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This man drove four hours, stepped into a cage, and lost a fight.

For me.

He’d been so fucking angry, but he’d done it anyway.

My shaking got worse. My throat convulsed. Hugo was saying something in my ear about my payout, and I was nodding like I could hear him, but I couldn’t hear anything except the blood in my ears and the echo of Vaughn’s voice—stay up, you’re fine—still rattling around in my chest like it had taken up permanent residence there.

Vaughn’s mouth moved with no sound. Go home, baby.

Then he turned away. Started toward the cage door. And the crowd swallowed the space between us.

I let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in my lungs for three minutes.

Yeah, I thought. He’s still going to kill me.

But I was okay with that as long as I could lie alongside him in our bed while it happened.

26

VAUGHN

I held the ice pack against my face as I finally opened the door to our room. Dalton had spent a solid forty minutes asking me what the fuck until I’d finally blurted out the truth.

“I’m in love with him, dammit!”

And then he’d been speechless enough to let me grab Bett’s cash and walk out the door.

Now here I was, sore and exhausted, so proud of him I wanted to kiss his face off, and still so incredibly angry I could hardly stand it.

When I entered the room, the only light was the soft lamp on his bedside table.

Bett sat on the edge of his bed in a pair of sweats and one of my old T-shirts. His hair was still damp from a shower, and the room smelled like our bodywash.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted as soon as I closed and locked the door behind me.

“You know why.”

I winced as I set down my overnight bag and backpack. Bett immediately jumped up and started fussing. “You’re hurt. I’m sorry. Fuck, let me get you an ice pack. Have you taken anything? You want Advil or⁠—”

I grabbed him and yanked him toward me with a fist in the shirt, smashing my mouth to his to shut him up. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about my split lip.

“Ah, fuck.” I winced and pulled away, tasting the coppery tang of blood.

Bett’s entire face fell, and then his eyes filled to the waterline. “Elliot,” he croaked miserably.

I stared at him. He’d never once in two months of living together used my first name.

“C’mere,” I said and yanked him into a hug.

He froze for a moment before shuddering and finally letting himself melt against me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“A roundhouse kick? Are you for real? Fuck, baby. Remind me never to rile you up again.”

Bett’s expression morphed into a wobbly grin. “But I like it when you rile me up.”

I pulled him back into my arms. “Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” I asked as gently as I could, despite the throbbing pain in my jaw.

I hated seeing him so upset. And his situation wasn’t necessarily any of my business, but⁠—