Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(126)

I’ll figure that out when the time comes. I can disappear if I have to. All you have to do is look around on the Internet to find out how to do it. It’s not easy, and it’ll mean never seeing my family again—never seeing Cain again—but I’m willing to do it to protect my baby.

I’m still thinking things over, making plans that don’t stick in my brain more than a few minutes at a time, when my phone rings. My heart leaps, hoping it’s Cain. Please let it be Cain. But it isn’t. Of course it isn’t. After all, why would it be? He called constantly the first several days I was gone, and I never bothered to pick up. Now that I actually want to talk to him, it looks like he’s given me up as a lost cause.

Instead it’s my sister, Sophie. “The fight’s today,” she says, without even saying “hello” first.

My heart jumps again, for another reason. I know this, of course, although I’ve tried not to think about it since Cain walked out. He’s going to win the fight, no matter what my father wants him to do. And then… Well, regardless of my plans or lack of same, I might never see him again, anyway.

“I know,” I tell her, wondering why she’s called just to tell me this.

“Look, I don’t know what’s up with you,” she starts, her voice a little hesitant. “I mean, I know about you and Cain McAllister, obviously—Pop keeps hollering about it. But the rest of it…” She trails off. Then, “Go,” she tells me. “Go to the fight. Just go.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll wish you had. For the rest of your life. Trust me, Jess. You don’t want to live the rest of your life wondering what could have happened if you’d just…”

She stops, and then she hangs up. No “goodbye,” no nothing. I can’t help but wonder if her husband’s nearby, and she’s trying to keep him from overhearing. There’s no way to know. I might never know.

I stare at my phone for a few long seconds. I’ve got a couple of hours before the fight starts. Should I go? Should I stay here and keep making my plans?

I have no idea. My hand starts to shake. I burst into tears, and then I have to run into the bathroom to throw up.

Stupid “morning sickness,” anyway.





Cain



I’m not ready for this fight. I’m not sure I could ever be ready for this fight. I know what I’m going to do, but I still don’t know if it’s the right thing.

I have to win. It’s the only way I know to get out from under Spada’s thumb. It doesn’t matter that he threatened to kill me if I ever defy him again. In the end, it doesn’t even matter if he goes through with that threat. I’ve made up my mind. This is what has to happen. I’ll take my money and hightail it out of here as fast as I can, and to hell with Spada and his goons. I’ll outrun them if I have to. I just can’t do this anymore.

Paul’s telling me what to do as we wait in the corner for the official start of the match. I’m barely paying any attention to him. He’s telling me how to follow the approved game plan, of course. While he’s explaining how I can make it look real before I let the other guy take me out, I’m scoping out the fighter across the cage, sussing out his weak points. I’ve never fought him before, but he’s big, and he looks like he knows what he’s doing. It’s immediately obvious, too, why they call him “the Wall.” His trainer is giving his instructions, too, and he nods along, side-eyeing me throughout the monologue.

Finally I tell Paul, “I’ll be okay. I know what I’m doing.”

“Just remember what I told you about his right uppercut,” he says. I nod, although I can’t remember what he told me about his right uppercut. I’ll find out soon enough.

The bell rings. We’re underway.

I can tell within the first fifteen seconds that I’ve got my work cut out for me if I want to take this guy. He’s good. He knows how to maneuver his body, and I can see him evaluating me constantly, looking for weak points. Every time a fist flies out, he’s testing something, checking my reaction. Of course, I’m doing the same thing.

Tired of the flirting, I move in and grab him, trying to bring him down to the mat. He holds his own, and after several seconds the referee makes us separate. We dance around each other again.

Normally I’d be in the zone by now, completely focused on what I’m doing, building strategy almost subconsciously as we bob and weave. Today, though, I’ve got far too many thoughts rattling around too near the surface. Jessica, Phil Spada, the baby that can’t be much bigger than an eraser head at this point, but which has completely upended everything I ever thought or planned about my life.