I groan, showing my frustration. I just want to get home and shower and get to sleep.
“It’s okay,” Kennedy says, somehow reading my mind. “Lynx and Landon managed to get you on a chartered plane. There will be a bed you can sleep in as soon as we board.”
“Sounds fucking perfect,” I mumble, my eyelids already feeling heavy.
“Call your doctor as soon as you get back to Chicago,” Dr. Graham says, ripping off a sheet of paper. “Here’s your discharge paperwork and you can take care of everything on your way out.” He walks to the door and opens it, looking at me over his shoulder. “Take care, Mr. Legend.”
It clicks behind him, and fear settles deep in my gut as I watch Kennedy shift nervously on her feet.
“What is it?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her eyes clearing as she looks at me. “Nothing.” She bends down and presses her lips against mine. “I’m just really thankful you’re okay.”
“I will be,” I tell her, meaning every word. With the thick silence that has weighed down the room, I’ve had a lot of time this morning to think.
I always knew my fighting career wouldn’t last long, and I’ve prepared for the day I had to leave the ring. I’d love nothing more than to go out on top, and maybe someday I can.
But the one thing I know for sure is that I won’t risk my skull or my life for a belt.
Six months ago, I might have. But now I’ve got more important things to fight for.
And a dream I’ve always had in the back edges of my mind is beginning to play out right in front of me.
“You know I love you, right?” I ask, my lips turning up at the edges.
Her smile matches mine, and she leans down, brushing her lips over mine. “Of course I do.”
She doesn’t say it back, she doesn’t need to. Her love shines bright in her eyes.
“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“This is Kennedy,” she says, her brows pulled in.
Running her hands through her hair, she turns to look at me over her shoulder as her eyes widen and the blood rushes from her face.
We just got back to Chicago an hour ago, and she’s spent the entire time flitting around my apartment, making sure I have everything I need next to my side of the bed.
Then she crawled into bed next to me and started a Die Hard movie marathon.
As soon as her phone rang, I immediately felt the change in her previously relaxed demeanor.
“Of course, Mr. Matsen. How can I help you?”
Her eyes grow wide and my heart jumps to my throat. Her voice is shaky and I watch her hand begin to tremble as she reaches for me. I adjust my spot in the bed, sitting up.
Matsen? Calling me?
She nods, pulls the phone away from her ear, and presses a button.
“Mr. Legend, can you hear me?”
The slightly familiar voice of Donald Matsen echoes through the speaker and I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Listen, we um…well…” Impatience begins filling my veins as he falters over his words.
Kennedy stares at me, her eyes wide open and lips parted.
He clears his throat and continues. “Listen. Patricia and I, well, we got Kennedy’s number from Mary.”
“And?” I ask, frustration growing by the second.
“This is us going against our lawyer’s recommendation to not have contact with you. I want you to know that,” he states clearly.
My hand curls into a fist on top of the bed sheet. I want to snap at him, tell him to get to his point, but I fight the urge.
“We’d like for you to see Thad,” he says abruptly.
“What?” Kennedy gasps, and her hand flies to her chest, over her heart.
I don’t say anything. Every word sticks in my throat and I can’t speak.
Donald clears his throat again. “The thing is, we never told you…but Thad’s a pretty huge fan of MMA and he’s been taking classes at a local kid’s gym practically since he could walk.”
“What?” I ask, practically growling.
My eyes flash to Kennedy, only to see tears already streaming down her cheeks.
My son. A son I’ve never met. And he loves the same shit I do.
“He’s always been a pretty big fan of yours, to be honest, Mr. Legend—”
“Grayson,” I say, interrupting him. I might be okay with my career ending, but I don’t want to hear that name. Not yet.
“Grayson, of course,” he apologizes. “I just wanted you to know that Thad was concerned last night, watching you go down in the ring.”
Holy fuck. I scrub my hands down my face, shaking my head. “He…he watched me fight?” I ask. And hell…are those tears burning in my eyes?
My head is spinning, partly from the concussion that still makes speaking and noises feel like nails piercing my skull…partly from shock.
I look at Kennedy, reach out and take her free hand, and mouth Is this happening?
She nods frantically, her grin widening.
“Yes. He’s actually never missed one. Part of the reason we were concerned about him meeting you, to be honest. And I’m sorry about that. But my boy…he’s sensitive. And couldn’t sleep last night, scared you weren’t going to be okay.”
Holy shit. This kid cares for me…even if he doesn’t know who I am.
“I’d like for him to see you.”
“Oh my gosh,” Kennedy gasps, wiping away her tears as more fall. I can’t take my eyes off her, knowing our shocked expressions are equally matched.
“When?” Now. Today. Tomorrow.
“I talked to Patricia, and well, if you’re feeling okay today…we’d like for you to see him this afternoon. Or tomorrow…whenever you can.”
“I’ll be there,” I snap, not even caring that I still feel like a stampede is running through my brain. This might be a dream.
It could be real.
“We…um…haven’t told him who you are.”
“You don’t need to.” I don’t realize the truth in the words until they’re falling out of my mouth faster than I can stop them. But I find them true as I wait to explain, or for him to explain further. “I just want to see him.”
Donald is silent for several moments and Kennedy reaches out, grabbing my hand. He’s had just enough time to reconsider when his voice comes back through the phone line, softer this time, more patient and caring.
“We’ll tell him someday,” he says, a promise evident in his voice. “But today…or now…whenever you can make it…we just want him to meet his favorite fighter. Give you a chance to talk to him.”
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
A deep breath filters through the phone line. I can practically imagine the man’s shoulders slumping in relief.
“Mr. Matsen,” I say, clearing my throat. It burns with swallowed tears and I inhale, letting a breath out slowly. “I respect the hell out of you for this. And I made a promise last time we met. I want to know he’s okay, want to see him. But Kennedy and I are certain that our son is with the best parents he could possibly have. We don’t want to ruin that for you—or for him, mostly.”
“Thank you,” he says, choking over his words. I can tell he’s getting as emotional as I am. “When will you feel well enough to meet?”
A grin pulls at my lips, hurting my cheeks. “Whenever you want.”
Twenty-Seven
Kennedy
I’m suddenly dying to see Thad, but with the emotions of the last twenty-four hours and then hearing that the son I birthed is a fan of his father’s, my stomach is rolling.
“How are you doing?” I ask, running my hand down Grayson’s arm. His knees are bouncing as we sit on the wooden bench. I can tell he’s still feeling sick despite the fact that he wants this meeting so much.
His skin has a slight green color to it like he might throw up at any moment.
“I’ll be fine,” he mutters, looking down at the ground. “I can rest later.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, my voice quiet but playful.
He twists his neck, looking up at me through sunglasses that hide his eyes. I can tell by the way lines spread out from the edges of his eyes beneath the glasses that he’s squinting. He’s in pain and he’s sick.
And we’re sitting out in the bright afternoon sun in Millennium Park, waiting to see Thad.
“You better plan on holding onto me forever,” he says, one corner of his lips quirking up. “Because I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”
I lean forward, feeling the familiar rush of lust and need and desire and love. When my lips brush against his, I inhale his scent and the brief taste of him.
“Someday,” he says, pulling back and squeezing my hand, “I’m going to marry you and we’re going to have our own family.”
My eyes jump open and my lips part. “What?”
He nods once, and his voice is strong when he says, “Haven’t had a lot of time to think about it, Kennedy, but I know that without you, losing the ability to fight would end me. I need you in my life, at my side, and in my corner.”
Blood rushes to my brain even as he slides down to one knee off the bench and in front of me.
“I don’t have a ring yet,” he says, but his thumb slowly glides along the sensitive skin of the ring finger of my left hand. “We’ll get you one—today, if you want—but I’ve wasted enough time in my life not going after what I really wanted for fear it wouldn’t work out, that I wouldn’t be good enough—”