He comes at me with a combination that has real power behind it. I match him, escalating in turn. This isn’t sparring anymore; it’s becoming a fight. Somewhere in my mind, I know we should dial it back, but my body moves on instinct, responding to the threat.
We trade blows that echo in the suddenly quiet gym. People stop what they’re doing to watch us. I catch glimpses of their faces, some excited, others concerned.
Kairo catches me with an uppercut that snaps my head back. I taste copper in my mouth. The thin line between practice and combat dissolves completely. I counter with a cross-hookcombination that lands solidly. Kairo stumbles back, then grins with bloody teeth.
“There he is,” he says. “The undefeated champion.”
Something dark and hungry wakes up inside me. The part that loves the fight, that feeds on the violence. I launch forward with a flurry of strikes, backing Kairo toward the edge of the mat. He defends, counters, but I’m relentless. We’re moving faster now, hitting harder. The crowd around us grows, drawn by the spectacle.
Kairo feints, then shoots for my legs. I sprawl to defend, but he’s committed. We grapple, muscles straining against each other, until I execute a sweep that puts him on his back. I follow him down, securing position, pinning his arm. He struggles beneath me, and I rear back, fist cocked for a strike that will end this.
“ENOUGH!”
The voice cuts through the red haze in my mind. It’s not loud, but it’s commanding, absolute in its authority. I freeze mid-motion, fist still raised, breathing hard.
Riley stands at the edge of the mat, arms crossed. His expression is calm but unyielding. “That’s enough,” he repeats, quieter this time.
The gym falls silent. Every eye swivels between Riley and me, waiting. Nobody tells me to stop fighting. Nobody. The last guy who tried ended up needing stitches.
Someone behind me mutters, “Oh, shit.”
But I don’t move. I stare at Riley, at his steady gaze, at the absolute certainty in his posture. Something deep in my gut responds to his command, the same part of me that yielded tohis touch that night on the bench. The part I’ve never shown anyone else.
I lower my fist slowly. Beneath me, Kairo’s eyes narrow in surprise.
Without a word, I stand, offering Kairo my hand. He takes it, letting me pull him to his feet. The crowd stays silent, watching this unprecedented moment—me, backing down.
I grab my towel again, wiping sweat from my face, then from my hands. The adrenaline is still pumping, but it’s redirected now, focused on Riley.
I turn to him, meeting his gaze directly. “A word, doc?”
Without waiting for an answer, I head toward the locker room. I don’t look back to see if he follows. I know he will. The heavy door swings shut behind me, and a moment later, it opens again as Riley steps inside.
The room is empty. Just rows of metal lockers, wooden benches, and the distant sound of water dripping somewhere. I turn to face him, arms crossed over my chest.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand. “Barging in on my training session like that?”
Riley doesn’t flinch at my tone. He stands just inside the door, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but straight. “I’m your doctor,” he says simply. “I have every right to stop a sparring session if I believe it will damage your health.”
“My health is none of your business.”
“Actually, it is. That’s literally why I’m here.” His voice remains even. “You hired me to fix your shoulder. I can’t dothat if you’re aggravating the injury with unnecessarily brutal sparring.”
“That wasn’t sparring,” I mutter. “That was just—”
“Fighting,” Riley finishes for me. “I know. That’s the problem.”
I shake my head, pacing a few steps before turning back to him. “You made me look weak in front of everyone. You don’t do that.”
“I made you look like someone who listens to medical advice,” Riley counters. “Besides, you didn’t have to stop. You chose to.” His eyes hold mine.
I’m not willing to question why I did that, so I change the subject.
“Why are you here, anyway? Renata could’ve sent you a recording of my sparring. Save you the gas money.”
“I wanted to speak to you in person.”
“About?”