I try to speak, but only pathetic gusts of air come out.
“Before I ask, I want you to know that I know I’m a difficult person. I know I’m childish and immature and a million other things, and I want this one second to say thank you for putting up with me and I thank God—or whatever—everyday for making you as masochistic as me.” I roll my eyes at him. I’m hardly masochistic. “I know you have a lot of people you can rely on that are more than willing to be there for you and to support you, but no one can look after you or take care of you like I can, O. Not your mom, not your brother, not even you, at least, not like I can and not like I want to.”
He inches closer, his eyes glossy and pleading. “I want to be the one to look after you and to care for you. I want my last name to be the one you sign forms with. I want to be the person you call when you need help or advice. I want to be the love of your life, your reason for living, and your best friend. What I’m asking, O, is for you to give me the chance to take care of you, to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, and everything you’ve always deserved. I want to marry you. I want you to have my last name and carry my children. I want us to buy a home together—to be together.”
Whoa. That is a lot of wants…my mouth is still open, still in utter shock at what is unfolding before me. I snap my mouth shut and squeeze my fingers against my damp palm to stop from trembling. I feel sick…but it’s that excited/nervous kind of sick. Time slows and my gaze drops to his lips as the question falls from his lips.
“Will you marry me?”
“You’re going to ask me to marry you when I’m naked in a cage and you’re fully clothed?” I choke out, completely avoiding the point to buy myself more time. I’ve been waiting for this to happen…but now that it has, I’m a deer in the headlights.
He smiles wickedly. “This is exactly how I imagined it, but that’s not the response I want from you.”
Right. I flick my tongue over my bottom lip to dispel the dryness. “Yes.” I tell him, unable to hide my sudden, face-splitting smile. “Of course it’s a yes.”
The smile that splits Seth’s face is like no other and in one fluid motion he pulls the ring from the box, takes my hand in his, and slips the ring on. Without missing a beat, he launches at me, sweeping me into his arms and pressing me hard against the cage again. We kiss. We kiss again. We kiss over and over, unable to express our happiness in words. When I was young and I dreamt of my engagement, I definitely didn’t imagine I’d be naked in a cage with a fighter. I imagined snow falling from the sky, white horses, red roses—the whole unrealistic package. But this is so much better. This is real and perfect. This has Seth’s name all over it and I’ll never forget it, ever.
As we walk back to the function, it’s hard to keep my eyes on the tiles in front of me and not on the ring wrapped around my finger. My knees wobble underneath me as my body still reels in the after effects of the mind-blowing sex and the excitement of what came afterwards. I feel different—like a new person entirely. I always knew I wanted to be with Seth forever, but now the feeling is certain—as solid as stone. I rest most of my weight against him. My fiancé. My husband to be.
I can’t stop smiling and I glance at Seth. As usual, he’s the perfect picture of calm, but I know he’s as excited as I am. I can tell by the way his thumb brushes eagerly over my fingers. As we walk through the crowd and different pairs of eyes stop and stare at me, I notice Seth’s fingers don’t possessively squeeze me. That says a lot about our ‘new’ relationship already. He knows I’m his now. He knows I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Not squeezing me gives me confidence that he’s willing to grow as a person and that he trusts me. Walking with Seth is like walking with a loaded gun at times. You never know when he’s feeling particularly aggressive or territorial and you never know if or when he’s going to go off.
Seth is the kind of person who needs to be shown love in order to feel loved. We could be sitting alone in a room after a movie or sex and he’ll feel unloved unless he’s touching me or I’m touching him. We don’t talk much about him or his childhood. He prefers to live in the now and avoids dredging up old memories, but I know (from the small conversations we’ve had) that his neediness and his need for validation stems from his father’s neglect. Because of that, Seth needs constant affection. He needs to be praised—he craves it. He acts like he’s untouchable and his confidence is a balloon too hard to pop with a sharp needle, but deep down I think he’s just as insecure as the rest of us.
Seth is jealous, commanding, and a little too proud, but that’s okay with me. He’s only human, and being human means you’re vulnerable, that you have weaknesses and imperfections. That’s the beauty of it. Being human is about making mistakes and learning from them…or not, if you don’t want to. There’s too much pressure to be perfect these days, and guess what? People are imperfect. People are annoying, stupid, and rude at times, but it’s okay. It’s okay because ninety percent of the time it doesn’t affect you directly and it’s up to you to let it bother you and poison you or you can brush it off. I don’t know, maybe I’m just trying to defend Seth’s behavior—hell—maybe I’m trying to defend my own behavior. My decisions haven’t always been sound ones, but they are my decisions and I’m the only one that has to live with them, no one else.
Seth escorts me through some more double doors and into another function room. Huge round tables fill the room, decorated with red and white dressings topped with a gorgeous ice sculpture centered in the middle. Forget the swan. These guys want boxing gloves and fists in the middle of their table to add elegance to their celebration.
We’re seated at a table with people we don’t even know—well—people I don’t know. Seth seems to know everyone and has fought and beat at least three of the five fighters at our table. The coordinators of this event has split everyone up into their occupations—fighters with fighters, coaches with coaches—and so on. At our table, and directly across from us, sits wrestling world champion and Seth’s opponent, Junior Moset. Their relationship is a hell of a lot tamer than Seth and Don’s, and they even smile and throw jokes at each other when their conversations cross paths. No matter how friendly the conversation is, though, it’s clear both fighters think they’re going to win. Junior is a lot like Seth, size-wise, and it’s hard to believe someone his size can be so efficient on the floor. Regardless of his impressive background, Seth isn’t intimidated by him, and Junior isn’t intimidated by Seth’s outstanding undefeated history. It’ll make for an interesting fight, I’m sure.
Junior is handsome—light caramel skin and crazy-bright, golden honey eyes. He has a scruffy mop of chocolate hair (two shades lighter than mine) that sticks up in an array of styled spikes. It suits him and his fun, confident personality.
“Seth, you do know Junior has defeated his last two opponents with a standing rear naked choke,” a guy I don’t know or recognize says, nudging Junior with his elbow.
I glance sideways at Seth, who shrugs and smiles. “I’m aware.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
Junior smirks, and rests his elbows on the table, chewing on a steamed bean. He enjoys tormenting Seth and I get it. He’s new, he hasn’t fought for his keep yet, but when they fight in two weeks, I know it’s Seth who’ll come out on top. Seth knows it too, and that’s why he’s casually playing along with their games.
“Nothing bothers me.”
“There’s got to be something that bothers you,” Junior snickers. “Spiders bother me.”
Seth drops his fork against his plate. “Okay, the anxious wait between fights bothers me. Not having sex for long periods of time bothers me, and knowing I’m going to knock you out in the first round and not give the spectators a good show bothers me.”
The table erupts with whistles and ‘burn’ remarks. I roll my eyes. I have no idea how I’ve put up with this for the last forty minutes and I don’t think I can take another second. The other girls that sit around the table with their fighters are enjoying the banter immensely, but I find it a pointless show of feathers. Every single man at this table thinks they are the ultimate ‘alpha male,’ which leads to some very loud, pointless conversations and challenges.
Seth leans into me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Lightning bothers me, too,” he whispers with a wink.
“Lightning? Like the stuff that comes from the clouds during a storm?”
He nods, pulling his glass of water to his lips and taking a sip. “It freaks me out,” he says when he lowers it again.
I watch him, my eyes as wide as saucers. How someone his size is scared of anything, let alone lightning, is beyond me. I put my napkin to my mouth and conceal my laugh. Seth smiles back, pleased with himself for sharing this new piece of information with me.
“Spiders are pretty scary,” Seth tells Junior, returning to the table conversation, “…to girls.”
I nudge Seth with my elbow and he laughs, picking at his fish with his fork. The table roars with laughter and Junior shrugs it off like it’s no big deal. He’s very humble, not caring what Seth says to him, and I decide I like Junior, which will make watching Seth and Junior’s fight slightly more difficult.
“A girl?” Junior chuckles. “You shouldn’t have labelled me as that, now it’s going to be a hell of a lot more embarrassing for you when I submit your ass.”
Seth opens his mouth to reply with another undoubtedly rude, smart ass comment, but a male voice over the speakers stops him.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our first official MMAC dinner of this season.”
Applause erupts over the room and we twist in our chairs to the stage behind us. At the microphone is the CEO of the MMAC, Matthew Somers. Matthew seems like a good enough guy.
“This season will be a memorable one. In the break, we’ve recruited a few new fighters—Darren Shane, Rashad Moens, Hayne Gains, and amateur champion, Seth Marc.”
The crowd goes for another round of applause and in the distance I hear whistling and whooping—a female voice that sounds an awful lot like Selena’s. I bite back a smile, assuming she’s had a little too much wine.
“All of these new fighters will go up against our seasoned pros at one stage or another—the usual, but—”
The way he says it sets me on edge for some strange reason.
“This season, we’re going to do something we’ve never done before. We’re going to give an amateur a shot at joining the MMAC.” He raises a finger. “One shot. One fight. We’ve all seen the hype on the internet about Seth Marc. We all know what he’s capable of—what he can bring to this sport.”
I look at Seth and his jaw clenches imperceptibly.
“In this room, we have one man capable of bringing the greatest rematch this sport has ever seen. You want to know how many views the amateur championship fight between Don Russell and Seth Marc got on the internet. Five hundred and fifty-seven million.”
Matt raises two fingers. “Two weeks following his fight with Junior Moset, Mr. Seth Marc will be going up against a promising fighter at the Mandalay Bay Event Arena. One we pulled off the same streets as Seth—one who wants to be here just as badly as any of you.” Matt chuckles, smirking at Seth like the back-stabbing wolf he is. “One who hates Seth more than anyone else on the planet.”
My mouth drops, following the motions of my stomach. Surely he doesn’t mean—
“Don Russell.”
The room crackles with anticipation and enlivens with chatter. I look sideways at Seth to gauge his reaction. His eyes are focused on Matt and his lips are held in a small smile. Watching him now, you’d think he isn’t the least bit phased by the announcement…but I know him and there’s no doubt that deep down he’s losing his mind.
“If Seth wins, Don Russell will never get a chance to join the MMAC. If Don wins, he gets a spot in the MMAC and a shot at the World Champion title like everyone else. Two weeks from now—Junior, try not to hurt him too bad. I need him.” Matthew laughs and puts the microphone back in its holder before turning on his heel and strolling from the stage with a wide smile on his stupid face. What a snake. Matt made this announcement public, knowing Seth will never back down and risk humiliating himself. He knows Seth is stubborn and proud…he knows doing it this way Seth can’t say no. He manipulated Seth into the fight.
Seth turns back around in his seat and pushes his plate of food to the side, resting his elbows on the table.
“Don Russell,” Junior scoffs. “The guy is a joke. Why Matt wants him in the MMAC is beyond me. Fucking vermin.”
Half the table mumbles their agreement.
“Can we go home?” I ask Seth, loud enough for the table to hear.
I know he doesn’t want to be here, I can see it on his face—regardless of how hard he’s trying to hide it. Knowing him, he wouldn’t want to be seen as running from the dinner directly after the announcement.
“Go home?”
I nod my head quickly, nudging him. He catches on, relief flooding his features.
“Beauty sleep?” the strange guy next to me slurs. “You don’t need beauty sleep, baby.”
I laugh nervously, rising to my feet and pushing my chair back with my legs. I glance at Seth, who’s watching the guy closely. I don’t need a drunk creep making Seth flip out right now. “Seth?”
