Unleashed: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Part 31

Through the closing door I catch a glimpse of the doctor in the cage with Kaminski. He's helping the brute to his feet, and then starts to put the arm into a sling.

"Thanks," I say to Chance, squatting down in front of him. I can smell his sweat and the metallic tang of blood.

"Yeah."

He puts out his hand, and I take it, feeling the coa.r.s.e tape binding his wrist into a fairly static position. When he tries to pull me in to him, I resist.

"Yuck, no way," I kid. "You're covered in that other guy's sweat, too."

Chance smiles. His whole face just lights up. Despite the bloodied gums and teeth, the now s.h.i.+ny glued-shut cut, the bruised forehead that looks like somebody shoved an egg under his skin, and the busted lip, he still makes it look good.

I hug him, hold him tight, and he holds me tighter. We squeeze at each other, like we're holding on for life.

My clothes are ruined, but I don't care. It may be some of Kaminski's blood and sweat, but I don't care. I just want to be close with Chance.

"You still need to finish me off," he whispers into my ear.

"After you've gone to hospital," I tell him. "And had a shower."

Dad pops his head in the door, and says sheepishly, "Money's ready."

"Go get a taxi," Chance tells him. "Stay in it, feed the meter, whatever. We're taking no chances. Stop it right outside. We'll be outside in ten."

"Chances? What do you mean?"

"He means people here lost money, Dad. Not all of them will be savory sorts."

"Right," Dad says, and he hurries out.

I help Chance to his feet. "Are you in pain?" I ask him.

"f.u.c.k, my whole body hurts," he laughs. "I've never taken such a beating in my life."

"But you won."

"Doesn't mean I didn't get my a.s.s kicked."

"You just kicked his a.s.s harder."

"Exactly."

He turns around, looking for his t-s.h.i.+rt, and I see two bruises on his back, two thick purple trunks running downward from his armpits to his tailbone. It must have been when they were grappling on the mat. Kaminski's legs had locked around him momentarily before Chance slipped out.

I help to get the t-s.h.i.+rt onto Chance, and when I go to prop him up by his arm, he softly declines me.

"I'm walking out of here."

I groan, roll my eyes. "We're not in a movie, Chance."

"Just let me, okay?" he says.

So we leave the changing room, and outside are two small duffel bags.

"It's all here?" Chance says to the bookie.

"All there. Count it if it would please you. We ran it through the machine, your old man saw."

"He's not my f.u.c.king old man," Chance growls.

He picks up one of the bags, and I get the other. It's heavy, I never realized money could be so heavy.

Together we make our way up the staircase, through the empty pub, and then into the cold, drizzling night outside.

Dad has a taxi waiting with the doors open, and we climb in.

"Take me to the hospital," Chance says. "Wait, no, take me to a corner shop somewhere. I need a smoke."

"Chance, I thought you stopped," I begin, but he waves a hand at me.

"Just a victory cigar."

Epilogue.

A cute townhouse awaits me, but I only have just one housemate.

For nearly two months Chance and I traveled around countries in Europe. We hit the most touristy destinations, of course. Amsterdam, Paris, Madrid then Mallorca. Afterward we popped into Rome.

But eventually we realized we couldn't just keep going. Our time was running out, and I had to get back to London for the start of my first year at LSE.

Chance came back here with me. We found a townhouse a little outside of the city, with a cute back garden where I forced him to picnic with me and have tea and biscuits.

When in Rome...

Even if it's just a silly stereotype.

When I get home a I think of it as my home now a I see Chance in the hallway doing pull-ups on the bar in the doorway.

He's put on close to ten pounds of lean muscle since the fight against Kaminski, and it definitely shows. He's going to be fighting in a professional MMA tournament to be held two months from now, and so he's busy getting ready. The agent he hired is busier still, doing his best to market Chance as some kind of 'all-American boy' in the fight scene.

He swears the idea has traction in the UK, but I'm not so sure.

"Hey," I say. He drops down from the pull-up bar, chest heaving, dripping with sweat.

"You come here to see me topless?"

"No, idiot," I tell him, trailing a finger across his abs as I walk by him. "I live here."

"Oh, right."

I pour myself a gla.s.s of water, call out to him from the kitchen.

"What?" he asks, popping his head in the door. "I'm trying to get a work-out in."

"Why don't you just go to the gym?"

"I already did?"

"So what are you doing?"

"Cardio."

"But you were doing pull-ups."

He grins. "Try doing fifty and see if your heart doesn't start going."

"I got a letter from Dad today."

His head, having just disappeared, reappears in the doorway. He wipes sweaty hair to the side. "And?"

"He quit his job."

"No s.h.i.+t," Chance says, coming into the kitchen and taking my gla.s.s of water from my hand. He gulps it all down, runs another, and gives it back to me. "Did he say why?"

"No. Just said that he didn't want to work there anymore."

"Did he ask you if you were going home at Christmas?"

"He did."

"What will you tell him?"

"I haven't thought about it yet," I say. "Have you heard from your mother?"

Chance shakes his head. "Not since she called to tell me about the annulment."

"You should talk to her."

"Yeah. I will."

"I mean soon."

"Ca.s.s."

"Okay," I say, putting up my hands. "There's one other thing that came up."

"Oh?"

"Well, it seems I got the dates wrong."

Chance leaves the kitchen, and I follow him out into the hallway. He jumps back up to the pull-up bar, and begins counting rapidly with each lift.

He's wearing nothing but compression shorts, but they're bright green and he looks absolutely ridiculous in them.

"What dates?" he asks between breaths. Each time he pulls himself up, it's like I can see every single tiny muscle in his body ripple.

"For the start of term."

He laughs mid-pull-up. "You? Dates wrong?"

I frown. "I know, right? I could swear I double-checked."

"So, how much more time until your first day of school? G.o.d, I wish they made you wear uniforms in university here."

He pulls-up especially hard, then claps his hands over the bar, before gripping again and lowering himself. I just watch him for a short while as he does it again and again, leaning against the opposite wall.

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he cries, letting himself down.

"Well, since we have time, I was wondering if you wanted to go on one more trip."

He comes up to me, panting, takes the gla.s.s of water from my hand again and empties it. "Where?"

"Australia. Melbourne."

He c.o.c.ks a brow up. "Why?"

"Well, I know someone down there. We were pen pals when we were kids. You remember that? The whole pen pal program the school did?"

"Honestly," Chance says. "No."

"Well, anyway, her name's Rose. She says she can get us an apartment to rent for cheap. And flights are cheaper right now."

"Jesus Christ, it's like twenty hours flight-time, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm kind of interested," I say. "We've got enough money, and when I get back I'll be getting a part-time job, anyway. Plus, you'll be fighting soon."

"Sure," he says, nodding. "Why the h.e.l.l not? Anyway, there's a fighter out there I'd like to watch."

"Yeah?"