Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

  Nodding, Jonah pushed the door open. He gave Emory a weak smile when he looked up from the desk he was seated at to meet Jonah's gaze. "Hey," Jonah began meekly.

  Emory smiled at him. "Hey. Thought you were at work."

  "A bitchy stripper doesn't make money," Jonah said by way of explanation as he pulled up a metal chair and sat down across from him, his arms resting over the back of the chair "I had to talk to you before I started dancing. When you weren't at the apartment, I figured you'd be here."

  Emory put the papers in front of him off to the side. "So what did you want to talk about?" Before Jonah could answer, Emory was quick to say, "I do get why you're upset and worried I'm going to be boxing next week. That's just how it's going to be, and I'm sorry about that, but I've made up my mind." Emory looked older in that moment than Jonah had remembered seeing him for a long time. He looked like he was tired of fighting as he put his elbows on his knees and leaned toward him. Jonah was tired too, but they couldn't just sweep this aside either.

  Jonah's smile, as small as it was, faltered a bit, and he dropped his head. This would be so much easier if they'd been arguing over who'd eaten the last of the pizza and not something as serious as Emory putting himself in danger. Again. "Yeah. I figured that. I wanted to say that I'm sorry. Yeah, I was wrong, and I'm still worried. I'm going to be worried. You go into a ring and could get beat up. I don't like it."

  "But?"

  Jonah sighed loudly and rubbed his hands over his hair in frustration. "But you're my boyfriend. And I love you. You want to do this and haven't once said no to me. Even when I told you I wanted to take off my clothes for cash." Jonah wanted to tell him that no, he couldn't box. Not again. But he wasn't going to a selfish boyfriend, either. Part of love was understanding and respecting each other; he knew that. Jonah had just never had that idea tested so much before.

  Emory reached for Jonah's hand, and Jonah smiled as he took it. "I love you too. I'm not getting back into boxing full time. It won't be like it was when we were in college. Nothing like that at all. Just this one thing."

  Jonah wasn't all that convinced. He remembered how much Emory had liked being in the ring and how happy he'd been back then. As he thought about those times, Jonah felt like shit for making it seem like a bad thing for Emory to do what he enjoyed. "I'm still not happy. A lot can go wrong in one fight. You could get hit wrong. You could fall down. You could get a concussion, internal injuries, a broken collar bone, a bashed up hand—"

  Emory gave him a soft smile and kissed his cheek, softening Jonah up a bit. Jonah sighed loudly and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "You'll be careful, though, right?"

  "Of course. I have you to come back to, don't I?" Emory smiled at him, and Jonah returned the expression, glad to have his boyfriend back and over their little bump.

  He got up from the chair he was sitting in and found a place comfortably on Emory's lap. Emory's arms came around him, and Jonah sighed happily. "I don't like fighting with you."

  "I don't consider that a fight," Emory said as he moved his hands in wide, soothing circles over Jonah's back.

  Jonah nodded. "I do."

  Emory pursed his lips. "Then I don't like fighting with you either. But there will be times that we don't agree. We've been pretty perfect in all the years we've been together. Sometimes, though, there are going to be times when things aren't amazing. Think you can handle that? Because I know I can, and I want you around for a long time."

  Jonah smiled against Emory's shoulder. "Yeah, I know I can. I want you here too."

  Emory gave him a tight hug. "Then will you come with me for a few minutes?"

  "Where?" Jonah asked, not really looking forward to moving. Emory's lap was far more comfortable than he'd thought possible. He didn't want to get up, wasn't looking forward to going to work, just wanted to stay right like this.

  Emory kissed his temple. "I have a surprise for you."

  Reluctantly, Jonah got off his lap. He didn't go far, and Emory held his hand as they left the gym. "What was the paperwork you were doing when I came in?" Jonah asked him as they started down the street, headed in the opposite direction of their apartment.

  "Employment stuff. I'll be working at the gym now. My old employer before the firm didn't have any openings, and Mr. Michaels said I could work there training people if I boxed in that competition next week."

  Jonah's mouth fell open in surprise, but Emory seemed completely nonchalant. "You should have said something about that sooner. Is that why you're boxing? Because it'll get you the job?" Jonah demanded, half-mad at Emory and half at Mr. Michaels for putting him in that position.

  Emory shrugged and his voice softened, making Jonah wonder what else he'd been missing out on over the past few days. "Maybe a little. But I miss boxing. You know I do. It's been a long time since I've been in a ring professionally, and I won't be starting again after the match next week."

  "I'm still not okay with this. Not fully anyway. But I'm glad it'll just be the one time," Jonah told him, instantly feeling better about not having to go through watching Emory get beaten up for money each week.

  Nodding, Emory squeezed his hand. "This job is doing what my dad did—training people. When I was in the ring with Mac and we were just going through the motions, it felt good. Right. I want that again. I miss my dad, and that's why I stopped boxing after his death. But I'm okay to be in there now. I still miss him, but it's not as painful as it was back then."

  Jonah's mouth closed, and his anger completely dissipated. He'd misjudged Emory's motivations, instantly thinking that Emory wanted to be back in full time even when they'd talked about him never fighting again after he was so badly hurt the last few times back in college. "Sorry. Again. I'm an ass."

  "No, but you've got a nice one," Emory said, winking at him. Jonah snorted and shook his head. "I should have told you about being fired as soon as I got home."

  "Yeah, you should have. What was your plan, anyway?" Jonah asked him.

  Emory brushed his thumb over the back of Jonah's hand. "Try to get my old medical job back. I called them on the way to the gym after you left. I was hurt and angry and needed to get that out of my system. And when they said no, I didn't know what to do. Then I accepted the job Mr. Michaels offered me."

  "Which is?"

  Emory gave him a small smile, looking almost sheepish and as if he were now trying to get acceptance from Jonah for what he'd decided to go and do without asking him about it first. "Five days a week, still working days and sometimes evenings, which sucks since we still won't be on the same schedule and I'll miss you. But the money is decent, and even when I'm not giving boxing lessons, he said I could help out. The helping out pay is the same as I was making at the firm since I was barely making more than minimum wage. I didn't tell you at first because I didn't want you to worry or feel like you had to give anything up. You work hard for the money you have, and it wouldn't be fair to you to ask you to give something up just because I lost my temper and had an attitude with my boss at the firm."

  Jonah's smile spread over his face, making him feel instantly lighter and willing to play a bit. "I'm never hard when I work." Jonah appreciated what Emory had set up and what he'd been trying to spare him from, but still, being told something would have been nice.

  Emory chuckled and stopped walking so that he could kiss Jonah on his cheek. "Smartass."

  He winked at Emory and then looked up, surprised that they had stopped in front of a jewelry store. "What's here?" he asked as Emory pulled him inside the store. Jonah had never been in this store, didn't wear a lot of jewelry to begin with, and they didn't have many friends who did, so what they could possibly be doing there, he had no idea.

  "A present," Emory said, giving him a quick grin over his shoulder as they stepped up to the counter. A pretty young woman turned to give them her attention, and Jonah shifted his weight, wondering what was going on as Emory put a hand on the counter. "Hey. I'm here to pick up my purchase and pa
y off the balance."

  "Okay. Name?"

  "Emory Rand," he replied instantly as Jonah watched him, his curiosity building by the moment. Emory pulled out a handful of money, and Jonah's smile slipped into an uncertain frown.

  "Emory—" Jonah hissed at him.

  He gave Jonah's hand a squeeze. "It's okay. Mr. Michaels gave me an advance. Special circumstances."

  Jonah's brows rose. He had no idea what was going on and didn't generally like surprises. They tended not to be good ones. Jonah had small stud earrings in, but that was—"Oh shit," he whispered as the woman pulled a gold ring in a purple velvet box out from underneath the counter. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and he couldn't take his eyes off it.

  Emory plucked it out of the box and got down on one knee as Jonah stared at him. "This isn't how I planned it. Not really, anyway. But I figure this is a good time too. Jonah, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?"

  Jonah couldn't remember how to speak, but he found a nod somewhere. Suddenly, a warm metal band was around his left ring finger, and his mouth was being crushed by Emory's as happy tears streamed down his face. "Yes," he whispered a while later when Emory still hadn't let him go but had at least released his mouth. "Yes, I will marry you, Emory."

  "Good," Emory said, giving him a quick kiss. "Can you take tonight off? I'll make us dinner, and we can hang out together."

  Jonah was sure that he could get away with that. Not going to work tonight wasn't going to be an issue, and spending the evening with just Emory sounded pretty amazing. He curled the fingers of his left hand in Emory's shirt, testing the feeling of the ring against his palm. Jonah didn't usually wear jewelry. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time that he actually had. But this ring felt nice. It felt right. Just like being with Emory did.

  *~*~*

  The night of the fight, Emory was surprised to see Jonah there in the stands sitting next to Mac. Jonah hadsaid he might come, with a lot of reluctance in his voice, and so Emory hadn't expected him to. He knew boxing really wasn't Jonah's thing and becoming his fiancé wasn't likely to change that. And by the worried look on his face and his hand tightly clasping Mac's, Emory knew that Jonah was pretty worried. He hoped Jonah didn't need to be, though. This was going to be simple, easy. Emory would do his best and that would be the end of it. He had a job waiting for him, and with Mr. Michaels' help, he was already starting to get calls about training. The little pre-fight advertising they'd done already was turning out to be great. Mr. Michaels had set up appointments for him starting as early as next week.

  But right now all he had to do was get through this round. It was Mr. Michaels' responsibility to tell everyone about the homegrown success that Emory was and how his father had also trained at the gym and so on. Emory didn't know about all that, but since Mr. Michaels was apparently good at advertising, judging by how long the gym had been open, he didn't question it. Mr. Michaels had big plans for him; he'd told Emory so just that morning when he'd been warming up at the gym. Emory just enjoyed being in the ring again with the lights on him and people cheering around him. It wasn't just a bit of fun. It was invigorating. His heart was pounding and he was thinking clearly. Adrenaline tended to do that, he supposed.

  The bell sounded, and he moved forward as he realized that he'd missed his opponent's introduction while looking at Jonah and being lost in his own head. His footwork came back to him naturally, as if he'd never had any time out of the ring. His opponent was at least six inches taller than him and outweighed Emory by a good fifty pounds of muscle. It was weight Emory had once held but had lost in his years out of the ring. The guy was intimidating in a way that Emory had probably been when he was in his best shape. But the guy wasn't one he recognized from even his casual perusal of the boxing magazines Mr. Michaels kept at the gym, and so Emory wasn't all that intimidated. In fact, he was looking forward to having a bit of a work out with someone other than Mac.

  Emory dodged when the man swung at him with heavy arms, missing him and taking too long to pull himself back because of his bulky size. Emory was slightly smaller, and with the help of both Mac and Mr. Michaels, he'd gotten some of his missing muscle and skills back. The training wasn't enough for a big event, and truly he didn't have much hope of winning this one. But he'd do his best, and he was having fun as he decided to go offensive as the man's heavy swings slowed down. Emory landed a few quick punches into his opponent's side before jumping back out of the reach of his arms. His dad's voice was loud in his head, telling him what he should be doing. How he was supposed to move. As if he were standing right outside of the ring, a towel in his hand, a bottle of water in the other as he cheered Emory on.

  He attacked again, giving the man a few more jabs before moving back. He took a chance and glanced up into the stands where he knew Jonah was sitting. Jonah was pale, and his smile looked shaky, but Emory nodded to him. He was fine; Jonah didn't need to worry so much. Still, he liked that someone cared enough about him to be so scared about him fighting. If he were being truly serious about this match, he wouldn't have looked up into the stands and known at that moment that, although he missed boxing, he didn't miss being in the ring professionally. Emory skirted around his opponent to avoid being hit. Still, the guy managed to clip him in the upper arm, which would likely leave a nasty bruise, but at least the punch hadn't landed in his collarbone.

  Emory was thinking about how much his dad would have liked to know that he was going to marry Jonah as he managed a good right hook to his opponent's jaw. That looked like it hurt the guy; he stumbled back and out of Emory's reach. Even with the adrenalin of the fight, Emory found himself thinking about Jonah, and about how he was strong in his own right. His dad had often said how Johan could gain a bit of muscle—he'd never be at a fighting weight, but Emory didn't mind He liked the cutie he got at the end of the day.

  He landed another swift punch to the man's gut, and he doubled over across Emory's arm. Emory shifted his weight back, standing clear as his opponent came down. The round was called, and Emory was shocked, his mouth hanging open as the man only shakily got to his feet after Emory had been declared the winner.

  Cheers went up. Though he enjoyed the sound of them, what mattered more to Emory was Jonah running into his arms as he managed to get around the security guards posted around the ring to keep people from getting too close. He hugged Jonah tightly, glad he'd come to watch. Maybe he'd come back into the ring someday; maybe not. But he'd done what he wanted to do and had the man he loved in his arms. That was enough. For now.

  ROUND TEN

  GLADIATRIX

  S.S. SKYE

  Sweat pooled at the base of Daelan's spine, but she ignored it. Absently she wiped her face and neck with an already soaked rag before turning back to pull the iron rod from her water bucket and eyeing it critically. It would do for the job for which it had been commissioned, though there was no elegance about it. While she never minded working on the more delicate wrought-iron projects, there was something soothing about spending the afternoon working on something for which function preceded form.

  "Smith!" The voice calling from outside was strident and demanding. Daelan put her hammer down with a sigh, leaving the iron rod on her anvil. It would have to be reheated before she could continue working it.

  Grabbing her rag and scrubbing at her face—probably in vain—she made her way from the back of the smithy as quickly as she could. The voice sounded like Lord Cutler, and if that was the case, the quicker about it she was, the less likely he would be to turn his ire on her. At most, she would merely earn his irritated impatience and that was infinitely preferable.

  After the relative dimness of the smithy, the afternoon sun forced her to squint. She brought a hand up to shield her eyes, the other settling unconsciously on her hip in a stance that had a touch too much attitude to be properly deferential.

  Lord Cutler had dismounted, his customary scowl fixed on his face while he idly stroked his horse. "Wh
ere is your father, girl?"

  Daelan kept from rolling her eyes and even managed something that could pass as a respectful nod in acknowledgement. "My father is out re-shoeing the plough horses on the western farms. I am acting in his stead until he is returned. Anything I cannot manage for you, my father will give his immediate attention upon his return, m'lord."

  Lord Cutler's brows were furrowed, but he didn't look particularly annoyed. "I brought my sword to be touched up and to see when your father would be available to re-shoe Blossom, here, and her sister, Moonshine."

  Daelan tipped her head to the side. "I have the skills necessary, m'lord, but if you would be more comfortable waiting, my father should be returned by the end of next week." She added a dip that could be construed as a curtsy, but she didn't have the grace to manage a more complete show of respect. She'd have bowed, but she could just hear her father's voice in her head, telling her that only boys bowed and she was not that, however much he might wish it so.

  Lord Cutler looked at her from under heavy brows. "You have completed your apprenticeship?" At her nod, he began unbuckling his sword belt, obviously bothered though Daelan was fairly confident it wasn't directed at her.

  Only as she turned to look over his horse did she realize Lord Cutler hadn't come unaccompanied. Even if everyone in their town couldn't do the same, Daelan would still know Lady Beatrice. Her chestnut curls gleamed in the sunlight, and though she was still perched atop her horse, Daelan could see the sparkling honey of her eyes as they watched Lord Cutler hand over his sword somewhat reluctantly.

  "Come, uncle," she teased with a little hitch as if she were trying not to laugh. "I am certain your sword is in good hands and you shall have it back soon enough. There is hardly any need to look as though you are losing a dear friend forever."

  Lord Cutler didn't turn, but his scowl lessened to simply disgruntled as he handed over a small, jingling purse. "When shall we expect you for the horses?"