Drew's eyes dully sought Heath's, and she noted dimly that she had never seen such a look of rage on his face before. She'd thought this morning was the maddest she'd ever seen him; he'd seemed almost happy then, by comparison now.
Everything unfolded in what seemed like slow motion. Heath burst out of the cage and rushed toward the booth. John leapt forward and caught his arm just as Connor vaulted over the chairs in front of them to restrain his younger brother from the front. Lana was screaming out, and Drew suddenly couldn't handle anyone else looking at her, pointing, whispering. She was torn, wanting to go to Heath who was being restrained by his father, his brother, and three security guards from getting any closer to the booth, where the two commentators had jumped to their feet and backed up. One of them turned to look at Drew, and the look on his face enraged her.
He didn't look apologetic; he looked amused.
The half-full cup of beer fell from her hand as she whirled. She found herself staring into the eyes of a tall man and his friend behind him. Both were smirking at her. Their mouths were opened; they were talking at her.
Jeering at her; making fun of her pain.
She tried to shove between them, get away from them, get out of the arena before anxiety overwhelmed her. One of the men, stinking with alcohol, grabbed her arm and tried to hold her back, press her between them. Tremendous fury rose up in her and before she knew what she was doing, her fists moved of their own accord.
She punched the one who touched her in his nose, feeling the bone crunch underneath her small knuckles as the force of her blow made his head snap back and he went toppling backward, knocking over chairs and people. She heard cries of dismay, but she swung on the other man, whose hand had risen to claim her other arm. She shoved her knee hard into his crotch, burying her kneecap deep in his groin and as the air audibly whooshed out of him, she flung an elbow into his face to send him sprawling back in the other direction.
She became aware of her name being screamed by someone, but she raced out of the arena into the hallways. She pulled off her troublesome heels and ran, fast, swift, light, down the concrete corridors until she instinctively reached the back entrance she'd arrived at. There was no one there now, so she exited and just kept running.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Later that night, Heath stuck his head into the bedroom where John was sprawled out, watching the news. He looked up when he saw Heath, noting his extremely casual dress of sweatpants, a tank top, a sweatshirt, and socks.
"Hey son," he said. "What's up?"
"I'm goin' down the hall," Heath replied. "See Drew. She kind of had a rough one earlier but she won't admit it."
John nodded. "Good idea. So did you." He looked back toward the television and cleared his throat. He tried to sound casual. "You, uh...you comin back tonight?"
Heath gritted his teeth. It was a knee-jerk reaction, one he knew he had to work past, but he couldn't help the faintest stirrings of his old irritation when his father asked personal questions like that.
"I don't know," he replied honestly.
"Just remember we gotta be there by three tomorrow," John said. "If you don't come back." He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though the old man was trying not to smile.
Heath gave one nod and backed out of the room. He needed to give John a little credit, though. After Heath had completely lost his temper and tried to attack the two commentators for being incredible assholes and broadcasting Drew's identity and her story to the MMA world, he should have been ejected from the tournament. But it had been John's quick talking and pleading with the event organizers and even Smith himself that had kept Heath in the fight.
Now, his concern was Drew. She'd managed to run back, barefoot, to the hotel by herself and had locked herself in her room until they'd returned. She apologized to Connor, Lana and John for her behavior—knocking two tall guys out all by herself in her desperation to leave—and had quietly asked Heath for a little time to herself. He'd been concerned but wanted to give her the space she needed, so she'd agreed. She'd eaten by herself and several hours had gone by before she finally texted him and asked him to come to her room.
Now, he headed down the hall in just his socks since Drew's room was literally three doors away. He stopped when he reached it and knocked.
He heard the light padding of feet and then a pause and he knew she was peering through the peephole. He heard a loud click and then the door opened. His eyes moved over her quickly and he swallowed hard.
She was dressed in a bright pink, boxy cropped T-shirt that showed her smooth abdomen for the second time that day, flat from years of dance but not overly muscular, still on the soft side which he loved. The shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing a turquoise bra strap covered in tiny white polka dots. She wore a pair of short white boxer shorts with pink stripes and her long dark hair hung over one shoulder in a loose, messy braid.