Undisputed (29 page)

Away from the chaos.

Away from my nephew.

Tears stream down my face, and I sob, “Tell me what’s happening.”

She pats my shoulder while leading me toward the waiting area “Honey, he’s going to be okay, but you need to clear out of the way so we can save him.”

Save him?

My mind screams that this isn’t happening, that Connor doesn’t need to be
saved.
He was supposed to be going home soon. He was supposed to be back at school next week. We were supposed to be arguing over the clothes he was wearing and his curfew.

He isn’t supposed to be lying in a bed while someone pounds his chest, breaking his ribs. His arms aren’t supposed to be dangling at his sides.

He shouldn’t need to be fucking
saved.

My stomach rolls, and I rush to the trash can, barely making it before I throw up. As I dry-heave, Margaret comes up beside me, a washcloth in hand. Blindly, I reach for it and wipe my mouth before heaving again.

When I finally finish, she helps me to my feet and guides me to a chair.

This time, I don’t fight back.

Feeling defeated, I watch as a team of people rush by pushing a large cart and shouting medical terms I can’t comprehend.

Handing me a box of tissues, she asks, “Sidney, where’s Abby? How can we contact her?”

My chest constricts, and I screech, “Oh, god! I need to call her.” Frantic, I search the room for my purse before remembering I placed it under my chair. In Connor’s room. “My purse. It’s in my purse. I need my purse,” I ramble. I stand, intent on going back for it, but Margaret grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Here. Let’s use this phone.” She steers me to the nurses’ station. “We don’t need to go back over there.”

I glance back. The flurry of activity has doubled.

“Now, what’s her number? I’ll dial it for you.”

I can’t think clearly enough to tell her number, so I take the handset and, with shaky hands, punch the number in. My gut rolls with each ring, and I worry that I’m going to be sick again.

When her voicemail clicks on, I have to swallow bile. After hanging the phone up, I try again. The phone goes to voicemail for a second time, and I turn to Margaret.

“She didn’t answer. She didn’t answer,” I repeat despairingly. I dial one last time, and she picks up.

“Hello?” she says cheerfully.

My mouth is suddenly so dry that, when I try to formulate words, nothing comes out. I open and close my mouth several times to no avail.

Annoyed, she snaps, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Ab,” I manage to choke out.

Margaret stretches her arm out, offering to put me out of my misery, but I have to tell her myself. Besides, nothing short of being shot would ease the pain I’m feeling.

Shaking my head at her, I clear my throat. My stomach threatens to revolt again, but I finally choke out the words.

“Abby. You have—” I break off, swallowing. “You have to come to the hospital.” Then I sink to my knees, thankful the cord is long enough to stretch to the floor. “It’s Connor. Something’s happened.”

I hear a strangled cry on the other end, and then the line goes dead.

Closing my eyes, I drop the handset to the floor and put my head to my knees. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I rock back and forth.

A hand rubs circles on my back, but it does nothing to comfort me.

All around me, people are shouting and rushing around. I can hear their words, but my mind doesn’t register what they’re saying. I can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind. If only I hadn’t been watching TV. If I had continued to talk to Connor instead of crying like I vowed not to. What if I hadn’t taken my phone out to text Breccan? I could have done something sooner. I could have noticed that his lips were blue. I should have called the nurse about his breathing. I should have done something. Anything.

It was just an infection. How could this be happening?

M
ark finishes taping my hands and asks, “Do you remember the game plan?”

“Of course I remember the plan,” I snap, my mind on Sidney.

I got the good luck texts she’d sent earlier today, but I haven’t heard anything from her in the last few hours. I called her multiple times, but her phone kept going to voicemail. Trying Abby’s phone, I discovered that hers was turned off as well. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

My fight’s coming up next, but before we leave the locker room, I get Tripp’s attention.

“Hey, man. Think you can try to get ahold of Sid for me? I’ve been calling for the last few hours and can’t get her.”

He nods and immediately pulls his phone out. Security sticks his head in the door and announces that its time to make my way to the cage. I look back at Tripp, and he waves me on, so I trudge out behind Mark. Shaking my head, I tell myself I’m overreacting. Knowing her history with phone chargers, she’s probably somewhere without one.

My entrance music is blaring, and I smile to myself when I hear Johnny Cash’s soulful voice over the loud speaker. I’m singing along with the lyrics when Sidney’s face pops in to my head, and memories of that day in the kitchen come flooding back.

Mark comes to a halt in front of me, and I step up to the referee. After we have done the prefight inspections, I climb the steps and take a few laps around the octagon, my arms stretched in the air.

The crowd’s going crazy, chanting my name, but it doesn’t give me the rush it once did. Stopping in front of my corner, Mark leans over the fence and starts his usual pep talk, reminding me to follow the game plan and not showboat too much.

I tune him out, instead looking over at Rebecca in the front row. Beside her are three empty chairs, still marked
reserved
.

My stomach sinks at the sight.

Sidney, Abby, and Connor should be in those seats, cheering me on.

A moment later, the announcer calls us to the center. Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from the empty seats and meet Hawke. The ref instructs us to touch gloves, but Hawke refuses and backs away, a smug smile on his face.

“Fuck you,” I spit at him as I walk backward to my corner. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I wink at him right as the bell rings.

Hawke comes flying out of his corner, and I go on autopilot, ducking and dodging his punches. I land a few good shots, but none of them have any power behind them. We continue to dance around the mat, each doing a good job at avoiding the other’s blows, until the bell rings again, ending the first round.

As I jog back to my corner, Mark screams, “What the fuck was that? You asshole, you didn’t follow the plan at all!”

I sit on the stool, ignoring him while Tripp massages my shoulders with an ice pack.

“You’re dropping your arms,” Tripp says calmly. “You’re gonna let him knock you out.”

I make eye contact with him in silent question, and he shakes his head. Still nothing from Sidney. The knot that’s been in the pit of my stomach grows, but I ignore it and try to focus on Mark’s instructions.

He’s still bitching about not following his plan, so I jump to my feet and shove him out of my way. Bouncing on my toes, I await the start of the second round.

The bell sounds, and I rush Hawke. He’s caught off guard, and I’m able to land a shot that buckles his knees. Jumping on the opportunity, I follow him down and continue delivering punishing blows.

I glance up at the clock. I only have another minute before the round is over. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the ref take a step forward to intervene, and I smile. I may not need to make it that long.

Momentarily distracted, Hawke manages to catch me with an elbow that snaps my head to the left.

I’m dazed, and I’m shaking my head to clear it when I see Rebecca in the front row.

I can see her mouth moving, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. All I can focus on are those fucking empty seats. My mind fills with concern about Sidney.

Why the fuck can’t anyone reach her?

My resolve fractures.

The bell sounds, and I leap to my feet and rush over to where Mark and Tripp are waiting.

Ignoring Mark completely, I growl, “Have you heard from her?”

The color drains from Tripp’s face, but he shakes his head and shoves me down onto the stool. He begins massaging my shoulders, but I slap his hands away.

“What is it, Tripp?”

He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Just finish this.”

Leaping to my feet, I get in his face and growl, “Tell me!”

He tries to take a step back, but I have him caged in.

He shakes his head once and murmurs, “I can’t. You just need to end this fight.
Now
.”

My stomach lurches at his urgency, but I refuse to back down. “I’m not letting you out of here until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Mark throws an arm between us and pushes against my chest, but I don’t budge.

Cocking my head to the left, I whisper menacingly, “Stay out of this.” I turn my attention back to Tripp, whose face is still pale, and bark, “Tell me. Now!”

The ref comes over, warning us that it’s time for round three, and while my attention is diverted, Tripp takes the opportunity to slip out, sprinting down the stairs.

I’m seething, waiting for the bell to ring, when suddenly it hits me. The weight of seven years of fighting all culminate in one moment before disappearing from my shoulders.

I have nothing left to prove.

All the years I spent training.

All the time I lost working my ass off.

All the wins.

I’ve been champion for years—years that, looking back, I now know were a waste.

Looking across the cage at my opponent, I’m struck by reality.

This isn’t my fight anymore.

I don’t belong inside this cage. At one time, the octagon was my home, but now, it’s keeping me from the one place I belong.

With Sidney.

Dropping my arms, I turn and mutter, “Fuck this,” before jogging out of the cage.

The moment my feet hit the ground, I breathe a sigh of relief and sprint to the locker room.

The crowd’s roar is deafening, and I can hear Mark calling to me, but I don’t stop.

There’s somewhere else I’m supposed to be.

I slam my dressing room door open and stalk toward my locker. I’m tearing at the tape on my hands when Mark comes in behind me.

“What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” he shouts. “You just lost your belt.” His face is a shade of purple I’ve never seen before.

I don’t even raise my voice when I tell him, “Fuck that belt.”

Tripp and Rebecca come bustling in just in time to hear Mark roar, “Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

I shrug at him and question Tripp. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but he doesn’t answer.

Shouting, I ask “What is it, man?”

He doesn’t say anything, just slowly shakes his head back and forth, and fear grows in the pit of my stomach.

“You walked out on your fight for some
girl
?” Mark bellows.

I round on him and growl, “Don’t you ever call her ‘some girl’ again.”

Tripp weaves his way across the room, gets right beside me, and says, “Sidney’s fine, man.”