Making Their Vows

“Arturo Colleti?” The wind is knocked out of me. “Jesus. I’ve been watching him fight since middle school. He’s…fuck, I don’t have his kind of training.”

“You don’t want in?”

“Of course I want in,” I scoff. “I just have to find a creative way to knock his ass out.”

Silvio’s laughter fills my ear. “Now there’s the badass I recruited straight out of the Hellmouth. I’ll be in touch about gear and logistics. Just be ready to brawl.” He pauses. “Hey, North. You win this fight, it’ll mean big things for you, all right? The payout alone from taking on Colleti is a game changer. So show up and take care of business, huh?”

“How much money will I make if I win?” I rasp.

He tells me the number and a shudder passes through me.

Holy shit.

It’s enough for a down payment on a house. Enough to get Tulip through her first year of college, at the very least. But will it be enough to make me acceptable in the eyes of Grace’s father? More than anything, more than my next fucking breath, I want to be with her out in the open. I want to ring her doorbell in Beacon Hill and not worry about people seeing me there. An outsider. I want to be able to offer her a future that isn’t all about scraping by, paycheck to paycheck.

This is my chance.

I’m off the bench and moving toward the school parking lot before I know it, desperate to see Grace. Needing to tell her this news, face to face. Now. There isn’t too much traffic in the middle of the day, so I can be at her school in twenty-five minutes. It’s a risk, showing up like this in broad daylight, but there’s no way I can wait until after school to tell her I’ll be fighting in the Garden next week. No way I can wait to ask if she’ll come and support me.

A few minutes later, I peel out of the parking lot, anticipation thrumming in my veins. Excitement to see her. Nerves about the upcoming fight. A week ago, I was content to fight in the Hellmouth on weekends for rent and food money, but not anymore. Now I have a future with Grace on the line and there’s no way I’m letting it slip through my fingers.

Maybe an underground fighter isn’t supposed to date an Ivy League girl, but a legit fighter? Is that another story? Over the last week, Grace has been saying more and more how she doesn’t even want to go to Harvard, if she gets accepted. Or any other prestigious institution for that matter. I don’t want her to give up that chance for me, but I also don’t want her to do anything that doesn’t make her happy. Either way, we’ll have more options if I win this fight—and I will.

I hit a little more traffic than expected, so about forty minutes later, I pull up across the street from Grace’s prep school. And damn, it is a lot nicer than my public one. Prominent is the word that comes to mind. Green vines climb the outside of a sweeping, historical stone building, complete with two lion statues guarding the entrance.

Stepping out of my car, I hear the faint sound of a bell ringing and a few seconds later, uniformed students file down the front steps, some of them chatting with others, most of them looking at their phones. No one plays loud music, there are no fights breaking out, like there would be at my school. Just the calm, cool, collected future millionaires of America.

I shake off the cloying sense that I don’t belong here and search for Grace among the crowd. First I see Collier and another guy I recognize from that night at the Hellmouth. They’re laughing with some girls, taking pictures on their phones. I’m pleased to see Collier is still sporting purple rings around his eyes, but my attention is dragged quickly in another direction when Grace walks out of the building and the organ in my chest starts to pound wildly.

She’s alone.

Books cradled to her chest.

Oh Jesus, that school uniform.

That little plaid skirt and knee socks.

I can’t believe she changes out of it before coming to my house every day. Maybe she doesn’t want to remind me of our economic differences? It would have been worth it. My cock is stiff as a brick watching that hem tease the middle of her thighs. Jesus. I’m so hot for her, I’m almost dizzy. But I’m not so aroused that I can’t be concerned about what I’m seeing.

Part of me likes that she’s alone.

A huge part of me wants her to talk to no one but me. I’m her everything.

Apparently that part of me is a possessive asshole.

Grace casts her friends a self-conscious glance and walks the opposite direction. They openly ignore her. Because of me? Is she a loner now because I took her home that night? Are they cutting her out of their lives because she’s dating me?