Legend (Real, #6)(73)

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IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT and I crave her voice like I crave nothing else. I dial her phone, get the voice mail. And listen to it like a junkie, Hi, this is Reese. I can’t come to the phone but leave a message. . . .

I leave no message. But I text: He’s gone.

I toss my phone aside and shove my rope back into my duffel and drop on the bed, then punch my pillow and plop to my stomach, hating that all that’s left of him is in me.





FORTY-TWO


THE DARK AVENGER


Maverick

New York is rainy today. I’ve been back since noon, and I’ve spent the afternoon tossing the stupid tennis ball against the bathroom wall of my room until I catch it, crush it until it’s flat, then toss it away. I head to my phone, go online, and spend a half hour on the airline sites. Then I text my mom a message. The only woman I’m sure roots for me, since I’m not sure whose side the woman I love is on.

Fighting the champion tomorrow

I just emailed you an airline reservation

If I win, I’ll always regret you not being there to see it And I’m going to win, Mom

Come to my fight

I look up Reese’s number, and my finger pauses. The thought of her takes pieces of my brain. I’m simmering inside. I sigh and drag a hand down my face. I won’t back down. I can’t lose.

I won’t lose.

I have one chance to see if I’ve got it. One chance to bring it to this one fight.

But what if winning means hurting her?

Who’s my girl rooting for?

The Tates are her family. They treat her well—give her love, support, and acceptance.

My dad did none of that, and I was still with him. How can I expect less of her and the Tates?

I’m still going to prove that I deserved the Black Scorpion’s time, his attention, his respect.

I’m still going to prove to myself that I am good f*cking enough.

I’m going to be accepted by the whole goddamned world even if I wasn’t accepted by my own dad.

I’m going to be a legend.

And a legend will never be gone, even when six feet under.

And a legend gets the girl.

A legend wins the girl.

I’m a fighter and I’m fighting tomorrow night.

But f*ck my life, I don’t feel like fighting when I think of my girl not backing me up.

I grab the tennis ball again and try to give it shape, frustrated that I can’t, when there’s a knock on the door.

I set it down and open, and Riptide stands out in the hall.

I stalk back in the room and leave the door open behind me, then watch him from across the room as he shuts the door and follows me inside.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

I shrug. “Yeah, me too.”

He seems to feel the need to specify: “I’m sorry for you.”

I lean on the wall and cross my arms. “I’ve been alone my whole life. I don’t need anyone to win.”

“Yes you do, and you have her. Reese let us know the day you left whose side she’s on. And it sure as f*ck ain’t mine. She’ll be in her seat on the front f*cking row on your left. Right next to the woman I love, who will be cheering for me.”

I clench my jaw, my chest expanding painfully as I process this. “She said that?”

“Crystal clear. And I respect that.” He nods, then shoots me a warning look. “I won’t make it easy for you tomorrow, Maverick. I’m bringing my A game.”

My fighter instinct engages, and I push away from the wall and brace my feet apart. “I’m bringing all the game I’ve got.”

He grins then, and we’re back—our competitive juices flowing. He raises his fist, and I instinctively take a step forward and raise mine. We bump knuckles. And it’s on.

It’s. Fucking. On.

“I’m still bringing it home, Tate,” I warn.

“Bring it home, Maverick. I’m still gonna lay it harder on you than anyone.” He steps closer and raises his brows warningly. “And just so you know, whatever it is you think you’re fighting for—Avenger is my legacy. Not your father’s. Mine.” He grabs me by the back of the neck and looks me in the eye, squeezing in some sort of combined threat and encouragement. “You’re a good kid, Maverick. If you’re going to take the ring, you’re going to need to fight to the teeth for it. And if you best me tomorrow, fair and square like your father never did, I’m going to be proud. I’m going to give something back to this ring before I go. I’m going to leave them you.”

He walks to the door, and I growl, “I’m game.”

He grabs the doorknob but waits a moment. “You’re in an identity crisis. Who you think you are and where you come from versus who you can be and where you’re going. I can relate.”

I laugh. “How can you ever relate to that?”

“I’m bipolar.” He looks me in the eye, unflinching. “So yeah, I can relate with the monsters inside. Mine’s in my head. Yours is in your blood. Don’t let it win.”

He jerks the door open, and adds, “That’s our real fight. The one that lasts a lifetime. The hardest to win. You win that, a fight like tomorrow’s is a piece of cake.”

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I HAD TO call her. I had to see her face. I had to know that what Tate said was true.