Chapter Ten

RYDER

W arrior's Den

The rhythm of my fists against the punching bag filled the gym, a steady thump that matched the hammering in my chest. I had been at it for hours, trying to sweat out the memory of Ava's face when she realized who I was. No, what I was. The mystery fighter at Carnage, an identity I'd guarded until she tore it down with nothing but a look of shock and hurt.

"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, pausing to swipe a towel across my forehead. The image of her standing there, rooted to the spot with disbelief, wouldn't leave my mind. How long did I think I'd keep it from her?

I rested against the cool concrete wall, feeling the ache in my muscles and the sting of my conscience. Ava cared about me—really cared—and all I'd done was throw it back in her face. I got obsessed with the adrenaline rush that comes with the fight, the roar of the crowd at Carnage. It was addictive, the surge of power. But at what cost?

Come on. I shook my head as though it would make the thoughts go away. You're better than this.

Was I though? The question gnawed at me as I wrapped my hands for another round. Each wrap around my knuckles became a reminder of the walls I'd put up around my life. Ava had started to peel those layers away, and instead of letting her in, I pushed her out.

"Stupid," I hissed through gritted teeth. I threw a punch, then another, faster and harder. Why couldn't I let go of the rush? Why was I so intent on chasing the high that came with each fight, even if it meant losing something—or someone—real?

And there it was, the truth laid bare in the empty gym: I craved the fight because it was simple. No complications, no expectations, just me and the opponent, reduced to our most basic instincts. But life with Ava, it wasn't like that. It had the potential to be messy and beautiful and complex, and I was terrified of it.

She gave me a chance. She saw past the fighter, the ego, the bravado. And I screwed it up.

I dropped my hands, exhausted. The bag swung lazily to a stop, and I knew, right then, I had to make it right. I had to show Ava that I was more than the guy in the ring. That I could be someone worth taking a risk on, worth sticking around for.

Not for the roar of a crowd or the rush of blood in my veins, but for something far more frightening and worthwhile, the chance at a real connection with Ava.

But first, I'd have to find her.

AN HOUR LATER

I hesitated outside of Ava's hotel, my thumb hovering over her name on my phone. The screen glowed with a list of calls, all unanswered. I pressed the call button and brought the phone to my ear, listening to the familiar ringing before it gave way to her voicemail once more.

"Hi, you've reached Ava Martinez's voicemail. At this point, you know what to do after the beep."

Sighing, I ended the call, feeling the void widen with each attempt she didn't answer.

Two days passed like this, a heap of calls and voicemails. I needed to see her, to explain, to somehow bridge the gap that my recklessness put between us.

The lobby was sleek and impersonal, the kind of place that prided itself on discretion and privacy. The receptionist behind the desk looked up as I approached, her practiced smile never reaching her eyes.

"May I help you?"

"I'm looking for Ava Martinez," I said, leaning against the marble counter. "Is she still checked in?"

"Let me see." Her fingers danced across the keyboard, and I watched as her expression shifted. "I'm sorry, sir, but Ms. Martinez is no longer on our guest log."

"Does that mean she checked out?"

"Is there anything else I can assist you with?" She never answered me, but her tone suggested the conversation was over.

"Thanks, no." I turned away, racking my brain for where Ava could have gone, what I could do next.

"Ryder?"

I spun around at the sound of my name. Emily, Ava's friend and colleague, stood there with a look of concern etched into her face.

"Emily." I got hopeful again. "Have you seen Ava? I've been trying to reach her."

She shook her head. "No, she's not answering my calls either."

"I guess she checked out of the hotel."

"But you know Ava. When she's on a tight deadline, she goes into hermit mode."

"Hermit mode," I repeated, processing the information. It made sense, Ava always fully committed to her work, but it didn't make me worry less. It wasn't only a deadline keeping her away from me. My own jerk behavior was to blame, too.

"Give her time, Ryder," Emily advised. "She wants to do a good job." Then her mouth twitched. "From what I saw from the two of you at the gym the other day, she cares about you."

I paused. What all did Emily see between me and Ava?

"Listen," she continued, "I've known Ava for years. When she's ready, she'll come around. Just be patient."

"Thanks." I nodded, appreciating her reassurance even as doubt poked at me.

"Take care of her, okay?" Emily added, her voice soft but firm. It was a command, a trust handed to me despite my unworthiness. "She's been through a lot."

"I will," I promised, and I meant it.

Emily's figure dwindled in the distance. I watched her leave the hotel, the weight of her words settling on my shoulders. She believed Ava cared about me, and god, I wanted to believe it too. But memories of the last conversation with Ava played in my head, a bad highlight reel of every pained expression that crossed her face.

I pulled out my phone again, staring at the screen. My thumb hovered over her contact. I hit call, letting the phone ring until it went to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me, Ryder," I said, feeling foolish stating my name as if she wouldn't recognize my voice. "Call me back, please?"

Ending the call, I shoved the phone into the pocket of my sweats and returned to practice at Warrior's Den. The gym around me felt empty without her presence. I guess I got used to the sound of her fingernails constantly tapping against her laptop keyboard.

I paced the length of the gym, my strides eating up the mats. Ava loved her work, lived for the thrill of a tight deadline. It wasn't unlike my own drive in the ring. Yet, while I fought for that next rush, she crafted stories to touch people's hearts. I admired that about her. Writing was her ring, and she was a champion in her own right.

The thought of her checking out, abandoning the article and cutting ties with me twisted like a knife. If she did, I couldn't blame her. I'd been harsh, selfish, caught up in my own world.

Give her time. Emily's advice whispered through my thoughts. Patience wasn't exactly my strong suit—I was a man of action. But for Ava, I'd try.

THE MORNING SUN HAD barely crawled up the horizon when I found myself sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a strong cup of coffee, trying to shake the last bits of sleep from my mind. The abrupt end of things with Ava still left a dull ache in my chest—a constant reminder of what could have been. But this morning was different; my phone gave a loud buzz, breaking through my trance with its flashing screen and rattle on the table.

An article notification popped up. It was Ava's piece, an exclusive feature on me that had gone live while I slept. Scared and curious, I tapped the link.

There on the screen, a photo of me in my volunteer gear at the dog shelter filled the page, the headline reading "Ryder McKenzie: The Heart Beneath the Carnage."

Panic rose in my chest. At first, it sounded like she was going to talk about the brawl. I took a sip of coffee in preparation for what I was about to read.

McKenzie uses his match winnings to fund a service dog training program for the disabled community and veterans with PTSD , she wrote. Beneath the carnage of the ring lives a heart of gold.

My surprise grew as I read each line. Driven by the love of family and community, Ryder has channeled his energy into a relentless pursuit of excellence, not just within the competitive world of sports but also in his commitment to making a difference. Ava had captured my truths without exposing the wounds I kept hidden.

Admiration welled inside me. She understood. She saw beyond the gym walls and the competition, into the part of me I kept locked away. She talked about my drive to succeed and for the chance to give back.

With a deep, steadying breath, I finished reading and sat back, the full weight of what Ava had accomplished settling over me. She'd taken our brief but intense connection and transformed it into something that neither time nor circumstance could erase

Sunlight spilled across the kitchen tiles. As the likes, shares, and comments on the article continued to multiply with each passing minute, there was no denying that Ava's words had touched something in the hearts of the public. The article link was plastered across the major sports news outlet. Her talent brought my story to life, and now it seemed thousands were taking notice of her work.

I logged off the internet as my phone sounded an alarm. Today was Adoption Day at the dog shelter. I needed to get ready to head down there.

As grateful as I was for the viral sensation Ava had sparked, there was a part of my past—a senseless night—that she'd mercifully left untouched. The Carnage Brawl, my most shameful moment. While relief washed over me, so did a wave of guilt. She'd painted me in strokes of glory and grace when I knew I was also capable of fury and fault.

An hour later, when I arrived at the shelter, I was surprised to see the parking lot filled and a small crowd lined up at the door.

"Ryder," a volunteer approached, her tablet lit with notifications. "You won't believe this. Donations are pouring in. Big ones. People are calling non-stop, asking how they can help."

I glanced at the screen, my name alongside figures that made my heart skip a beat. Ava's article didn't just sell magazines. It sold belief in a cause. Her understanding of what these animals could do for people, her recognition of the healing we were trying to foster, it resonated far beyond what I thought possible.

Ava's article had done more than share my story; it had breathed life into a dream I'd been nurturing. I watched as children giggled, pressing their tiny fingers against the chain link fences, eyes wide as the dogs licked their hands with unbridled affection.

"Keep track of every name," I told her, the weight of gratitude making my voice thick. "Every single donor gets a personal thank you from me."

"Will do." She grinned, clearly as caught up in the wave of goodwill as I was.

I realized then, as I watched a veteran gently stroke the fur of a golden retriever, that Ava had not only shone a light on my efforts but amplified them, sending ripples through the community that came back as waves of support. It was more than I had dared to hope for, and it was all because of her.

Inside the facility, after I had just finished explaining to a potential adopter the benefits of a service dog for his special needs son, she walked in. Ava, her presence like a sudden gust of wind that changes the direction of a sail.

"Ryder," her voice cut through the din of barking dogs and chattering families, making my heart leap into my throat. She was dressed casually, but even in a simple white blouse and faded jeans, she radiated purpose and grace.

"Hi," I managed, my lungs feeling like I needed to gasp for air. "You're here."

"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, her eyes scanning the bustling room before settling on mine with a familiarity that always seemed to see right through me.

As our gazes locked, the noise and excitement around us seemed to fall away.

"Can we talk?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant.

"Of course." I gestured toward a quieter corner of the facility, near one of the training pens.

Once we were out of earshot from the excited crowd, Ava reached into her tote bag and pulled out an envelope, thick and official-looking. She handed it to me, her fingers brushing against mine, sending an electric charge up my arm.

"This is from my editorial team. They read the article and were impressed by what you're doing here."

I opened the envelope, blinking in disbelief as I pulled out a check. The amount made my head spin—it was more than generous.

"Ava, this... this is incredible," I stammered, feeling a rush of emotions. Gratitude, admiration, and a hint of that charged tension that always danced between us. "I'll be sure to thank them. And thank you." I tucked the check safely back into the envelope. "Not just for this, but for seeing the value in these dogs, in the people they help."

Her smile was a mix of pride and something warmer, softer. "Your story needed to be told. And it's clear how people are responding to it."

"Thanks to you," I acknowledged, allowing myself a moment to savor the closeness between us. This might be my last chance to be this close to her. "There's something I need to tell you."