Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

She raises her glass at me. “I’m not gonna take that personally.”

I actually laugh. “Good. So.”

“Yep. So. I made it out.”

“Did you change the world with your stories?”

She nods, smirking. “But not so anyone would notice. If you know what I mean.” She pauses to chuckle. “I did my part, Sick Heart. That’s all I’m gonna say in public. I did my part.”

I raise my glass to her in response. “No one came looking to kill me, so… thanks. I think?” Then we both laugh and clink our glasses. “Here’s to doing one’s part. What brings you to Rio?”

She nods her head at Paulo. “I came to see him fight.”

“And what did you think?”

“I think… anyone who knows anything in this business can tell that kid is going all the way.”

“Yeah. I could’ve told you that back when he was five. What really brings you here?”

“You, of course.”

I cock my head at her.

“Come on. You’re not going to hide away forever. You’re young still, Cort van Breda. Your future is in the professional ring.” She nods at Paulo again. “Like him. Like all the others you and Maart have sent into the world. Maart isn’t hiding. He’s the most sought-after trainer on the planet at the moment.”

I put up a hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there.” I don’t even know this woman’s name, and honestly, I don’t want to know it. Because that life belongs to some other guy. “You’ve got me all wrong. I’m perfectly happy to slip into obscurity. And if you doubt that, you have no idea who I am.”

She presses her lips together. But everything about her is still smug. Like she knows me better than I know myself. “OK. Then… it was nice to see you. You and all your people look extremely well-adjusted and happy. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“And… if you ever change your mind…” She slips a business card into my suit coat pocket. “Now you know where to find me.” She gives me a finger wave and walks off.

I turn the other direction and get my woman her drink.

Four hours later I’m leading a blindfolded Anya towards a helicopter.

“What the hell is this?” she yells over the thumping sound of the rotors.

She has asked me that four times since this secret journey started.

When I put her in a limo after we left Paulo’s party.

When I put her on a plane when we got to the airport.

When I helped her into a golf cart that brought us here to the helipad.

And each time I say, “You’ll find out.”

It’s a little less than an hour’s ride to our final destination. A two-week getaway in paradise. But we’re still about five minutes out when I reach over and pull the silk handkerchief down her face so she can see.

We don’t have headphones on. We don’t need headphones to talk in a helicopter. She signs, Where the hell are—

And that’s as far as she gets, because she sees it.

The moon won’t be new until tomorrow. But that’s OK. That will be day one.

The helicopter lands on the Rock’s top platform and even through the dark night, I can see my other family get up from their nests and begin to cry out a ‘welcome home.’

When I look at Anya, she’s got tears in her eyes. Or maybe that’s me?

We get out, the helicopter leaves, and we say nothing. We will probably say nothing this entire trip.

Two weeks?

Two weeks of silence is just a warm-up.

But when we look at each other, and start taking off our fancy clothes—dropping them into piles at our feet—we laugh and giggle like the kids we never were.

Then she takes my hand and we run.

And then we jump.