Mine (Real, #2)
by Katy Evans
This book is dedicated to everyone who felt the same way I did, and wanted just a little more.
‘MINE’ PLAYLIST
These are some of the songs I listened to while writing MINE. I hope you enjoy them when Remington and Brooke do!
“IRIS” by Goo Goo Dolls
“DARK SIDE” by Kelly Clarkson “I CHOOSE YOU” by Sara Bareilles “BENEATH YOUR BEAUTIFUL” by Labrinth featuring Emeli Sandé “FIRST TIME” by Lifehouse
“STAY WITH YOU” by Goo Goo Dolls “BETWEEN THE RAINDROPS” by Lifehouse “BREATHLESS” by the Corrs
“ACCORDING TO YOU” by Orianthi “HERE WITHOUT YOU” by 3 Doors Down “WHEN YOU’RE GONE” by Avril Lavigne “FAR AWAY” by Nickelback
“HOLD ME NOW” by Red “UPRISING” by Muse
“DEMONS” by Imagine Dragons “KISS ME” by Ed Sheeran
“FROM THIS MOMENT ON” by Shania Twain and Bryan White
MINE
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The heart is a hollow muscle, and it will beat billions of times during our lives. About the size of a fist, it has four chambers: two atria and two ventricles. How this muscle can house something as encompassing as love is beyond me. Is this heart the one that loves? Or do you love with your soul, which is infinite? I don’t know. All I know is that I feel this love in every molecule in my body, every breath I take, all the infinity in my soul. I learned that you can’t run if you tear a ligament, but your heart can be broken into a million pieces, and you can still love with your whole being.
I’ve been broken and put together again.
I’ve been loved, and I have loved.
I’m in love, and I will be forever changed by this love, by this man. I used to dream of medals and championships, but now I dream solely of a blue-eyed fighter who one day changed my life, when he put his lips on mine. . . .
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ONE
WELCOME BACK, RIPTIDE!
Brooke
IT’S BEEN TWO months, exactly sixty-two days, since I returned to him. A thousand four hundred eighty-eight hours of wanting, longing, and needing him. It has been even longer than that since thousands of women, men, and fans across the world watched him fall.
He’s back.
This is it. The first fight of the new Underground season.
He’s been training like mad. He’s put on more muscle. He’s more ripped than ever, and I know this season he’s ready to take what’s his.
The audience in the Washington, D.C., fighting arena consists of about a thousand people, and when the winner of the current match is announced, the crowd grows restless.
We all know it’s his time to be called. His assistant, Pete, sits tense and alert to my right. He’d told me he’s the “draw”—that most everyone in the arena is here for him.
I know I certainly am.
The air is charged with excitement and scented with perfume, beer, and sweat. The two previous fighters are exiting the ring now, one of them assisted by his team, and my heart pounds as I sit motionless in my seat, in the first row, at the very center, just where my man wants me. So here I am, waiting, my body hyperaware and my heart pounding his name. Remington, Remington, Remington . . .
The speakers crackle as the announcer turns on the microphone, and I almost jump out of my skin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we all remember our crushed souls—our crushed spirits!—when the crowd favorite lost the championship final last year.”
The crowd boos in memory, and my throat clogs thinking about how Remy’s broken body had been carried out of the ring.
“Have no fear, people. Have no fear!”
“REMY!!!!!!!!!” someone screams.
“Bring him out already!” another yells.
“Oh, we will. Have no doubt about it; we will,” the announcer somberly says, painfully drawing it out for the crowd. “After much speculation and many rumors, it’s completely official. The man is fighting this season, and he’s taking no prisoners, people! Here he is, ladies and gentlemen. Here. He. Is! You all know who I’m talking about?”
The crowd roars, “RIP-TIIIIIIIDE!”
“Who??”
“RIP-TIIIIIIDE!”
“One more time, ’cause I can’t hear you!”
“RIPTIIIIIDE!”
“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! Here’s our favorite bad boy with that infamous smile and those deadly fists, ready to carve R.I.P. into anyone who stands in his way this year. The one, the only, Remingtoooon Tate, your RIPTIIIIIIIIIDE!!”
Wild excitement rushes through me as the crowd stands and roars like never before.
“My god, the fans are thirsty for him,” Pete breathes.
And so am I. My god. So am I.
Across the ring from me, women are waving panties in the air. Panties! Another lifts a sign that reads PULL ME UNDER, RIPTIDE!
My mouth is dry, and a thousand and one winged things flutter in my stomach when I see a flash of red.
And then, he’s closer.
Trotting out of the walkway and to the ring.
To his ring.