Summer

Chapter 21

We pull up to a rusty warehouse in the middle of nowhere. I'm not sure that we're even in Charleston anymore. On top of that, Noah hasn't said one word to me, let alone, look at me.

"Where are we?" I ask him.

This place looks like a dump. Its glass windows are shattered and there are smudges of dried up smoke running along the sides of the building.

"You don't get to ask questions, Sophia. It's part of our little deal," Noah says as I put the car in park. I shut the engine off, but I'm too anxious to remove my seatbelt. When Noah gets out of the car, he comes over to the driver's side and opens the door for me.

"Ready?" he asks as he reaches for my hand. I unfasten my seatbelt and take it, but hesitantly.

Standing outside the entrance is a tall and extremely muscular bouncer wearing all black and collecting cash from people walking in. As we approach the line to enter, I feel my heart begin to race. I'm really nervous. I don't know what to expect, and everyone around us seems majorly intoxicated. Like, the amount of weed consuming the air right now is enough to make me pass out. Plus, Noah and I have got to be the youngest ones here.

"Don't leave my side," Noah quickly turns his body to me and whispers before looking back at the bouncer. "Collins, Noah," he says, and the bouncer scans the white piece of paper in his hands.

The bouncer raises his head at me. "What about her?"

"She's with me."

"Sorry, man. We're at full capacity."

Noah's not one to beg, and he's definitely not one to take 'no' for an answer, so, this should be interesting.

"Listen, man, she's my girlfriend. How much to get her in?" Wait a minute, did Noah Collins just call me his girlfriend? The sound of that word coming from his mouth brings butterflies to my stomach and heat to my body. It sends my mind into fantasy mode, and I start to picture what my life with Noah would be like.

I'm pulled away from my imaginative thoughts when I think about whether or not Noah is actually capable of letting a girl into his life. And loving her.

Ugh, why am I even thinking like this?

"$100," the bouncer says.

Noah doesn't bargain and instead whips out five $20 bills. I don't allow myself to question where he got that kind of money from. The bouncer takes it from his grip and motions us to walk in.

Still holding hands, Noah and I join an audience that surrounds two shirtless, muscular guys dripping in sweat. Each guy is in a fighting stance, ready to knock the other one out. Half the room is chanting 'Mickey', while the other half is chanting 'Ace'. They're both pretty battered, but Mickey looks more bruised up. When the bell dings, both competitors come at each other until Ace takes the knockout with just one powerful swing, ending the fight abruptly.

"And we have a winner!" some guy pretending to be a referee calls out as he grabs Ace's hand and raises it to the ceiling.

"What are we doing here, Noah?" I ask again in the hopes that he'll detect the worry in my voice and finally fess up.

"I'm going to finish what I started tonight," he tells me, escalating my distress even more. My eyes dart from side-to-side because he's officially lost me.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask, even though I think I know the answer. He's going to fight.

I take his silence as my chance to say something else. "Noah, don't. Please. I'm begging you." But, he doesn't look at me. He's too focused on the ring that appears before him.

"Next up, we have Noah Collins from Charleston fighting Vance Tanner from Myrtle Beach," the pretend referee announces. "Fighters, prepare to take the ring in 20 minutes."

"Come with me," Noah says as he pulls me into a corner, away from the crowd. He's not even acknowledging the fact that I don't want him to do this. His mind is already made up. He's going to fight whether I like it or not.

Selfish bastard.

My back is to the wall as Noah stands in front of me. He looks at me intently before grabbing the ends of his shirt and pulling the fabric over his head, displaying his 6-pack abs. Is he trying to torture me?

I can finally make out the tattoo on his arm. It's not a sentence or a word; but, someone's...initials? It says: C.E.C.

"Take this," he says as he hands me his shirt. He tousles his hair so that it's raised and messy. His skin glows, and there's no fear or apprehensiveness whatsoever behind his beautiful blue eyes.

He whips out two protection gel pads from the backpack that I just realized he's carrying and positions them over his knuckles. He then pulls out a pair of white hand wraps that he places over the pads.

"I'm not letting you do this," I say, grabbing the wraps from him. For some reason, the idea of Noah in pain makes me want to vomit. Don't get me wrong, I can't stand him 99 percent of the time — and, man, does he know how to get under my skin — but I fear for him right now. And it's coming from a place of genuine concern.

He sees the worry in my eyes, which prompts him to do something that I wasn't expecting. He cups my face with his hands.

"Hey." He rubs this thumb against my cheek. "I'll be fine."

I close my eyes and a teardrop quickly runs down my face, hitting my lips. Noah wipes the wet stain on my cheek with his thumb and then does something that almost brings me to my knees. He dries the teardrop on my lip with a soft yet meaningful kiss.

"Fighters, please begin to take your positions," the loudspeaker announces.

Noah and I pull away from each other, but I don't feel awkward or embarrassed by what just happened. Something about it felt right. I wonder if Noah felt it, too.

I look at the crowd, which is now bigger than before, and turn back to Noah, who swallows hard.

"Wait for me here," he says, planting a single kiss to my forehead before taking off.