Samson escapes one of the most painful holds, and flips Grayson over while he appears to be barely moving.
And then he’s pinned in a rear-naked chokehold.
He doesn’t have time to tap out or escape before his body drops to the mat—
Completely unconscious.
“It’s been hours,” I mumble needlessly.
Sarah and Lynx are sitting next to me. Landon has gone to get us food and Rodney is hovering in the corner.
I have spent very little time with Grayson’s coach since I moved to Chicago. The few times I’ve gone to the gym to watch Grayson train, or to pick him up when he’s done, Rodney has huffed and puffed in annoyance at my being in the gym or he’s snapped at Grayson for talking to me and becoming distracted.
Since Rodney is clearly not a fan of me, I’ve given him a wide berth since we stepped into the hospital hours ago.
Hours.
I blink and still see Grayson lying lifeless on the matted floor, well after Samson was declared the winner. I stood frozen, hands clasped together over my mouth, and watched…waited…as Grayson’s team tried to revive him with smelling salts and some time.
An ambulance was called immediately after Samson’s team cleared the mat, and I didn’t move until Landon and Lynx came and pulled Sarah and me from the stands.
I don’t think I’ve thought a coherent sentence since.
“It’s probably just a concussion,” Lynx says. As if that’s reassuring.
Grayson hasn’t told me much about his previous injuries, but I know that if Lynx is correct, this isn’t his first. It’s also not his second or his third.
Too many can kill a guy.
The acidic taste of bile slides down my throat at the thought.
I look away from everyone and concentrate on the speckled linoleum flooring.
I’ve just gotten him back. Seeing Grayson collapse onto the ring floor like he did, completely unconscious, scared the shit out of me.
I never want to see it happen to him again, even though I realize it’s always a risk.
“Grayson Legend?”
My head snaps toward the unfamiliar and intruding voice. A man in teal scrubs with a facemask pulled down beneath his chin stands in the doorway.
My heart skips a beat and stalls in my chest as I climb to my feet. Next to me, Lynx stands and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
The move is surprisingly comforting and I lean into him.
Three sets of worried eyes land on the doctor.
“I’m his coach,” Rodney says, stepping forward. He doesn’t hold out his hand and I recognize the nervous gesture when he slides his hand through his graying hair. “How is he?”
“My name is Dr. Graham.” He slides his gaze around the room, looking all of us in the eye. With a small smile he says, “He’s awake now, but tired. He does have a concussion and he’ll need to stay here overnight for observation, but he should be okay to head home tomorrow.”
My heart, which had previously felt frozen inside my chest, begins pumping again. “Oh, thank God,” I whisper, pressing into Lynx’s firm hold further.
The doctor looks at me and his eyes lighten. “You must be Kennedy.”
“I am.”
“He’s asked to see you.”
My hand flies to my chest as I expel a forceful breath. Sarah reaches out and squeezes my hand as Lynx lets me go, steadying me before he steps away.
“Thank you,” I mumble, to no one in particular.
With a quick nod, Dr. Graham turns and faces Rodney. “Your athlete has now suffered five concussions over the last six years. I would strongly recommend you speak to him about stepping down from fighting.”
Rodney’s lips curl into a sneer. “I believe I know what’s best for my fighters.”
“I believe you don’t,” snaps the doctor, clearly agitated. “If you were taking care of your fighters, you would have insisted he step down after the last one.”
He turns around and walks to the door, holding it open for me, without looking back.
I follow, a lead weight in my chest slowing my steps with every move I make toward his hospital room.
Five concussions? That’s too many. Fear bubbles inside me at what this means for Grayson.
For his career.
What it’ll mean for us if he goes back to thinking he’s not good enough for me.
“He needs his rest,” Dr. Graham says to me when we reach a closed door. “Don’t stay long. And technically, visiting hours are over, but he was insistent that he see you.”
His soft smile is kind, his gray eyes friendly.
“Thank you.” I swallow the lump in my throat and enter the room when Dr. Graham opens the door.
My heart drops to my knees as soon as I see Grayson.
His head is bandaged, most likely from all the wounds he’s sustained. His skin is paler than normal, and I cringe when I see the thin tubes coming from the back of his hand and attached to a machine.
“Get in here.”
His gravelly voice makes me jump, and I quickly shut the door behind me. Tears fill my eyes and I blink, letting them roll down my cheeks.
“You’re okay.” My voice shakes as I make my way to him, gripping his hand as I take a seat on his side. “I was so worried.”
He turns his head on the pillow and lifts his hand to wipe away my tears.
Twenty-Six
Grayson
“I’m fine.” Damn. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper. I don’t know when shit went wrong in the ring, but as soon as I woke up and heard the word concussion, I knew immediately that my fighting career was over.
I’ve replayed that thought a thousand times in my head in the last thirty minutes since I’ve been poked and prodded.
I feel like throwing up, and it has nothing to do with the concussion currently making me feel like someone’s hammering my skull from the inside out.
Kennedy wipes a tear off her cheek and leans forward, brushing her lips against mine.
“Get in the bed with me,” I demand, shifting to the side. A pain slashes in my head at the small movement and I cringe.
“You’re hurt.”
“I don’t care.” I need her. I need her close. Without a fighting career, she’s all I have left. “Please, Kennedy.”
Her brown eyes spark. I’m rarely polite. “Okay.”
With cautious movements, she curls onto her side and I wrap my arm around her back, setting my hand on her hip and pulling her close.
Her hand rests on my bare chest, fingers mindlessly running along my heated skin, soothing the rampage inside me.
“I was so worried about you. So scared.” She trips over her words and I squeeze her tight to me.
“I can’t fight anymore.” The admission tastes like vomit and I close my eyes.
Even with the dim lighting my head is fucking killing me. Closing my eyes magnifies the pain, but I can’t bear to open them, see the fear or concern in her eyes.
Red and yellow lights flash behind my closed lids as her breath hitches.
“You’ve been fighting every day of your life, Grayson. You’ll fight for something else, and you’ll succeed because that’s who you are, that’s the kind of man you are.”
Her faith in me is indescribable.
Her faith in me makes me want to be the man she thinks she sees when she looks at me, even if it’s nothing close to the angry man I see when I look in the mirror.
I slide my thumb along her hipbone, my body warming to her…wanting her…despite the fact that the pain meds and crushing pain in my head are pulling me to sleep.
“I’ll always love you, Grayson Legend, and I’ll always believe in you.”
It’s the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.
“You’re good to go.”
A flashing light in my eyes makes me flinch, pulling back from Dr. Graham as he finishes his exam.
“Is he okay?” Kennedy asks, her hand tightly clasped around mine. She was in my arms last night when I fell asleep, and at my side when I opened my eyes this morning. She was in different clothes and showered, telling me she’d gone to the hotel at some point, but I have no clue how long she was gone.
I was just happy to see her worried brown eyes, soft on me, when I first saw her.
“He’ll be fine.” He slides his penlight into the front pocket of his white lab coat and looks directly at me. “You remember what we talked about yesterday?”
I nod, even though my head still hurts. “Rest. No more fighting. No more training.” I force the words past the block in my throat, wanting to ignore the whole thing.
“You were very lucky yesterday,” he says and I scoff.
Lucky, my ass. I got beaten by a guy I should have been able to handle—all because I lost focus in the ring. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about my dumbass move to kiss Kennedy before the match. I had just known I needed her, and took what I wanted.
It had cost me everything.
I have no one to blame but myself for it, either, and I know Rodney wants to beat the shit out of me for losing focus right before a match.
“I’ll make sure he rests,” Kennedy says, smiling down at me. “Tie him up to his bed if I have to.”
“That doesn’t sound like I’ll get much rest.”
She rolls her eyes playfully, cheeks turning a bright pink when the doctor clears his throat.
“Right,” he says, glancing back and forth between us awkwardly. “Then I think you have a plane to catch this afternoon.”