The Last Round (2 page)

“Rose Jefferson of LA Weekly.” I recognize her name and the Vlog. LA Weekly is a very popular gossip video blog. She has millions of followers and viewers on YouTube. Last I heard she was offered her own television show. Yet, I’m stunned to see she’s the face behind it all. “Julian, everyone wants to know how things are at home?”

A sharp breath clogs in the middle of my throat.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

I breathe through my building impatience, just as I was taught. It’s something I’m learning, something I’m trying to control: my anger, my temper. I allow her to continue, because if I utter a single word, it’s not going to be nice. “I’m sure you’re well aware of all the tabloid articles regarding you and your wife. It is said after nine years of marriage, she has finally left you due to your alcohol and drug addiction, history of partying, and being unfaithful. Do you have any comments?”

Jonathan, my friend and kick-ass manager leans into the mic. “Julian’s personal life will not be discussed. We are strictly answering questions regarding his upcoming fight—”

I place my hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, stopping him mid-sentence. His brows pinch and I nod my head indicating I got this. He covers the mic with his hand and stands, whispering, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. I can handle this,” I say. He steps back, shaking his head.

I lean forward, taking in the little brunette and looking her straight in the eyes. “My wife and I are doing just fine. We’re working things out, and although it’s going to be a long road, she has not and will not leave me. We have a pact, commitment, and understanding toward one another.” Peeling my eyes from her, I look around at the others. “Thank you all for coming out, I hope I answered enough questions, but as you all know, I have a wife to go home to.” I give them the charming Julian Rios grin and step away.

“Julian, Julian!” Reporters yell out as I turn from the panel.

The brunette’s screechy tone is louder than the others as she yells out, “According to your wife, she’s already filed for divorce!”

Midstride I stop in place and slowly turn around. “Come again?”

“Let’s go.” Jonathan pulls my arm, tugging me away from the masses.

The reporter waves a magazine in the air.

“Your wife states it herself in an interview with Evon Magazine!” she exclaims, the pages flipping along one another as she continues to taunt me.

1, 2, 3. . . .

I jump off the stage, my shoes thumping against the tile surface as I walk up to her. Her brows shoot up at my lethal approach. I don’t give a fuck about the cameras snapping or the reporters vigorously scribbling down notes of my reaction.

I snatch the article out of her hand.

I’m instantly hit with a whirl of pride, love, and guilt.

There she is. My wife on the cover. She’s staring at me, those stunning brown eyes with a sparkle of gold flecks. Her chocolate-colored hair with streaks of caramel highlights are in waves, draping over her shoulders. She’s wearing a white mini dress, which heightens the natural golden tan of her smooth skin—and hugs the curves of her body. Her pouty lips are what stand out the most—they’re stained in a classic red, inviting any man or woman to admire her stunning seductive grin.

She’s so fucking beautiful and she’s mine.

It then hits me. I haven’t seen my wife in two months. Sixty-two days without a letter, a phone call or even a photo, and here she is, right at my fingertips. So close, yet so far.

I swallow as my gaze scrolls over the subtitles.

“Rising star, Natalia Rios, speaks about her role as the leading actress in the upcoming movie,
Perfectly Damaged.
”

She fucking got it. My chest fills with pride.
Damn
. She got the role.

I should’ve been there when she heard the news. We would have celebrated with a bottle of the best champagne and I would’ve surprised her by making reservations at her favorite restaurant. But I wasn’t there, as always.

Moistening my lips, I read the rest of the cover.

“Rios also discusses her life and marriage with Professional Boxer and Middle Weight Champion of the World, Julian Rios, and her thoughts on filing for divorce.”

I was only seventeen when my mother died of lung cancer. I remember feeling empty, numb. I truly felt like the world was out to get me and I was left stranded. After a while, I gradually recovered, the pain will always remain, it will always linger, but the hate I felt for the world was gradually, yet quickly, filled with love, love for Natalia. Because of her, the pain of losing the one person who meant everything to me soon faded.

I had
never
felt that way again. Until now.

A touch on my shoulder forces me back to the present. Head feeling heavy, I manage to lift my chin and look over. Jonathan is behind me and the expression written on his face gives him away. He knew about this—he knew and didn’t say a word. My agony slowly rises to anger and each second I stare at him, I’m growing fucking livid.

“Calm down. Let’s go to the car and talk,” he mumbles through a forced smile, loud enough so only I can hear. I shrug him off my shoulder, shove the magazine back into the reporter’s hand and ease my way through the crowd. My expression is stone cold and I’m certain every paparazzi and tabloid captures it all, but I don’t care.

Jonathan slides into the limo and sits across from me. The driver shuts the door, closing out the growing noise from outside.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he finally says.

“Which way?”

“Like you want to jump across and strangle me.”

“It was a thought that crossed my mind,” I manage through my locked jaw.

“I’m not your enemy, Julian.”

“You knew, huh?” Brows wrinkling, I lean over, elbows to knees as my hands press together. “While I was in rehab, on the days you visited me, I had asked you over and over again why Natalia wasn’t answering my calls or my letters. You’d say she was busy, or away on a photo shoot, or you’d spiel some bullshit at me!”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do!”

He relaxes his features. “Look at you, Julian.” He points a finger. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything right away.”

Unable to find oxygen, I loosen the knot on my tie. “You didn’t want to say anything for your own selfish reasons. I was bombarded by that reporter.” I point toward the window. “I didn’t know what the hell was coming. How do you think it makes me feel, or even look to the public, when I’m blindsided with the news that my wife want to divorce me? And not by Natalia,
no
, but by some brunette reporter bitch who’ll probably post my entire reaction within the next ten minutes on her blog!” I toss my hands in the air, “Which, by the way, will probably go viral before we get to our next destination.”

“Natalia wanted to talk to you in person. It wasn’t my place.”

My head snaps his way. “So you’ve talked to her?” Heart rate spiking, my throat dries. “Then it’s true? She wants to leave me?”

“Julian, listen.”

“Take me to her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Take me to her.” My words are strong, urgent, and somewhat needy. But I’m angry, hurt and desperate. We’re
not
getting a divorce. I just need to see her. The moment she sees me, I know all her doubt will just wash away. It’s the way we are. It’s the way it’s always been. The way it needs to be.

Natalia

I END THE
call with my agent and blankly stare at my phone. I exhale a sharp breath when a loud repetitive knock bangs at the hotel door. It takes me a few seconds to compose myself and gain the strength I need to face whoever’s on the other side of that door. I seriously do not want to deal with anything or anyone at the moment. I’m exhausted and tired, and most of all, I have guilt settling deep within me.

My agent has informed me Julian is out of rehab and he had a live press conference. I watched the entire session and my stomach sunk when I saw what that stupid reporter did to him. If I would have known he was released early, I would’ve been there.

Bare feet carrying me to the door, I peek through the peephole and see Jonathan’s face. I hesitate to open. I’m so angry with him. He told me he would let me know when Julian would be released, and he never did. I take another deep breath, unlock the door, and swing it open. “Jonathan, how dare you do that to—”

Julian steps forward and I’m instantly disoriented. My chest squeezes so tight, I can’t find my next breath, if I can even breathe at all. My stomach flips and I instantly feel sick. We both just stare at one another.

He looks good, real good. Healthy, sober. Two months in rehab did well for him, for now. His hair is shorter, but still long enough for me to run my fingers through, like I used to most nights before bed. The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned and his black silk tie is loose, hanging from his neck. His shoulders are wide, yet slightly hunched over—it’s his usual posture that shows he’s tense.

My initial reaction is to reach for him and hold him, bury my face into his chest and just sob, because I love him so much. I miss him, but most of all because I’m so damn angry with him. I tear my gaze away so he can’t see the tears forming and step back, allowing him in.

I take in his long legs as he smoothly strides in and passes me. I inhale the cologne I purchased for him several times. It’s my absolute favorite; the crisp clean scent of
Aqua Di Gio
invades all of my senses. This is going to be harder than I ever imagined. I look up at Jonathan, he mouths, “I’m sorry.” I nod to show it isn’t his fault, because it truly isn’t. This was bound to happen. But I’m not ready for it just yet. I guess no one can ever be ready for something like this.

I shut my eyes and close the door. As many times as I was alone with my husband in the last twelve years, I never felt more nervous, unsteady, and exhausted with all the scenarios running through my head, as I do now.

Gathering the courage, I finally turn to face him, but only find his back. He’s staring out the oversized window, his hands shoved in his pockets. He’s wearing a black Armani suit, which perfectly molds to his body. He’s always at a height advantage, standing almost six feet tall, but today, I’ve never felt as small in a space with him as I do now. I take one step forward and it feels heavy, wobbly even. We’re quiet for what seems like an eternity. I manage to make it to the sofa and just sit, waiting. Julian continues to stare out the window; I jump at the sound of his gruff voice when he finally speaks.

“Do you remember when I had my first pro fight?” he asks. The waiver and uncertainty of his voice breaks another piece of me.

“Yes,” I croak. How can I ever forget? It was the night he proposed.

“It was over ten years ago,” he continues, his tone so low and vulnerable, which only digs the knife in my chest deeper. “I remember how nervous I was. Not because of who I was fighting, but because I knew this was it. It was finally a chance to prove myself as a fighter, as a man. I wanted to keep that promise to my mom that I’d continue to make her proud. It was the night I had the chance to prove everything I could bring, so that I could make a better life for me, for you, for us.”

He goes silent for a few seconds and then continues. “I gave it my all in the ring that night. I dominated each round, and before the clock ran out, seconds before the fourth round ended, I thought of you and how much you were a major part of my life. I thought of how much I wanted you to be a major part of me for the rest of my life. That’s when I went in and gave it my all, getting the knockout.” He lightly chuckles, but not out of arrogance, more of a humble laugh, remembering how far he’s come. “I was all over the media as an up and coming fighter.”

Julian turns, I can feel him staring at me. I wet my lips and look up, our eyes meeting one another’s. My chest rips just a little more as I look into those intense, dark-brown eyes.

“You know why I won every fight after that, Natalia?” I slowly shake my head, holding back a sob as the vision of him blurs from tears. “The reason I’m undefeated is because of you.” I gently shake my head, but he counters it with a nod. “I know I put in the hard work. I know it was me fighting in the ring each time, but it was
you
who always had my back. It was
you
who always pushed me to be a better me.”