Chapter One

Gods. Religion. Faith. Loyalty.

Some people were absolutely devout in their beliefs no matter what happened to them throughout their lives. They achieved that surety by putting those events to simple, faith-based justifications. They explained the good events as blessings bestowed upon them by a gracious, kind, omnipresent god with a mysterious, pre-ordained plan for every detail in their otherwise insignificant lives.

They shrugged their shoulders and said that the ways of a god are mysterious when something bad happened, especially when it happened to an otherwise good person. That whatever bad that happened would somehow bring about something good eventually, shrouded in a mystical veil of secrecy. That all bad things that have ever occurred or will ever occur were simply blessings in disguise.

Some people believed that because of their faith, whatever deity holding that faith would never give them more than they could handle in life; they just needed to up the ante and rise to the occasion. Pull themselves up by their proverbial bootstraps as it were, and keep trudging dutifully onward. They believed in their manifest destiny, some omnipotent higher power's pre-ordained plan.

Those people usually had more to deal with than others. It made those people stronger than the rest. It made those people leaders, heroes, and legends. It separated those people from the rest of the flock, who were content to sit back and enjoy the “blessings” those deities so happily bestowed upon them.

The meandering, philosophical train of thought brought mental coughing in Violet Anderson’s head. She’d been given too much to bear and cracked spectacularly under that pressure.

The small, musty office under the arena had bare, dingy white walls. Its equally dingy, dilapidated side-by-side refrigerator and freezer had seen many reincarnations and the condenser wheezed pluckily as it kicked on. The small, cramped room boasted an ancient, army green, steel writing desk. The tracks and locking mechanisms in the drawers were so rusted they could no longer slide easily open, lock, or unlock; usually the opposite of whatever Violet needed them to do at the moment. A can of WD-40 sat on top of the desk to remedy the situation, as it was so often called for when she had cause to frequent the space. That particular can was already half gone and she’d only been in the makeshift office a few hours.

The chair upon which she sat existed in an equal state of disrepair and had a stuck wheel. That fact had landed her on her derriere countless times in the past year, though her tailbone had grown calloused to the effects of the impact. The seat was wobbly, perpetually testing her sense of balance and the back of it—well, it didn't offer much in the way of support.

Violet lifted her head and looked at the open door expectantly, noting the time on the old Elvis clock mounted just over the door frame. How like Vegas, she dismally thought.

Why did I agree to this?

The spicy, salty, acrid stench of stale sweat and body odor mixed with the more savory, coppery notes of blood assaulted her nose—though it didn't gag her as it had when she first started the job nearly a year ago. At present, she only noticed it when it was especially profound or the person from whom the fetor emanated was in the immediate vicinity.

Those first few days at the job had been hell, she sourly recalled with a grimace. The only souls she’d known had been her dear little brother, Desmond—who coincidentally weighed almost twice as much as she did and was half a foot taller than she was, and her friend Taylor. Desmond was a successful professional cage fighter and Taylor was set to marry one of the wealthiest men in the sport, Manuel Christopher.

In coming there, Violet had been the new kid on the block. The ring girls, female fighters, and other female trainers had hated her at first and made her life an absolute nightmare—stealing her keys, hiding her equipment, spreading rumors, playing pranks. Middle school all over again.

It was juvenile, asinine, and made each day seem like a never-ending torment. It was not until Desmond won some big fights and climbed the ranks considerably that things started to change. Fortunately for her, that had occurred very quickly. She’d been in no position to retaliate.

Throughout all the chaos and uprooting, she’d slowly begun to emerge from her self-imposed reclusiveness. All the drama that followed starting her new gig was exactly what she needed, whether she liked it or not. Still, she acknowledged with no small amount of reluctance that it had worked out well for her brother and her, in the end.

Violet was eternally grateful for Desmond. He was her one saving grace in all the mayhem. He had dragged her out of her own personal hell and into a more tolerable one. Sometimes, she even liked it there. She could admit that much, if only to herself.

Violet found herself unceremoniously jerked from her reverie momentarily as the atmosphere suddenly changed. Outside the door, she usually heard the yells of trainers coaching their fighters, of crowds roaring or booing at the events of a fight. The heavy, dull thuds of leather-bound knuckles meeting human flesh and bone and of battle cries and explosive angry oaths issued between two warring fighters.

She noticed then that a fight had just ended by the sudden, unusually thunderous roar of the crowd. She listened as the announcer’s voice boomed out the victor’s name and the crowd renewed its cheers. It meant the imminent arrival of her brother. He’d likely watched the last fight from his team’s locker room. He needed his wrists and hands prepped for battle after he’d warmed up with his coaches.

Violet lapsed into her previous train of thought without a hitch then, allowing herself to travel back in time once more as she gathered the necessary implements to prepare Dezzy for his upcoming title shot. No more undercards for that kid.

She wondered for possibly the millionth time what life would have been like if she’d been able to take a different path. If she hadn't lost everything. If she hadn't lost Tommy…

Flashbacks came unbidden at the mere whispered thought of his name. The twisted metal wreckage of the car that had once been his pride and joy. The visceral pain of realizing her favorite person was gone. Though the ring hung around her neck, concealed under the collar of her white button-down poplin shirt on a long silver chain, she felt its weight instead on her finger—where it had once belonged. Her wedding vows echoed in her ears, his voice joining hers.

Until death do us part.

If she closed her eyes and thought very hard, as she did then, she could still see his bright, lively blue eyes. Feel and smell his soft, dirty blonde mop of unkempt, thick, wavy hair. Hear the sweet, infectious, intoxicating chortle of his laugh. Feel those loving, strong arms holding her so tight, making her feel secure and very much loved. Sometimes, she thought he smelled his cologne, left in the wake of another man with the same taste in toiletries. She was terrified she’d forget him; she’d forget what had been.

Until a phone call disrupted everything and violently turned her whole world upside down.

One…

Single…

Phone call.

“Vi?”

Violet started at the sound and realized her entire body trembled. Cold sweat seeped unbidden and unwelcome from her pores and saturated the back of her shirt. She realized tears rolled down her cheeks and she was saying something but couldn't remember what. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get back to the present.

Her brother rushed to her side, where he knelt and enveloped her with his thickly corded, strong, gentle arms. He always smelled so good—like love, sunshine, and a hot summer breeze off the ocean mixed with Axe body wash. She deeply breathed him in, holding on to that scent like a potent elixir that could cure all that ailed her.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, his face swimming before hers a moment later.

She looked into his kind eyes, similar in shade to her own, and managed a wry smile.

“Yeah. I just—it catches me off guard sometimes, you know?”

She couldn't stem the flow of tears that followed in the wake of the admission, her voice faltering on the last word. He hugged her tightly again, holding her face against his chest.

“You got me. I got your back. Now, you gonna tape my fists for my fight or what?”

Violet pulled back and smiled through her tears. She brusquely swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and cleared her throat.

“Yeah. You gonna kill that guy for me?” she asked as she fought to pull one of the rusted drawers open.

She grabbed the WD-40 and doused the locking mechanism thoroughly before trying again. Another violent tug, and she succeeded. She grunted as it came free and fished around for the supplies she needed.

“Yeah, long as you get up to date on your damn tetanus shot before fighting with that piece of shit again. I thought management said they’d put a new desk in here?”

“Yes, but it's a bureaucratic mess. Manny complains every time we have a match up here, so you know—once a week. I'll probably get it next year, after I've been fired and committed for turning psychotic in this dump and talking to the gremlins in the walls,” Violet replied, pulling two rolls of tape out of the top drawer and a spray can for skin prep.

She briskly shook the can to activate the ingredients.

“I'll go buy one, then,” Desmond softly stated, presenting his hands to her. “We'll go tomorrow morning.”

Violet smiled and sprayed the backs of his hands, turned them over, and sprayed his palms. She wasn't going to argue with him. She'd bought him enough furniture in the past year; it was time she accepted reciprocation. She grabbed a roll of tape and began to wind it around her brother's wrists and hands.

“You going to the after party tonight?” Desmond asked, changing the subject.

“I don't know yet. I might just tuck in early. I’m not really in the partying mood.”

“Awww, c'mon! It's going to be at Manuel and Taylor's house—hang with Taylor all night and stay away from the guys if you want. You haven’t gone out in like a month. We got stalker dude behind bars, so you’ll be alright. ”

Violet remained silent as she contemplated the invitation and continued wrapping her brother’s hand. Maybe he was right. She could just stay with Taylor and some of her crew at the after party. They usually hung out in the secluded garden behind her soon-to-be-husband’s lavish home anyway, away from the wilder elements of such parties.

“Peyton will be there. He’s really into you. I know you’re into him. I approve, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” Desmond pressed as she continued wrapping his hands.

Violet grimaced at the mention of Peyton and sighed heavily.

Peyton “Ice” Ashley was an up-and-coming welterweight fighter. He was a few inches taller than she was. He was compactly built, almost stocky, though very lean, very spry, and equally dangerous both in his ground game and stand-up. He’d won every one of his fights the past two years, undefeated since entering the league.

She mentally chuckled to herself as she thought of him first in terms of his fighting rather than his appearance. All kidding aside, he was quite easy on the eyes and that fact garnered him much attention from the female populous. He was already best friends with Desmond and tried his best to be a good friend to her. Outside work, Desmond and Peyton were attached at the hip and by being Desmond’s constant companion, he’d become her constant companion.

Rumor had it that he was unhappy with his current gym and wanted to join Phenom. But rumors like that flew all the time around there. No one was ever really happy with their own gyms one hundred percent of the time. However, Violet believed that Peyton Ashley was genuinely disenchanted with his current camp. He had every right to be. Intimidation Factor had a reputation of housing dirty fighters with bad attitudes. Peyton was neither a dirty fighter, nor did he possess the surly, imposing, dominating demeanor so characteristic of his teammates.

“I know, Dez, but I'm not—”

“I just want you to be happy. It's been years since Tommy and the baby died. But Tommy wouldn't want you wasting your life with what could have been. You know it's okay to date people, right? He would have wanted you to pick up and move on.”

Violet regarded him in silence, tears forming once more in the inner corners of her eyes. They'd had the same conversation almost every day for the past few months.

“Dezzy—”

It was then that Peyton's dirty-blonde head poked in as he simultaneously knocked on the door jamb.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Violet thought to herself and offered him a strained smile as she waved him in. He stopped behind Desmond, his movements fluid, cautious, and silent, possessing an overall air of tranquility.

The past few months, Peyton had become an almost daily visitor in her life. He was Desmond's best friend and through that relationship, he'd become one of her best friends. Peyton called her almost every night to recap the day, see how she was feeling, and say good night. She became conscious then of the fact that lately, she’d been the one to call him. He was so easy to talk to and such a comfort. It was the combined effect of all those little things that had slowly etched a place for him in her life. She hadn’t realized that he was doing it until he became an almost permanent fixture in everything she and Dezzy did together—and as she contemplated, she came to the not-so-startling revelation that she didn’t mind it at all.

She even allowed herself to admit that she rather liked having him in her life. He was a stabilizing element. A safe haven. However, something had shifted in how he and Desmond acted around her that evening. It was almost imperceptible; but it was there, nonetheless.

Dez presented her with his other hand and she began wrapping it, thankful for the reprieve it granted her. She felt the weight of Peyton’s diamond-sharp, green-blue stare on her visage, watching her eyes and hands as she deftly maneuvered the roll of tape around Dez’s hand and wrist. Peyton strode the rest of the way into the office and sat on the corner of her desk, clapping Dez on the shoulder and smiling as Violet switched to preparing his other hand.

“What it do, Dezzy?”

“I'm pumped for this fight, bro,” Dez replied in earnest, clasping the hand that Peyton offered and bumping shoulders with him.

“You're gonna whoop him. He's scared. Use that ta your advantage.”

Violet smiled to herself and shook her head. Clayton Daniels had the light heavyweight title belt. There was no way that guy was afraid of Dezzy. But, that could also be a weakness.

Daniels was a grappler with limited stand-up skills. Desmond was lightning with his boxing; quick hands, lethal accuracy, plenty of power behind the punches he threw. But Desmond's ground game was awesome as well. He could go to the mat with the best and submit opponents just as readily as he could knock them out. He'd been a national champion wrestler in college.

“What're you grinnin' about?” Dez asked, lifting Violet's chin for a moment before flicking his index finger playfully down the bridge of her nose. “You don’t believe he’s scared of lil ol’ me?”

“You're gonna wreck him,” Violet softly replied, a hint of laughter creeping into her voice. She finished taping his hand and proffered his gloves, saying, “I know you’re warmed up but I want you to stretch your shoulders really well. If he gets in your guard, and I’m not saying he will, he's gonna go for the arm bar. That’s his bread and butter. If you're really warmed up, you can slip it better.”

“Noted,” Dez said, assuming his game face and standing.

He planted a kiss on the top of her head before turning and exiting the room. He paused in the doorway and winked at Peyton, a gesture that Violet observed with guarded discomfort. Peyton sat down in the newly vacated chair and presented Violet with his hands.

“My turn, ma’am,” he softly drawled.

Violet averted her gaze as she sprayed his hands down and began winding the tape over one. Anxiety knotted her stomach and her hands felt shaky as she worked. Usually, she could relax with him. She normally was comfortable with him, almost as comfortable as she was with Dez. The dynamic had shifted, they both knew it, and the ensuing tension was equal parts exciting and terrifying.

“Goin' ta Manny and Tay’s tonight?” he continued, his expression open and earnest.

Ah, there it was. The little conspirators!

She knew Dezzy was up to something. He set the stage for Peyton with their previous conversation. She couldn’t be angry with either one of them, though. She supposed it was only fair. And, she did find that southern accent of his damnedly appealing. Hell, everything about Peyton Ashley was damnedly appealing. That was the problem.

“I don't know yet,” she quietly hedged, avoiding his gaze.

He sighed in response, a sound not of exasperation, but of patient longing. His eyes searched her face for signs of a decision either way. She lifted her gaze for a moment, meeting his. She felt the ring shift on its chain as she looked up, and it fell from the collar of her shirt, dangling in full view as it thudded softly against her chest. His eyes darted to it and he used his free hand to lift and examine the small platinum beauty with a marquise-cut diamond at its heart. He let it go a second later, his eyes meeting hers.

“Dezzy really liked him,” Peyton softly stated.

“They were sparring partners,” Violet replied in the same hushed tone.

“I can’t say that I know—exactly—how it feels,” Peyton haltingly said, his gaze following the movements of her nimble fingers as she continued wrapping his hand, his hesitation hinting that he may sympathize with her on a deeper level than he let on, “I can’t even begin ta imagine what it’s like ta lose someone so close like that, and an unborn child too. But, I want ya ta know that I’m aware of all that and I'm not tryin' ta push. I just—I’m really tryin’ here, Vi,” his voice cracked a little and it broke something precious in her to hear. “I just want ya ta know that I really like ya. Really…really like ya. And I would never do anythin’ ta hurt ya. Not intentionally, anyway.”

She felt the stinging of tears again; not of sadness, but of tenderness. It made her question why she was trying so hard to resist in the first place. A rebellion with an indefensible cause.

“I appreciate that, Peyton,” she choked out, swallowing hard.

“Well good,” he said, quickly dispelling the sappiness of the situation and sitting back a little in the chair, a slight grin impishly tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So I'll see ya at Manuel and Taylor's then?”

Violet couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled involuntarily in her throat.

“We'll see. It depends on how I'm feeling about Dez's fight.”

“Think he’ll win?” he retorted in his Southern drawl, his green-blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he antagonistically leaned forward.

“Hell yeah, he’s gonna win! What kind of a question—”

“I'm just goadin' ya,” he interjected with a shrug and a quick, flirtatious smile as he sat back again.

She smiled back, her mind issuing a warning to her heart, and switched to his other hand. She finished taping it in relatively comfortable silence, looking up to meet his rapt gaze every couple of moments and blushing anew every time. She tore off the last piece of tape with her teeth, then tamped it down with her thumb. Violet fought to open the desk drawer to put the supplies away.

“They really need to get some new equipment in this place,” Peyton stated, his arms folded on the desk, his chin resting on them as he looked up at her through his surprisingly dark lashes.

“Dezzy's buyin' a new desk,” she replied, finally tugging the dilapidated mess open and depositing her tape and spray in it.

She slammed it closed with her hip as she stood.

“That's good of him,” Peyton said, standing as well.

“Alright, it sounds like that last fight has finished. Dezzy's fighting soon.”

She was eager to get out of the confines of her small office so she could breathe; though Peyton was much smaller than Dez, his presence filled the tiny room and made her head swim. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but it did leave her slightly dizzy, unfocused, and prone to stumbling.

“Mind if I escort you?” he quietly asked, offering his arm.

She hesitated. The gesture thinly disguised a bigger, loaded question—he knew it, and he knew full well the gravity of it. The look in his eyes told her he was all too aware of what he was really asking her. He’d never done anything of the sort before. Publicly entering the sphere on his arm—it openly declared that something had started between them.

Well, she thought to herself with a mental smirk, isn’t that what they were doing after all? Wasn’t that the goal? To start something, whatever it was? What could it hurt?

She gingerly slipped her arm through his, noting with butterflies churning her innards that he seemed uncharacteristically buoyant as she did so. She let him to lead the way to the tunnel where Desmond waited to walk out, all the while trying to reconcile her current responsibilities with the all too human needs she'd rejected and allowed to languish for years.

Manuel stood with Dezzy next to the door that separated the locker rooms from the tunnel, which led out to the arena. Dezzy nodded and flashed a knowing smile at Peyton, then winked at Violet. Dez gave Peyton a quick nod of approval before pulling his hood up and stretching out his shoulders over his head while he bounced nimbly up and down on the balls of his feet.

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“Girl, Dez has got this shit on lock!” Taylor's voice squealed from behind them. She threw a slender bronze arm around both Peyton's and Violet's waists from behind. “Well now! I see you guys are gettin' proper close!”

Peyton laughed nervously as Taylor sauntered over to Manuel. He surreptitiously pulled Violet closer, which she decidedly didn’t mind. She felt all the eyes in the audience on them as they followed Desmond’s entourage and were led through the path that cut the way through the crowd to the ring.

Oh but the locker room gossip would be flying for certain, she thought nervously as the spotlight blessedly narrowed to encompass just her brother and left the rest of the entourage in the concealing darkness. Desmond moved directly in front of her, suddenly silent, his game face falling into place. She knew he was concentrating, drowning out everything around him; the voice of the announcer, the ambient din and occasional roar of the crowd as they responded to the zoom of the big screen.

He would only hear the voices of the referees as they checked him over before the fight, of his coaches as they reiterated the highlight reels’ points, and lastly hers as she told him that he could do this. He would win this.

Violet stood behind the coaches as Desmond entered the ring, mentally prepping for whatever injuries he might sustain. It was her job to keep him in the fight. He was the picture of perfect calm and predatorily hale. He was serene, focused, and lethal.

Desmond turned to face his corner, grabbing the top of the cage and stretching his shoulders more. His eyes landed on Violet’s for a moment and the hint of a confident smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, exposing his mouth guard for a split second before he turned back around.

The crowd erupted in a fresh onslaught of cheers as Clayton Daniels appeared at the mouth of the tunnel with his entourage. Violet looked up at the monitors overhead as the cameras trained on the champion’s countenance. To her surprise and pleasure, he did have a trace amount of fear in his eyes. To the untrained eye, he looked raring to go, ready to battle. But to those of Violet Anderson and everyone in their camp, he looked every bit the titan who knew his fifteen minutes in the spotlight were up.

It was then that Violet knew for certain: Desmond was going to win. It was just a question of how. She began bouncing on her toes in anticipation, ignoring the burning in her calves after a few moments had passed.

The announcer introduced the fighters. They stepped to the center of the ring and touched gloves, exchanging sportsmanlike nods before returning to their respective corners.

The referee remained in the center of the cage, checked each fighter, and dropped his hand, yelling, “Fight!”

Clayton came out swinging; something that no one in Dez’s corner had expected of the trademark grappler. Desmond responded in kind however, dodging the flailing fists of his assailant and landing a couple haymakers. Though Clayton’s sudden onslaught had been unexpected, Desmond made lightning quick adjustments and easily picked his shots.

Clayton backed off, rocked for the moment. He circled with Dez, sizing him up, trying to ascertain the damage his wild strikes may have caused. Only a couple of blows found any sort of purchase, leaving Dez’s face unblemished but a deep, reddening spot on his ribs. One of the heaviest body shots had found its mark and Dezzy kept his hands up, his elbows tucked in.

Clayton’s left eye began to mouse up, swelling shut in a matter of moments. Where Clayton had plenty of muscle behind his punches, Dezzy had equal power and the added bonus of precision. He knew how to time and land his shots. He would chip away at the behemoth should it come down to it.

The fighters continued circling, still sizing each other up. Violet bounced on the balls of her feet, her eyes glued to the monitors so she could see her brother’s face and more readily assess any damage. Peyton’s hand rested on her arm then, as if to quell the urge to rise and charge into the ring with her brother and take this buffoon down. She knew better, but that was still her little brother in the cage.

She looked back at Peyton for a moment, his hand moving down to interlace his fingers with hers. Butterflies flitted in her stomach again at the gesture, and she quickly turned to focus her attention back on the fight. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Clayton shot on Dez, trying to go for his knees and score a takedown. Dez was wise to the move and sprawled his hips, widening his stance and maintaining his footing. His grappling skills came into play, allowing him excellent takedown defense. He quickly bent over his assailant’s form, reached down, and hooked one of Clayton’s knees as the titan tried to get back out of arm’s reach.

Dez tripped his standing leg and Clayton fell backwards with Dez on top of him. Before the champ could get his guard up, Dez rained down leather and elbows. He opened up a deep gash over Clayton’s eyebrow in the process. In the onslaught of Desmond’s frenzied flurry, Clayton’s hands came down and his eyes glazed over.

Barely a second passed before the referee tackled Dez and pulled him off the out cold and newly fallen champion. Dez stood, spat out his mouthguard, and sprinted to the edge of the ring. He vaulted up onto the top of the cage and straddled it. He pointed at Violet, then his coaches, and did a victory arm pump before dismounting the fence and raising his arms in triumph to an uproarious standing ovation from the arena’s sold-out crowd.

Violet jumped up and down a couple of times in absolute jubilation as soon as she saw that Clayton Daniels was knocked out. She clapped a hand over her mouth when the ref raised Desmond’s hand, unable to speak for the fierce joy at her brother’s stellar victory. Peyton stood at the same moment from his ringside seat beside her. The second after Dez had pointed to her, she turned to Peyton, expecting to share in congratulations.

The next thing she knew, Peyton pulled away from her, holding her face firmly in his hands, his blue-green eyes sparkling, and his smile exuberant. Her lips tingled and her knees threatened to buckle.

“Told ya he’d whoop him!” Peyton cried before letting go of her face and taking her hand.

He’d just kissed her.

He…kissed her. Her mind reeled with the stunning information, stuttering and sputtering in its efforts to process it. It took her a moment to recover as she stumbled blindly after him for the few feet it took to get to the cage. She was vaguely aware of Dez’s coaches pulling her alongside them as they entered the ring. She was a bit more lucid when Dezzy crushed her in a joyous hug and kissed her cheek. She hugged back, fully regaining her faculties, and let out a whoop of pure happiness.

The announcer grabbed Desmond then and pulled him towards the center of the ring for the recap. Violet and Dez’s coaches, Mike Gerard and Julio Garcia, exited the ring to wait for their new champion. Tears flowed freely down Violet’s cheeks as they placed the championship belt around her brother’s waist. She yelled again as the announcer held up his hand once more, her voice drowned by the roar of a pleased crowd. She realized then that Peyton had disappeared.

Taylor grabbed her arm as the throng moved back towards the tunnel. Dez was surrounded by well-wishers and new fans asking for autographs. Ah well, she thought with a smile. She’d catch up with him later. Let him enjoy his adoring public.

As Taylor hooted and hollered, chattering a recap of how awesome Dez had fought in her ear, Violet’s thoughts turned to the moment Peyton had kissed her.

It’d happened so fast, she couldn’t recall just how his lips had felt or tasted. As she touched her fingers to her lips, she tentatively flicked her tongue over her bottom lip and briefly tasted a foreign saltiness. Her eyes scanned the throng of people pushing into the tunnel.

Where had Peyton gone?

“So you gonna watch Peyton’s fight?” Taylor asked as they reached the tunnel doors.

Shit! His fight was right after the one set to start in a few minutes! How could she forget?!

“Yeah!” Violet shouted over the din of excited voices.

“Well shit, girl, we better turn around then—Dez’ll find us later after he gets cleared by the docs,” Taylor said, dragging her out of the “exit” lane and moving towards the throng migrating back towards the ring.

They were joined momentarily by Manuel as they found seats ringside, left for fighters and their entourages. Violet suddenly regretted not having said anything to Peyton—no “Thanks,” no “Hey, you’re gonna do great”; nothing of the sort. But she knew he’d do well. He knew he’d do well. And they just might see each other at the after party.

She’d decided she was going. How could she not? Though, she wasn’t quite sure how to act around Peyton. Maybe she’d just act like nothing had happened. Or she’d just wait to see how he acted. Yeah, that was probably a better bet.

The fight after Desmond’s lasted all three rounds and went to a split decision. Both fighters were from relatively small, unknown camps. Both had potential. The roar of the crowd conveyed the idea that it had been a great fight. But Violet had hardly been paying attention, lost in her own thoughts about what might happen later.

What would they do at Manny and Tay’s? How many people would be there? Was she really okay with being alone with him?

She snapped back to attention when the lights dimmed and the crowd quieted once more. Beside her, Manny sat calmly watching the mouth of the tunnel in quiet expectation. Violet followed his gaze and waited. Taylor sat on his other side, bouncing up and down in her seat, exuberantly excited for the start of the match. Taylor enjoyed watching the fights almost as much as her soon-to-be husband.

The announcer began the tale of the tape as Peyton’s opponent, the second best in the league and recent loser of a title shot, Paco “Reaper” Nunez, walked out of the tunnel with his entourage into the arena. He looked dangerous and determined. His skin, hair, and eyes were dark. The musculature of his chest, abdomen, and arms were neatly chiseled, as if he’d been carved from deep amber. His conditioning had improved greatly since his last fight and the slight twinge of worry pinched in her chest.

Almost as if he were reading her mind, Manny placed a placating hand on Violet’s arm. She looked over at him and smiled weakly. He nodded and returned his gaze to the tunnel as Paco stepped into the ring. Taylor grabbed Violet’s hand from across Manny’s lap as the tunnel doors opened and cheers erupted at Peyton’s entrance.

Her worries vanished as soon as she laid eyes on him. His green-blue stare was hard as diamond, focused, and deadly. She realized that he too looked quite a bit harder and meaner since his last fight.

Each pectoral, abdominal, bicep, and tricep muscle was neatly delineated and impeccably defined; almost as though he was also carved from stone. His conditioning was undoubtedly out of this world. It dawned on her then just how much harder he’d been working since he’d started hanging out with Dez and the Phenom camp.

Why hadn’t she noticed? Should she have said something? Why hadn’t she thought to say anything? Dammit. She’d have to tell him that after the fight. What would he think? Would he think she was coming on to him? Did it matter if she was? Why was this suddenly so hard?

At last, after the moments seemingly dragged by in slow motion, both fighters stood in the ring. Peyton had turned to scan the ringside crowd for a moment; his eyes landed on Violet and a slight smile spread his lips. She smiled back and he turned to face his opponent. The referee made his demands of a safe, sportsmanlike fight and called the bout into action.

They circled each other after touching gloves, sizing each other up. Peyton stepped in with a few jabs, trying to bait Paco into firing back. But Paco was a patient fighter and didn’t get reeled in. They both knew the other’s game plans and wouldn’t bait easily, either way. The blood-thirsty crowd started booing as they continued to dance, feinting and throwing testing punches that didn’t do much except score hit points on the judges’ cards.

Peyton decided to switch things up then and change levels. He threw a couple leg kicks at Paco, the spark in the other fighter’s eyes igniting as the pain registered in his battered lead leg. Paco aggressed, stepping in and landing a couple of punches to both Peyton’s face and body to let him know he was serious.

Paco shot on Peyton then, taking him to the ground. Peyton quickly recovered and set up his guard, comfortable on his back as Paco tried for a few submission attempts. Unable to break through Peyton’s notoriously indestructible guard, he opted for ground and pound, but Peyton easily controlled his arms, only suffering a few more blows in the attempted flurry that Paco rained down upon him.

Just as Peyton started to set up an armbar attempt, the horn sounded and round one was over. Violet nervously bounced in her seat, taking up the habit from Taylor. She looked apprehensively over at Manuel, who grinned broadly. He returned her gaze, his smile knowingly reassuring.

“Don’t worry, Vi. They’ve felt each other out. Peyton knows what’ll get him, and now he can get to work,” Manuel calmly said, nodding towards the ring as the second round started.

Violet didn’t like how many shots Peyton had endured to test Paco out. It left too much to chance. He’d really have to step it up in the next round, because she knew he’d lost the first round in the judge’s cards. If she knew it, so did he.

In her mind, she was already ascertaining his injuries and planning out how she’d treat him when they returned to her office. Ice pack on the left eye and cheek. Butterfly bandage on that cut under his left orbital. Ibuprofen 800 if he was still in pain. Check the ribs. Check the right knee for swelling. Check the hands. Watch that left elbow for any signs of stress. Ice, compression, elevation…

The second round started, snapping her attention back to the ring. Again, Peyton and Paco circled. This time Paco looked less sure, overly cautious. He knew that taking this to the ground was not going to win him any points, as Peyton could easily defend against him and wear him out. Paco was well aware that if Peyton had one more minute in the first round, the fight would have been over.

Paco stepped in, landing a body shot combo before Peyton blocked and fired back with his own combination, the last of which landed squarely on the left side of Paco’s jaw. Paco charged, even though that last shot had rocked him a bit, pushing Peyton violently against the fence. Paco tried to snag one of Peyton’s knees to get him off balance and take his back on the take down, but Peyton had his own ideas. He allowed Paco to get a grip on his knee, letting the other fighter think he had the advantage.

Violet stood then, grinning wide.

She knew what he was doing, knew what Peyton was setting up. It was a signature trick he liked to pull. He didn’t fight with just sheer brawn. Peyton Ashley was a chess master in the cage. He waited for Paco’s arms to go down away from his head as he grappled for a grip on Peyton’s knee. The instant both of Paco’s arms were down, occupied with trying to throw him, Peyton hopped up on the unrestrained leg and secured a guillotine around Paco’s neck.

They both sagged against the fence as Peyton put all his weight into the submission attempt, lips pulled back over his mouth guard as he strained to choke Paco out. Paco started tapping as they fell to the ground, momentarily going limp from the sudden cessation of oxygen to his brain.

Manny and Tay jumped to their feet simultaneously as the referee stopped the fight. It was a trademark Peyton Ashley victory. Violet whooped, her voice lost once more in the roar of the crowd as Peyton’s coaches and trainers swarmed the ring with him, lifting him on their shoulders momentarily before tossing him his sponsor shirt and hat. The announcer took him aside and had him recap the fight, as was protocol.

While he talked, Violet, Manuel, and Taylor made their way towards the tunnel. Desmond waited there for them, a big smile on his face. He crushed Violet in a bear hug, then mussed her hair with his knuckles.

She kissed his cheek and ruffled his hair in kind.

“Well now you have to go to the after party,” Dezzy said as they made their way back to the locker rooms so the fighters could shower, “Both your boys won tonight!”

“I know! I’m so proud of you! Let me see that belt,” Violet chortled as she allowed herself to be buffeted and pushed along with the crowd heading into the tunnel. She didn’t let it register that he’d said “both”—she and Peyton hadn’t even been on a date. Yet.

After they’d been funneled into the locker room area past the guards, Desmond handed her the belt. She ran her fingers lovingly across the shining gold surface, tracing over the league letters. Her little brother had ascended to champion. Proud was an understatement.

“In a few months, you’ll have two of those to touch,” came Peyton’s voice softly by her ear moments later as she handed the belt back to Desmond and kissed his cheek once more.

She turned to face Peyton, worry evident on her visage.

“Let me see,” she gently said, holding out her hand to Peyton.

She knew he’d taken quite a few nasty hits and was more eager than usual to ascertain the damage.

“Uh oh, I’m in trouble,” Peyton laughed to their entourage as she reached for him.

They all chuckled and walked away, leaving Violet to do a quick post-fight assessment of Peyton.

He obliged, taking her hand and letting her pull him closer. She leaned in and looked at the small cut under his left eye, at the bruising starting to show on his chin, cheek, and both eyes. Her fingers brushed lightly over the marks, testing for tenderness and swelling.

She was sadly certain that his left eye was going to swell shut and be quite tender for the next few days. Next she ascertained the left side of his rib cage, noting the bruising starting to show, but nothing too drastic or requiring extra care.

“How’s that knee?” she asked him, leaning down to gently prod his right knee, moving his kneecap slightly, and checking for swelling.

She knew he’d had surgery on it a couple years ago and it would swell up and hurt him from time to time.

“Good,” he softly replied, meeting her eyes as she stood up.

She pulled away with a sigh, happy that more damage hadn’t been done. She rather liked his handsome face. It was then that she noticed he had goosebumps all over his arms and neck.

“Are you cold? I have an extra hoodie,” she asked as he slipped an arm around her waist and they walked back towards her office.

Dez, Manuel, and Taylor chattered excitedly just outside her temporary office’s door, oblivious to them for the moment.

“No—why?” he asked softly, his Southern drawl thickening his tone, which had changed from lilting and playful to husky and distracted.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” she replied, tracing her hand lightly down his arm, noting that they grew markedly more prevalent at the action.

He closed his eyes tightly for a second and shivered before proffering her a shy smile.

“Ya touched me—o’ course I’m gonna break out in the goose pimples,” he quietly said.

Violet’s face blushed furiously crimson. She cleared her throat nervously before speaking.

“Well then. Let’s get you some ice and a bandaid for that cut, shall we?”

She ducked into her office before he could respond, drawing curious looks from the other three members of the entourage. They turned their heads in unison to look at Peyton. He just shrugged and winked as they all filed into Violet’s makeshift office.

“Ok, Dez, ice pack on those ribs. Don’t think I didn’t notice you were holdin’ your side a little bit ago. I suggest you go get x-rays and wear the brace tonight,” Violet said, her voice regaining its authoritative trainer tone.

She pulled out her skin disinfectant and sprayed a cotton ball, dabbing at the cut under Peyton’s eye. She winced as he grimaced. She then grabbed a bandaid from the cupboard next to the refrigerator and deftly applied it to the small cut on Peyton’s face, then checked his elbow before rounding on her brother again.

“Did you have the docs check that ribcage out post-fight? Of course you didn’t,” she quipped when Dezzy shook his head and mock-glared at her.

She glared right back. Peyton walked over to the desk where he sat down, his back momentarily to her.

“C’mon Vi—” Desmond began to whine.

“If there’s damage, I need to know. Better safe than sorry. You’ve got a title to defend now; no silly injuries or macho mistakes are going to hold you back on my watch. Peyton,” her voice softened a little on his name and he looked over his shoulder at her, “Ice pack on that eye and jaw, fifteen minutes on, fifteen off for the next hour. How are your hands?”

He smiled flirtatiously.

“Ready and willing, ma’am,” he provocatively drawled, catching the ice pack she had activated and thrown at him.

“Ok. Showers, ice, clears from the doc, and I think we’re ready for some partying tonight,” Violet said with a glance toward Manuel and Taylor.

“Sounds good. I’m gonna go watch the rest of the fights,” Manuel said, taking Taylor’s arm and leading her from the room. He stopped at the doorway and called over his shoulder, “Party starts at eleven. I expect all of you there.”

Violet nodded and looked back at the two men still in her makeshift office. Her brother sat in her chair and Peyton sat on the desk facing him, his back to her. Desmond whispered something to Peyton, something she could not hear. They were definitely trying to be sneaky—but Dezzy never had mastered the art of sneakery.

“I’m going to go watch the fights, too. You two co-conspirators can just cut that out right now,” she laughed nervously, effectively ending their conversation.

“Conspirators? The nerve!” Desmond gasped in faux offence, crossing his arms indignantly over his chest and glaring unconvincingly at her.

“Ta think she trusts us so little,” Peyton added in his Southern drawl as he pivoted his torso to look at her. “Why, ya’d think she’d be just a beamin’ after our victories. ‘Stead she’s scoldin’ us. Shame shame.”

“Showers. Now,” Violet said authoritatively, pointing to the door.

They laughed and got up, sulkily walking past her, Desmond in front. He kissed the top of her head as he passed and walked out of the door. Peyton stopped in front of her, holding the icepack to the left side of his face.

“I wanted ta apologize for earlier. I let my emotions get the better of me and it was very impulsive and rude of me ta—“

“Peyton, hush. Go get your shower and get cleared by the docs. I’ll see you ringside,” Violet gently cut him off, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am,” he gushed, “May I be your escort to the party?”

“I think that’s already a given,” Violet couldn’t help but laugh.

“Right on,” Peyton breathed excitedly with an even bigger smile.

He kissed her cheek before jogging after Desmond. She sighed and closed the office, locking the door behind her. She proceeded through the tunnel and moved ringside to where Taylor and Manuel saved her a seat. There was another fight already going on, and it was quite a bloody mess.

She watched in relative silence, eavesdropping on Manuel explaining to Taylor what was going on. She knew someone had just sat next to her in the empty seat to her left, though she didn’t turn to see who it was, being so engrossed in the war raging within the cage.

The round ended and she turned to see one of the fighters from Peyton’s gym. She smiled politely at him and turned her attention back to the cage as the trainers worked to patch up their fighters for the next round.

“So is Peyton officially in your camp now?” the man asked.

She fished for his name in her head. His last name was Decker—she’d rarely used his first name. Same weight class as Manuel; Middleweight. Not a very good fighter statistically though he’d won his last two fights. He was popular with the ring girls and some of the sports’ ever present fashion models. He was overconfident and narcissistic and she didn’t particularly care for him, especially since he constantly ragged on Peyton to her.

“No, as far as I know he’s still with you guys,” Violet distractedly quipped.

“Alright. I just gotta ask, are you and him an item now or what? I saw you guys earlier ringside after Desmond’s fight, and for someone who claims they’re unattached, that looked pretty serious to me.”

Violet internally squirmed. Before she could speak though, Taylor’s saucy little voice cut in.

“Why don’t y’all mind your own damn business,” she quipped as Manuel laid a restraining hand on the little stick of dynamite’s upper arm.

“My apologies,” Decker said, smiling chivalrously though his eyes were icy. “I simply wanted to ask Miss Violet here if she had a date for your after party tonight.”

Taylor looked to Violet with brows raised in expectation, not letting her get away with someone else speaking for her again. She was saved, however. Even as she opened her mouth to speak, Peyton and Desmond walked up, freshly showered and groomed.

“Marty,” Peyton said curtly, nodding his greeting, his smile failing to reach his eyes, which glinted coldly in the dim house lights of the arena. Martin Decker, she suddenly remembered as Peyton continued, “You’re in my seat, bro.”

“I was just getting an answer from Violet here. What do you say? Goin’ with me or what?”

Violet’s eyes narrowed momentarily at Decker. He was handsome in the California surfer-guy way. He was ripped, tan, shaggy beach blond, and blue-eyed. He abounded with arrogance, something that immediately put her off. He was well-known for being a player and had been trying to get a date with her since she first signed on for this gig.

“I’m going with Peyton, Decker. My apologies,” she replied, her voice detached in its politeness, negating the last part of what she said.

“Perhaps another time,” Decker said with a cold smile, tossing an unguarded glare at Peyton as he stood and walked off.

“Asshole,” Desmond snorted as soon as Decker was out of earshot.

“Dez, it isn’t polite ta curse in front of the ladies,” Peyton chirped playfully as he took the seat next to Violet, easily sliding her arm through his and entwining his fingers with hers.

His gaze met hers for a moment, the previous iciness he’d displayed with Decker having melted to delightfully radiant warmth. She blushed and looked back towards the ring, unsure of what to think of Peyton’s shift in attitude. On one hand, she liked it. On the other, she feared the consequences of it.

“Pffff, I can’t believe Tay kisses Manny with that mouth. And you should hear some of the shit that’s come out of Vi’s mouth—”

“Dezzy, shut up,” Violet laughingly interrupted, effectively shutting Dez up as the next round started.

“He’ll see soon enough,” Desmond laughed, then coughed, hugging his arms about himself and grimacing in pain.

Violet sharply turned to look at him. She hadn’t liked the sound of that cough. It fracked within his chest and was too wet sounding for her liking. She abruptly removed her arm from Peyton’s as she reacted.

“Desmond, x-ray, now,” she said, standing up and offering her hand to him.

“Doc said I’m fine,” he replied gruffly, “Sit down. You’re makin’ a scene.”

She glared at him for a moment and sat down, warily watching him from the corner of her eye. Peyton watched Desmond for a moment as well before turning his attention back to the fight, lightly and reassuringly resting his arm across Violet’s shoulders.

Every few moments, he touched his chin to the top of her head or ran his fingers through the chocolate-hued curls that spilled over her shoulders. Though it was semi-distracting, Violet wasn’t going to complain one bit. It was nice to be doted on again. She hadn’t been fawned over since Tommy…

She immediately derailed that train of thought and started focusing on the fight in front of her again.

The round ended with both fighters all bloody. There was one more round to go, and it was still anyone’s guess. One of the fighters in the ring was from Peyton’s gym, and he was really going to war with the other guy who hailed from a gym somewhere in the Midwest. Both were relative newcomers to the sport, and both were reputably good.

“Man, he’s gonna look and feel like hell tomorrow,” Peyton said as the third and final round started.

“Yeah he is,” Desmond said, leaning forward a little in his seat and wincing.

“Dez—” Violet began.

“Shush, Vi. They’re just bruised. They’re gonna get worse before they get better,” Desmond cut her off in annoyance.

She still watched him, worry etching deep lines in her forehead. Peyton reassuringly tightened his arm around her shoulders again.

“He’ll be fine,” he murmured next to her ear, his nose brushing her temple.

Violet nodded, resisting the shiver that threatened to rocket down her spine, and returned to watching the fight. The guy from Peyton’s gym, a featherweight fighter by the name of Vlad Mazura, worked for an armbar submission. The other guy refused to give in, refused to tap. Violet cringed as Vlad pulled harder. She saw the tendons in the other fighter’s shoulder stretching dangerously tight as Mazura tugged mercilessly.

A few seconds later, the guy’s shoulder gave, dislocating with a sickeningly audible “pop”. Violet cringed as the man screamed and the referee stepped in. She didn’t stand with the rest of the crowd, not wanting to witness the extent of the fighter’s injury.

“Brutal!” Desmond shouted, standing up and clapping.

He winced as he did so and sat down a moment later.

“Yes, brutal as hell,” Peyton said, also having stood to get a better look at the goings on in the ring.

“Jesus, did you see that?” Manuel asked, standing with Taylor so they could also have a better view.

“How could you miss it?” Violet replied, her attention focused on Desmond rather than the ring.

She winced again when the man yelled as they popped his shoulder back into the socket. That was an awful way to lose a fight. Poor guy was going to be absolutely miserable for the next week at least. She felt badly for him, though that’s what happened when one refused to tap out in a submission like that. He definitely received toughness points in her book, but also foolishness ones.

“God that’s gotta hurt,” Desmond said once everyone sat back down.

“Yep. He’s gonna feel like ass in the morning,” Manuel added.

“Don’t think we’ll see him at the after party,” Taylor said on a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we did,” Peyton laughed, “He’s gonna wanna drown that pain.”

“Right on!” Dez said, bumping fists with Peyton.

Violet had to laugh. She was also certain the guy would be there. Peyton was right; that was a pain that one was glad to drown. Plus, alcohol could act as a muscle relaxer, further easing the pain; not that she ever advocated its use as such.

She considered for a moment the fact that it might actually do her some good if she were to drink a bit at the party. Relax and drown the rest of the world out. It had been a very long time indeed since she’d figuratively let her hair down.

She’d been so caught up in the day-to-day efforts of just trying to make it through. Just trying to keep from drowning in the raging river of her sorrow. She felt as though that evening, however, she took a step in the right direction; turning the page at the end of this new chapter’s prologue and beginning the next adventure. She hadn’t wilded out in years…