Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(45)

I’ve been fine. Totally and completely fine with Finn being a fighter. In the past, I even caught a few of his fights on T.V. I know he’s tough. I’m confident he’s skilled. I’m positive he’s focused. But I’ve never actually seen him fight in a real bout, especially not as his girlfriend.

The matches I saw on T.V., were hard to watch because I knew of him and thought that he was a nice guy. Now that I well, love him . . . Jesus Christ and three to four disciples, how am I going to get through this?

I turn to Sofia. “How did you do it?” I ask her, keeping my voice low with the hopes Finn doesn’t hear me. “All those times you saw Killian fight, and witnessed everything he had to go through to become a champion, how did you get through it?”

Killian retired after he won the super heavyweight title, walking away from a lot of money, and earning a great deal of criticism due to his young age and the expectation to defend his title. I can understand, to some extent, where the condemnation was coming from. Killian could possibly have held the title for years, become more of a legend, and given his legions of fans more of what they wanted. But he had his reasons for leaving the fighting circuit.

The main one being Sofia.

He wanted the quality of life a lot of fighters don’t have after years spent in the ring getting punched in the skull and pushing their bodies to their breaking point. And he wanted to share that life with Sofia. As much as she never asked him to walk away, he knew it was something she wanted, and recognized how hard it was for her to watch him get hurt.

I wait for her words of wisdom, or some sort of silver lining. Yet it takes a moment for those words to come.

She rubs her hands as if gathering her thoughts. But then I realize she’s not working through what to say, she’s remembering what she saw. “It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “I . . .”

“She almost fainted during one his worst matches,” Wren finishes for her. Unlike Sofia who’s in a pretty dress, and me who didn’t know better and wore a cute top, jeans, and boots, Wren is wearing a form-fitting and very short navy dress that shows off her long legs. “Seriously,” she adds. “Sofe turned as white as my ass and we had to catch her before she fell over.”

Awesome.

I glance back at Sofia, my eyes rounding. “I wish she was joking,” she says. “But I really had a hard time being strong.” She takes my hand in hers, motioning to the T.V... “These fights are brutal. Sometimes the referees don’t stop them in time, but more often the fighters keep going, their desire to win interfering with their logic to stop.”

“Like Conan?” I ask.

She nods. “Every now and then, Killian wrestles with whether to return to the octagon. He’s a fighter at heart, and a fighter’s mentality is hard to change. But then he’ll catch a match like this one, or run into a former fighter with permanent injuries. Those moments remind him that he wants more for him and us.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’m glad Killian walked away before he was permanently injured. But Sofia, Finn’s not there yet. It’ll be years before he even thinks about retiring. All he talks about is his next fight, or the one after that, or how the belt is going to feel when he raises it over his head. He loves what he does. That fighter mentality you mentioned? He’s has it, and he’s not letting go.” I sigh. “I don’t want him hurt. But knowing how much MMA means to him, I want to be there to support him.”

“So be there,” she says. “Just be prepared for him to get hurt.” She bows her head. “Not that it helped me.”

“I hear you,” Wren agrees. “Sometimes, it’s all I can do not to look away.”

Wren was quiet during our conversation. If you knew anything about Wren it speaks volumes. But she’s listening, and she cares. “I’m sure,” I say, acknowledging her worry. “I mean, you love him, too.”

She grins, her smile reminding me of Finn’s. “You sayin’ you love my brother?”

I tilt my head. My voice is soft, but I mean what I say. “I really do.”

My words and tone give her pause and dull her smile, but not in a bad way. “Good,” she says. “I think you’re what he needs.”

It’s not the first time one of his siblings has told me that. From what I’ve gathered from the recent family functions we’ve attended, Finn’s drinking had been out of control and he was advised to stop. He still drinks when we go out, a couple beers or so, but he’s never been out of hand around me. It’s likely because we’re making up for that high with the ridiculous amount of sex we’ve been having.

I’m not complaining. Sex with Finn is so personal. I’ve never experienced the amount of intimacy I feel with anyone else but him. I think, or at least hope, he feels it, too. The way we talk afterward, and the way we hold onto each other, it’s like we’re afraid to let go.

My attention drifts back to where he’s warming up, seemingly unaffected by the chaos unleashing in the octagon as the next fight commences. I can’t say I’m exactly what Finn needs, nor that I’m the person who has helped him get better. His intense counseling sessions have played a big role. That much he’s shared. Yet we both realize he has a long way to go.

Just last week when we went out, some idiot hit on me and refused to back off. I thought Finn was going to break him in half and kick the leftovers aside. I’ve honestly never seen him so angry. Thankfully his brothers were there to haul him back, giving me time to calm him and convince him to walk away. Not that he was happy about it.