Undisputed (28 page)

Clutching the iPad to her chest, she says, “I love this so much. The picnic, my lake, the gifts.”

I love that she loves it.

All of it.

But the fact remains—I just love her.

So, without thought or hesitation, I decide to give her the only gift that really means anything.

I slide a hand up the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss, but just before our lips touch, I stop. “I love you.”

Her eyes flash wide as her head snaps back.

Nerves roll in my stomach. What if it was too soon?

Oh shit. It was too soon.

“Sid…” I’m about to make up some bullshit excuse about temporary lake-induced insanity when a wide smile breaks across her face.

“I love you too,” she breathes, discarding the iPad to the blanket.

Shock must register on my face, because she giggles.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Um,
yeah
,” she confirms.

She seems confident, but just for good measure, I ask again.

“Yeah?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Yes. I love you, Breccan. And my gifts. And this day. But mainly you.”

She crawls on all fours into my lap. As her low-cut shirt drapes down, I can make out her perfect breasts barely covered in a lacy bra. The view disappears as her mouth finds my neck. I groan when she pulls my earlobe between her teeth, the sensation shooting straight to my balls.

“You love me enough for public sex?” I ask, allowing my thumbs to brush the curve of her breasts.

She licks her way down my neck and back up before she whispers, “No. But I think it’s only fair you take me home now and let me show my love and appreciation in private.” Her hand wanders down to my throbbing cock, and then she gives it a squeeze.

Yep. Time to go
.

I waste no time shoving the half eaten containers of food back in the picnic basket and balling the blanket up.

I drag Sidney by her arm with my free hand to my car and then make it home in record time.

T
he morning of Breccan’s fight is overcast and rainy, much like the mood in Connor’s hospital room. When I arrived with breakfast in hand, I took one look at Abby and insisted she go home for a while. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days and was in desperate need of a shower.

Connor is sullen, and I couldn’t blame him for being sour over the fact that he is stuck here, with wires and tubes sticking out of him, instead of sitting cage side, cheering on his best friend.

When Breccan first agreed to meet Connor, I knew that it would have a lasting effect.

I just never realized that it would change my life as well.

Falling in love with Breccan is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Before him, I was always cautious and in control. While I wanted to meet someone and settle down, I sometimes worried I was too rigid or boring to be appealing.

But then Breccan waltzed into our lives and I quickly realized that my obsessive need to control every situation was no way to live. Breccan made it impossible to stay in control most of the time anyway. He thought nothing of springing something on us two days ahead of time, whereas I would have taken a month to plan it. I learned to roll with it and enjoy the ride.

Glancing over to where Connor is dozing, I think back on all of the adventures Breccan has taken him on in such a short period of time.

When he showed me his bucket list, sadness washed over me. I didn’t think there was any way we would ever be ever to fulfill even a fraction of what he’d written. And then fate intervened and handed us our savior in the form of an arrogant, foul-mouthed cage fighter.

Smiling at the memory of Connor shooting “zombies” in a field, I don’t hear him say my name. He pats my arm.

Shaking the memories from my head, I ask, “You okay, Connor?”

He smiles weakly at me and shrugs. “I guess. You ever gonna quit worryin’?”

“Not likely,” I tell him and squeeze his arm. “What’s up?”

He stares out the window at the drizzle for a moment before he turns back. “You think Mom’s gonna be okay?”

“What do you mean?” I know exactly what he’s referring to, but I feign ignorance to buy time.

“You know, when I die. You think Mom’s gonna be okay? I know she works all the time ’cause she’s freaked.”

Emotion clogs my throat. I don’t have the answer to his question, and more than that, I don’t want to even think about it.

I promised him I would always be honest though, so I clear my throat and attempt to answer him. “Honey. You’re
not
going to die. You—”

“Come on, Aunt Sid. You said you wouldn’t ever lie to me. I’m not getting better.” He gestures at the IV pump and tubes. “And there aren’t exactly donors lined up down the block to give me a kidney, either.”

The pain in his face causes my heart to constrict. It feels as though the oxygen has been sucked out of the room, and I fight for breath. Looking at him closely for the first time in a while, I notice the changes I’ve been so desperate to ignore.

His skin has an unnatural yellow tint and is stretched tight across his face. Where there was once a healthy layer of baby fat he hated, it’s just bone now. His breathing is labored more than it was yesterday, and his eyes are dull.

Tears begin to pool in my eyes, and I have to look away to compose myself. I vowed that I would never cry in front of him, and I refuse to start now.

I swipe a hand under my eyes and face him. “Connor, I don’t think you’re going to die.” My voice cracks on the word, but I force it out. “But. honey, if something happened, I don’t know what your mom would do. You’re her world.” I swallow hard before continuing. “You’re my world too, you know?”

He nods and mumbles, “Yeah, but you’ve got Breccan. Mom’s got no one.” He turns away from me and scrubs a hand over his face.

My heart splinters in two, and I take his hand in both of mine. “She’s got me, honey. She’s got me and your uncle Jeremy. We’ll take care of her, Connor.”

He weakly squeezes my hand and then laces his fingers with mine. “You’re the best, Aunt Siddy. You’ve always been the best. One time, my friend Tommy asked me if I was sad I didn’t have a dad. I didn’t even have to think about it. I may not have had a dad, but I had an aunt, and she was better than any dad could ever be.” He smiles at me, and my resolve breaks.

Putting my head down on the edge of the hospital bed, I sob. The sheets are rough against my forehead, and I hate that Connor’s been forced to sleep in them instead of his own sheets covered in footballs.

He pats my head, and my sobs come even harder. I should be comforting him, reassuring this twelve-year-old child that he’s going to live forever, but I just can’t.

The outlook of him getting a kidney is bleaker and bleaker with each day that passes. It’s not fair to him for us to continue pretending that everything’s going to be okay.

But, more than the reality that he may die, he’s just validated the last seven years of my life. I always knew that the things I had given up or let pass me by weren’t nearly as important as my nephew, but hearing him acknowledge me is more than I can bear.

There isn’t a thing in this world that could stop my tears at this moment, so I don’t even try.

After there are no more tears left to fall, I suck in a deep breath through my nose and sit up.

Sometime during my crying jag, Connor dozed off. His mouth hangs open slightly, and his breathing is ragged, but his face looks relaxed. I place a kiss on his forehead. It has been a while since I’ve been able to do so without protest, so I kiss him once more before settling back in my chair and turning the TV on.

It’s two hours later that I pull my phone out to send a good luck message to Breccan. Once I’m done, I open my web browser to see what the media’s saying about tonight’s fight.

The headline for the first article grabs my attention, so I click on it.

“Light heavyweight champ Breccan ‘KO’ Carlisle slated to meet Ryker ‘The Stryker’ Hawke at UFC 225 on January 1
st
, 2017.

This fight promises to be the toughest of his career, with Hawke only having one loss by split decision.

There’s been no lack of trash talk between these two. When Breccan was asked what he thought of the matchup, he was quoted as saying, ‘Fuck Ryker. That pussy thinks he can take MY belt? Fuck him,’ before walking away from the interview without answering another question. In response, Hawke stated, ‘He’ll be lucky if he ever gets any pussy again once I’m done with him.’ Members of Hawke’s camp say that he has never looked better and has spent every waking moment training for his shot at making history. We’ve reached out to Mark Matthews, trainer for Carlisle, to get his opinion on Carlisle’s conditioning and readiness for this fight, but have yet to get a response. Be sure to mark your calendars for this epic event going down in Boston.”

Grinning, I roll my eyes.

Men and their egos.

I’ve watched Breccan train a few times, and I know there’s not a chance in hell that he’s going to lose this fight tonight.

I exit the browser, no longer interested in reading any more of this crap, and type one more message to Breccan.

Before leaving, he told me that he may not have his phone on him but he would check it right before the fight. Jokingly, he asked me to send him a picture of my boobs for good luck, and for a moment, I debate it. Giggling at the thought, I shake my head and put my phone away.

Still smiling to myself at Breccan’s take-no-shit attitude during that interview, I glance back over at Connor.

His eyes are still closed, but his head’s bent at an awkward angle. I am reaching to adjust it so that he doesn’t wake up with a kink in his neck when I notice that his lips are blue. His last blood pressure reading was low too.

Wondering why no monitors have gone off, I pat his arm. “Connor?” I whisper.

When he doesn’t respond, I nudge his shoulder.

“Connor!” I repeat, louder this time.

Panicked when he still doesn’t move, I shout for a nurse. After only a second, a familiar face rushes over to me, a stethoscope in hand. After she checks his heart for what seems like an eternity, she hits a button on the side of Connor’s bed that lays it out flat. She pushes me aside with her elbow before jumping up on the edge of the bed. When she starts doing chest compressions, my stomach sinks to my feet.

She’s still pumping his chest when she yells for someone to call a code.

Crowding beside her, I shout, “What’s happening? Is he breathing?”

She looks over at me and barks, “Get out of here!”

The panic in her eyes causes bile to rush up the back of my throat, and I beg, “Tell me what that means! Tell me what’s happening.”

The nurse working on Connor doesn’t respond, and suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around me from behind.

“Come with me, ma’am.”

I wiggle my shoulders in an attempt to get away and shriek, “Connor! Connor, wake up!”

Breaking free of her grasp, I rush back to his side and reach for his arm. Vaguely, I’m aware of a page going out over the intercom with Connor’s room number, but it feels like I’m in the bottom of a swimming pool, strapped to a weight.

Doctors and nurses rush in around me in slow motion, and they’re all barking orders to each other, but my eyes are only focused on Connor and his eyes, which refuse to open.

My lungs burn, needing oxygen, but I can’t force any air into them. Connor’s hand is limp in mine, but I refuse to let go. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me from drowning.

Someone’s head jerks in my direction, but I can’t tell if it is a nurse or a doctor. All I can see is a mouth moving.

Stumbling backward a step, I let Connor’s hand go and gasp as it falls and hangs limply off the side of the bed.

Lunging forward to grasp it again, I hear my name called behind me. Spinning, I see Margaret, and her familiar face briefly calms me.

She yells, “Sidney! Back up, honey. Please, back up.”

At my side, she wraps me in her embrace, but instead of it being comforting, it just makes my skin crawl.

My knees buckle and she catches me, supporting my weight as she guides me into the hall.