Tapout

by J.C. Valentine

  “Jami, no.”

  “Alyson, yes. This is my choice. I’m doing it whether you want me to or not, but it would make me feel a lot better if you at least pretended to support me on this.”

  Burying her head in his chest, Alyson prayed for strength. She didn’t know how to support Jami purposely hurting himself, but did she really have a choice? She could walk away now, or she could stick by his side and see him through this. A renegade tear tumbled down her cheek, and she swiped it away before he could notice. She kept her face turned down so he wouldn’t see her red, puffy eyes as she spoke. “I hope my acting skills are up to par then, because I’m going to need them to get through this.”

  Cinching his arms tighter around her shoulders, Jami gave her a good squeeze. “That’s my girl. How did I ever get so lucky?”

  “You picked the craziest one of the bunch,” she returned.

  Jami laughed, the rich sound resonating in her ears. “I love your crazy.”

  “And I love you.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jami spent the next two weeks pouring everything he had into his training, pushing his limits until he had broken through them. With every weight that he lifted, and every bag he punched, the bones in his hand screamed fire, but he refused to give an inch, ignoring the concerned looks he received from Don and Alyson.

  If this were going to be his last fight, he was going out his way—from the top.

  When a member of the committee arrived to oversee Don’s process of wrapping his hands, everyone in the room grew silent. They were the only ones who knew that he wasn’t fit for the ring, but as much as they didn’t like it, they didn’t utter a word. They knew how badly he wanted this moment, and they’d agreed not to stand in his way.

  Once he was cleared, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. His secret was safe.

  Tonight, he was going to teach Tony Michaels what it meant to be hit by a real man. For months, he replayed the vision of Tony shaking Marco’s hand as his own was crushed. In private, Don informed him that Tony had been behind the whole thing. Apparently, Tony was a close, personal friend with Marco, and when Spencer started coming around, they’d decided to work it to his advantage.

  Setting Jami up was the ultimate goal, and damaging his hand was just an added bonus. Now, Jami was scheduled to fight him in a match that shouldn’t be happening, but it was, and he had no doubt that Tony thought his weakened condition would ensure him a victory.

  But he would be wrong.

  Jami planned to teach Tony a lesson he wouldn’t forget, one that would knock his crazy ass off his pedestal for good. He knew Ally was worried about him, and she had every right to be. This fight was going to be his last, and he knew without a doubt that he wasn’t walking away from it intact. But the sacrifice would be worth it. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

  “Are you nervous?” Miles asked from his seat in the corner. Jami hadn’t seen the boy or his mother in so long, but he was glad they were here tonight. It meant that they weren’t here with Michaels, which was a victory in itself. Alyson had told him not too long ago that she was worried Tori would go back to her abusive husband, but it looked like the woman had changed her mind, which was a serious plus, because if Jami had to hear that Michaels was putting his hands on either one of them again, he’d have killed the man.

  Leaving nothing to chance, Jami had contacted Tony a few nights ago and informed him that if didn’t stay the fuck away from Tori, Miles, and anyone else that Jami cared about, then he was going to spill every little detail of his criminal behavior—abusing his wife and kid, stalking, his connection to Maretti, everything—to the media. Let the fucker sort out the frenzy.

  Looked like Tony had a brain after all.

  Since he’d been a good boy, Jami thought he deserved a reward. As it stood now, he planned to keep the violence to a minimum, reducing Tony’s sentence from murder to mere bloodbath.

  He considered Miles’ question. Was he nervous? “Please,” Jami scoffed. “You should know better by now. I laugh in the face of danger.” He laughed heartily to prove his point.

  Ally was smiling at least, amused by his foolhardy joking. He’d been worried about her, and about them, after revealing his plan. He had to give her credit. She was putting on a brave face, but she’d pulled away the last couple of weeks and had grown quiet and withdrawn. And her nightmares were back.

  She hadn’t had them since they reconnected—that he knew of—but lately, almost every night, he had to shake her awake to stop her hiccupping sobs. Waking up in a cold sweat had become routine, and he didn’t like it one bit. It was his fault, of course. He should never have told her about his plans, but they’d agreed to always tell each other the truth, and she’d asked. Now, he had to hope that when all was said and done, the nightmares would end. If they didn’t, hopefully she would still allow him to be there for her.

  And he would be. He was going to make everything right again.

  “Isn’t Spencer coming?” Tori inquired, glancing at the closed door.

  “No.” His short delivery wasn’t meant to sound so harsh, but Jami couldn’t help the anger he felt whenever Spencer’s name was brought up. He hadn’t seen the guy in weeks, and good riddance. As far as he was concerned, Spencer was dead to him.

  After all, he wouldn’t be in this position, saying goodbye to his career, struggling to make a fucking fist, if it weren’t for him. Everything, his entire world, was unraveling due to Spencer’s actions. If he never saw him again, it would be too soon.

  Tori’s eyes widened and she shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable now that he’d snapped at her. Jami ignored her. He wasn’t apologizing. Considering the mood he was in, he wasn’t sure what would come out of his mouth.

  When it was time to head out, Alyson helped him into his shirt, smoothing it over his chest with care. The solemn look that seemed to be glued to her face killed him, and Jami grabbed her up, holding her tight to his body. They didn’t say anything, just stood holding one another while everyone else moved toward the now open door.

  “We have to get going, son,” Don reminded him softly. His usual snide remarks and irritated huffs were happily gone now. Ever since he and Ally talked, things had been much smoother between all of them. Jami was enjoying the peace.

  “On my way.” Drawing back, Jami cupped Ally’s face in his gloved hands and met her red-rimmed eyes. “This won’t take long. Before you know it, you and I will be out of here. Smile, babe. This is what you’ve always wanted. Remember? You’ll never have to suffer through another fight after tonight. Not that you ever saw much of it anyway with your eyes covered the whole time.” He tried for a laugh, but it came out strangled instead.

  Alyson’s expression pinched. “I’ve never liked seeing you get hurt, but I never wanted it to end this way. Can’t you just forfeit? We can walk away right now.”

  “You know I would do anything for you,” Jami said, kissing her brow. “Anything but that. This is just something that I have to do.” Kissing her once more for luck, Jami took her by the hand and led her to the door, effectively ending the conversation.

  As a group—no, a family, because that, Jami realized, was what they had become—they walked toward the sound of cheering fans. Jami let his gaze sweep over every surface, committing everything to memory—the lights, the noise, the smells. He didn’t want to forget a single moment.

  When they hit their usual breakaway point, Jami turned to kiss Ally one last time. She held onto his shoulders, kissing him desperately, telling him without words how much she loved him, worried about him, and supported him. His lips moved over hers hungrily, his kiss filled with promise, love, and reassurance. They were going to get through this.

  Jami held onto that belief as he left her behind and entered the arena. Frantic hands strained to reach him through the wall of muscle surrounding him. A smile erupted on Jami’s face as he soaked in the euphoria that came with hearing his name over and over again—the s
teady beat of the music, the spinning lights. It wasn’t something a person could ever get used to—it just got better each time.

  Damn, he was going to miss this.

  Pausing outside the ring, Jami endured the usual body checks, concentrating extra hard to subdue the slight tremble in his hand when he stretched his fingers for inspection. He wasn’t sure how tonight was going to play out, but he hoped he had the strength and the stamina to get the ending he wanted. As soon as Tony joined him inside the cage, the tension reached critical mass. Overhead, fireworks exploded from the ceiling, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

  Tony and Jami faced off, ready to take care of unfinished business.

  ***

  Tony’s face was a swollen, bloodied mess. Jami’s wasn’t much better.

  By the end of the fourth round, both men were running on steam, their movements slow and tacky. Neither was willing to give an inch, refusing to back down no matter the extent of their injuries. Don and Tony’s manager spouted constant instructions, shouting so forcefully their voices had grown hoarse. But he and Tony weren’t listening.

  They were in their own world, circling the cage like sharks, their mindless hatred for one another backed only by pure brute force. Inside the cage, their instincts ruled. And Jami’s was telling him that Tony needed to go down in a big way.

  Their circling was cut short with the bell, and Jami’s ass hit the stool. His breathing was labored, and every inch of his body was in agony the likes of which he’d never felt before.

  “How’s the hand?” Don asked, careful to keep his voice low. Preexisting injuries like his were something they wanted to keep very low key, but this far into the match, Jami couldn’t hide the fact that he’d broken his fingers again. They were doing everything they could to minimize the swelling, and the gloves and tape were helping too, but it was getting harder and infinitely more painful to form a proper fist.

  “It’s good,” he lied. If Don caught it, he didn’t say anything.

  With Spencer gone, and Tori keeping distance between Miles and Tony, Don was left with the task of cleaning him up alone. Wiping his face clean of blood and sweat, he packed a particularly nasty gash on his cheekbone with Vaseline. “Minimize using your right hand as much as you can. You broke at least one of Tony’s ribs on that last one. Concentrate there. His right hook is getting wild, and when he moves to strike, he leaves himself open.”

  Jami nodded, logging Don’s advice and setting it up in his mind. At the sound of the bell, he dove back in.

  Taking his advice, Jami honed in on Tony’s weakness. The area below his left armpit was a dusky shade of red. Don was right. Tony’s ribs were broken. At least two, if he had to guess. Coming at him fast, Tony’s arm swung wide, wild like Don said—likely due to his injury—and Jami took the opening he provided, striking his right fist into the damaged area.

  Tony crumbled to his knees, and Jami came down on top of him. Despite both of their injuries, they struggled like alligators in the water, flipping and rolling, neither man willing to let go of his prey.

  Tired and hurting, Jami wanted to be done with it. He needed to be done with it, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. The last vestiges of his strength were dwindling fast, and if he didn’t make his move now, he would lose.

  And that just wasn’t going to happen.

  There was one move he’d been practicing that didn’t require him using his fists. Not only would it mean his victory, but it would ensure a humiliating end to Tony’s championship reign.

  Twisting, Jami went round and round with Tony. Landing on his back, he growled in frustration, but when Tony scrambled back, he gave Jami the perfect opening.

  There were a few ways to perform an arm bar on someone. Jami preferred being the one on top, sitting up so he could wrap his legs around the limb and pull back on it, but this way would work just as well.

  With Tony already on his knees, all Jami had to do was seize his arm, and he did. Shock registered on Tony’s face as he realized his mistake, followed swiftly by fear as Jami kicked his right leg out and pinned Tony’s shoulder between both of his legs, forcing Tony to tip forward under the strain.

  Pulling back, Jami didn’t let up until he felt the joint begin to bend. “Give it up, motherfucker,” Jami grunted around his mouthguard.

  “Fuck you,” Tony grunted back, obviously in agony as Jami jerked down on his limb.

  “Tapout,” Jami urged. He would give him one warning. If Tony didn’t take it, it was on him. Cranking down a little harder, he felt Tony’s socket begin to give. Tony released a tormented scream and then he gave Jami exactly what he’d hoped he would.

  “Tap out!” The ref pulled them apart, putting an end to the battle, and Jami exploded to his feet, energy suffusing him where there’d been none. The crowd surged to their feet, their voices reaching a crescendo strong enough to shake the roof of the building.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, at two minutes and ten seconds of the final round, referee Douglas stops this bout. Your winner by tap out and new heavyweight champion, Jamison The Judddddddgggge Westooooon!”

  Jami swayed as his arm was wrenched into the air, the pain excruciating, but welcome. Nothing could make this victory any sweeter than seeing the look on Tony’s face as he was pulled off to the side as his injuries were attended. Cameras were shoved in Jami’s face. Flashes blinded him as his picture was taken. He wasn’t sure how he remained standing for so long. Every minute that passed, Jami felt his body sag further, the weight of his body too much to hold.

  By the time they arrived home, it was well into the early morning hours. After the fight, Jami was transported to the closest emergency room, the damage he sustained too much for Don’s medical kit to handle. Don and two of his bodyguards, Collin and Bobby, stuck around long enough to see him home safely, carry him inside the apartment, and put him in bed.

  “I can hang around if you want.” Don and Ally stood in the doorway, facing off. “In case you need help getting him into the bathroom or something in the middle of the night.”

  Casting Jami a brief look of consideration, her head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, that would be good, I think.”

  Don nodded once, and then turned to leave. Ally made it to the bed and began removing Jami’s clothing by the time Don turned back around. “Thanks.” The single word must have been harder than hell to get out, Jami mused.

  He began to drift off, needing sleep desperately, when his eyes popped open. “Wait.” His voice was small and cracked, but Don heard him. Pausing, he looked at Jami expectantly. “Get something for me.” Turning his head, he indicated the table next to the bed. With his right hand twice its size and encased in plaster again, he couldn’t grip a damn thing, especially the miniature knob on the drawer.

  Crossing the room, Don slid the drawer open.

  “In the back,” Jami whispered, swallowing hard as his stomach suddenly twisted into a ball of nerves.

  Don did as instructed. Jami knew the moment he found what he was looking for. Frowning, he slowly removed his hand, revealing the small, black velvet square.

  From her perch at the foot of the bed, Ally’s sharp intake of breath made Jami’s heart leap in his chest. Knowing he couldn’t finish this alone, he told Don, “Open it, please.”

  The hinge creaked open, revealing a glittering heart-shaped diamond set in a thin, white gold band. As far as engagement rings went, it wasn’t what he had in mind when he decided to ask Ally to marry him, but giving his savings away to save Spencer had depleted his resources, forcing him to get creative.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Jami told Don. “I found it in the safe, and since I’m broke at the moment, I didn’t think you would mind if I borrowed it until I can afford a replacement. Do you mind?”

  Don held the box up between them, silent as the grave as he studied the small token. Finally, he shook his head. His voice was unsteady as he spoke. “No, I don’t mind. I think it’s a good idea. Milly loved this ring.
She’d be happy to know it was being worn again.”

  Don turned the box to show Alyson and her eyes grew wide. “It’s perfect. Are you sure you want me to have it?” Choking up, she covered her mouth with her hands.

  “I think you’re the only person who could,” Don said, and then they both looked to Jami, waiting for him to do something.

  “This isn’t how I pictured this happening. I was going to take you to our spot by the pond, bring a picnic, watch the sunset, and…” His gaze flicked to Don, who was looking mighty uncomfortable just standing there with an open box of jewelry in his hand while Jami tried his best to propose. Jami wondered how upset Don was with him right now, but decided he didn’t really care. “And other stuff,” he finished lamely. Aside from her rapid breathing, Ally stayed silent through all of it.

  “I can’t even get down on one knee,” he continued. “But I couldn’t wait anymore. Ally, will you be my wife?”

  Launching herself at him, Ally crushed him in a giant hug and rained kisses all over his face. Jami’s groaning sent her sailing away a moment later, her eyes wide and frantic. “Oh, my God. Jami, I’m so sorry!”

  It felt like every bone in his body had been shattered with a sledgehammer, Misery style, and his skin had been rubbed with sandpaper, but Jami was happy. He smiled through clenched teeth. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” As his breathing returned to normal and some of the pain ebbed, he looked up at Don. “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, but eventually, the teasing smile came. “Oh, I’d say a three, three point five.”

  Jami grinned, feeling the stitches in his face pull. “Could you…?”

  Don’s chest lifted with his deep inhale. “Do I have to get down on my knees? I have arthritis, you know.”

  Laughter rolled out of him. “If you don’t mind.”