She didn’t move until the dancing stopped and the two walked off to the foyer. Hoisting Rabbit to the crook of one elbow, she grabbed a piece of paper, a pen, and a ribbon.
No way was she delusional now. No way was she wrong.
Jotting love on the paper, she threaded the ribbon through, hung it on a branch, and dashed upstairs.
* * *
The televised coverage of the Batiste vs. Brazda weigh-in at the Garden dominated local and national news as well as social media. After taking to the scales and staring down Eliáš Brazda for several thousand people filling the arena, Jackson wasn’t interested in watching it when he arrived at the steakhouse inside the Rio and glimpsed the video streaming on his cousin’s phone.
Today he was going to fire his trainer. At dawn he’d shown up at the gym for a workout to find Pax dismantling his office. He wouldn’t say what he was searching for and his pupils had been dilated. Like he’d recently taken a hit of something and was after a refresher. After Jackson had demanded an explanation about the heavy bag that still hadn’t been replaced, Pax had zipped out of the parking lot before Jackson could stop him.
Pax, who’d seen the damage drugs had done to his sister, who’d rescued Jackson from that certain fate by putting gloves on him and giving him a way out, was far down the same fucking path.
“Can’t hype this event more than that,” Corbin said, turning his phone to give Jackson a clear view of the screen. “Ready for Saturday?”
“Corbin, talk to me about your dad.”
His cousin put the phone away. “What about him?”
“I know he’s fucked up. I know what he’s doing at the gym. My eyes were closed to it. But yours weren’t. You’ve known.”
“He gets blitzed in the office. That gym ain’t what it’s supposed to be about.” Corbin picked up his glass for a swallow of iced water. “What it used to be about.”
Corbin’s comment about burning the gym to the ground came surging forward in Jackson’s mind. Get rid of the gym, get his father back. “This thing with Ciera aside, Corbin, we need to talk to Dez and make some changes. Pax isn’t coming to MGM Grand tomorrow night.”
“He’s your trainer.”
“Not the way he is now. I can’t have him in my corner like that. We need to get him help. Can I count on you and Dez to have my back on Saturday?”
Corbin frowned. “He’s not going to appreciate getting pushed out of the picture.”
“Maybe he’ll appreciate not ending up like my mother. If not, too fucking bad. His boys need to come together and save him and his gym—because he saved all of us. Sure as hell saved me.”
* * *
Aly was going to tell him tonight.
Seduced by the hope in the atmosphere and the spirit of celebration in the city that still lingered almost a week after the Villains secured a spot in the Super Bowl, she refused to leave MGM Grand on fight night still harboring lies.
Assuming that pushing through everyone to get to Jackson before the main card fight would only screw with his head, she prepared to watch twelve rounds and afterward would put everything out there.
She had to find out if there was any other choice but to let him go for love.
Yet those best-laid plans were scrapped when her cell phone buzzed midmorning.
I want to see you in a place where we can both be honest.
Accepting a sleek, luxury-car escort to the location where she agreed to meet Jackson, she found Batiste’s Boxing Club heavily secured and closed to the public. Tonight the gym would open as a watch party venue for the neighborhood to enjoy the entire pay-per-view event free of charge.
It was a tradition she’d been glad to hear wouldn’t be altered in the aftermath of Jackson firing his uncle as trainer.
A bodyguard opened the door to her and stepped outside when she entered. She walked farther into the sunlight-dappled building and halted several feet from Jackson, who sat on a set of ringside steps. His clothing simplified to jeans, a cotton shirt, and a pair of sunglasses, he was total intensity and strength and ease.
How could he gamble his career on a single match and sit there so casually?
Jackson held out a hand and she advanced until his palm was cupping her cheek. In his sunglasses she saw her earnest reflection.
“I heard about Pax and the trainer change. I’m sorry he’s going through this.”
The only indication that he’d absorbed her words was a subtle twitch of his lips. Then, “You’re beautiful, Aly.”
She took away the sunglasses, hooking them on the neckline of his shirt, and searched the depths of his solemn dark irises. It hadn’t been a restful night, and she’d awakened early nervous about the fight and what choice she might make afterward. “Say it again.”
His fingers barely brushed the delicate, puffy skin under her eyes, then traveled to the corners of her frowning mouth. “Aly, you are beautiful.” Not stopping there, he climbed into the ring and helped her onto the canvas. “You’re so beautiful. In this square, we don’t lie. That’s why we’re here.”
She ran a hand along the top rope as she walked. “Every time we’re in this ring, we get overtaken.” Letting go, she met him in the center of the square. “We can’t this time.”
“The pregnancy.”
“No, I meant you. Save your energy for the fight.”
Jackson grinned, and there was the dimple in his cheek. “Okay.” His fingertips brushed down her spine, lingered on the curve of her ass, and she wanted to keep him there. “And after the fight?”
“After the fight, I’ll be squirmy about your bruised face and battered body.” This time she smiled, but it quickly fell. “After the fight, we’re supposed to be done.”
“We’re going to choose now to stick to lines in the goddamn sand?”
She shrugged. But there were no lines anymore. There was an unborn child. There was love. “So this is our honest place. This boxing ring.”
“‘No lies, no bullshit,’” he quoted. “I wanted you to be standing on this canvas with me when I told you that I’m not going to throw this fight. I can’t take a loss to Brazda. Above that, my kid needs a father with integrity.”
Aly nodded—or she tried to. Respect for his decision combatted dread. In her heart, she believed he would outclass Brazda. Then the goodbyes would come. “Okay. My turn to be honest.” She glided a palm down his arm. She could touch him, study him, for hours. “I’m not going to hate you for choosing the fight, Jackson. In fact, I love you. And I feel really good about being the one you gave your trust virginity to.”
“Is that so?”
“So.”
“So…” He turned and somehow maneuvered her against the ropes. “Make an honest man out of me. Upgrade me from ‘guest’ to ‘groom’ at your wedding.”
Aly gave a shove. “That’s not funny. Asking me to marry you when you’re about to fight your way out of my life?”
“I said I’m not throwing this match. I didn’t say there would be more matches.” He shook his head. “After this event, I’m retiring. I decide whose challenges I accept, and I decide when I’m done searching the ring for the meaning of my life.”
“Do not retire for me.”
“I’m retiring because what I want isn’t at the end of a fucking championship anymore. My place in this sport doesn’t mean what it used to. Not to my uncle, and for damn sure not to me. I took on Brazda because I didn’t have a reason to stop getting in the ring.” Jackson’s touch was warm, comforting on her belly. “This baby’s my reason. You’re my reason. I’m not the machine…not the beast. That’s my reason.”
Aly swayed into his arms. If loving Jackson Batiste was a scandal, then fuck it—she was thoroughly, shamelessly, dirtily scandalous.
“I’m still nobody’s fairy tale. I’m just a man.”
“Thank God.” So complicated, so difficult, so hard to understand, he would fit perfectly in her unconventional
, out-of-order family. Someone to love and someone who loves me. Aly smiled against his mouth. “Kiss me, champ.”
* * *
The only emotion more dangerous than her hatred is his love. Read THE HOOK, book four in the END GAME series by Piper Westbrook.
continue to sample…
Izzie made the mistake of meeting him head-on. Key necklace to lock necklace. Eye to eye. Body to body as he used his granite-solid form—shoulders, hands, crotch, thighs—to pin her to the pillar.
“Who unlocked you?”
“You, Milo.”
“And? Tell me who else unlocked you. Give me the fuckers’ names.”
“No one else. Just you.”
And then they collided mouth to mouth, with the urgency of heat and demand of sharp whiskey flavoring the taste. Grace and precision weren’t welcome in this kiss. It wasn’t about intellect or the melding of spirits. Just hard, ruthless want and the craving to commit the dirtiest of deeds.
Izzie wrapped herself around him: hands fisting in his long hair, legs parting to invite him deeper. Fingertips sank into flesh. Wet tongues invaded.
A mistake was one thing. But this? This was bad in every naughty, delicious, unforgivably fucked-up way.
AMAZON | GOODREADS
Author’s Note
Enjoying the End Game series? Let the author know by leaving reviews. Short, long, with GIFs, with words—love is love.
Books By
Piper Westbrook
The End Game Series
The Penalty
The Rush
The Brawler
The Hook
The Forgiven
About The Author
Piper Westbrook is a writer and a city girl whose life is a country song. Reader discretion advised—always.
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