Five Rounds
Yazar
A. Duncan
Okur
19,2K
BölĂŒm
39
Colby lives for the fight. Training, titles, and discipline fill every hour, and emotions stay locked behind solid walls. Love is a distraction he cannot afford. Then a snowstorm delivers Landry back into his life, desperate, shaken, and needing protection. She runs from something she refuses to name, trusting the one man she believes will not turn her away. Old friendship sparks under the surface, heated and familiar. As they share space and silence, tension builds between fear and longing. Colby can guard her body, but guarding his heart is another battle entirely. Can a fighter built for control handle feelings that refuse to stay down?
Chapter 1
COLBY
Itâs dark, but the spotlight follows her like it has no other choice. Like leaving her for even a second would change the world as we know it.
Every person is holding their breath, clenching their armrests, and barely blinking. Every so often, you can hear small gasps and slight exhales. She has the ability to suck you in without even trying.
Gliding. Twirling.
Effortlessly dancing.
The auditorium is packed with people trying to outdo each other in what we call âtheir Sunday best.â Women dripping in low-cut dresses and diamonds, hanging off the arms of men who sit with glasses of whiskey.
Even they are captivated by her beauty, her grace, and I can now understand why. Her movements are like watching the wind slowly blow through a field of daisies.
The word graceful canât even describe her. Sheâs poised, yet exquisite. Moves like the stage is her only home.
The place where she feels most comfortable. Where she feels she belongs, like she was made for this alone.
When my best friend, Baisden, asked if I wanted to go to the ballet, I thought he had lost his mind. He must have been joking.
Maybe he was hit one too many times in the ring during our sparring match. But he said his girl had to go in on call at the hospital and had to cancel their âdate night.â
She was devastated and made him promise to use those tickets. Heâs a sucker for his girl.
So, here we are. Two rough-looking, tattooed men in penguin suits, watching a rendition of TheNutcracker.
Looking so out of place in an auditorium full of women who are eyeing the only single men in the place, regardless that they are with their husbands. Only she is the lead dancer, and she retains my attention.
Landry Wade. Sexy as hell. And way out of my league.
âDude, you got a little bit of drool right there.â
âFuck off.â
âIf I knew you liked ballet so much, I would have given you tickets for Christmas instead of that scarf.â
âYou mean the scarf with the little elves on it? My mother loves that scarf.â
His eyes go wide for a moment, as his hand flies to his chest, feigning heartbreak.
âTell me you did not re-gift my scarf.â
âSure as hell did.â
âSee if I take time to bring you a gift next time.â
âWhatever, B. You picked it up at the airport on our way to the fight in San Antonio. Now shut up and watch Landry do her thing.â
âDidnât know you were such a fan.â
âNever realized how good she was. Hell, I just thought she was playing around in house slippers during school. Never knew she was going to make a career out of it.â
âWaitâŠyou actually know Landry Wade?â
âKnow is kind of far-fetched, but we did go to school together. Saw each other in the halls. Talked here and there. You know, when we got stuck doing projects together. But she always hung out with a different crowd than I did.â
âPretty sure she did. I met you at seventeen. At your dadâs gym, training. Thatâs not the kind of girl I see hanging around a place like that.â
What Baisden didnât know was Landry was different. She was always down to earth. Never considered herself better than anyone else.
Even though we were from different sides of the spectrum, so to speak, she never made me feel like I was beneath her. And she always made me do my part on the school projects.
Her friends, on the other hand, that was a different story. They snubbed their noses at the boy whose father was training him to fight.
The one who owned the MMA gym and helped underprivileged teens get their head out their ass. Sometimes he would see something in someone. Something redeeming.
Something nobody else took time to look for. Baisden is one of them.
He was headed down the wrong path. Got stuck in a crowd dealing drugs and spent one too many nights being beat for not selling enough.
In and out of the system and filled with rage. My parents offered him a home, and my father offered him an outlet for his anger.
It was the best thing that ever happened. Not only did I find my best friend, Baisden found where he belongs in life.
My parents had all of us on a strict schedule, including their own son. I didnât get special attention.
We paid our way through life with blood and sweat. Mom taught us how to cook on our off days.
School and chores were part of everyday life. By the time we were old enough to take care of ourselves, we knew how to cook, clean, and think on our feet.
My father, to this day, still helps train me. He comes by and watches, telling me what Iâm doing wrong and what I need to improve on.
He never misses a fight. Whether itâs by the ring or on TV, my father is my best supporter and number one fan.
Heâs never let me lose my focus. I am who I am today because of him.
The performance ends in a standing ovation. I watch as she steps back to allow her costars the opportunity to share the spotlight, making it known it wasnât all about her.
She quickly exits the stage left as the curtain starts to close, and we start making our way down the aisles and toward the back. Itâs a slow trek with the crowd, but I know the moment I see her.
Her smile lights up her face. Sheâs talking animately to another dancer.
Her head tilts back in laughter while her hand flies to her chest. She looks so happy and carefree.
I canât help but call her what I did in high school.
âWade.â
Her head snaps over, and her eyes widen in surprise as she recognizes me immediately. Her red hair is still pulled sharply to the back of her head, but itâs just as vibrant as I remember it to be.
Her smile stretches across her face, and just like in high school, it takes my breath away. Those green eyes are like moss and twinkle with the excitement only a successful production can bring.
âBenson.â
We each make our way through the throng of people and find ourselves by one of the mobile costume closets. She quickly hugs me hello, and I faintly get the smell of her sweaty skin and the floral scent of whatever she washes her hair in.
âI didnât know if you would recognize me or not,â I say.
âIt took me a second. Might be all the tattoos, but those blue eyes will never change. I take it you saw the performance?â
âI did, and you were amazing. Here I thought you were playing in your slippers at school.â
She laughs and puts her hand on my arm. Itâs comforting and even after all these years, still feels familiar.
âAnd I thought you got into fights because trouble always seemed to find you. Didnât know you would make a career out of it. Itâs really good to see you, Colby.â
âYou too. This is my friend, Baisden Hendrix. Iâm fairly sure youâve heard his name a time or two as well. Heâs the one who dragged me here.â
She laughs and rolls her eyes.
âDragged you? Nice to know how you really feel about ballet.â
âIâll get you tickets to my next fight and see how you really feel.â
âTouchĂ©. Well, itâs good to see two well-known fighters engaging in some theater. There might be hope for you two yet.â
âHow long are you in town for?â
âActually, this is my last performance for a while. My agent is working on a contract negotiation for a long-term performance of Giselle, in France. I donât want to be tied down somewhere else if that goes through.â
âWow, look at you traveling the world.â
âLook whoâs talking, Colby. Do you still live here in New York?â
âSure do. I took over the gym from my father when he retired. Made it something bigger, better. Helping more kids who need to get off the streets and be given a break. Iâm usually there between fights.â
âThatâs amazing, Colby.â
âYeah, Dad still helps out. He canât sit still at home and trains the younger ones. Plus, heâs always there to keep me in line.â
âSounds incredible. I canât believe itâs the first time Iâm back home in New York and have nothing to do. I might have to take up a hobby.â
She glances over my shoulder and becomes visibly rigid. Her hand quickly drops from my arm and her smile fails. In its place is a smile so fake it should hurt her face.
Her eyes no longer hold that sparkle but a look of apprehension. I glance behind me and watch a tall man in a crisp black suit making his way over.
Even from here, I can tell heâs dripping with money. The suit itself is made of the finest wool and tailored to perfection. His watch, a Patek Philippe, itself costs more than most people could ever dream of owning.
His face, though, is hard as granite and stoic. Heâs walking like heâs on a mission, steady and sure, oozing nothing but the confidence a man of his stature thinks he deserves. In his arms are two dozen red roses.
With black hair slicked back and dark eyes, my guess is heâs a lawyer or corporate businessman. Someone who picks apart a person only to spit them out as he sees fit.
As he arrives, he leans down, kisses Landry on the cheek, and smiles. Yet, it never reaches his eyes. Itâs as fake as hers.
He then turns and looks straight into my eyes but speaks to her.
âGood job, sweetheart. You going to introduce me to yourâŠfriend?â
My hands automatically ball into fists at my sides, and I tuck them into my pants to keep myself under control. This isnât my fight, and this isnât my girl.
âOh, thank you. These flowers are beautiful. Brandon, this is Colby Benson and his friend Baisden Hendrix. Colby and I went to school together. Colby, this is my fiancĂ©, Brandon Jamison.â
Now itâs my turn to become rigid, and the tension in the room is unmistakable. Not because she introduced me or even because sheâs engaged. Itâs because I heard it in her voice.
Iâm a trained fighter who pays attention to everything around me. Every move, every sound, every possibility. She tried hard to control it, but I heard it.
The unmistakable break in her voice when she spoke. The nervousness in her eyes. Itâs all there. Only to see her shake her head so minutely, that if you werenât paying attention, you wouldnât have noticed it.
But I did.
Something doesnât sit right with me. The situation is all wrong, but she doesnât want me to question it.
She doesnât want me to make a scene, and itâs not my place to get involved. Itâs not my place to cast blame. He never once takes his eyes off mine as he extends his hand toward me.
Itâs a move to show his dominance, a move to tell me he has the upper hand. Yet all I see is a pussy of a man who uses his size and power to frighten.
A man who can be taken down before he even has the chance to know whatâs happening. Never letting his gaze go, I shake his hand. Without showing fear, without showing weakness.
Letting him know he has no power over me, and I have no weakness. Because whether he knows it or not, he just revealed his.
âColby Benson in the flesh. I watched your fight in Chicago a few months back. I bet on the other guy.â
Asshole.
âI hate to be you then. âCause you lost a lot of money.â
