scolding me about my fighting or my inexperience with women but either way I grimace. When I finally meet his eyes he's watching me curiously.
"Which one is it? The girl you're losing your head over. Do I know her?"
Does he? I don't think I've ever seen Coach and Melanie interact but I'm sure he's seen her around.
Out of nowhere, Cameron's head pops between the ropes. "It's Lenny! I was reading your lips. That's what we're talking about, right?"
My head whips toward him incredulously. I could fucking strangle him. It's beyond me how he knows that or how he kept up with our conversation this entire time.
Coach startles, turning around and scowling at a gloating Cam. "You better get the fuck out of here West, or I'll have you sitting in the family room the whole match."
"That's an awfully rude way of saying thank you but fine," He goes back to his seat in the front row.
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose before turning to me again and it takes everything to hold back my smile. Most of his energy is spent babysitting Cameron than training any of us. "Is it really Lenny?"
That sobers me up and my head jerks in a reluctant nod. Coach instantly starts chuckling and...I officially have no idea what the fuck is going on.
"That look on your face suddenly makes a lot more sense, boy. That girl is a ball-buster if I've ever seen one so you better fix whatever it is you fucked up. You won't get jack shit from a girl like her until you're grovelling."
Isn't that the fucking understatement of the century? I've never really grown close to a woman before, don't know how this shit works, but even I know that Melanie requires more effort because she's nothing like these other girls.
"Lenny Parks," Coach chuckles again and I just about roll my eyes. He's having way too much fun with this. "Of all the easy bimbos that have thrown themselves at you, you went and chose the most stubborn woman on the planet. She's probably the only one who can handle your bullshit, isn't she? You're in a lot of fucking trouble."
The look on my face couldn't be more exasperated if I tried. Coach notices, coughing into his fist that suspiciously sounds more like laughter before holding his hands up in surrender. I think it's funny to him because he didn't quite expect me to fall for anyone, never mind the toughest chick there was. But he's right. Nobody can handle me or keep me in check like Melanie and after this match, I most definitely have a lot of grovelling to do. I'm on the cusp of losing her and that's not fucking happening.
"Time to get serious," He demands and everything else is instantly forgotten. I sit in the folding chair in my corner before he has the chance to ask because I know I'm about to get one of his speeches. I've heard a lot of them over the years and somehow, each time he gives one it's different. That's why I listen raptly, straining my ears against the roaring audience.
"You're different from these other fighters in a lot of ways, Emerson. While your size would be an advantage in other sports it sure as fuck ain't in this one. You cut down muscle since our training started but you're still naturally bulky. You won't have the speed your opponent has. Don't get confident in there thinking you can overpower him on muscle alone. A slippery motherfucker is worse than a weak one because you'll spend all your energy trying to catch him. Then when you have nothing left he'll strike and he'll do it faster than you can keep up with. For maybe the first time in your life, your size is not an advantage. You can't depend on it in the ring, hear me?"
I nod. I knew this going into sport. In my defence and in Gramps, we both thought I was done growing when I first signed up but I packed on more muscle and height than anticipated. Gramps once kept an old suit of my father's and I outgrew it by the time I was twenty-two. My father was a big man but admittedly I'm bigger. It was too late to turn back, though. I fell in love with the sport and I'd keep at it even if I knew I was at a loss with my natural physique.
"But that doesn't mean you can't win or that you don't have any advantage," Coach continues with a cunning tilt to his lips. "Because once you catch that fucker and corner him, your size will definitely have him shitting his pants. One punch of yours alone has more power behind it than a combination of three punches from any of these assholes. I don't have to warn you about trash talk either. If anything, your opponent trying to jar you and being met with you silence will only trigger them. If there's one thing you have that the rest of my students don't have is a cool demeanour. Completely unshakable. Nothing gets through to you or past you, Emerson. You're the fucking wall of Boston. None of your opponents know anything about you either so what can they use against you? This match is yours whether you're ready for it not. Let your actions in the ring speak for you today, you get me?"
Fuck, yeah. Fighting was my one outlet to an otherwise put-together facade. It's true. I'm unshakable and nothing rattles me because I have the type of patience no one has. When you live in silence, no word can slice you because words don't belong to you. I may not speak but my fists are about to do all the motherfucking talking.
"Let's go!" He barks and claps his hands together.
He grabs the chair and steps out of the ring just as the referee stands in the centre. He looks to me and then my opponent, Soren Crew, and when we both nod he blows the whistle.
Coach wasn't kidding about speed. I think Crew has it in his head that he can run circles around me because he comes right at me with his fists ready, sprinting like it's a fucking marathon. Dumbass. I move out of the way, faking a left that Crew instantly falls for, and shift again to deliver a right cross that snaps his head back. With his head thrown back my right straight knocks into the column of his throat and his breathing cuts off. He coughs violently, walking backwards and heading for one corner of the ring.
"Keep it moving!" His coach shouts. "Don't let him corner you."
Crew instantly heads for the other side of the ring, ducking away from the body shot I try to throw. Before I can turn around he swings a hard left at my rib and I grunt, taking a step back on instinct. His left arm jabs forward but my forearms block him when I cage my head. His arm rears back again but I'm quicker. Quicker and fucking stronger based on the one punch he landed on me.
Before he can so much as blink, I move.
One second my arm is beside me and the next, I throw a left cross with enough strength that I hear a malicious crack. Even I couldn't detect my own damn movements but the next thing I know Crew is down.
And he's out cold.
The entire arena grows quiet and it's almost comical how there's suddenly no noise. No cheering or whistles or hooting. It's the like the whole fucking stadium is collectively holding their breath, mine included.
"Call it ref!" Coach barks.
The referee snaps out of his daze, picking his jaw up from the ground and getting on the canvas to do the countdown. Some life is breathed back into the area when everyone joins in, counting along. My eyes are glued to Crew but I can see the side of his face and I know he won't be waking up anytime soon. The referee counts to ten and just like that, it's done.
"Unbelievable," One of the announcers breathes quietly. He springs up in his chair, clutching his head. "Unbelievable! Wolfe Emerson is winner by knockout in just fifteen seconds into the match!"
Jesus.
This time it's my breath that knocks out of me and I stumble for a moment, my back hitting the ropes. I just fucking won my first professional match. In fifteen fucking seconds. Jesus.
The crowd is alive again, more than alive, screaming my name and cheering so loud it's like they're lending me their voices. I swallow hard and look out into the stadium, blinking hard against the millions of lights directed at me and the flashes of cameras that go off rapidly, look on to all the signs waving in the air and the people jumping in their seats with an almost maniacal energy. I've never felt anything like this. I've never felt so seen. I have goosebumps, for fuck's sake.
"Holy fucking shit!" It's Asher that crashes into me first, a look of pure disbelief on his face. "You goddamn animal! Fifteen seconds! Fifteen motherfucking seconds!"
"Jesus Christ, Emerson," Jaxon's hands are shoved into his hair as he shakes his head. He's floored. "I didn't even finish taking one fucking sip of my water and your opponent was down."
The rest of the guys and Coach join me, flanking me from all corners and shaking my shoulders in victory. I can feel my pulse racing with adrenaline, can hear the thud of my heartbeat pumping in my ears. Suddenly it's like I'm underwater. Everything around me sounds like a murmur and my vision blurs for a second. My breathing accelerates and I can't get it under control, can only listen as the thumping in my ears become faster and more intense. I try to swallow but my mouth is cotton. Every part of me starts to tingle, like my entire body fell asleep at once, and all I can think is, I'm about to fucking pass out.
"Give him room," I hear a voice snap but the words are muddy. A moment later I feel my arms being shoved into something, a sweater I realize, and just as well because the sweat coating my body suddenly feels like ice. A hoodie comes over my head and blocks out all the lights and all the noise, offering me a moment of darkness that I latch on to because my senses are too heightened and the world around me feels too rich.
My hand is encased in a much warmer one, much smaller one, and then I'm being dragged away. I can't even see where I'm going because I keep my head ducked but whoever is walking the both of us does with a confidence that earns my immediate trust. I hear overlapping voices, can feel the warmth of bodies that try to crowd my space, but they disappear within seconds. A deep voice booms orders and I realize two people are with me.
"No fucking interviews," That was definitely Coach. The menace in his voice could make any grown man's balls shrivel up back into his ass. "The fuck is he going to say? 'Yes, I just did the thing you just saw?' Fuck off."
Any other time I would laughed at the smart-ass remark but I'm a little busy trying to fucking breathe here.
Cool air hits my face when I step into darkness and I realize we're outside. The winter breeze prickles at my face and snaps me out of it somehow. A huge gasp escapes me and I cough, finally feeling my pulse slowing down a little. When my mind catches up with my body I'm hit with a flood of humiliation because fuck, did I really just have a panic attack in front of thousands of spectator and live TV? My win doesn't even seem relevant anymore and now I'm pissed.
"It happens," Coach gets in my face with crossed arms. "And no one saw. The guys and I were surrounding you when it started and luckily your woman caught on right away. She shoved you into this oversized sweater in under ten seconds so no one saw a thing."
My woman? I turn around and spot a figure heading towards a car nearby. My car. Melanie.
"You shouldn't give a fuck about that," Coach claps my back. "You won your first professional boxing match faster than it takes me to piss. Goddamn incredible, Emerson. Your parents and grandfather would be proud."
The thought of them tightens my chest with pain and elation all at once. Elation because yeah, they would be proud, and pain because they're not fucking here. Nonetheless, I nod my head in silent thanks. Coach holds his hand out and I shake it respectfully, to the mentor that made my win a possibility to begin with. I'm hit with a fresh wave of guilt that I'm lying to him and going behind his back. I make a promise to myself right here that I'm going to get my shit together.
When he walks away and heads back inside the stadium, I stuff my hands in my pocket and head over to my car. I hear the lock open for me right before I pull on the handle of the car door and get inside the passenger side, shutting it behind me. Without a word, Melanie starts the car and drives out of the parking lot. She heads for home and it's a couple of minutes before I find it in me to speak.
"I didn't think you would show up today," I admit.
She doesn't answer right away and I can't read her expression either. She looks equal parts mad and upset and I don't know which one I feel like a bigger asshole about. "I didn't think you'd go looking for me if I came home late."
I hear what she's saying — that we're there for each other even when we're at odds. There's nothing more that can be said so I lean back against the seat and the rest of the drive home is a quiet one. When we get to my driveway, Melanie parks and immediately climbs out of the car. I follow after her, quickening my pace because she's practically running to get inside the house. The door closes behind me and Melanie heads straight to her room. That's it? She's just going to show up at my match, take care of me when I publicly lose it, and go back to ignoring me? I don't fucking think so. I'm hot on her heels before she has the chance to lock herself in.
"Melanie," I open the door she slammed shut moments ago and freeze at what greets me. Boxes. So many fucking boxes and an empty room except for the large furniture. My pulse spikes with...anger? Panic? "What the hell is this?"
"What're you so surprised for?" She grabs a roll of tape off her dressing table and starts closing up the cardboard boxes one by one. I watch her in disbelief. She's moving out? Just like that? "I've been living here for over two months and it was supposed to be just one. That was the deal."
"Not anymore," I practically bite out. "A lot has changed since then."
"Maybe," She concedes, still not meeting my eyes and closing boxes. "But as far as I know, this hasn't changed. All I needed was enough money to live on my own and now I have that. There's no reason for me to stay."
"No reason?"
"That's what I said,"
"No reason?" I repeat incredulously. "Are you shittin' me right now?"
"Not at all. I just love to pack my shit for fun, obviously."
"Melanie," I growl. I go to the box nearest me and rip off the strip of tape she just stuck on. Her glare swings my way.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"You're not leaving," I say instead and rip open another box. Then another.
"Stop it," She snaps, shooting to her feet. "You can't just walk in here and thump your chest and piss all over my territory. Get your hands off my shit."
I drop the box in my hands and stalk up to her. Her chin raises in defiance, fucking stubborn as she is. "I don't want you to leave."
"You don't say. My mistake, then. It was the brooding behaviour and losing your shit on me this week that made it seem like you wanted me gone. How silly of me."
"Melanie," My eyes fall shut. This is all such a fucking mess. I know we're both wrong in our own ways here but I could have talked to her about this sooner. I just kept putting it off like a pussy and pushing her away. Of course she's going to want to leave. What did I think would happen? "I'm sorry for yelling at you. For keeping secrets. I'm sorry I don't know what the hell I'm doing when it comes to you."
For the first time all week, there's a crack in her stone cold demeanour. Her eyes flicker with pain and she swallows hard. "I get where I fucked up. I know I lied too and that was wrong. I shouldn't have kept something that big a secret. But you shut me down right away when I tried to be there for you, pushed me away like it was the easiest thing in the world. It didn't hurt you keeping me at arm's length? Don't I mean anything to you?"
"Fuck me," I groan and cup her face, my hands sliding into her hair. "Of course it hurt me. I've been hurting all week, baby girl. But I also thought I was doing the right thing."
"So did I," Her eyes pool with unshed tears and I catch them with my thumb before they can spill over. "I thought ignoring him would make him go away. It's not like he's actually coming near me and I didn't want to make a big deal out of nothing. I didn't want to seem weak to you."
"Weak?" I laugh incredulously. "You have bigger balls than most men I know Mel, including me. Weak is the last word I would ever use to describe you."
"Then why are you so adamant about protecting me? Don't you think I can be there for you if you'd just let me?"
Damn. Coach was right — she's a ball buster and I know I've just been put in my place. I should feel offended but instead I feel pride. That's Melanie — always coming back stronger when everyone expects her to run. "You're right. I never thought of it like that before."
"I don't...I..." She sighs in frustration as she tries to find the words. I'm floored by how vulnerable her eyes are when they bore into mine. "I don't want secrets. I'm done fighting. I'll do it with anyone else but not with you. You ruined me for everyone else, you asshole."
That gets a chuckle out of me and I step closer until we're toe-to-toe. "You don't think I'm ruined, too? I don't know how to do this shit but with you I want to try. I might get it wrong a million times before I get it right but I'll keep trying."
"What are you saying?" She searches my face.
My grip in her hair tightens as I duck my head. My lips brush against hers and they part in surprise. "I'm saying I want you to be my girl. I want you to be my teammate. I want to be in this shit together and have someone in my corner for once and I can't imagine it being anyone but you."
Her breath hitches and probably for the first time since I've known her, the walls in Melanie Parks' eyes drop completely. There's a vulnerability in them I've never seen before. "You know, I'm not used to having a teammate either. I'm not exactly a grade A student when it comes to this. Let's not forget I fucked up just as badly as you."
I hum softly and our lips brush again, teasingly, dauntingly. "Then we'll suck at this together. We'll get it wrong before we get it right together. Whatever it is, as long as it's you and me."
"You sure about this?" She murmurs. "I have some serious baggage. I'm not easy."
"And I told you, that won't stop me. I don't want easy, Melanie. I want you."
One corner of her mouth lifts up into a small smile. "So, does that mean I'm not moving out?"
I shake my head, barely suppressing a smile of my own. "What's the first thing I ever said to you?"
Her face softens when she realizes what I'm talking about. "Stay."
"That's right," I whisper. "Stay."
"Okay," She whispers back. "Hey, big guy?"
"Yes?"
Her eyes dance with humour. "Are you going to kiss me t—"
My mouth crushes against hers.
It feels like I'm kissing her for the first time all over again. This kiss is different because it means something. It means everything. It's like all the pieces in my chest click into place and it's so goddamn satisfying that I groan deeply. Finally. I've ached for her for so long, chased this feeling for so long, and it's finally here. The first time I kissed her she had no idea that I wanted her. This time I'm kissing her and she has no idea that I'm keeping her. Never fucking letting go again.
Her lips are so goddamn soft and I can't resist sucking them into my mouth, just a tease. She moans breathlessly and the sound goes straight to my dick, making it jump with excitement. When Melanie opens her mouth wide I take her silent cue and slip my tongue into her wet mouth, tangling it with hers and fucking devouring her the way I've wanted to. She feels amazing, every bit of her. Her breath is warm on my face, our noses crushed together, our mouths wet and curious. I feel like I was made to kiss her because this feels so fucking right. I use my grip in her hair to angle her head, delving in even deeper and growing drunk on the taste of her. Her tongue flicks the roof of my mouth and the sensation is so spurring, a jolt of electricity shoots down my spine.
Keeping our lips fused together, I bend my knees so I can grab the back of her thighs and lift her up. Her legs lock behind me, her arms winding around my neck, and I shift my grip to her ass as I blindly walk us to her bed. I sit on the edge and Melanie straddles me like so many times before but this time, her tongue is battling mine as she rolls his hips against me, driving me fucking insane.
I finally come up for air, wrenching my mouth away as my teeth grip her bottom lip and drag it out slowly. Our foreheads press together and we pant in harsh and unsteady breaths.
"I want more," She whispers. "All of you. All the way."
"Are you sure?" I ask. I can't help but think of her past and if she's ready to do this.
"Yeah," She grasps my face, her thumbs sweeping across my cheeks. "Yeah, I'm sure. As long as it's you and me."
I turn my head to kiss her palm, pulling her closer. "You and me."
_________________________
A/N
MY POOR PATHETIC HEART IS MELTING. OVARIES, WHERE ART THOU?
Was that the most swoon worthy chapter or what!!! I adore these two with every bit of me. They feel so real because they're not perfect and yet you love them anyways! And their connection is so palpable. I FELT THAT KISS IN MY SOUL. I'm so ready to give you more. We've seen these two come such a long way, progress beautifully as friends, but now I'm ready for them to fuck each other's brains out LMAO! I need the smut, especially the Wolfe smut!
Please VOTE, comment and share if you liked this chapter!
Happy Reading :)