Love Burns

by Mandi Beck

  I don’t listen to Leo and let Rude Awakening land a few more punches. Just until I remember that my girl is here and that she would not be impressed. One minute and eighteen seconds into the third round, I decide to play him at his own game and take him to the mats. Rubbing my bleeding wounds across his face to blind him with my sweat and blood, I get him twisted into an Americana, shocking the hell out of him. Putting pressure on his shoulder until I feel it start to give, and just before it pops out of joint, he taps out and I release immediately, allowing the referee to pull us apart. Spread eagle on the floor of the Cage, I stare blankly at the bright lights overhead, in a complete and utter daze. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I ball my fists and press them into my eyes, trying to reel in my emotions, which are now a living, breathing thing racing around inside of me.

  We just won the motherfucking belt.

  Helped off the canvas, I stalk over to the corner and drop to my knees, overwhelmed with emotion and the consuming need to celebrate this victory with Sonny. The noise around me is electric; it’s a pulsing that I feel in my soul. Pressing my head against the padded post, I breathe deeply to slow my racing heart. “We did it, Sonny. We did it, brother,” I shout, knowing that he’s there, he’s with me and he’ll be with me ‘til the end. My team is holding everyone back letting me have this moment, and that’s all I allow. Sonny wouldn’t want more than that.

  Standing, I stride forward and make it to the center of the Cage. I’m swarmed by people, bombarded with congratulations, hands slapping at me, reaching out from every direction, and I push my way past all of it, all of them, with Vince the emcee trailing after me, shouting questions and thrusting the mic in my face. I don’t stop until I reach the chain link of the Octagon. There she is, front and center, right behind the surprised announcers, hand on her swollen belly as she stands on her chair, Reggie watching to make sure she doesn’t fall. The smile that lights up her face sets me on fire. This moment, right here, is what I’ve been waiting for, fighting toward. I couldn’t claim her completely until I had my belt. I promised myself that I wouldn’t give up on all that we had worked for, even when what I wanted most was her. Well, I’ve got my belt. Now it’s time to get the fucking girl. I look down at Vince who is still trying to get me to answer his questions and take the mic from him. He nods in agreement as he relinquishes his hold on it. A wicked grin takes over my mouth—she’s going to kill me.

  Raising the mic to my mouth, I point at her, “Princess!” Her eyes widen, as she shakes her head no at me. I just laugh, “Woman! You see this?” I ask as I hold up the belt that Vince passes to me. She nods, tears streaming down her face. “I told you, one fight to go, and then I was coming for you. You remember what I said, Frankie?”

  If I thought that her eyes were wide before, I was wrong. The blush creeping up her cheeks at the thought of what the text messages said is evident even from here. Dipping my head and smothering my laugh with the back of my hand, I take a moment to rein my shit in before focusing on her once again. “I sent you a text message that said I was going to do something to show you that I love you. I can’t do that now, but I promise I will later, repeatedly.” I can’t help but chuckle at her obvious embarrassment as she glances around to see who is paying attention to the show I’m putting on and the answer is . . . everybody. Every-damn-body is watching and I couldn’t give a fuck less. This is my girl, my time, our moment. “Since that’s off the table for now . . .” I shrug, my head cocked to my shoulder and hand my belt to Vince who looks absolutely perplexed as to what in the fuck I’m doing. Clapping him on the back, I turn back to my girl, her hands covering her mouth, the smile peeking around her steepled fingers.

  Slowly I drop to one knee and the roar that rips through the crowd is deafening. The catcalls and whistles bouncing off of every wall in the stadium making their way back to me. I raise my hand to try to quiet them, my eyes glued to Frankie, no hope of controlling the tears rolling down her beautiful, stunned face. The first happy tears either of us have cried in a while. Once our audience has quieted, I raise the mic to my mouth, “Princess, I’ve loved you for too long now. I didn’t tell you until I almost lost you. I won’t lose you again; you’re mine and I’m yours. Nothing will ever come between us again, Frankie. Living without you isn’t an option, you feel me?” She nods slightly and I go on, “Marry me.” It’s not a question. I’m not asking. I give her a second to let that soak in. For her to hear me. “I’ll take care of you, of my family. I’ll keep you safe, always.”

  The lights in the arena shine down on her, making her tears glisten like rows of tiny diamonds marching across her cheeks. My throat works at swallowing down the moment of panic that takes over when she doesn’t say anything. The silence around us is as loud as their cheers were. How thousands of people can be so quiet is beyond me. Slowly she reaches her hand out for Reggie to take and he gently helps her off the chair she was perched on and walks protectively behind her as she makes her way to the Cage. Rising from my knee, I meet her at the black fence of the Octagon, hooking my fingers in the links as she presses against them from the other side. The mic hangs at my side forgotten as I take her in. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, and regardless of what her answer right now is, she is mine and she will be a Love, my Love, always.

  The rapidly beating pulse in her throat and the way her skin is starting to flush that pretty shade of pink that it does when she’s hot for me makes my lip kick up in a half smile, “You want something, Princess? You only turn that color when you need fucked, baby.” Probably not the most romantic thing for me to say at the moment, but that’s what she does to me. If the smile taking over her face is any indication, she doesn’t mind.

  “Oh, I need something, Deac,” she says in a raspy emotion-laced whisper.

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “You.” Simple. Sure. Honest. “Just you. Only you. Yes!” my girl yells as the crowd explodes around us, rivaling the chaos inside me.

  Got my girl, got my belt. Stick and move. Stick and motherfucking move.

  The END

  ONE YEAR LATER . . .

  “Maverick!” I shout as I walk into JR’s room and reach to scoop him from his crib. Jameson Rocco Love, this one is gonna be trouble. I already know it. No less than his twin sister, Gianna Isabella, though. Gigi is a fucking rebel. And gorgeous like her mama.

  “Dadadadadadadadaaaaaa,” JR says, bouncing like a crazy man when I hold my arms out for him.

  “You ready, little man? Today is a big day, yeah? We gonna marry the mama?” My face buried in his dark curls, I press a kiss to his head.

  “Mamamamamama.” The smile that splits his face when I mention Frankie has one just as big spreading across mine.

  “Let’s go, stud. We have to get ready or we’re gonna be late, and then we’ll both be in trouble.” He squirms to be put down. Little dude has been walking since he was only nine months; at eleven months he’s booking it. My dad said all of us boys were early walkers and once we started running, we never stopped. “Nope, no way. I don’t have time to scoot down the stairs. I have to get us both in suits and make it to the church in less than an hour,” I tell him, squeezing him tight and pretending to gnaw on his cheeks and neck.

  “Yo. What the hell are you screaming about, Deac?” Maverick asks from the doorway, hands outstretched for JR.

  Not relinquishing my hold on my boy, I ask, “Why aren’t you dressed? You know we all have to be there soon, right?”

  “Bro, relax. Do you need help getting him dressed? Pop is downstairs, ready and waiting.”

  I’m sweating. Not because of nerves over getting married or anything, just over what it all actually means. She’ll finally be mine. I mean, she’s always been mine, always will be, but this is it, man. She’ll be my wife. My. Wife. That’s as good as it fucking gets. Plus, it’ll make Guy happy. I’m pretty sure he’s been putting curses on me and shit since he found out Frankie was pregnant and that we weren’t getting married right aw
ay.

  Guy wasn’t happy that we had children out of wedlock, old school Italian and his only child and all, but Frankie wanted a real wedding. In a church, with the dress and flowers and dancing. The whole fucking thing. He wanted Italy, she wanted to be married where he and her mom were married, in her mother’s dress. There was no way to get that done before the twins were born. But she immediately started planning so that we could get married soon after, only this is Chicago and everything is booked years in advance, so I was forced to fucking wait a year. We got lucky because she enlisted Indie, who of course as an event planner has a ton of connections and was able to get Frankie whatever she wanted. I can’t wait to see that fucking bill.

  “Nah, I got him. You go and get your shit on though,” I toss over my shoulder at him as I enter my bedroom. Maverick going the other way to do my bidding.

  Once in the room, I sit JR down on the bed next to his little tux that matches mine and go into the bathroom to start the shower. Humming a little Van Morrison, I go back to my boy. “Let’s clean us up, stud. We gotta smell good for this. We can’t put monkey suits on all stinky,” I coo. Fuck me, I fucking coo. It makes him happy though, and that’s all that matters.

  Twenty minutes later, me, my son, Pop, and Mav are heading out the door. Our moods bordering on somber because we’re a man down. Sonny’s loss is felt every day; it just isn’t as suffocating as it was. JR and Gigi help with that though. There’s no room for sadness with them around. They’re hell on wheels, keeping us all on our toes.

  “You have the ring, right?” I ask Maverick expectantly.

  “Was I supposed to bring that?” he deadpans. Smartass.

  “Don’t make me kick your ass on my wedding day, fucker.” Punching him in the arm and smiling, I turn to Pop. “Guy is with the Princess?”

  “He’s at the church with the family, making sure everything is set there,” my dad says, tickling JR under his chubby, little chin.

  “Indie is with Frankie. Trent said they’re getting ready to leave in a few minutes,” Reggie chimes in from the front seat. Pulling up in front of Holy Name Cathedral, he turns around. “I’m gonna park and then I’ll be in there, okay?” We all agree and exit the SUV, my pop handing JR over to me.

  “Let’s go get married, boys,” I say to them and lead the way inside.

  Standing up at the altar next to Maverick, I look out over the mass of people in attendance. It literally looks as if we’re in the middle of a Godfather movie. Frankie’s entire family is here from Italy. Rome has invaded Chicago. Chuckling, I go to say something about it to Mav, when the music starts playing, signaling the beginning of the rest of my life. My brother elbow’s me, grinning like a damn fool, both of our eyes trained on the back of the church. We watch as Indie walks down the aisle slowly, holding a small bouqet of flowers in one hand and Gianna’s little hand in her other. Gigi is all smiles in her tiny ballerina dress, a fistful of feathers I’m pretty sure they thought she was going to toss. I grin as Indie passes Gianna over to Pop and he sits her next to him. JR is alongside Reggie, and Trent for backup, I’m sure.

  Frankie wanted Ave Maria playing instead of the traditional Wedding March, so when the first strands of the song fill the room, I take a deep breath, my heart thundering in anticipation of seeing my girl. When she finally steps into view on Guy’s arm, I feel the first prick of tears. I swore that I wouldn’t cry like some kind of fucking pussy, but looking at her now as she stops and places a flower on the table set up with pictures of her mom and Sonny, I’ve lost that battle.

  The sun coming through the stained glass windows casts a glow over the church, the light reflecting off of everything it touches. Watching her glide down the aisle toward me is the most humbling experience of my life. It’s ethereal. Everything I’ve ever wanted but never deserved is coming to join me in front of God and all of our friends and family to marry me. It’s more than I ever dreamed.

  Overcome with the enormity of it all, my chin hits my chest as I blow out a breath, the tears I had been fighting rolling down my face. Not wanting to miss a second of this, I raise my head, dashing the wetness from my cheeks. Frankie beams at me through her own watery gaze as she gets closer. I let my eyes wander over her. She’s stunning in a handmade lace gown and matching veil. It meant the world to her to be able to wear her mom’s dress and judging by the pride on Guy’s face, to him too. Finally they’re standing in front of me and all I see is her. I don’t hear anything the priest says as I stare at her in awe.

  When Guy starts to speak, I turn to him, taking his hand in mine when he offers it. He pulls me into a tight hug, patting my back, “Nobody but you would I give my Francesca too. Take care of each other. Always,” Guy says to me, emotion choking him. Placing her hand in mine, he kisses her cheek, saying something to her softly in Italian before going to sit beside my dad.

  I shake my head, ghosting my fingers down the side of her face. “You’re gorgeous,” I murmur, raising her hand to my mouth and placing a kiss on her wrist.

  “And you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Frankie says through her tears, her smile infectious.

  Turning to the priest, I ask, “Is it time to kiss the bride yet?”

  Candles. Little candles. Big candles. Candles every-fucking-where. We probably have the Chicago fire department right outside of the museum, just waiting for the call that we’ve set the fucking place on fire. None of it matters to me though when I look down at Frankie, wrapped in my arms, swaying to the sound of Noah Guthrie singing.

  “You happy, Princess?” I watch the fire from the thousand candles flicker over her skin. Brushing the hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear, my hand settles on her bare back. The delicate gown of her mom’s replaced by some fuck-hot backless lace dress that I’m dying to get her out of. Or just get around her waist. If I don’t stop, the fire department will be putting out a totally different kind of fire.

  “No.” Stunned out of my thoughts by her answer, brows drawn, a quiet laugh escapes me.

  “No? You’re not happy?”

  Her smile spreads slowly, the pink staining her lips drawing my attention. “Nope. Not happy, Deac. That’s too simple of a word.” Bringing my eyes back to her blues slowly, I gather her even closer.

  “Tell me,” I whisper. My hand splayed against her skin, tingling with the need to roam. “Should we get out of here so you can tell me?”

  Frankie giggles low in her throat. “We can’t—we haven’t even done cake yet.”

  I sigh. “Fine, you better tell me what I need to hear then,” I chide in mock seriousness.

  “I’m more than happy. I’m ecstatic. I’m thankful, so thankful,” she says in quiet sincerity. “I’m right where I want to be, need to be. I’m completely . . . yours.” Her raspy voice hits me straight in the chest. Right in the spot that she consumes with her very being.

  “You’re my wife.” Raising her hand I place a kiss over her wedding ring before flipping it and laying my mouth on her wrist. Tears shimmer in her eyes as she nods her head, smiling that smile at me. My own wicked grin creeping across my face I ask, “So, can we please get out of here? I need that dress out of my way and I need to be buried deep inside my wife’s sweet little pussy.”

  Steps never faltering she manages to raise on her tippy toes as she dances and brushes a quick kiss to the exposed skin at my throat. “Whatever my husband wants,” Frankie murmurs.

  “Damn right,” I praise, patting her ass.

  Watching my husband—My. Husband. My big, bad, manbun wearing husband—buckle our children into the back of the SUV, kissing both of their heads tenderly, my heart swells. Never in my life could I ever have imagined loving someone this much. He shuts the door and taps the roof of the vehicle and turns toward me, a wolfish gleam in his moss-colored eyes.

  He has long since abandoned his tuxedo jacket, the snowy white dress shirt rolled to his elbows, his muscled arms and ink gloriously on display. His newest addition, a tattoo he got for
me and the twins, a crown encircling his wrist with our names in cursive along the bottom, makes me smile longingly at him.

  “What?” he asks, bringing me into his body. Arms wrapped around me, he settles one big palm on my ass. Pressed tight, cuts to curves, just how he likes.

  “Nothing, I just love watching you with them,” I admit as I pull his head down for a kiss.

  “Mmmmm, you know what’s gonna happen if you keep looking at me like that, don’t you, wife?” he asks huskily.

  “Why don’t you tell me, husband?” I tease, knowing full well what it’s going to get me.

  Deacon scoops me up in his arms, carefully navigating the steps to our home and carries me over the threshold like the romantic he is but pretends not to be.

  Smirking down at me, he leans in and says against my lips, “It’s gonna get you fucked.”

  “That’s what I was hoping.”

  “Just the tip?” he asks slyly.

  “I think I’ve earned more than that,” I say pouting.

  “Yes, you have, Princess. You’ve earned it all.” His voice resonates with his love for me, something I’ll never get tired of.

  “Show me.”

  "Every fucking day for the rest of my life, Mrs. Love.”

  “Stick and move?” I chide with a smile.

  Deacon’s teeth sink into his plump bottom lip and then the most wicked grin takes over his beautiful face. “Stick and motherfucking move, baby.”

  In case you feel overlooked please know that you have not been. It takes a village to write and publish a book. An army of friends, blogs, readers, writers and every single person in between. They call it self publishing but they’re wrong. None of this would happen without you. No matter how big or small a part you may have played, it mattered more than you know.