Broken Beautiful Hearts(93)

I choke out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a big deal anymore. We’re done. You understand that, right? There’s no going back. He didn’t just keep his heart condition a secret from me. He lied to me about it. He told me he had asthma.”

Cam maneuvers halfway in front of me to shield me from the crowd. “I don’t know why he lied, but it must be hard to have a condition that serious.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” I swallow hard. It feels like there’s always a knot in my throat. Everything about this situation sucks. After the nightmare with Reed, I thought something positive was finally happening in my life.

We enter the main arena. The cage is set up in the center of the room. Green rubber-coated chain-link encircles the octagon-shaped mat, rising up around it like walls, and then curving to form a dome. It reminds me of the enclosure for the birds of prey at the zoo.

This venue is larger and less run-down than the arena where the semifinals were held. It has newer seats, a fresh coat of paint on the walls, and concession stands that sell more than hot dogs and beer. But this place is packed and people are sweating, so it reeks as bad as the other arena. The majority of the spectators are men, drinking beer from plastic cups.

We find our seats. Tucker and Grace are excited because we’re sitting in the front row.

Grace points at the cage. “Those are Owen’s coaches inside the fence-thingy, right? You mentioned one of them was a woman.”

“The fenced-in area is called a cage or an octagon,” I say. “Cutter—the woman—is Owen’s head trainer, but Lazarus works with him, too. Tonight he’s here as Owen’s cutman.”

“What’s a cutman?” she asks.

“Like in boxing,” Tucker says.

“I don’t watch boxing.”

“A cutman fixes you up between rounds,” Tucker explains. “Keeps the swelling down if you get hit in the eye, and stops the bleeding if your face gets busted open so you can go another round. That kind of stuff.”

I’m relieved Tucker is doing the talking instead of me.

“If Owen’s trainers are in the cage does that mean the fight is about to start?” Grace asks.

“Yeah. In ten minutes if they start on time,” Tucker says.

“Why is Owen out here?” Cam nods at an archway on the opposite side of the cage that probably leads to the locker rooms. “Isn’t he supposed to wait for them to call him or something?”

“Technically no. That only happens in big-ticket fights. But he shouldn’t be wandering around ten minutes before a fight.”

Owen looks right at me, and he heads in my direction.

What is he thinking?

“I think he’s coming over here,” Grace says.

I get up to walk outside, and Owen picks up his pace.

“Peyton, wait.” He touches my arm, and I pull away.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask. “You’re supposed to be in the locker room getting ready for your fight. Not out here talking to me.”

Owen paces in front of me. “I can’t fight without talking to you first. There are things I need to tell you.”

“Whatever they are, they can wait. You have to get your head in the game.” Excelling in a sport requires mental and physical prep.

“You won’t take my calls and you dodged me all day at school. How am I supposed to explain if you won’t listen?”

I lower my voice. “Owen, this is a championship fight. You can’t do this. You’ve got to focus on the fight, or you could get hurt.”

“Don’t use my condition against me.”

“I’m not using it against you. I’m stating a fact. You shouldn’t be in the cage. But if you’re going to ignore your doctors’ advice, the least you could do is take it seriously.” I turn away. At this point, I’m a distraction. “Go back to the locker room. The fight is starting in a few minutes.”

“I don’t care about the fight,” he says.

“Of course you do. Or you wouldn’t have lied to everyone.”

Owen looks at me the same way he did the morning I saw him in the car with his mom—like he’s drowning and he wants me to save him. But I can’t, because I’m drowning too.

“That’s not why I lied,” he says. “You don’t know how hard it is. I’m a time bomb without a countdown clock. I have no idea what’s going to happen—or when. I just … I need you to understand.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” a familiar voice says, and my blood runs cold.

How did he find me?

Reed circles around from behind me, his attention focused on Owen. “But take my word for it, Peyton isn’t the most understanding girl out there.”

TJ and Billy stand behind Reed like they’re his bodyguards.

“Who the hell are you?” Owen demands.

Reed laughs. He looks worse than the last time I saw him. His skin is broken out along his jawline, and he’s sweating like he just finished fighting. I wonder how much dope he has in his system.

“Peyton didn’t tell you about me?” Reed tries to hide his irritation. “I’m her ex-boyfriend. Which makes you the rebound guy.”

Owen’s shoulders tense.