THIRTY-THREE
There are moments in your life you remember vividly because they’ve made a great impact on you or forced significant change in your ability to see the world and its people.
And then there are moments in your life that you wished you didn’t remember. That scar your soul in a way, taint it with black, and you try to shut them out of your mind because it’s better to pretend not to be aware of them than relive them.
I’ve had my fair share of either of those kinds of memories.
And somehow, against all odds, this feels like both.
I don’t remember much, only catching fragments of what happened after it had all gone down. I remember a pair of huge, safe arms carrying me and handling me delicate care.
It’s the only time I’ve ever felt safe during the night. Secure.
Like if the darkness swallowed me whole permanently, at least I’d go knowing that I’d been embraced by his sturdy, comforting warmth one final time.
“My Lucky,” he had whispered, breathing temporary life into me. “Stay strong for me. You’re a fighter. Live for me, baby. Live.”
I remember catching a glimpse of his face. Tears sliding down his sweat-covered face, his mouth clamped tight as if trying hard not to let the raw pain he was feeling seep out of him. I remember how broken he sounded. I wanted to cry for what my actions had done to him—what they continued to do to him.
Then I remember his warmth leaving me. He let me go and I wanted to reach out to him, call out and plead for him to stay with me. But my voice felt trapped and I was suspended in an in-between, desperately clawing at the surface to break through before the darkness claimed me again.
I wanted to say a lot of things to Kayden. I wanted to scream at him for doing something as reckless as throwing that fight against Jax. I wanted him to know exactly how I felt every time he got hit and punched until he was barely conscious on the ground, how my heart bled for him as he bled on the floor.
I don’t regret protecting him in that cage. I know it was a reckless, stupid move to put myself in harm’s way like that, and I was certainly aware of the risks the second I decided to do it. Kayden had always had my back—even during the times I didn’t deserve it—and it was time I had his. His pain called out to me and I reacted because nothing was worth seeing him get wrapped up in a massacre that he didn’t ask for.
When my eyes flutter open after fighting through the disorientation, the first thing I see is the blinding, stark-white overhead lights beaming down at me. My eyes slowly begin to scan my surroundings, taking in the clinical feel of the room. The bare white walls, pale sheets blanketing me, and the wires clipped to my fingers and hooked into the huge machine beside me to monitor my vitals.
My head is resting on a large pillow and when it finally registers that I’m lying on a hospital bed, I immediately get up, but a rush of pain blasts through my head and I groan, squeezing my eyes shut briefly to adjust.
I try not to focus on the pounding in my head and instead move my legs and hands slowly to familiarize myself with my body again. I touch the back of my head, feeling the large bandage wrapped around it.
“Hey,” I hear someone beside me whisper. My body surges with relief when Brent brings his seat closer to me and slides a comforting hand over mine. “Take it easy now.”
“What happened?” The words rush out of me. “Where’s Kayden—”
“Hey, calm down. You need rest.” Another voice slides into my ear. I whip around to find Julian leaning against the wall, reaching out to me. “You’ve been out the whole night.”
Beside him, Evans has gotten up from the couch and approached the foot of the bed, his hands clinging to the edge as he watches me, worry filling his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I insist, hauling myself into a sitting position.
“I just want to know where he is.”
“Oh, Sienna,” Brent says, like a defeated sigh.
My lip quivers. I know what exactly what that means.
“Tell me what happened, please,” I beg.
Brent presses his lips together thinly, gaze flickering to Julian and Evans, who nod back at him in unison.
“All right,” Brent says, adjusting himself in his seat.
According to him, after I’d been hit by Jax, Kayden didn’t take it well. With a surge of anger-led adrenaline from watching me get knocked out, he went berserk on Jax, charging toward him and accusing him of wanting to get me killed, which in turn got Jax incredibly upset. Apparently, he genuinely didn’t see me coming—that hook had been aimed at Kayden, not me, so me getting hurt had not been part of the plan. Which was fair since everything had happened so quickly that even Kayden hadn’t realized I had been shielding him until I got hit.
I was surprised to hear that Jax had been incredibly remorseful for getting me hurt, falling to the ground beside me with tears spilling out of his eyes the moment he saw my unconscious body lying on the concrete floor. But despite it being a horrible accident, Kayden refused to let Jax get any closer to me, yelling for him to be taken away from the cage so he wouldn’t cause more trouble.
My knockout had finally propelled the referee to call the fight. The crowd had been divided in their responses.