5 Rounds: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance (The Fight Game Book 1)

by Nikki Castle

  I turn away to blink the tears from my eyes before anyone can notice. Mrs. Turner’s words pierce a knife through my already aching heart. They remind me of the person that it physically hurts me to be without.

  Because what if you find your other half and they don't want you back?

  I don't voice my question out loud. Instead, I smile again at the love-struck couple and shove my pain to the back of my mind.

  "I hope you put that in your speech tonight," I tell her honestly. "Because that almost just made me cry."

  I feel Jax grab my pinky again as Mrs. Turner titters over my compliment. I squeeze him back in a silent thank you for his wordless support, once again reminded of the amount of love that I'm surrounded by.

  I look between Jax's parents. "I think I'd like to get a drink, if you don't mind my sneaking away for a minute."

  "Oh, honey, of course. That's what it's there for. Enjoy yourself." Mrs. Turner waves a hand at the bar before turning to Jax and launching into an animated conversation about a friend's daughter that she wants to set him up with.

  I make my way over to the bar while trying to keep from making eye contact with too many people. I inevitably get stopped by an aunt along the way, but eventually I find myself in front of the bartender.

  "Can I have a glass of red, please? Whatever the current Turner favorite is." I smile at the eager young bartender and leave some cash in his tip jar. Before long I'm sipping a delicious red wine that I forgot to ask the name of and turning back to the party. In the past fifteen minutes the entire backyard has filled with people, laughing with each other and drifting toward the dance floor. The sounds of happy partygoers almost drown out the 80's hits that the DJ is currently playing through the speakers. I smile and look around the yard.

  And freeze when I notice a face on the other side of it.

  My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach when I recognize the blue eyes and tousled brown hair. It looks like he’d already noticed me because he stands rooted to the spot as he studies me with a thoughtful expression. He's wearing a black suit and white button-up shirt, looking absolutely sinful with the buttons around his neck undone. He's got one hand in his pants pocket and is holding a glass of clear liquor in the other. His piercing gaze never leaves my face.

  Before I can decide if I want to ignore him or run from him, the music cuts out.

  "Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the 25th anniversary celebration of Mr. and Mrs. Turner! How's everyone doing?"

  A cheer goes up in the crowd. There's probably close to a hundred people at this party, with more now streaming into the backyard. People continue to pass in front of me as they fill the space around me, occasionally blocking my view of the man across the yard. But regardless of the jostling and blocked views, we never look away from each other.

  It vaguely registers in the back of my mind that the DJ is talking, still working the crowd into a frenzy. None of it registers because I can't seem to take a deep enough breath into my lungs.

  Tristan looks calm, almost thoughtful. He doesn't look worried about the fact that we're face to face for the first time since we shredded each other at the bar. His lips are pressed tightly together and there doesn't seem to be anything playful or flirtatious in his eyes, but other than that he looks just as handsome as he always does.

  He doesn't look like he's lost sleep or like a part of his heart has been ripped from his body. He doesn't look like I feel. He looks fine.

  When Mrs. Turner’s voice comes through the speakers I finally come to my senses and tear my eyes away from Tristan. Jax's mom is standing on a small stage near the entrance to their house, looking over the crowd of people spread out in her backyard. I hear her say something about long-lasting love, but nothing is properly registering in my brain right now. I try to steady my breathing by looking for Jax.

  But no matter how many different directions I turn, I can't find him. I automatically glance in Tristan's direction and lock eyes with him again—he still hasn't looked away from me.

  I feel my skin flush as the panic starts to set in. I have to get out of here. I can't handle his eyes on me, can't stand the possibility that he might try to talk to me. Every time I look at him my heart aches all over again, his words from the past few weeks running on loop in my brain. I have to get out of here.

  I silently beg Mr. Turner to speed up his declaration of love to his wife. He's also standing on the stage now, his arm wrapped lovingly around Mrs. Turner as she gazes adoringly at him. Just the sight of that is almost enough to make me interrupt their speech by making a run for the house. But I control myself, just barely, and keep myself glued to where I'm standing. As much as my body is screaming for me to look to the other side of the yard, I keep my gaze trained on Mr. Turner.

  Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the Turners step off the stage and the music resumes. It feels like someone hit play on the party as the many sounds come back to life and people start dancing again. I don't notice any of it.

  I leave my wine on a nearby high top and make a mad dash for the house.

  I run down the stairs, trying so hard to get away from those blue eyes that I trip on the last step. I catch the banister before I can fall on my face but keep running. I need to get away from this place before I really start to break down.

  I need to call an Uber, but I can't be standing out in the open as I wait; some family member will undoubtedly see me and want to chat. I spot the study to my left and duck inside before anyone can see me.

  I take a deep, quivering breath as I try to compose myself. I still feel like I can't breathe so I rush over to the glass doors behind the desk and pull them open. The fresh gust of air feels so calming that I step out on the small terrace to lean on the railing. I close my eyes and begin counting my breaths.

  I only get to three before I feel another presence in the room. Without even turning around I know he followed me in here.

  "Don't," I say, my voice breaking.

  I feel him pause his steps toward me. "Remy…" he starts. I shake my head, eyes squeezed shut, desperately wishing he would stop talking. That he won't make us do this right now.

  "Remy, I didn’t mean what I said," he says quietly. "You're so far from a quick fuck that it's laughable I even said it. I don't know why I did. I just got so angry when I saw you with Jason…"

  A startled laugh slips from my lips. It’s such a misplaced reaction that Tristan stops talking and waits for me to explain what could possibly be so funny. But I shake my head again and fall quiet. I can't believe he's still playing the jealousy card. Part of me is almost impressed by the fact that Tristan is fighting this hard to keep his booty call.

  The power of a good pussy, I think bitterly.

  "Remy…” I feel his hesitation before he starts again. "I'm sorry if I made you feel less than. I shouldn't have said it. You're worth so much more to me."

  "Please stop," I whisper quietly.

  He interprets my response as a good sign and takes a step closer. "Please just talk to me. Please tell me you didn’t mean what you said at the house. It's killing me thinking that’s how you really feel. Why are you trying so hard to push me away?"

  And with that, the flimsy wall that I've tried to rebuild around my heart the last few weeks disintegrates into dust.

  I spin around, tears now freely flowing down my face.

  “Because,” I choke on a sob, my heart breaking for what feels like the millionth time, "I’m in way too fucking deep, Tristan. I can't go a single minute without missing you so much that it hurts. It feels like my heart is being shredded in my chest every time I even hear your name, and I can’t ever catch my breath. I can’t breathe, Tristan.” I shake my head and look down at where my hands are nervously gripping my dress, unable to look at him as I admit the part that will break me all over again. “I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  But then it occurs to me that I’m not the same girl I was a few weeks ago. I�
��m no longer lying to myself about what does or doesn’t make me happy, and I’m not going to be ashamed of something that I know is the right decision.

  So I lift my gaze to meet Tristan’s, unwilling to back down from a fight even though I know I’ve already lost. His eyes are bluer than I’ve ever seen them, yet they still don’t give anything away. I have no idea why he’s here or what he’s thinking. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to lay the truth at his feet anyway.

  I look at him, strong and unflinching. “I know that I was just a piece of ass to you, but I guess I'm just another stupid girl because somewhere along the way... I fell for you. And I can’t do this anymore because I love you, but you don’t love me.”

  A deadly silence falls on the room. I'm not sure what I expect him to say, but the longer he's quiet, the more cracks splinter in my hopeless heart. When it feels like it’s going to fall into irreparable fragments, I suck in a breath in an effort to keep myself whole for another minute, and turn to walk out the door.

  "No," I finally hear him whisper. "No, no, no, Remy, no. You have it so wrong."

  He rushes across the room to gently grab my wrist and spin me back to face him. He touches my chin until I reluctantly look up at him and blink away my tears. "Remy, listen to me. I am so, so sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t special to me. I thought my feelings were obvious, and I actually thought that it was you who wasn’t interested. I didn’t want to push you if it wasn’t what you wanted.” His hands grip my wrists, gently caressing my pulse-point as he looks at me with a raw emotion that I’ve never seen in his eyes before. It feels like he’s begging me to understand and believe him. “I didn't expect it to happen like this, so it took me a while to understand what I was feeling, but… I love you. I just didn't know it until you left.”

  He smiles a sad smile as he cups my face and brushes away my fresh tears with his thumb. "The truth is I can't stop thinking about you, either. Every morning when I wake up, I have a split second of pure bliss where I think I'm waking up with you in my arms. And every morning, I'm wrong, and it feels like another part of me dies inside. Because I can't be without you now that I know what I was missing. I don't ever want to be without you again. Please… please tell me you feel the same way.”

  His voice cracks on the last sentence. He stares at me with a desperate hope, the vulnerability etched all over his face. He looks like he's waiting for me to either mend his heart—or ruin it completely.

  I’m struggling to believe the words coming out of his mouth. It’s almost too much to hope for. After everything that happened, it feels like a mistake to let myself hope again. Because I can't be broken like that again. I wouldn’t survive it.

  But his words are there, hanging between us. He wants me. He loves me. I know he's not lying because I can see it in his face. He really does feel as strongly as I do, and he's asking me if I want to be with him. If I want us to be together.

  The right words don't exist in this world to express what he's silently begging me for. So, I answer the only way we know how to communicate: I kiss him.

  I press my lips to his with a broken sob. He responds instantly and wraps an arm around my waist to pull me tight against his body, his other hand fisting in my hair. Our kiss is passionate and hungry. It feels like we've been physically starved of each other.

  He pulls back just enough to look down at my tear-stained face. With a smile and a look of pure adoration, he gently kisses my lips, my nose, my eyelids, my cheeks. He kisses away the tears on my face.

  The whole thing is enough to make me want to burst into tears again. I tighten my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest.

  "It's okay, we're okay," he mumbles as he strokes my hair. "We’re okay now."

  He holds me as I cry silent, heavy sobs. He holds me like he never wants to let me go.

  "I'm sorry again about what I said last week," he mumbles against my hair. "I couldn’t understand why you'd pushed me away, and then it felt like you picked Jason over me. I don't think I've ever felt as much rage in my life as when I saw you two together. I just snapped." I shake my head and burrow further into his embrace, and he tightens his grip around me. "I meant what I said the night of Aiden's party. You're mine. I just didn't know how to make you understand."

  "Why did you—" He pulls away slightly so I'm not mumbling my words directly into his chest. But I can't quite bring myself to look at him, so I nervously keep my eyes down and fidget with the edge of his suit jacket. "Are you still seeing other women? Why did you tell Jax you'd never be able to settle down?"

  "Is that why you pulled away from me?" he startles. His fingers grip my chin and lift my face to look at him. His eyes widen in shock. "You overheard me talking to Jax the day he got back?"

  I nod weakly.

  "Jesus," he winces. "You never should've heard that." He shakes his head, wrapping his arms even tighter around me. "I didn't mean a word of that. I haven't even thought of anyone else since you threw that girl out. Jax just has this really annoying habit lately of giving me very long and very obnoxious 'how to be a good boyfriend' speeches whenever he thinks I'm getting serious about a girl. I think he's just trying to pass on what he learned from his last breakup. But it's incredibly annoying. When I said those things, I was just trying to keep him from going off on his rant. I didn't mean a word of it. I'm so, so sorry that you heard it."

  I consider his answer, then nod in understanding. The breath he must've been holding whooshes out in relief at my acceptance. He kisses my forehead and squeezes me tight again.

  "Maybe subconsciously I didn't want to hear his speech because it was too much to hope that I was actually in a position to hear it," he mumbles against my hair.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Maybe I really wanted to be a boyfriend—a good boyfriend—but didn't know where you stood with us."

  I lean back to look at his face. He looks vulnerable and hopeful. I stand up on my toes to place a light kiss on his lips. "It's okay, we got there eventually."

  A wide grin splits his face, and any remaining sadness disappears. He looks absolutely joyous.

  But then a thought occurs to me and one side of my mouth twitches up in a smirk. "I guess now you'll have to actually hear the speech. What's on his list anyway?"

  He throws his head back and laughs loudly. "You don't want to know."

  I pinch his waist and he swats my fingers away with a scowl. "Come on, just give me one," I nudge.

  His eyes start to twinkle mischievously. He leans down to whisper in my ear, "Well, step one is to make sure she comes until she's limp in your arms. Then you fuck her until she can't even scream your name…"

  I shiver at his words—at the thought of him doing exactly that.

  He nips my earlobe before kissing it gently. "Let's get out of here," he whispers. "It's been far too long since I've seen you naked. And you look absolutely edible in that dress." He pulls back with a smile and runs a strand of blonde hair between his fingers. "Not to mention this new hair is a goddamn showstopper. You look like you were always meant to be blonde. I can't believe you finally did it."

  A huge grin stretches proudly across my face. "Quit my job, too. I figured I'd do all the classic breakup things that girls usually do."

  His eyes widen in surprise and a delighted smile appears. "You did? Holy shit, Remy, that's incredible!" He cups my face and kisses me enthusiastically before leaning his forehead against mine. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers against my lips.

  I smile—an honest, happy smile—and grab his hand to lead him outside. We're almost to the front door when we run into a tiny old woman with a bird pinned to her hair.

  "Remy, honey, there you are. I've been looking for Jaxon to see if he's slipped a ring on your finger yet." She pauses as she notices Tristan. In all her seventy-five-year-old worldly experience, she looks over every inch of him. And when she finally turns back to me, I see a knowing twinkle in her eye.

  "Although, if that'
s the one you've got your eye on then I can't exactly blame you. Jaxon doesn't hold a candle to him."

  I laugh a blissful, teary laugh, throwing my arms around her and pressing a kiss to her weathered cheek.

  24

  Tristan

  I don't know how I don't get pulled over on the drive home, because I definitely break one or four speed limits on the way. By the time we reach Remy's apartment, I feel like I'll die if I don't get my hands on her.

  We tumble into the apartment, a mess of sloppy kisses and wandering hands. I push her up against the wall the second the door is closed.

  I can't stop kissing her or running my hands all over her body.

  I can't get enough of her taste, her smell, the feel of her soft skin.

  I can't get over the fact that her urgent kisses mean she's just as desperate for me as I am for her.

  My hands slide along her sides before dropping down to squeeze her ass. "God, I missed this ass," I groan. I feel her smile against my lips.

  I reach down to her thighs and lift her up against the wall, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist. The motion shifts the slit on one side of her dress, and I greedily run my hand across her exposed thigh. When I grind my hips against her center, she lets out a moan that damn near drives me out of my mind. With a growl I pull her away from the wall and walk us both toward the living room.

  The city lights shine through the wall of oversized windows and dance across the floor. The last time I was here there was no furniture, and Remy and I were in a very different headspace. And although I plan to worship her body the same way I did that night, everything else feels like it’s changed.

  We reach the couch but instead of laying her down, I gently coax her legs to unhook from around my waist. She obliges, sliding down my body and standing in front of me with wide, trusting eyes. That look is enough to make me want to drop to my knees before her and promise her every piece of my crippled, shattered heart. A large part of me is still in shock that she picked me—that she loves me.