Page 58 of Between the Ropes

My voice is ragged, nearly a roar, and before I know it, security is rushing toward me, at least a dozen of them surrounding me, hands up, trying to calm me down. I’m breathing hard, my hairwild, my face a mask of blood, rage filling every inch of me. I drop the chair, my body sagging as they close in, guiding me up the ramp, back toward the exit, away from the ring, away from everything.

And with each step, the weight of my decisions settles in, crushing me, suffocating me.

43

I sit outside the arena, the roar of the crowd fading into the night, replaced by the quiet hum of people trickling out through the doors. The neon signs above the entrance flicker, casting a dull glow over the pavement, reflecting off discarded food wrappers and crushed soda cups left behind by the rush of fans. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat, popcorn, and the distant burn of fireworks from the closing moments of the show.

I can’t bring myself to go in.

I couldn’t watch him. I couldn’t bear to see Ryan in that ring, knowing everything that’s passed between us. So instead, I sit here, hands folded in my lap, trying to breathe past the ache pressing down on my chest. It won’t budge. It just sits there, heavy, unmovable, like I’m suffocating under my own thoughts.I don’t know what I’m waiting for—some kind of clarity, some kind of sign that I made the right decision.

But all I feel is emptiness.

Time slips away. Minutes. Maybe hours. I don’t even know anymore. The energy that once vibrated through the arena is now a distant memory, a ghost of excitement that no longer belongs to me. Eventually, I pull out my phone and order an Uber. It feels like closing a door, like a final step in walking away from everything I thought tonight was supposed to be.

The drive back to my apartment is eerily quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the space. City lights blur past the windows, glowing streaks of red and white, but I can’t focus on any of it. My thoughts are tangled, knotted so tightly that I don’t know where one ends and another begins.

Did I make the right decision? Did I really have to leave like that, cut things off so completely?

The worst part is knowing that I had no choice. He didn’t give me one.

Ryan made it clear—I wasn’t worth enough to fight for.

And now, I’m left to sit with this hollow ache in my chest, the painful realization that maybe I meant nothing to him at all.

The Uber slows to a stop, and I thank the driver quietly before stepping out. The air is cooler here, a slight breeze brushing against my skin, but it does nothing to settle the unease inside me. When I unlock my apartment door, I hesitate. The space beyond it feels different. It feels... wrong.

I step inside, closing the door behind me, and everything is too still. Too quiet. I barely notice the small, familiar details—the jacket I left draped over the couch, the pile of laundry I never got around to folding. It’s like I don’t belong here anymore.

Because I don’t.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I was supposed to be out there, building a new life, finally getting the break I deserved. I was supposed to be thriving, proving to myself that I was strong enough to start over. But instead, I’m here, back at square one, all because of him.

Because I was stupid enough to believe—even for a second—that Ryan Pierce could actually care about me.

I toss my bag down and sink onto the couch, my legs folding beneath me. My phone is still clutched in my hand, and before I can stop myself, I pull up the match results.

My heart stutters when I see that he lost.

A strange, bitter pang shoots through me, like a punch to the gut. I should feel nothing. I should be indifferent. But instead, my stomach twists, and an ache settles in my chest that I can’t shake.

Why does this still hurt?

After everything he put me through, after all the ways he made it clear that I wasn’t a priority, why does it feel like I just lost something, too? Would it have been easier if he had won? If he had walked out of that ring with his hand raised, with a cocky smirk, proving to me that he didn’t need me? Maybe. But this? This feels worse. Because I know what that loss means to him.

We were supposed to celebrate tonight. Together. And now?

Now, I don’t even know where he is.

I scrub a hand down my face, frustration bubbling up, mixing with the sadness until I don’t know what to do with myself. I stand abruptly, moving toward my bedroom, needing the comfort of my bed, needing to pull the covers over my head and block out the world. But when I get there, it doesn’t help.

The sheets are cold. The bed feels foreign. It doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

Nothing does.

I try to tell myself that this is for the best. That I did what I had to do. That if Ryan had really wanted me, he wouldn’thave let me go. But the thoughts feel flimsy, weak, as the anger simmering beneath my skin rises, bubbling over in the form of tears.

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