I'm still going to prove that I deserved the Black Scorpion's time, his attention, his respect.

I'm still going to prove to myself that I am good fucking enough.

I'm going to be accepted by the whole goddamned world even if I wasn't accepted by my own dad.

I'm going to be a legend.

And a legend will never be gone, even when six feet under.

And a legend gets the girl.

A legend wins the girl.

I'm a fighter and I'm fighting tomorrow night.

But fuck my life, I don't feel like fighting when I think of my girl not backing me up.

I grab the tennis ball again and try to give it shape, frustrated that I can't, when there's a knock on the door.

I set it down and open, and Riptide stands out in the hall.

I stalk back in the room and leave the door open behind me, then watch him from across the room as he shuts the door and follows me inside.

"I'm sorry about your father."

I shrug. "Yeah, me too."

He seems to feel the need to specify: "I'm sorry for you."

I lean on the wall and cross my arms. "I've been alone my whole life. I don't need anyone to win."

"Yes you do, and you have her. Reese let us know the day you left whose side she's on. And it sure as fuck ain't mine. She'll be in her seat on the front fucking row on your left. Right next to the woman I love, who will be cheering for me."

I clench my jaw, my chest expanding painfully as I process this. "She said that?"

"Crystal clear. And I respect that." He nods, then shoots me a warning look. "I won't make it easy for you tomorrow, Maverick. I'm bringing my A game."

My fighter instinct engages, and I push away from the wall and brace my feet apart. "I'm bringing all the game I've got."

He grins then, and we're back-our competitive juices flowing. He raises his fist, and I instinctively take a step forward and raise mine. We bump knuckles. And it's on.

It's. Fucking. On.

"I'm still bringing it home, Tate," I warn.

"Bring it home, Maverick. I'm still gonna lay it harder on you than anyone." He steps closer and raises his brows warningly. "And just so you know, whatever it is you think you're fighting for-Avenger is my legacy. Not your father's. Mine." He grabs me by the back of the neck and looks me in the eye, squeezing in some sort of combined threat and encouragement. "You're a good kid, Maverick. If you're going to take the ring, you're going to need to fight to the teeth for it. And if you best me tomorrow, fair and square like your father never did, I'm going to be proud. I'm going to give something back to this ring before I go. I'm going to leave them you."

He walks to the door, and I growl, "I'm game."

He grabs the doorknob but waits a moment. "You're in an identity crisis. Who you think you are and where you come from versus who you can be and where you're going. I can relate."

I laugh. "How can you ever relate to that?"

"I'm bipolar." He looks me in the eye, unflinching. "So yeah, I can relate with the monsters inside. Mine's in my head. Yours is in your blood. Don't let it win."

He jerks the door open, and adds, "That's our real fight. The one that lasts a lifetime. The hardest to win. You win that, a fight like tomorrow's is a piece of cake."

I HAD TO call her. I had to see her face. I had to know that what Tate said was true.

As soon as she says she can come over, I open the door of my suite and wait for her. I hear the elevator ting, and see her step out. She stops when she sees me, and I watch her come to me, every step just a little faster, until she throws herself into my arms.

"You've been in New York for a while and you didn't call me?" she asks, hurt, clutching me closer as she whispers against my neck.

I breathe in her hair and speak against the top of her head, stroking a hand down the back of her head. "I'm sorry, I needed to be alone. I'm so used to being alone."

"But I'm on your side," she protests, chiding me with a scowl.

I nod and scoop her up, bring her in, and shut the door. She's in my corner. And all I want to do is hold her to my chest tonight.

FORTY-THREE.

THAT MORNING.

Reese I peel my eyes open early, at around 4:30 a.m., when I hear the shower running.

I open the bathroom door a little bit and peer into the stall. He's soaping himself up in all the glory of glory itself. I am so very addicted to this man.

My mouth waters as I take in his wet, golden muscles. "Are you going to let me soap you up?" I hear myself ask, sex vixen that I woke up being today. "Because I have never, ever done that in my life and I just added it to my bucket list of things to do before I die."

His eyes go dark and look a little possessive as he reaches out and takes my hand, urging me inside. "What else is on that list?"

"I just made it up." I smile as I take a few steps toward him and the water spray. He's so beautiful. One touch of my fingers on his wet skin and the cock that started hardening when I peered inside fills up completely.

I start to blush when he looks at me naked. Have I ever stood naked before him for so long, completely naked, with this much light? "What is this? Are you blushing?" He lifts my face by the chin. "I appreciate looking at you like this," he assures me tenderly, running his wet hands over my body.

"I'm realizing." I laugh a little.

I'm hot with embarrassment and trembling in excitement as he reaches out and runs a bar of soap down my arm. He soaps me up, every spot possible except between my legs until, point blank, weak with anticipation, I hold on to his shoulders and bite down on his wet tendon as I part my legs a little.

He laughs softly in my ear. "Did I miss here?" he teases me, running the bar over my sex.

I blush and nod, wrapping my arm tighter around his broad shoulders. "I'm so reckless with you," I whisper in his ear.

"I thought you didn't like it," he says, lifting an eyebrow as he turns me to the spray.

"I kind of do." I reach out to stroke him as I kiss his neck and soap him up next.

We end up transferring the soap between each other until we're both lathered, until I don't know who's soaping who, where my hands are, where his hands are, but the sensations are coming from all over the place as we fool around in the shower.

When he finally brings us out of the shower, he grabs a towel and wraps it around my shoulders, then he grabs me by the hips and lifts me.

He stands in the middle of the bathroom, lowering me down on him as he kisses me. I catch the reflection of us in the mirror on the side-unexpectedly. His every muscle cut and flexing. His powerful legs, his abs and ass as he thrusts, his arms and chest and shoulders as he lifts me and lowers me. And me, so pale, my blonde hair wet and streaking down my back, the towel sliding down my body-his cock submerging into the pink, shiny, swollen lips between my legs.

I'm eroticized by the sight of us together because I've seen movies, I've seen porn, I've seen pictures and art, but I have never responded to the sight of a couple making love the way I respond to seeing Maverick spreading me open as he lowers me down on him.

I see myself, and I don't look like the girl I saw in the mirror several months ago. I'm not self-conscious. I'm sexy. I'm woman. I'm wanted. I'm made perfectly for him.

Gasping his name, aware of the intensity of my feelings, I'm the first to come, but he comes as hard as always, buttocks flexing, body pumping as he nibbles my neck.

I'm shy when I notice he catches my gaze in the mirror, and I whisper, smiling, "Aside from being for my purely selfish purposes . . . that was for luck."

He mock-frowns at me, as if terribly disappointed. "And for love?"

I nod, grinning happily.

He still holds me aloft with one arm and cups the back of my head with the other, looking at me as if I'm the eighth wonder of the world. "You're a shot of pure fucking heaven in my veins."

FORTY-FOUR.

IT'S TIME

Maverick It's a half hour to the match and Oz won't open the door to his room. "Oz!" I bang the door. I jerk on the doorknob and bang harder, resisting the urge to crash through with my shoulder.

Three minutes later, I come back with a member of the hotel staff, who unlocks the door.

He's in the small sitting area of his room, bottles all over the place.

"Oz, Jesus." I grab the bottles and start tossing them away, then I go and stand before him. He won't even look me in the eye, his bloodshot eyes staring past my shoulder.

"Oz, we have a shot tonight." I grab a glass of water and bring it over. He won't take it. Sighing, I set it aside, drop to my haunches, and level my nose with his. "I'm fighting tonight, and I need you in my corner."

"What do you need me for?" he scoffs.

"I need you in my corner, Oz."

"Get out."

"We have a shot, Oz."

"We?"

"We. Look, you want to prove something? Here's your chance."

Oz doesn't get up. He shifts forward and stares at the floor. "Men like us, Maverick, we don't get the good stuff."

"How do you know if you don't make a grab for it?"

"Because I've lived longer, that's why. I tried shooting for it plenty of times."

"Oz. Look-"

"Don't sermon me, Maverick! You and the Tates. You and your girl. You're not an unwanted anymore. Like me," he growls, frowning.

"Oz. Fuck, man. I found this girl. And she's lovely. And she gets me. And I get her. And I want to be with her. I'm crazy about her in a way I never thought I'd be. I've been training like mad for tonight. Just one night, Oz."

"You've been taking me for granted, Maverick."

I stand and curl my fists at my sides. I lower my voice. "I don't take anything for granted. I know better."

"You don't need me anymore. You got me because no one good enough would take you on. Now you got something better. You got Tate as a mentor."

"Except I'll never forget you were the one on my team when nobody else wanted in."

"Your best buddy Tate's got an in now," he says resentfully. "You can get anyone you want at this point."

"Then fucking realize it's me who's standing right here asking you to be in my corner."

He shakes his head and wipes his face, then folds his arms, and he starts crying.

I groan and drop back to my haunches. "Don't do this to me, Oz."

"Just fucking go."