In the Ring (BOXER Book 1)

by Rie Warren

  Finally I had The Champ on the ropes.

  DING DING DING!

  “That’s more like it, you fucker. You wanna give me a heart attack here? Keep it up, kid.” Sean growled directly into my swelling ear.

  RING RING RING!

  Sean splashed me with liquid and shoved me back into the center.

  I was ready to booyah this shit. For me, for Michael, for Ma, my brother, and my sisters. Gunning hard with the last of my energy I slammed Tristan’s face. When he spun away from me I followed up with my gloves doing hammer-time on his kidneys.

  The Tornado dropped to the mat. His eyes rolled back. He groaned, spitting blood out between his already red mouthguard.

  Lumbering to his knees, he shook his head.

  Dizzies much, braw?

  I was very close to splatting on my ass right next to him. I used what little fuel I had remaining to strafe left and right, waiting for him to Timber! once and for all or stagger to his feet.

  One foot came up under him. His massively muscled thighs quivered under the effort of dragging himself to standing. When he jerked up on both legs, his head hung low. His arms swung in slow locomotion from left to right.

  He couldn’t move. He didn’t make contact. But I sure as hell did.

  I beat him back into the turnbuckle. Every punch I landed pounded his ribs. I finished with one last left hook, southpaw all the way.

  The Tornado grunted out a long groan, crumpling to the mat.

  The count started outside the ring, and the chants from the audience took over the timekeeper.

  The ref kneeled next to Tristan. “SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN!”

  K-motherfucking-Ooooo-Yeah!

  The ref raised my arm. “Introoooducing the New Heavyweight Champion of the WORLD, Liam Oooo’Shaughnessy!”

  I couldn’t frigging believe it. Not even when they placed the heavy belt with the huge-ass medallion around my waist.

  My skin shivered all the way from my fists—which I couldn’t feel—to the soles of my feet still bouncing on the mat.

  Holy fuck!

  I’d done it. I’d won it.

  People rushed into the ring. My bodyguards pushed all but the inner posse away. My ears rang louder than any bells ever had, but I still heard the insane, impossible roar of fans gone wild.

  My bruised and beaten face beamed up on the Tron. Anya swooped in with a kiss and a hug. Devlin shouted into his phone from one side of his mouth—no doubt setting up more junkets for me—and congratulated me from the other.

  Sean turned me around and placed my cross on my neck, securing the chain. “Way to fucking fight it out, boy.”

  Emotions hit me harder and faster than all the punches Tristan had laid into me. Tears leaked from my eyes, and I threw my arms around Sean and Anya as the ref faced me north, south, east, and west to resounding cheers.

  The Tornado finally came to, and he limped up to me. We slung our arms around each other, mostly to hold one another up.

  “Man, for all the trash talk about you today, you don’t fight like a girl,” he mumbled through punch-swollen lips.

  I pulled him closer. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m a pussy.”

  “Last words, Liam?” The MC broke up our friendly huddle.

  “Yeah. There are a lot of rumors flying around about me. That’s okay. I get it. I’ll clear everything up tomorrow at the press conference.”

  The announcer tried to grab his mic back, but I held it to my mouth. “One other thing. Peter Dinklage, I hope you got the tickets, because you are kickass, my man.”

  Another round of feverish cheers and chants went up.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Motherfucking Champ

  BACK IN MY SUITE, I was too sore to move, too tired to think, too strung-out to sleep. I needed to fuck it all out—with Michael. Or just fucking snuggle with him. This win was major. Freaking huge!

  It was meaningless without him to share it with.

  I ate whatever Anya handed me. I groaned when my not-Michael masseur handled me. I flopped into bed and flipped around for the whole night.

  Trying to sleep on Michael’s usual side then mine, I eventually gave up. Snatching the one T-shirt I’d saved of his that traveled everywhere with me, I folded it beneath my head. The soft cotton—washed and worn over and over again—still smelled like him, and I was a sucker for his scent. With Mikey’s masculine smell wafting from the T balled beneath my head and tucked between my fingers, I conked out.

  The next morning passed too quickly for my liking. At noon it was time to face some major motherfucking music. Delivered back to the MGM Grand, my bodyguards bum-rushed me to the auditorium.

  Anya sat in the front row. She blew me a kiss as my protection detail marched me to the forefront. A long table lined with water bottles and microphones awaited me, Sean to the right of the center seat, and Dev to the left.

  The place was as packed as the night before with new sponsors I’d suddenly picked up. Delegates from sports drinks, soda pop, and athletic gear were out to get me all over their brands.

  Representatives from the major networks and news world packed in beside a hundred handpicked pro-Bonny Bruiser fans. We’d see how many of them were left standing after I had my say.

  I sweated bullets. I might need some high-octane meds after this. Sore, swollen, and severely bruised, I was ready to own this. Me. Who I really was. After I puked again.

  Tapping my mic, I called this meeting to order. For over two years, Devlin had wanted me to deny my sexuality. Fuck that.

  “So, folks, I bet you’ve got some questions. Take it a little easy on me, okay? I’m not feeling so hot today.”

  First up to bat was a guy in glasses way worse than mine had ever been. I squinted my eyes to read his badge. ESPN. Nice.

  “Congratulations on your win last night, Liam.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “So are the rumors about you true? Are you in fact gay?” He followed up.

  I folded my hands on the table, rubbing my knuckles with my fingertips.

  I lifted my eyes to gaze around the standing room only arena, ingesting one deep breath before letting rip with the truth. “Yeah. I’m gay.”

  Questions flew at me faster than any of Tristan’s punches. I couldn’t keep up as reporters spat out the interrogatories.

  Holding up one hand, I whistled into the mic to silence everyone. “Goddamn. Just hang on a second. Let’s be perfectly clear here: I am homosexual. I dig guys. Or, I guess, one guy more than the rest.”

  “Who? Who?” A round of hollers sounded back at me.

  “I’m not done yet.” I waited for the junket jackals to stop flapping their gums. “But I am done hiding. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Beside me, Devlin snorted, and the press posse pounced all over that. “Mr. Finkelstein, you’ve been with Liam since the beginning. What do you think of this news?”

  Dev got more heated up by the minute. “I always thought having one faggot on the team was plenty,” he snarled.

  I swung my head toward him. You gotta be kidding me. He was so going down.

  “And I’ve just decided having a badmouthing bigot on my team is one too many. Say goodbye to your cash cow, asshole. You’re fired.”

  I didn’t need to take a swing. I didn’t even need to stand up. My words were strong enough to level Devlin. But if I got the chance to punch his lights out later, I’d definitely take it.

  He jumped from his seat. “You have no idea what you’ve just done to your career.”

  “I think I do. I’m the heavyweight champion of the world. Or did you forget that?” I smirked at him.

  As Dev stalked from the raised stage, Sean lit a cigar. “Just clearing out the bad air with more bad air, folks.”

  As if I couldn’t love the old geezer more.

  “Sean, are you sticking around?” someone hollered.

  “Hell, yes. Do I look like I ain’t been up and down the block a dozen hundr
ed times already? Say what you want and spin it like a fucking lazy Susan, but this kid has more punch, more heart, and more gaddamn moves than any other boxer I’ve ever been with.” His nose flared as he inhaled, and the tip of his stogie burned coal-red. “He’s a beaut, gay-loving bahstad and all.”

  “Liam, you said you’d tell us who today!”

  My attention turned from Sean to the wolf pack press.

  “I’m in love with someone. Actually I’ve been in love with him for a long time. I just didn’t do anything about it because I’ve been openly hiding. Can I say that?” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, it makes sense I guess. I wasn’t brave enough to be out with him. Not that it’s really any of your business, but you’re a bunch of nosy fuckers, aren’t you?”

  Laughter spilled around me. And hundreds more questions.

  “Who is he?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Not her anymore?”

  All eyes targeted Anya, who hid in plain sight.

  She gained her feet. Pretty, diminutive without her Dominatrix heels or the two-story hair, she grabbed hold of the nearest microphone. “Liam is good friend. He is gay, I am lesbian.” She sweetly smiled before sitting down.

  Way to own it, girl.

  The one-two questions rounded on me.

  “We want a name, champ!”

  Truth time.

  I settled my forearms on the table and spoke directly into the mic. “I love Michael Fairweather with my whole Irish heart.”

  The uproar was contagious as the press drilled their questions at me:

  “Where is Michael?”

  “We haven’t seen him in months!”

  “Does he know how you feel?”

  “I’d say he might now, you knuckleheads,” Sean dryly commented. Laughter lifted the heavy atmosphere. “That’s enough questions for Liam today.”

  “I’ve got one more thing to say.” I stared out at the cameras recording and relaying my every word. “Michael, none of this means a goddamn thing without you.”

  People surged toward the stage as I was ushered out the back. Tough shit for them. I had unanswered questions, too.

  I hung around long enough to watch the aftermath take over the news channels. MSNBC ran an immediate interview with women and men waiting for me outside the Grand.

  “Does it bother you that Liam O’ Shaughnessy is gay?”

  “No, should it?” A woman in a bright pink T-shirt smacked her gum. “Like he doesn’t deserve to be happy with the person he loves just because he’s an athlete?”

  “You don’t feel duped at all?”

  “It’s none of my business, and none of y’all’s either. Why should I care who he screws? Lord knows, no one pays no never mind to who I mess around with.”

  “I think Michael and Liam are just adorable!” Another fan gushed.

  Holy fuck.

  So I was out. Just like that. Devlin was having an aneurism somewhere I didn’t have to see. Anya was so happy with me for a change she didn’t call me a chump, munchkin, or a caricature of myself. Sean just rolled his damn cigar around his mouth and winked at me. I felt, I guessed, liberated.

  I did the usual, slipping out the back door, into an alley, ditching my detail. Sean somehow kept the press corralled inside—maybe he offered them Cubans or something—because I made the roundabout walk to my hotel in peace.

  I planned on getting in touch with Michael as soon as I found the rest of my balls.

  First things first, I wanted a stiff drink and to let it all sink in. I stepped into the luxurious hotel lobby and started across the vast reception.

  “Hey, champ!”

  I knew that voice. It’d been inside my head since the moment Michael had left.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

  SPINNING AROUND, I SAW Michael standing in the lounge area beside the bar. He was blond and beautiful.

  He’s here . . .

  I walked toward him slowly, overwhelmed by the sharp pain of seeing him again, by the sensation of needing him so much.

  I stopped a few short steps away.

  “I missed you, baby,” he said.

  “Michael?” His name came out in a gasp.

  “I’m so sorry.” His brow crumpled as he approached me. “Can I . . . Liam . . . can I just—?”

  I shook my head but hauled him against me. Inhaling his scent in great drags of breath, I grabbed handfuls of his hair. The bright strands curled around my fingers as I cradled his head. I needed to kiss him. To show him.

  “Wait. Stop, Liam.”

  I broke free as if someone jerked me off him. “It’s Wade, isn’t it?”

  “What? No.” Michael settled right back where he’d been pressed against me, but my arms hung uselessly at my sides.

  His fingers drifted down my face, along my jaw. His thumbs rested beside my lips.

  “It’s never been about him. I didn’t go to him.” Leaning his forehead against mine, he breathed across my lips. “I am so damn proud of you.” His warm mouth nudged mine. “So much to say.”

  Hot love and quick desire twisted my insides, but I needed more from him. I needed to know because I was scared shitless I was the only one in love.

  Stepping out of his embrace, I asked, “Why are you here?”

  He blinked at me and then blushed. “I brought you flowers.”

  “You what?”

  With a sheepish sigh, he muttered, “I wanted to give you flowers, but I sort of ruined them.”

  “Where are they?”

  Rubbing his fingers against his forehead, he mumbled something under his breath before he turned on his heels.

  I watched with a small flip in my chest as he went to the chair he’d obviously occupied and retrieved a really wrecked bouquet of daisies.

  “You came all this way to be my flower delivery guy?” I asked when he returned to me.

  “Not exactly.” He stared at the shorn mess in his hands, crumpled paper and all.

  At least half the petals were missing.

  He held the flowers out to me. “For you?”

  I nearly snorted as I accepted the sad little bundle, but it was like the fucking Charlie Brown Christmas tree, and no one had ever given me flowers before. Really, really hurtin’ flowers.

  “Let me guess. I love you? I love you not?”

  A very sweet smile turned up the corners of his lips. His gaze lifted to mine, warm and softest gray.

  “Evidence.” He pointed to a glass way over by his vacated seat, filled with flower petals.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “He loves me,” Michael said. “And I came all the way here to be yours.”

  Everything froze in that instant—motion, sound, sight. Everything but the strong soaring feeling of love for Michael finally breaking free of all my fears.

  We held the daisies between us, and I searched for the truth in his searing eyes.

  “Will you come upstairs with me?” I asked.

  “Still too scared to kiss me in public?”

  “No. Not one damn bit. I just didn’t know if you wanted me to—”

  “Kiss me, Liam.”

  I secured him to me with one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his hip, and he moaned a harsh cry. Dipping my face, I kissed the spot at the hollow of his throat that belonged solely to me.

  Moving higher, I tentatively brushed our mouths together. I growled at that light sensation and dragged him flush to me. When he slanted his head and slid his tongue along my lips, I opened for him. I opened my foolish heart for Michael again, and the walls surrounding me broke apart with my desperate groan.

  My spine tingled. The pressure built between our mouths, our tongues sensuously twisting. The fervor slowed, and Michael ended with a soft, drawn-out kiss.

  His lips pressed against my chin, my cheeks, my jaw.

  He kissed me so gently over the bruises on my face. “Open up. Look at me, Liam.”

 
; I found his big gray eyes.

  “I missed you so much, and I’m sorry. I love you, baby.”

  I didn’t dare smile. Those words were so hard fought for. “Say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  His vow of love surged through me.

  “I love you, too.” I wrapped my arms around him, and we stood in the middle of the lobby, rocking together.

  Whistles and shouts interrupted our next kiss.

  People had gathered. Those from the press conference, people who had seen my fight, random slot-jerkers, Jo, Schmo, and everyone in between it looked like.

  “Uh, yeah. Show’s over, folks,” I called out, swinging Michael away to protect him from any more Candid Camera moments.

  Lifting his hands between us, I kissed both palms. “Will you come upstairs with me now?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “Wise guy.” I slipped our fingers together, rubbing them against my chest. “So I take it you saw the news coverage?”

  “What news coverage?” His eyes widened in innocence.

  “Wiseass.” I let one of his hands go to tug him through the lobby after me.

  As we walked to the elevators, I slid my arm around Michael’s shoulder, and he held me firmly by the waist. Inside the elevator, totally alone with him, I chewed on my lip to keep from kissing his irresistible mouth.

  “I was a douche. I overreacted. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me.” Michael looked down at his hands, over to the controls, anywhere but at me.

  I pressed the emergency stop button and the elevator jerked beneath our feet as it slowed. Reaching for the back of Michael’s neck, I drew his gaze to mine.

  “If you can forgive me for being a coward.” I peppered little kisses all over his upturned face.

  “Fuck that. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known, and I’m not just talking about today. I missed you, Liam. Every day, every hour, every minute.”

  I tucked his head against my shoulder. “Don’t take off on me again?”

  “I won’t.” Softly caressing my neck with his lips, he murmured, “I love you.”

  My heart somersaulted in my chest. I kissed him quickly then again more deeply, pleasure and relief and passion humming through my entire body. Skimming my fingertips beneath the bottom of his shirt, I moaned at the feel of his silky skin over the incredibly hard muscles of his stomach.