The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs Book 3)

by Kate Stewart

  “Hey, Troy? Can I get your autograph?”

  Clarissa smiles, making small talk with the wife as I usher the guy to the side of the busy walkway and take the pen from him.

  “Killer season, man. Next year is our year. I can feel it.”

  “Thanks, hope so.” I scribble my name as I’ve done thousands of times and still can’t believe this is my life. It’s been a crazy ride from that blue rental house to get to this point.

  “Thanks, man,” the man says as we take a quick pic before he’s on his way.

  “I’ve never gambled before,” Clarissa says as I walk her through the barrage of noise in the casino.

  “Let’s fix that.”

  “No way.”

  “Come on, baby, loosen the purse strings a little.”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “We’re leaving in the morning. We have to get back, or we’ll lose Parker.”

  She smiles. “Can’t have that.” She looks around skeptically. “I just don’t think I’m a gambler.”

  “Then we won’t do anything risky.” I pull out my wallet and slide a hundred at the dispensary window attendant in exchange for some chips.

  “That’s a hundred dollars.”

  My wife still does our grocery shopping, she still buys our kids clothes at TJ Maxx. She’s frugal with our millions, and the irony is she brings home enough salary to support us all. I love that she’s a cheap millionaire. I love that she’s fretting over a hundred dollars.

  “One bet,” I tell her, handing her the chips.

  “Just one?”

  “Yes.” I scan the room. “Over here. Roulette.” I guide her to the table. “Red or black. Easy choice.”

  “What do you think?”

  I tug a strand of her hair. “My bet will always be on red.”

  “God, you’re awfully romantic tonight.”

  “Just wait until I get you alone again. That dress is a one and done. I’m going to make sure that fucker rips.”

  “Damn,” she whispers, squeezing my hand as we side up to the roulette table.

  “Okay,” she chews her lip, “let’s bet on Dante’s birthday.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Five on red?” She looks at me for guidance, and I nod before she places the chip on the table. In seconds, we lose a hundred dollars. I laugh as she curses under her breath. “I don’t see how people do this. That used to be a fortune to me.”

  “Me too.”

  “Still is,” she says as we step onto the escalator.

  “I love that about you.”

  She stares down at me, perched on the mechanical steps, and we share a look that says it all. Neither of us thought this life would be ours. I take her hand and kiss it. “I know.”

  By the time we make it to our seats, the arena is mostly full. Theo and Laney are there to greet us.

  “Hey, man. Can you believe this shit?” Theo and I do the man hug.

  “He deserves it,” I say honestly.

  “No argument there,” he says, looking around the packed arena.

  Since we’ve graduated, Theo and I did little to keep in touch, but when Lance became a premier fighter, I decided to gift him with his own anthem and knew just the right maestro. Since then, he and Laney have come to a few of my games and even stayed at the house a couple times. Our new dynamic completely different than years before. He doesn’t even blink when I hug his wife in greeting.

  “Another one!?” Laney says to Clarissa with one hand on her belly and another wrapped around her in a hug. “You look beautiful.”

  “I feel ridiculous. This is a hoochie dress.”

  “You look hot,” she insists.

  “I agree,” I add, looking her over with the lust I feel. “So fucking hot.”

  “Me too,” Theo says, the next in line to hug Clarissa. We take our seats, and I scan the crowded room.

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” Theo says, reading my thoughts the seat over.

  “Wouldn’t change a fucking thing,” I say honestly.

  “Me neither.”

  “I have to pee,” Laney belts breaking the sentiment, and we both chuckle.

  “I’ll go with you,” Clarissa offers. “I’m sure I’ll have to again by the time we get there.”

  Before they’re out of sight, I grab my phone and shoot off a text. A few seconds later, Clarissa reaches into her purse and looks back at me with glassy eyes.

  Troy: No need to gamble when you’ve already won the lottery.

  Clarissa: I love you so much.

  Harper

  Standing just behind Lance and his crew, he shakes his arms out and rolls his shoulders before turning back to me. I’m sweating from head to foot in my tight-fitting dress and pray he can’t see the nerves on my face, but of course, he does.

  He gives me a slow wink. “First knockout of the night.”

  I bat away the compliment, too worried about how he’s feeling. “You’ve got this.”

  “As long as I’ve got you.”

  And that’s all it takes to straighten my spine, pride filling me where doubt just threatened. We’re stronger than we’ve ever been. The last few years, especially this one, has been insane. I’ve danced in a few shows, in addition to being ringside at all of Lance’s fights. His earnings as a heavyweight have relieved most of his burdens.

  But it hasn’t been easy.

  We’ve missed each other to the point we’ve had a few fantastic fights that led to the most incredible make up sessions. But fighting across the miles isn’t easy, either. But we have what it takes now to make it through. We now consider those tumultuous days at the ranch the ten days that made us.

  And they truly did.

  We hold absolutely nothing back from the other, even if it causes problems, even if it hurts, even if it tests us, and on the other side is a closeness I’ve never felt with any other.

  Lance splits his time between the circuit, the ranch, and New York while I split my time between the stage and wherever he lands. It’s been hard, and wonderful, and paid off in spades. But nothing in the world, no stage, no spotlight could keep me away tonight.

  And one day, very soon, he’ll call New York home. Our end game is the ranch, but time is what we have, and we’re making full use of it. We’re living the next five years in the city and then moving Nana to Texas when we go. We have plans, loads of them, which include expansion of the ranch.

  Tony sidles up next to Lance with last minute suggestions as Trevor takes in the packed arena. Lance is wearing a new and cranked up version of the robe I bought him years ago. It fits him perfectly, along with the trunks. Amped and rattling, Trevor stands next to him. I’ve never seen so much pride in his eyes. Lance is his hero and it fills me so full of joy to see them in this state. These two boys turned men have single-handedly kept their parents’ legacy alive. Trevor will attend Grand this fall, thanks to his brother, who is picking up the bill.

  Covered in nerves, I jump out of my skin when Lance’s new anthem sounds out. Moving instinctively, I can’t help but appreciate the vibe it brings. It’s a mix of rock and rap, and it’s so distinctly Lance. Stomach turning, I see Lance repeatedly nodding to Tony’s words. And then we’re off, collectively walking down the aisle together as his corner while the arena roars to life. It’s the same buzz as it has been in his fights before, but this one I feel in my stomach. When it’s time to leave me ringside, I move to take my seat when Lance unexpectedly turns and pulls me to him with a gloved hand. I freeze, knowing all cameras, all eyes, are on us.

  “Look at me, baby,” he says roughly. “It’s just us.”

  “Gross understatement. Hundreds of millions of eyes, Lance. And they’re waiting. What are you doing?!”

  “Let ‘em wait. There’s no fight without you. I’m here because of you.”

  Adrenaline spiking, I glance around us.

  “Well, you can thank me later.”

  “Look at me, beautiful,” he commands, and I do. My eyes drift to his.
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  “I fucking love you.”

  Heart pounding, I nod. “I love you too, knock ‘em out, baby.”

  “If I do, will you marry me?”

  Eyes widening, I check his expression and realize he’s serious, his eyes full of surety. “I’ve been waiting almost two years, and this is the moment you choose to propose?”

  “Can you think of one better?” The man cares absolutely nothing about outsider’s opinions at this point, and I admire him for it. I’m not quite there yet, but I love that he keeps pushing me and always will. This is the biggest of tests, and I refuse to let it cripple me. He’s pushing me the way I have him, refusing to let me lurk in the shadows. And he’s the source of the strength I need to dwell with him in the spotlight. I shake my head, smiling.

  “So, Priss? Will you be my wife?”

  “Marry you? Fine. One condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “I want KO by the sixth round.”

  “Fuck, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “Nah,” I scrunch my nose, “you just need a little faith.”

  “I believe what I can see, and damn have you shown me.” He chucks my chin with a gloved hand before he’s whisked away toward the ring where his opponent waits.

  It was a little under a sixty-second exchange, and the most exhilarating seconds of my life. High and dazed, I join the gang who’re holding my seat.

  “Hey, woman!” Clarissa says, pulling me into a hug as I stand stunned, half-assed greeting them all and returning their embraces. When Troy releases me, my eyes land on Trevor, who has grown into a monster, his build similar to his brother’s when I met him. He sticks out his full bottom lip in a pout. It’s then I know Lance’s proposal was planned. I lift my shoulders in a helpless shrug and he gives me his brother’s breathtaking smile. I match it before averting my gaze back to Lance.

  “He looks incredible,” Clarissa says at my side. And he does. He’s put on more muscle in the last few months. He’s a trim gladiator at this point. I’m still dumbfounded at times I’m his.

  And so are others.

  My reception was just as grueling as I expected it to be. The irony? Being the champ’s girlfriend got me some national attention as a dancer. The nightmare of constant ridicule turned into a sort of blessing. But it hasn’t been fun. None of it has. I’ve had to cut ties with social media. Lance forced me to turn mine over to his PR after seeing the backlash of our coupling. He’s gotten downright vicious with a few reporters despite our game plan and had to apologize publicly for addressing some comments on Twitter. He may not give a shit about what others say about him, but I’m a different story. Together we’ve been his publicist’s worst nightmare. At times, I thought I would never be able to show my face in public again. But here we are, still fighting, still standing, still us. The microphone lowers into the ring and my stomach turns as Clarissa grips my hand.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, in the red corner, standing six-foot-two and weighing two-hundred and twenty-four pounds, with a record of eighteen and oh, Lance ‘The Blanket’ Prescott.”

  I’m already on my feet, screaming for him as he lifts his arms up and gives the crowd a short nod.

  Otto is announced next, and that’s when Lance goes business. In his eyes, a determination I’ve seen countless times before. The beast is there, locked up, waiting for the gate to open. His opponent is a warrior and has an undefeated record as well. This is going to be a fight, but Lance has an edge, most of his wins being knockout, Otto’s technical.

  Lance is very much the comeback kid in the ring. Heart in my throat, I’m too nervous for small talk as Clarissa leans into me.

  “What’s going on in your head right now, girl?”

  “It’s just…nothing.”

  “That’s not nothing.”

  I turn and give her a smile. “This is going to be good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  The first bell rings, and Lance comes out last, light on his feet, his movements drawing Otto in, who misses his first throw. Lance begins his dance, his head bobbing, his muscular legs shifting easily from one foot to the next. I’ve never seen him so fluid, so confident. It’s been months since his last fight, but I can’t believe how much he’s grown in just that short amount of time. I’m in utter awe as I watch him handle himself in the ring with the two-time champ.

  Lance lands a one-two combo dizzying Otto, and shortly after Otto lands his first punch. The camera pans in on Lance’s face at that exact moment, and when Lance smiles around his mouthguard, the crowd goes apeshit.

  “He’s playing with him,” Clarissa says in shock and awe. “This guy is toast.”

  “Easy, killer,” I say, looking on in a daze as Lance dominates the first round. He’s fighting a two-time heavyweight champion and making it look like a day in the park. I couldn’t be more stunned. Otto seems…intimidated, his posture as weary as his expression. It’s as if Lance has broken some barrier within himself and we’re all bearing witness to it.

  And then it happens. Otto finds his groove, and it becomes a fight. An uppercut wipes all amusement out of Lance’s eyes, but he doesn’t waver, seeming satisfied with the progression. He wants to earn it.

  In round two, Lance’s steps are slightly heavier, but he remains controlled, Tony’s fighter.

  “He’s still fucking with him,” Troy’s voice booms across the space between us. He’s just as in awe as everyone else in the row. Troy’s been to several of his fights and can see the growth himself.

  When they break for round three, Laney chooses that moment to holler her support in her deep twang. “Knock his fuckin’ head off, Prescott!” We all turn toward her, laughing hysterically. Theo shakes his head, and she shrugs.

  “What? I wanted to make sure he heard me.”

  “The world heard you,” Theo says, eyeing his wife with love and amusement. And then the camera is on the five of us, panning in on Troy and Clarissa, and for a moment, I’m thankful Troy is here to take the focus off me. He’s been a hell of a support to Lance and me over the years. A solid friend. We couldn’t ask for better.

  Tony hovers above Lance as Rip wipes his face and waters him up. And then the camera is panning in on me. Did they read his lips? Did they see our exchange? Was it Lance’s intent that the world know we’re getting married? A wedding will only intensify the scrutiny.

  I stare at Lance in his corner who’s all too ready to go gloves up and something comes over me. The solution.

  Who the fuck cares?

  About them.

  They who hurt us without knowing a second of our story.

  Without knowing the struggles we’ve faced, that we’ll continue to face, together, fight for together.

  And what we won is each other.

  Fuck them.

  Let their hate fester.

  Let them watch.

  Let them choke on that hate.

  We won’t ever respond to it again.

  It’s then I think of my dad, who’s sitting alone in his apartment watching my future unfold. I imagine right about now he’s regretting his mistakes where Lance is concerned. But Lance no longer harbors ill feelings toward him and reached out to get no response. He tried, and that’s all I can ask.

  By the fifth round, we’re all on the edge of our seats, the momentum shifting again, and Otto is dominating. Lance avoids a jab, but Otto lands another uppercut I feel to my bones when Lance dizzies to the point he’s leaning on the ropes and he goes down on his knees. Heart sinking, I stand and begin screaming my support. I know I’m impossible to hear, but I will him to anyway. From where he kneels, I can feel his struggle, and within seconds, I’m at the side of the ring.

  The referee starts his count as Otto celebrates, his arrogance rousing the crowd.

  Tony curses in the corner as Trevor screams for his brother, and I do the same.

  “This is yours, Prescott! Don’t let it in!”

  As if he hears me, he’s on his feet within the
count of six. After a brief exchange with the ref, his dance is back. With Lance still dazed, Otto lands a slew of punches until the bell rings.

  When round six sounds, everyone in the arena is losing their minds. Lance and Otto are back and forth, delivering blow for blow until Otto gains the upper hand. I’m close to regretting my demand when Lance pushes Otto back with one glove to the forehead.

  “HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Troy exclaims just before Lance pounds his gloves together and unleashes the beast. No longer Tony’s fighter, but the man I met in the gym six years ago. The true fighter he is. The true fighter life made him.

  Lance is giving it everything he is, he has, landing one solid punch after the other dodging Otto’s attempts. Otto looks very much like a punching bag jerking on the chain. And with each of his strikes, I see a flash of the past, of the first time I took a closer look at Lance in his element at our gym. Another right hook from Lance has Otto’s mouthpiece loose, and there’s only enough time for him to secure it back in before Lance delivers another. More memories flood me as my eyes water, and I picture him with his eyes closed while I circled him at Madison Square Garden.

  “Through the ropes!” I scream, my eyes flooding as Lance picks Otto apart, punch by punch, not just fighting for the title, but winning against the odds that were stacked against him since the beginning.

  “Through the ropes, baby!”

  Lance lands another and another, dominating until he has Otto on the ropes.

  I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. “It’s you, Lance, you’re the next big upset! This is yours! This is your legacy! Fight, baby!” I scream through the thousands of other voices shouting their support. With the uproar from every punch, I realize Otto is no longer the favorite.

  “It’s you, Lance! It’s you!” The minute the words leave my lips, Lance delivers a right, and Otto goes down.

  Everyone in our row mimics the ref’s count. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” Otto does a slow climb back to his feet and nods to the ref. Undeterred, Lance takes two long strides to get to him and delivers one last blow that I know everyone watching felt. Otto goes down and in the next second, Lance’s glove is raised.