“Oh don’t.” Melody’s eyes swam like lost emeralds behind her glasses when she tilted her head to give Clay a pleading look. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you not to do this.”
“Come with me to Vegas tomorrow,” he went on, refusing to release his hold on her hand. She didn’t pull away, and he got the distinct impression she needed the connection too. “You don’t have to watch the fight, but they always dump a bunch of money on fancy hotel rooms, and I know you’ll like it. You can see the three-ring circus, cameras and fans and a bunch of bullshit everyone but me seems to think is exciting.”
“You don’t like it?” Melody asked in concern. “I thought this was your dream.”
“I like the art of battle,” he admitted with a smirk. “I like fighting. I like the satisfaction of winning, but I hate the circus.”
Her smile was sad as she squeezed his hand. “I wish I could go.”
“You can,” he assured her. “Come with me. Make the bullshit bearable.”
“I can’t.” She pulled her hand out of his, looking like the action was hurting her. She turned back to the food that she’d been standing there eating. She pushed at it halfheartedly with her fork and then whispered, “Please take care of yourself.”
Clay knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he had to take a cooling breath in response. He wanted to needle her until she told him what had happened to change everything, but he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He was still haunted by the look of fear in Melody’s eyes when he’d grabbed her arm outside the locker room.
Words were trapped in his throat, because he wasn’t great at expressing himself. He’d never had a girlfriend before. He’d never had anyone to care about except Jules and Wyatt, and the two of them knew as much about the softer emotions in life as he did. He was in foreign territory, but he wanted to find a way to tell her that every minute away from her felt like a small death. These past few days had stretched out like an eternity, and he really didn’t see how he could survive a lifetime without her.
Melody was still pushing at her food, two silent tears running down her cheeks until she reached up to hastily brush them away. He should say it. Just give in to instinct and lay every rough sentiment welling up inside of him out in a terrible gush of emotion. He knew it would be dreadful to witness because he was horrible at this stuff. He’d probably say all the wrong things in all the wrong ways, and Melody would likely get every word because she understood him.
He took a deep breath and willed the words to come.
“You okay, darling?”
Clay groaned, turning to see Judy come around the corner. Her eyes were narrowed at the two of them, darting from Melody still silently crying to Clay standing there tense and vibrating with a sea of unfamiliar emotions.
“Fine.” Melody nodded, wiping at her cheeks once more. “Clay was just—”
“Leaving,” Clay finished for her, because he didn’t want her to get in trouble. He reached out and squeezed her small hand once more in his big one. “I’ll see ya, Mel.”
“See ya.” She turned to give him smile. “Good luck.”
Clay let go of her hand and turned to leave, feeling anything but lucky…
* * * *
Clay wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom feeling raw and miserable. He winced as he stepped into the large suite. His room was crowded with people, and it reminded him why he’d gone to hide in the second bathroom to begin with. He’d been trying to escape Wyatt, who’d set up camp in Clay’s bedroom and hovered like an annoying mother hen.
Jasper and Tony sat at a table in front of the window. The two coaches ignored the impressive skyline of Las Vegas at dusk. Instead they huddled close together, speaking in gruff whispers.
His publicity manager, Eloise, sat on the couch glued to her laptop. Clay saw she was reviewing footage of him training earlier in the afternoon. His agent, Rick, lingered in the marbled foyer of the suite, speaking into his top-of-the-line smartphone. Rick stopped midsentence, whatever he’d been talking about obviously not for Clay’s consumption. Instead Rick gave him a big, false smile that churned his stomach.
“Hey, buddy!” Rick’s voice was high-pitched in the annoying way it got when he was nervous and trying very hard to hide it. He held up a finger to Clay and then whispered into the phone, “Let me call you back. Clay just got out of the shower.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Clay said, refraining from adding that he didn’t want to talk anyway. “I’m just gonna take a nap.”