Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story) (77 page)

The doctor came in and introduced himself
and asked Paul, “So what’s going on tonight?”

“I’m having a lot of pain in my right
side,” he told him.

“Is this new?”

“Yeah, it started about a week ago.”

“Any fever?”

“He got hit in the ribs with a crowbar,” I
said. Paul gave me a look.

“Well, there’s your problem. Ribs don’t
like crowbars.”

Paul laughed and winced. The doctor
examined him and Paul tried hard not to wince every time he touched him…but it
was obvious that it hurt. When he finished, the doctor said, “I’m going to send
you to get some x-rays and I’ll meet you back here in a bit.”

Paul went for his x-ray and about a
half-hour later the doctor came back in. He hung the x-ray film up in the
little light box on the wall and said, “You see this?” He was pointing at a
jagged line that ran down along three of Paul’s ribs. “You have some cracked
ribs, two of them to be exact, that explains the pain.”

Paul wouldn’t look at me. He knew I would
have an “I told you so,” look on my face although I was really trying not to.
“So what can we do for them?” Paul asked. He knew the answer just like I did.
Mine were still sore.

“We take it easy and let them heal,” the
doctor said. “No vigorous activity, okay?”

“Okay,” Paul said. I was trying hard to
see his face. I wanted to see if he was lying or not, but he still wouldn’t
look at me.

“I’ll write you a prescription for some
pain medications and muscle relaxants. No more crow bars, no running, jumping,
playing…you can get an abdominal binder if you want. The pressure helps. If
anything changes…if you have trouble breathing…come back in. Follow up with
your regular doctor in about two weeks, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks doc.” The doctor smiled at
me and left the room. Paul got up to put his shirt back on and I finally got a
look at his face. He had an “I told you so,” look of his own. After slipping on
his t-shirt he looked at me and said, “Ready?”

“Yeah.”
 
We picked up his prescriptions at the front desk and I quietly followed
him out to the car. Once we were headed home I had to ask, “Are you going to
listen to the doctor?”

“About what,” he said.

“Seriously, Paul? You heard what he said,
no vigorous activity…”

He grinned and winked at me, “Don’t worry
baby, we can do other things…”

“Paul Delport! You know darn good and well
what I’m talking about. You shouldn’t be working out and you really shouldn’t
be fighting. What if he kicks you in the ribs that are already broken?”

He looked at me and said, “We don’t have
to decide this right now, okay?”

I didn’t agree. I had a really strong
feeling that he wasn’t going to even try and relax…and I would bet my next
paycheck that he wasn’t going to forfeit the fight.

We drove silently the rest of the way
home. By the time we got there it was after three in the morning. I was
exhausted and I knew he had to be too. I got ready for bed for the second time
that night and tried to convince myself not to bring it up again. The only
problem was I knew he was going to get up early and go for a run and then go to
the gym…

“You really need to listen to him,” I said
once we were side by side in bed.

“Jessie…I’m not forfeiting this fight.
I’ve worked too hard.”

“You’ve worked too hard to have one of
your broken ribs poke a hole in your lung too. Trust me, no fun.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“That’s it. You won’t even consider the
option…talk to the organizers of the fight, talk to Trent even…try and postpone
it, maybe?”

“No,” he said. “The only option for me is
the fight. I’m sorry.”

After a while I heard his breathing become
deeper and more rhythmic. I wanted to poke him in his sore ribs and make him
listen to me. He made me so mad.

CHAPTER
FOUR

The two days after Paul went to the
hospital…leading up to his fight; we talked as little as possible. He knew I
wanted him to forfeit and I knew he wanted me to let it go. We met in the
middle and just didn’t talk about it, until that day. I woke up that morning
with butterflies the size of dragons in my stomach. I swear, you would think I
was the one fighting for the championship. I stretched out and realized Paul
was already up. I found him in the kitchen making himself a protein drink.

“Morning,” I said.

“Good morning,” he said. “How did you
sleep?”

“I slept okay,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a champion,” he said with a wink. He
was so damned cute…that was my downfall.

“You look like a champion too,” I told
him. “I’m going in to work this morning, but I’ll be there rooting for you
tonight.”

He came over and took me into his arms.
With his lips so close to mine I could feel the vibrations he said, “I’m going
to do this tonight for us. You’ve done so much for me, Jessie…to help me get
here. I know that you’re worried and I’m sorry for that. But pain or no pain, I
got this. I’m going to win.”

I put my hand on the side of his face. His
skin was so warm and I was starting to tingle in places that neither of us had
time for right now. “I know you are,” I told him, simply. He lowered his lips
down to mine then and kissed me and then he left me standing in the kitchen
with wet panties and a nervous flutter in my chest.

******

I was holding my breath as I watched Paul
make his way down the long, narrow aisle between the seats of the crowd that
cheered and sneered and chanted his name. He didn’t look hurt. If you didn’t
know he had two broken ribs and had hardly slept in a week…you would never
guess. He looked energized and alive and his eyes shown with determination and
excitement and I tried to breathe it in as he passed because I felt wiped out.
I wished that I didn’t know how hurt and exhausted he was. Without those two
things against him I’d be the most confident person in the room. Instead, I was
a nervous wreck. I was reminded that I wasn’t alone as I felt the not so subtle
pain of Marie crushing my hand in a death grip as she watched her brother enter
the octagon. We both watched with trepidation…we were praying for the best and
fearing the worst.

I kept my eyes on Paul as he picked up the
plastic water bottle and leaning his head over the bucket his trainer would
offer him to spit into, he poured half of it over his head. I guess that was my
proof that no matter how cool, calm and collected he looked, he was burning up
with anxiety as well. I used the last trickle of water as my focal point while
I willed my breathing to slow down. It ran from his head down along the side of
his beautiful face and then it cut a path across the well-defined muscles in
his broad chest. I watched it slowly migrate across his chiseled abdominal
muscles as they moved up and down in an effort to suck in a lungful of the
thick air that surrounded him.

The sound of Trent’s name loudly
reverberating off the walls brought me out of my reverie. I looked towards the
back of the auditorium and my eyes landed on the mountain that was Paul’s
opponent. It wasn’t that he was more muscular than Paul…it just seemed like
there was a lot more of him somehow…maybe square footage wise. His arms and
legs were longer and that meant a wider arc when it came to throwing punches and
jabs and kicks. It would mean that Paul would have to be in constant motion…for
five rounds. Trent was taller than Paul…not by much but enough so that it would
be a reach for Paul to connect with anything from the neck up he would have to
be up on his toes and that would set him off balance…I took in these seemingly
innocuous details and I let my over-active mind imagine how they were all going
to spell defeat for the man I loved.

 
My
heart sped up as my anxiety levels increased. It was slamming against the
inside of my chest and now as I watched Paul’s opponent pacing on his side of
the cage I was reminded of a hungry lion that was going to be ready to pounce
as soon as his cage was opened. I looked over at Paul. He was rising up and
down on his calves and he was glowing with desire. He was filled with the
yearning to be victorious…he wanted this so badly that he could taste it, and
so could I.

I saw him close his eyes for a second.
Paul and I had never really talked about our spirituality, but when I saw his
lips moving silently as well, I wondered if he was saying a final prayer before
going into battle. The bout was ready to start and once again the sound of
Paul’s name boomed across the auditorium. He raised his gloved hands in the air
and I saw him take a deep breath. My eyes searched his face for the wince but
it wasn’t there. He looked like he was at the top of his game.

As soon as the bell sounded, the mountain
that was Trent bolted across the floor of the octagon and his fists connected
with Paul’s flesh in an all-out assault. I would have to guess he’d been
practicing his kick-boxing as well. I had to close my eyes and concentrate on
the vise grip that Marie had on my fingers once Trent started landing rapid,
solid blows to Pauls’ midriff. I heard the sound of his gloves connecting in
places that had to be causing nothing but pure agony on every level of Paul’s
being. I opened one eye just a slit and peeked out just in time to see him sink
a right hook into Paul’s stomach causing him to double over in pain. As quickly
as he did that, his left came flying out, connected with his head and sent Paul
crashing to the floor.

I wanted to close my eyes again but I was
afraid that if I did, I’d miss that last bit of light disappear from his eyes.
I saw blood splattered in tiny little droplets across the mat. I couldn’t see
where Paul was bleeding from, but since he had yet to land a punch, I had to
assume it was his. They were wrestling now…admittedly not Paul’s strong suit. I
could see him scrambling to get his bearings. He was using his left arm, trying
to pin his opponent as the right arm covered and tried to protect his ribs.
This round was lost already. It was just about not tapping out or passing out
now until the clock ran out. I closed my eyes again and waited for the bell.

The sound of the bell made my eyes pop
open. I watched as the trainer helped Paul over to his side. His lip was split
open, explaining the blood on the floor. He stood, unsteadily as the trainer
poured water into his mouth and then went to work on the cut. The excitement
was gone out of Paul’s eyes already, but the fire was still there. He wasn’t
ready to be counted out yet. That right arm pushing tight against his side was
what hurt me the most to watch and when the next round began; I closed my eyes
once more and concentrated on the sounds of the blood-thirsty crowd around me
and the desperate cloying of Paul’s sister against my arm.

The second round was pretty much a repeat
of the first…what I saw of it anyways. Paul was able to stay on his feet, but
Trent didn’t relent on the assault. He busted out the roundhouse kicks and
landed at least one on Paul’s wretchedly abused right side. Paul threw out a
couple of kicks of his own, but they were wild thrusts of his legs and feet and
they didn’t seem to go anywhere. When the blessed buzzer sounded at last I
literally had no idea if I could make it another three rounds.

I let myself look at Paul. I had never
wanted to cause a scene so badly in my life. I saw a scene from a B grade movie
playing out in my head. I would stand up and scream out his name. The film
would slow down and one frame after the other would show the white towel in
various stages of flight as it made its way over the top of the octagon and
landed in the floor at Paul’s feet. He would come out into the audience, take
me into his arms and….the bell signaled round three.

Paul had changed up his tactics this
round. He came out as the aggressor blocking with his left and throwing punches
with his right. I can only guess that because of the pain on his right side,
the normal force behind the upper cut he landed on Trent’s chin wasn’t there.
Trent’s head snapped back, but only slightly. He recovered quickly but as he
came back towards Paul he got a foot in the center of his gut and he went
stumbling back. While he was still trying to catch his breath, Paul was able to
land a right hook to Trent’s head that he never saw coming. Trent was dazed and
although he managed to stay on his feet he finally got to feel the brunt of Paul’s
fury as he unleashed a flurry of hooks, jabs and uppercuts that had his head
snapping back and forth like it was attached by a spring. I thought it had to
be time for the buzzer just about the time Trent spun around and his foot
connected with the back of Paul’s head knocking him forward. The crowd was
screaming so loudly over the illegal strike that the bell was almost inaudible.
Paul took the water from his trainer’s hand and squirted it across his face and
over the back of his head, and then I watched him wipe the fingers of his left
hand across his chest, leaving a trail of dark, crimson blood in their wake. I
think I heard the announcer say something about Trent losing a point for the
illegal kick before the crowd volume once again almost exceeded what my ear
drums could stand and the bell sounded once more.

 
“I
don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Marie whispered.