Legend (Real, #6)(79)

More father to me than my own blood. My mentor. My brother.

“When I started training you,” he says, smirking in pride, “I thought you could be great. Hell, I knew you could be great. I knew you could be better than me. And I was right.” He jerks his chin toward the door. “Ring’s all yours. Own it and never hand it off unless you’re stepping down.”

“I won’t,” I vow with conviction, my hands fisting instinctively.

“Good.”

He puts his fist out, like his son does. “It’s an honor to have fought with you.”

I don’t know how I can get up. How I can talk. I do both. I meet his gaze with pride and gratitude and admiration and more respect than I’ve ever felt in my life. I press my knuckles to his, just like I do with his son. And say what I mean. I always say what I mean. “The honor was mine.”





EPILOGUE


I’M WITH HIM


Reese

That was the first of many finals for Maverick “the Avenger” Cage. It’s been two years, hundreds of matches, and they call him the King of the Ring. People cheer when he’s on. The announcers nearly climax when they announce him. “OUR VERY OWN, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The most fearless rookie to ever take this ring. The KING, the Avenger, Maaaaverick Caaaaaage!”

He climbs into the ring without glancing at anybody. Then Mav sees me as he disrobes and I look at my phoenix rising and feel so much pride I could burst.

He bought a house in Seattle, near the Tates. They had a baby girl and called her Iris.

Maverick still trains with Riptide several times a week. And every night, before we go to bed, we go for a midnight run.

Because . . . did I mention it yet?

I’m with him.

Every time he steps off the ring, I go stand by Oz, and he comes to his corner. To Oz and me.

I wake up to my mornings with my cheek on his chest and I almost don’t know which limb is mine or which is his, except his is harder and tanner.

Mornings, Oz is all business, with a shit-ton of water bottles packed for their daily workout. (Oz has a new girlfriend. Her name is Natasha and now everything wonderful is a Natasha.) “If we’re going to be champions again”—he rolls his eyes, as if there’s any doubt—“you’re going to need a coach, a sober one preferably.”

Maverick always fist-bumps him now. “That’s my man.”

And Oz grins, sheepish.

He’s met my parents.

I’ve met his mother.

Maverick and I don’t want to be apart. He’s determined. He wants me with him.

So, I’m with him.

It’s night now. The city of Seattle is quiet. The soft patter of rain died down a few minutes ago, and I’m all set to run as he finishes tying his shoelaces. He straightens and looks at me.

He looks . . .

Like him.

The guy in the darkness coming to the light.

The phoenix rising.

The guy holding my heart.

My love is like a steel weight, but it’s nothing compared to the weight of that steel gaze locked on my face like there’s no power on earth that will pull those eyes away.

“Ready, Reese?”

A helpless smile pulls at my lips. Love and lust and hope for us twists around my heart. “Always ready to try and beat your ass. Somebody has to.”

He steps forward, frowning as he does, still puzzled by my effect on him. “You decimate me, Reese.”

I play innocent. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You say it with these.” He touches my eyes, and then he kisses my eyelids. “Hey, I still love you.”

“And I still love you.”

He still doesn’t know that he had me at the penny.

He draws me close now and kisses my neck, and he lifts my head to kiss me on the mouth, and he tastes so right and so hard and so strong, so powerful, my world narrows down to all six-feet-plus inches of my avenger.

On a shuddering breath, my lips part and my eyes flutter shut as he begins kissing my jaw, my lips again. He sometimes smears my lipstick all over his mouth but I don’t care. He likes devouring me and I let him. Wild, primitive, his mouth ravages mine, like it does in bed every night.

He tilts my head at the best angle and sometimes he says my lips taste of cherries.

His father’s gloves are gone. He has a roomful of fighting gear, everything new, everything his. He’s still finding out who he is, but he knows who he isn’t.

I’m still finding out who I am, and whoever that is, I know that I’m with him.

He has a portrait of that final match with Remy, of that moment—the moment where Remy embraces him like a proud father—and he has it in the hall to our bedroom.

He says he never wants to forget what it feels like to fight someone better than him.

He says he never wants to forget that he’s not Scorpion’s legacy.

And he’ll never forget that night despite all the others that have followed.

He’s still fighting.

And we’re still in love.

Heading out of our home, Maverick pulls on his hoodie and we take to the damp street to run on the wet pavement, where the path feels endless, where we have forever awaiting us.

But we both know nothing is forever, except legends. And except us.