With our Nova ride at the forefront of my thoughts, I forget that I still haven’t heard from Cameron or that the way we left things last night and the subsequent position he was in with his ex in his house does not equal good things for us. Okay, so maybe I remember all that, but I don’t dwell on it.
Instead, I gear up for some time with my best friend, doing what we do best: laugh, sing, and pretend things don’t suck.
Thirty-One
Cameron
Today is for shit.
Not only did I wake up late and end up racing through the training center doors still buttoning up my shirt, but I never did get a chance to call Eve. I managed to send her a text but had to bullshit the dude I was in the meeting with and say I was crunching numbers on my phone in order to do it. It was short, but I hoped it was enough to let her know that I was thinking about her.
It’s just after eleven and still no reply.
She’s pissed. That’s the only explanation. I wasn’t thinking clearly yesterday. With so much emotional turmoil, it was nearly impossible to do or say the right things. Now that I’ve survived another one of the twins’ birthdays, I can see that it was a mistake to leave Eve at the restaurant last night. I should’ve left D’lilah to her own devices.
“Did you reschedule the announcement?”
I look up and Layla’s standing in the doorway, holding up my printed schedule for today.
“What? No, why?”
She shakes the paper at me. “Um, because the announcement meeting started ten minutes ago.”
Shit! I push back from my desk and grab my planner that clearly is zero help if I don’t actually look at it.
“Forgot.” I pass her and head toward the conference room where all my local fighters should be waiting.
“Figured that.” Layla slaps a folder to my chest that should have all the information I need for this announcement. “Go get ’em.”
Damn, this woman is assistant gold.
I push through the conference room door. “Gentlemen . . .”
There’s a feminine clearing of throat: Camille, my first fighter in what I hope to be a very successful female UFL division.
“And lady.” I drop the folder at the head of the table in front of an empty seat. “Sorry I’m late. Hopefully what I have to say won’t take long.”
It’s funny. I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why I looked up to find Jonah in the crowd, but I do, and when I do, there’s no doubt in my mind that I must’ve felt his glare before I saw it. My muscles tighten in a defensive response to the aggression that’s rolling off him and aimed directly at me.
What the fuck is his problem?
“Anyway, the reason I called this meeting is to announce that the day after tomorrow there will be a press conference announcing my fight with Rusty Faulkner.”
The room is silent except for a few whispered “oh-shits” and “motherfucks.”
“For those of you who know my history, I’m taking this fight on fully aware of the dangers, so don’t corner me in the locker room with your Come-to-Jesus talks, all right?”
I go into a few details of the fight and field a few questions.
“What happens if you die?” Reece leans back and interweaves his fingers behind his head. “Who’s gonna take over for you?”
My temper’s running close to the surface, and I push back what I really want to say to Reece. “Not dying, so there’s no need to discuss that.”
“No disrespect, Cam.” Blake leans forward with his forearms on the table. “But we got fucked, lube-free, from the last douchebag-dick that ran this place. Figure we deserve to know what happens if this fight doesn’t go as planned.”
Blake’s sitting next to Jonah, who is still glaring at me as if the sheer power of his eyes could destroy me.
“My plan is to stay on my feet and waltz out of that octagon a winner. Shit goes bad, the board will get a guy in here that’s probably a hell of a lot nicer than I am.”
Blake shrugs. “Good enough.”
Reece glares at me. “Right, so if you’ll—”
The sound of a cellphone ring echoes through the room. Are these guys kidding me? I groan and drop my forehead only to look up and see Jonah on his cell.
“Yes, she’s my wife. What the fuck is going on?”
The room falls silent with tension with the seriousness of Jonah’s demand. My muscles crank up even tighter, every sense on high-alert. I know that tone. I’ve heard it in my own voice, and the sound of it still haunts my worst nightmares.
It’s anger born of unadulterated fear.
Oh shit.
He stands up and sends his chair back against the wall hard. “Tell me she’s okay!” His voice cracks with emotion.
Something happened to Raven. Oh shit . . . the baby.
Jonah bolts to the door. “Where is she? I’m on my way.” He knocks into the doorframe and staggers down the hallway.
Without even thinking to do so, I’m right behind him, treading the steps he’s taking. He still has his phone to his ear. I’m two steps behind him and about to reach out and grab his arm to stop him when he drops.
Slowly, so fucking slowly, he drops to his knees.
Falls.
Oh God.