Page 32 of A Promise of Forever
"Yes, I used to." Forrest's voice carries a hint of nostalgia. "When I was younger, before the business required all my attention."
"What did it feel like?"
Forrest hums thoughtfully, considering how to explain. "Freedom. It was one of the few ways I was given to release my emotions, emotions that would get me killed or locked up anywhere else in society."
"Because you wanted to hurt people?"
"No." The lack of hesitation in his answer just makes this all that more confusing. "Because I didn't know how to control my urges when I was young. I didn't understand what my anger meant or why I couldn't just react to things when everyone else in public spaces could express themselves freely. Valla are expected to maintain perfect control at all times, or we're labeled as dangerous and unstable. This ring gave me the opportunity to figure out how to channel those instincts without destroying my life."
I process that, trying to reconcile the controlled man in front of me with someone who needed an outlet for uncontrolled violence. "By hurting people? I don't know why that helps."
Forrest lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders falling in what seems like resignation. "Inside these four corners, the only pain I felt was what I allowed myself to feel. I got to fight my demons in a controlled space where everyone involved chose to be there. Where the violence had rules and limits and consent."
I frown, thinking about all the Alphas in my life who used violence without any of those boundaries. "I wish more Alphas chose this route instead of..." I trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
A rumbling purr filters into the air as Forrest sits on the edge of the stage, then pulls me close so I'm standing between his legs. His hands settle on my waist, his thumbs slipping just beneath my shirt to run across my skin.
"Sterling, this doesn't fix people. If an Alpha or Beta or Valla chooses to use their emotional outrage on someone without consent, that can't be fixed by just stepping into a ring. They would demolish their opponent because they're not looking for fair competition. They would circumvent the rules because they don't respect boundaries. They'd be out for blood rather than release."
He pauses, making sure I'm following his logic. "A space like this only works for people who want to find better ways to channel their nature. For people who need an outlet but respect consent and rules. It would never work for someone like Wilson because he's not looking for an outlet. He's looking for victims."
I stare at Forrest, the distinction crystallizing in my mind with painful clarity. Wilson and all my ex-Alphas willingly chose to be aggressive. They made sure I hurt and they enjoyed causing that pain. It wasn't about needing release or struggling with uncontrolled emotions. It was about power and cruelty for its own sake.
Whereas Forrest is saying that this fight ring, this controlled violence, is for people who just need something more than what polite society allows. People who want to do better but need help learning how.
"I'm not sure if I completely get it," I admit honestly, "but I'm more comfortable now than I was. Can we go upstairs? There's too much open space down here."
The admission feels vulnerable. I should probably be braver, should push myself to stay in the uncomfortable space longer. But Forrest's warm laugh tells me I have nothing to be ashamed of.
"Come on, let's get set up in the box so the fighters can have their moment in the limelight."
I take his hand gratefully, letting him lead me toward a staircase I didn't notice before. An imposing Alpha stands guard at the door, his muscular frame blocking the entrance until he sees Forrest approaching. Then he immediately opens the door for us and bows his head in a gesture of respect that feels foreign to witness.
I'm not used to seeing people defer to anyone, especially not with the kind of genuine reverence this man shows Forrest. Iscurry up the steps, suddenly eager to get back to the controlled environment of the viewing box.
Just as the door closes behind us, chaos spills into the space we just left. By the time I reach the top step and enter the viewing box from this morning, I'm breathing harder than the climb should warrant. Anxiety and relief war in my chest as I take in the familiar space. People are setting up equipment, adjusting microphones and checking sound levels, everything so methodical and professional like it's just another weekday night atThe Forge.
Forrest steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my chest, his purr rumbling to life. The sound and the pressure of his embrace help me relax incrementally, my racing heart slowly returning to normal.
"Let me show you how everything works so you can be comfortable, okay?" Forrest murmurs against my ear.
"What do you mean?" I'm not sure what there is to show beyond the couch and the small room I hid in before.
"I always thought the comforts of this space were excessive," Forrest admits, guiding me toward a control panel I didn't notice last time. "But I guess I just needed someone special to help me understand why my father built it this way."
He shows me buttons and switches, explaining their functions with patient detail. "My father would bring his Omega here when business required his presence at the fights. I can only imagine how disorienting it could be for an Omega in a space designed for violence. So this space is outfitted with noise-canceling technology and light dimming options."
Forrest gestures toward the small room where I hid. "That room back there? It used to be my father's nest away from home. Jesus Christ, I never understood why he insisted on all these accommodations until just now."
I just stand there, processing the implications of what he's telling me. Forrest's father built this entire private box with features specifically for an Omega's comfort. Something about Forrest being as clueless as I feel makes me smile.
He might be a big bad Valla but it's the small moments of revelation or confusion as he tries to understand me that makes it all better.
"I keep telling myself this world isn't made for an Omega," Forrest continues, his voice rough with emotion. "That I don't want you to see this side of me or understand what I really do. And I know it's only been a few days, Sterling, but..." He pauses, and I can feel his heart racing against my back. "My father adapted his world for his Omega. Made space for him in places where Omegas weren't supposed to exist. Fuck, I'm going to do the same for you."
Tears spring to my eyes without warning, emotion overwhelming my carefully maintained composure. "Valla?" I twist around to look up at him.
Forrest grins, that beautiful expression that transforms his face from dangerous to devastating, and cups my face in his hands. "I'm going to fall in love with you, Sterling King. Fuck, I think I'm already falling."
