The woman he’d accused of just using him for fame and trying to sabotage his fight was…giving it all up? He was beginning to think he might have been wrong from the start. Guilt settled into his stomach and began burrowing its way to his heart.
She nodded, a slight tremble in her chin when she looked at him. “It’s over.”
He suddenly wanted to hold her, the urge to wrap his arms around her and never let go was fighting at his will. “Maybe…maybe I’ll come to New York City and visit you?”
Josie adamantly shook her head. “Don’t.”
“Why?” he asked, confused at her sudden admission.
“You need to be here and in Los Angeles. You need to be who you are.” Josie glanced down at her fidgeting hands. “And I…I need to be who I am. And those are just two different people.”
“Jos…” he began, reaching for her hand. “I meant what I said when I told you I wanted to give this a shot. I still do.”
He couldn’t help but pour the truth out. Now that he knew she had given up everything he’d thought was pulling her away from him, how could he not? Hell, it felt like she’d done this for them…to give them a real chance. But from the way she spoke, it sounded like she was doing this for herself…without him.
And that broke his heart.
“I know you did,” she replied. “I know you meant every word, and I did too…then. But now?” She paused for a moment, as if carefully considering her words. “We aren’t good for each other, Callan.”
“How can you say that?” he countered, even though he knew exactly what she meant. Every day he’d spent curled in bed with her was a day he’d neglected training for today’s fight. Every night he’d not been able to sleep because he’d been thinking about her, worrying about her…it could cost him this fight. If he did win tonight, it would be by a slim margin, and he only had himself to blame for that.
“You know it’s true,” she told him. “I…I have to go.”
“Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he felt like he should apologize. Hell, he needed to apologize. “Jos…I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she responded. “I’m the one who should be sorry. My show…my life…it’s a mess. I didn’t mean to involve you in that.”
He wanted to reply and tell her everything was fine, that she should stay here…with him. That she should move to Los Angeles and start over there. He wanted to tell her that he realized he was wrong and that she wasn’t all about fame and fortune. That he understood now.
But he said nothing. Instead, he just nodded.
“Bye, Callan,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “Get in that cage and show everyone who you are—who I know you can be.”
“Thank you.” He squeezed her hand back in response. “Fly safe.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the room. He stood there staring at the doorway.
“Safe to return?” Ferguson asked, poking his head around the corner.
Callan nodded, motioning for his trainer to come in. “Yeah.”
“You good?” he asked, clapping a hand on Callan’s shoulder. “You need to talk?”
That was the last thing he wanted to do. Hell, all he really wanted to do right now was get out in the ring and fight. He was so far from good. So far from okay. He didn’t even know what he was feeling or how to describe it.
All he knew was he’d made a mistake. He’d let the woman he could have spent forever with slip between his fingers.
She was gone.
It was too late now. He didn’t have time to mourn the loss, dwell on the things he couldn’t change. No, he had a fight to win. He had to put his best foot forward, or all of this would be for nothing. She was leaving to be a chef. He was here in the cage. Their lives were going in different directions, and that was just the way it was.
He had to accept it.
“Let’s do this,” Callan responded, powdering his hands and pulling on gloves.
Ferguson opened a fresh bottle of water and poured some into Callan’s mouth. Callan took the drink and swallowed.
A show runner came moments later, calling them to the cage. Ferguson put a cape on Callan—which Callan always found a little ridiculous, but it came with the territory. Next, he put on his last fight’s belt, a giant, gaudy, gold contraption that wrapped around his waist.
He’d never particularly liked the showman part of being a fighter in the cage, but he understood that the fans loved it. After all, they were the reason he had a job to begin with. There was something so inspiring about having people look up to him, wanting the best from him and considering him their hero.
It was intoxicating.
As Callan thought about it, he realized he could understand why Josie had gotten so wrapped up in the reality television world. It was hard to let go of being a public figure when so many people looked up to him and relied on him. It was a power trip, but it was also…an identity.
Callan had no idea who he’d be if he wasn’t a fighter. This was him. This was his identity.
He wondered now who Josie was…or who she would be. She’d just shed everything in her life that had made up who she was. Would she change? Would she be someone he didn’t even recognize? As silly as it might seem, the fact that she’d closed her Instagram alone was mind boggling to him. As insignificant as it sounded, that was a huge part of her job as a reality television star. They’d never been together for more than a few hours without her posting to her Instagram feed.
Part of him was even sad that he wouldn’t be able to secretly check up on her while she was in New York. He’d have no way of following her or knowing what she was doing. Not that he planned to stalk her or anything.
He’d just miss her.
Hell, he missed her already, and she wasn’t even gone yet.
Had they made a mistake?
“Cal, get your head in the game,” Ferguson said, trying to snap him out of his thoughts. “Where the fuck did you go?”
Callan looked up at his trainer. “What?”
“I’ve been talking to you for the last few minutes, and you’re just zoned out.”
“Sorry,” Callan responded, adjusting the belt around his waist. “I’m just gearing up for the fight. We ready?”
The show runner looked at both of them and motioned for them to follow him. “We’re just waiting on you,” he said. “The crowd is hyped and ready to go.”
Callan nodded. “Let’s do it.”
They walked through the center’s back hallways and came to the entrance for the main arena. Callan could hear the crowd already roaring from the other side of the double doors. Lights flashed through the windowpanes on the doors, and he started to feel excitement building in his gut.
This was what he’d prepared for over the last year. This was who he was.
Putting his head down, he charged through the double doors just as the announcer called him out. The cage stood tall in the middle of the arena, bleachers all around completely packed with people. They were cheering so loudly that he couldn’t even make out what anyone was saying. It was just a roar that coursed through his veins and increased his excitement tenfold with every step he took toward the cage.
When he finally reached the entrance, he spotted his opponent on the other side. Xavier had been called out before him and was already pandering to the crowd. He spotted a few members of the Gray family around the sidelines, but there was one family member noticeably missing.
He tried to push thoughts of Josie out of his mind.
Now wasn’t the time.
“You got this,” Ferguson shouted in Callan’s ear, and he was barely able to hear him over the crowd. “Get in there.”
Callan nodded and headed into the cage with his head slightly bent down, deliberately projecting a menacing look on his face. He clenched his jaw, flared his nose, and charged right up to the referee. The ref held his gloved hand up in the air as the announcer introduced him to the crowd.
Th
e crowd went wild. People were stomping on the bleacher stands and pumping their fists in the air. It was all the encouragement he needed. A fire lit in him that he’d never felt before.
It was time to kick ass.
Chapter Twenty
Xavier Gray’s fist landed on Callan’s shoulder, knocking him back a few steps. Pain split through Callan’s arm and ricocheted around his body, but it didn’t last long. He rallied quickly and dodged the next blow with a sidestep and then sent a jab directly into Gray’s side. Gray returned his jab immediately.
The bell rang, and they pulled apart and walked to opposite sides of the cage. The announcer filled the crowd in on the fight stats.
Callan went to the corner where Ferguson was standing on a platform that made him tall enough to rest his elbows on top of the cage.
“You’re doing great,” his trainer congratulated him. “Need some water?”
Callan nodded, pulling his mouth guard out as Ferguson squirted water into his mouth. He swallowed, refreshed by the cool drink. He was ready to get back out there. The fight had barely just started, but these things went by in a flash when he was the one in the cage.
The ref called both fighters back into the center of the cage. The bell rang, and Gray started circling around him. Callan kept his hands up, covering his face and making small jabs in Gray’s direction.
Gray’s leg shot out, trying to land a kick against Callan’s stomach, but he dodged out of the way.
They circled again, both fighters bouncing on the balls of their feet as they approached one another.
Callan lunged forward and swung an arm around Gray’s neck, pulling him into his chest as he landed repeated punches against Gray’s stomach. He got at least five in before Gray twisted out and slipped away.
Again circling, they landed kicks and punches against one another. Callan landed a fist on the side of Gray’s head, and a trickle of blood dripped down from Gray’s brow.
Gray growled, wiping it away. He was seething as he came at Callan. Gray twisted his body around and landed a kick to the side of Callan’s face.
Callan staggered backward, his vision going black for a moment as the pain seared through his jaw. He stumbled, threatening to fall over, and Gray took that as his opportunity to come in hot and heavy. With fists going a million miles an hour, Gray swiped him on either side of his face.
Putting his fists up, Callan tried to block the blows, sidestepping and bouncing backward in an attempt to get away from his attacker. Finally, he broke free of Gray’s hold and got to the other side of the ring. He tasted copper and wiped at his lip, blood coming off on his gloved hand.
Callan wasn’t deterred. A little blood wasn’t going to stop him from winning this fight.
They circled each other again, both making jabs even though none landed. They dodged and ducked and moved around until finally the crowd began roaring for action. Going in at each other, Gray pushed his forearm against Callan’s throat, shoving him backward against the cage wall. Callan’s back hit the cage, and he struggled to free himself as Gray used his free hand to land punches across Callan’s abs.
Sore from every blow, he twisted to the side and managed to get out of Gray’s lock hold. Gray hadn’t turned around yet, and Callan took that opportunity to land a kick to the back of Gray’s head. Gray slammed forward into the cage wall and slumped down to the mat.
Callan pumped his arms up in the air, pandering to the crowd for his success.
The ref rushed over to Gray, checked on him, and began counting.
But Gray wasn’t ready to give up. He pushed back up to his feet and cracked his neck from side to side, leveling his fists at Callan.
Gray roared, saying something Callan couldn’t understand because of the mouth guard. Gray launched himself at Callan, fists flying in every direction. Caught by a right hook to the jaw, Callan fell backward again, and this time Gray climbed on top of him and shoved him into the mat. Blood went everywhere as Callan struggled to right himself. He could barely see through the blood pouring down his face, but he managed to kick up into Gray’s stomach and knock him off.
Flipping back onto his feet, Callan swiped his leg against Gray’s knee, taking him down to the mat. He returned Gray’s earlier favor and got on top of him, this time hooking his legs up around Callan’s shoulders, immobilizing his opponent.
Just as he got in a few hard swings and Gray’s brow split open, the bell rang.
The ref pulled him off Gray, and he returned to his corner. The ref had to help Gray up, and he was able to make his way back to his corner.
Ferguson greeted Callan the moment he returned. “You doing okay?”
His trainer put an ice pack against his head, wiping at the blood on his face. Callan nodded and pulled out the mouth guard, parting his lips for more water. Ferguson poured some in his mouth and then squirted some over the top of his head. The cool liquid streamed down his face as Ferguson handed him a towel to wipe off.
The towel came back wet and bloody after he’d finished using it.
“You’ve got him,” Ferguson continued. “He’s down and out. Look how tired he is. You’ve got this.”
Callan nodded, putting his mouth guard back in and tightening up his gloves. He was exhausted and sore all over, but there was no doubt in his mind that he could do this.
The bell rang, and the ref called them to the middle of the cage. Callan and Gray immediately started circling each other, and this time, their jabs landed. Callan felt a jab to his side every few seconds, but at the same time, his punches were landing against Gray as well.
They slammed against the cage wall, and Callan pinned his opponent there, reveling in the moment of having the upper hand. His knee slammed against Gray several times in conjunction with punches to the side of Gray’s head.
Gray slumped in Callan’s arms, sliding to the ground. Callan didn’t let up, continuing to punch until a ref pulled him off his fallen opponent.
“Stand back! Stand back!” the ref shouted, shoving him away from Gray.
Callan stumbled backward and then righted himself. He lifted his arms in the air, roaring at the top of his lungs. The crowd was on their feet, chanting and stomping.
“Walsh! Walsh! Walsh!” the crowd screamed for his victory, and sure enough, the announcer then called the match and declared Callan the winner.
Medics swarmed the cage and came to Gray’s side, immediately helping him up and tending to his wounds. Some smelling salts were run under Gray’s nose, and as he groggily came to, Callan was relieved to see him awake. As much as he was a fighter at his core, he never wanted to actually kill anyone. It was always a risk but also his worst nightmare.
A medic came to Callan next and started wiping blood off his face. Bandages were placed on his cheek, which had split open from a punch from Gray. Everything whirled around him so quickly, Callan could barely keep up with what was happening. He just went where people pushed him.
Before he knew it, Ferguson was at his side, removing his mouth guard and giving him more water. “Fucking fantastic! You did it!”
The announcer continued reading out the stats about the fight, and replays of the knockout played on big screens around the arena. A ref pulled Callan to the center of the cage as someone wrapped a giant belt around his waist.
The championship belt.
It hit Callan right then and there—he’d won. He’d won the championship. He’d won the fight for which he’d been training for the last year. Everything he’d ever wanted was right here in front of him.
So why did it feel so empty?
He couldn’t help but look over toward Gray’s camp and wish Josie had been there to see him win. He knew she was probably already at the airport by now, but…it felt lackluster without her there. What had he been doing all of this for?
This was his moment, and yet once it arrived, all he wanted to do was share it with a woman who was on her way across the country. Sadness curled in his stomach as he thought of her, bu
t he pushed it aside and smiled at the crowd.
This was his win, and he was going to celebrate it.
Damn his heart for saying otherwise.
Chapter Twenty-One
One year later…
Josie looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. Her skin glowed with the highlight she’d just applied to her cheekbones and the gold shimmer around her eyes. It was the exact look she was going for, and admittedly, she felt rather pretty.
It wasn’t that she didn’t normally feel pretty, but it was difficult living in her skin at times. She wasn’t the smallest woman out there and had the kind of curves that men killed for but women looked down on. It was a constant struggle to find parts of herself that she liked, and she completely blamed her former life on television and social media for her insecurity. Once upon a time, she’d been constantly judged on her appearance and how she looked. But now? People rarely paid attention to her anymore.
With her social media presence at zero and her focus having been on school for the last year, she had disappeared from the public eye entirely. Occasionally, a reporter would pop in here and there to see how she was doing and if there was any new information they could scoop from her. Each time, they came up empty. Her life just wasn’t the exciting roller coaster ride it had been before, and she was grateful for that. With that previous excitement had come stress and drama, none of which she needed or wanted anymore.
Turning around, she glanced back over her shoulder into the mirror and judged her dark-yellow dress. It had always been one of her favorite colors, offsetting her dark-brown skin tone perfectly. This was everything she had wanted for her graduation day.
Except for one major thing… Her family.
They’d disowned her since she’d quit the show and left Las Vegas. She’d been called a traitor to the family, as she almost cost them the entire show. The network hadn’t wanted to continue filming without her. Somehow, though, they’d managed to convince them otherwise when Xavier had started dating the adult daughter of a Real Housewife. The family’s publicity had skyrocketed once more, and the network decided not to pull the plug.
Misadventures in the Cage Page 10
