Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(127)

Where’s Jess? Where has she gone with our baby inside her? Is she hiding from me? She hasn’t answered any of my calls. Did she go back to her father’s house, and that’s why she hasn’t picked up the phone? Is he keeping her from doing it?

A fist pounds into my face, and my neck snaps back. Shit. I let my thoughts drift just that little bit too far, and the Wall, in all his Wallishness, has taken advantage. I spit blood, resume my fighting position, and force myself to focus.

I’m a bit more successful this time, and before long I hear the end of the first round declared. I retreat to my corner.

Spada’s instructions were to drop near the middle of the second round, beginning of the third at the very latest. Any longer than that and I guess he loses some kind of bonus on the bet. Technically I can get most of the way through the fight without Spada necessarily knowing anything’s going wrong. In addition, I’m supposed to let him knock me out, or at least make it look that way. A simple tap out isn’t enough.

That part doesn’t make any difference, since I’m not going to get knocked out, and I’m sure as hell not going to tap out. I’ve only tapped out once in my whole career, and that was because the other guy damn near dislocated my shoulder.

Paul’s talking to me again while he checks a few cuts on my face and squirts water into my mouth. I chew on my mouth guard and glance out over the crowd. Mostly I’m looking for Spada. I want to see his face. I want to know what kind of mood he’s in so far.

I find him near the front. He’s sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. I wonder if he suspects I’m not going to throw this fight. Probably. Even if he doesn’t suspect, I’d bet he’s prepared for it. He probably has goons waiting around the arena to take me out as soon as he gives the order.

I give him a salute that’s more sarcastic than he probably wants to see. I can’t help it. If I were smart, I’d stay neutral and not act like I’m mocking him. But nobody’s ever accused me of being smart.

“Are you listening to me?” Paul demands.

I return my attention to him. “Of course I am. I always pay attention to you.”

“Good, because it sure as hell doesn’t look like it. Now, are you ready for this?”

I shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” And then I freeze. Because I’ve let my gaze drift out over the crowd again, and this time I see not Spada, but his daughter.

Jess is here.

She’s sitting a few rows back, and her face is stark white in the midst of the crowd. She has her arms folded over her stomach as she sits there. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it. Maybe she even sits like that all the time, and I’ve just never noticed. This time I notice, though, because suddenly all I can think about is the baby that’s lying there behind her arms. Sleeping, I think, although I know it’s nowhere near far enough along to do anything that’s even remotely like real sleep. Floating, then. Drifting in protective fluid, growing at an astronomical rate. Is it a boy or a girl? It’s not even sure yet, I bet.

Then I look back at her face, and our eyes meet across the crowd. I know she can see me, and now she knows I can see her. I smile a little, gentle, and try to tell her with my eyes that I’m sorry, that I’m ready to talk about us, about the baby, about everything. Her eyes widen, and I swear she goes even whiter.

I hope she’s okay. If anything happens to her now, I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do. I lift two fingers to an eyebrow and give her a salute, too, this one nothing like the one I gave her father.

I’m tempted to look back at Spada and see if he’s seen this interaction, try to gauge his reaction. But I don’t. Instead I hold Jess’s eyes a moment longer then turn back to Paul, who squirts another load of water into my mouth.

I swallow part, spit out the rest. “I’m ready,” I tell him, and he nods.

#

I start the second round with my brain roiling. I know exactly where Jess is sitting now, and I can almost feel her gaze burning into me even though I’m not looking at her. If I look at her, I’ll forget what I’m doing, and the Wall will pound me into the mat until I’m hamburger. Although I suppose that would make Spada happy.

She’s here. She came to watch me. To support me, I assume. On the other hand, maybe she’s here to see me get the shit pounded out of me. That’d just about serve me right.

The Wall catches me in the jaw, and I stagger. Well, if this is the kind of fight I’m going to put up, then maybe I deserve to get knocked out. I steady myself and get my head back in the game. He’s expecting more fisticuffs, so instead I kick at him and then move in to grapple.