Page 33 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus
“What could change her mind?”
“You could stop accepting less than what you both deserve.” Cassius’s green eyes are serious. “Sometimes you have to fight for what matters. Not against her, but for her—for the relationship you both want, but she’s too scared to reach for.”
Thrax nods agreement. “Fear makes people do foolish things. The question is whether you’re willing to risk everything to show her that the right person amplifies who you are instead of shrinking you.”
“In the arena, I never surrendered when victory mattered,” I say slowly. “But this feels different. More complex.”
“Because the stakes are higher,” Varro observes. “In combat, you risked your life. Here, you’re risking your heart.”
The truth of it settles over me like armor—heavy but necessary protection for what comes next.
“She’s afraid of losing herself,” Cassius continues. “Show her that loving you makes her more of who she is, not less.”
“And if she still chooses fear over courage?”
“Then you’ll know you tried everything,” Thrax says simply. “But my money’s on her being stronger than her fears, once she realizes what she’s about to throw away.”
Their words follow me back to my quarters, where I spend the dark hours staring at the ceiling and acknowledging what I’ve been avoiding for days. I’m tired of this—tired of emotional games, tired of pretending that physical connection without emotional honesty is enough. Like my brothers, I crave partnership, real intimacy, a love that’s all or nothing. I wanteverything. I’m tired of accepting scraps.
In the arena, survival meant never giving up on what mattered most—life, freedom, the slim hope that someday the fighting would end. Those instincts served me well for decades of mortal combat, and Nicole matters more than my own life ever did. She’s worth fighting for, even if the enemy I’m facing is her own fear.
The gladiator who survived the Colosseum by refusing to yield doesn’t surrender just because the battle moved from sand to heart. Thrax is right. Some fights are too important to lose through inaction.
Tomorrow, I’ll demand honesty—from her and from myself. No more careful diplomacy, no more respecting boundaries that serve no one’s best interests. If she wants casual, she’ll have to explain why. If she’s afraid, she’ll have to name her fears.
And if she chooses to end this rather than risk vulnerability, at least I’ll know I didn’t lose her through cowardice.
The decision settles in my chest like armor clicking into place before a crucial battle. Better to risk losing her by being honest than lose myself by accepting less than what we both deserve.
For the first time in days, the storm inside me stills. Resolve spreads through my body the way strength used to fill everymuscle before stepping into the arena—terrifying, yet clarifying. I know what I want. I know what I will fight for. And the man who once survived the roar of the Colosseum refuses to shrink now, not when love is the prize.
Dawn finds me in the training yard earlier than usual, working through forms with the kind of focused intensity I once reserved for preparation before major arena bouts. My brothers arrive for their own morning routines and give me a wide berth—they recognize the signs of a gladiator preparing for battle.
By the time the sanctuary comes fully alive with morning activities, I’ve made peace with my decision. Fear has governed this situation long enough—mine and hers.
Time to discover what lies on the other side of honesty. Time to find out if the woman who’s been learning to fight for herself is ready to fight forus.
The morning sun catches the windows of the guest quarters, and somewhere behind one of them, Nicole is probably getting ready for another day of careful distance and emotional walls.
Not today. Today, we face this honestly, whatever the cost. The Colosseum sand may be gone, but the battle is real—and I will not yield until I know whether love can survive the fight.
Chapter Sixteen
Quintus
I rise from bed with determination burning in my chest. I’ve been patient long enough. In the arena, reading opponents meant survival—understanding their motivations, recognizing patterns that revealed intentions. Nicole is protecting herself from something, and that something is us.
The training yard empties as participants head toward lunch, but I remain, watching Nicole gather her things with determined efficiency. She’s perfecting the art of being present while remaining untouchable. Patience has carried me as far as it can—I won’t wait in silence any longer.
“We need to talk. Really talk.”
My voice, though low, stops her. The other women continue toward the dining hall, their laughter and conversation fading as they leave us alone.
“Can’t it wait? I have assignments due, and Professor Muransky is expecting my grant proposal revisions by tonight.” She’s already backing away, but I shake my head.
“No. It can’t wait.”
There’s something in my tone—the firmness I once used in the arena when survival demanded action—that makes her pause. This isn’t the patient, accommodating man who’s been letting her set all the terms. This is the gladiator who survived years ofmortal combat by never surrendering what mattered most. And today, what matters most is her.
