THREE

Jaxson

WE'RE HANGING OUT with Marcus and Jake at an arena in Melrose, Massachusetts, set up for tonight's boxing event. We all went together in Micky's SUV, a freakin' souped-up Escalade. Jimmy's fight is the last one scheduled for tonight, and the first match will be starting shortly. I'm seated next to Marcus, with Xander next to me and Ethan on Xander's other side.

"So, ya fellas real serious 'bout our demon then?" Jake questions with an Irish lilt to his voice, sipping a beer and bending around Marcus. I wait for the fiery drop of jealousy to ignite in my stomach at hearing him call her our demon , but it doesn't. No feelings of insecurity at all. I softly smile to myself. Growth, man... emotional growth.

We nod. "Yeah, completely serious," I answer. Jake's got this mop of sandy-blond hair and brown eyes. Though maybe five foot ten, he's wearing a baggy green O'Sullivan's sweatshirt and baggy jeans, making him look small from afar. Based on his defined facial structure, broad shoulders, strongly veined hands, and narrow waist, I've got a feeling he's cut underneath.

"All three of ya then," he continues with an arched brow, taking another swig of beer and licking the foam off his cupid-bow upper lip.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I awkwardly laugh. "Was wondering when we'd be asked more detailed questions. All three of us, yea."

Marcus and Jake stare at each other, and Marcus raises an eyebrow in challenge. Jake swears under his breath while digging his phone out. Balancing his phone on top of his plastic cup of draft beer, he taps something out. Marcus throws his head back, hooting, "Told ya man! I knew it would take three for her!"

"Wait, what?" I say, glancing between both of them. Music blasts over the speakers, and the announcer begins introducing the first fighter.

Marcus turns to the three of us and leans in closer grinning like a winner. "We made a bet, a couple of years ago, on the number of guys and Billie." His bright eyes trail back to Jake.

Jake takes a big gulp of beer and blows out a breath. "I thought two. I mean, she's savage, that's for sure, but bollocks , I didn't think three."

Ethan leans around Xander, his teeth tugging on his piercing as he queries, "So you've always thought she'd be with more than one guy?"

Marcus sips his beer, and his eyes become misty like he's seeing her at a younger age, and a fond, heartwarming smile breaks over his face. "Yeah, listen: we all love her."

"Would die for her," Jake comments in a flat voice, like it's not a question, his eyes on the second fighter entering the ring.

Marcus nods. "And she'd for us. But listen, it took all of us to raise her . She was wild in the beginning."

Jake puffs out a wholehearted laugh and shakes his head, exclaiming, "Like, crazy wild! If she wanted to do something, she'd find a way. All in fun. She wasn't a shitehawk or disrespectful, just energetically stubborn, and cunning... so feckin' cunning."

The first bell rings, and Marcus keeps his eyes on the match while leaning toward me. In turn, I lean into him. He scratches his chin and sighs. "You know her history. She had a lot to work through. Pair that with her"—he snorts a low laugh— " rebellious nature. She's... complex." The fighter in blue shorts lands a nasty combo on the one in yellow, who tumbles to the mat. I wince while Marcus bobs his head in approval. "You'd be hard-pressed to find one person to meet all the aspects of her." I turn to Xander and Ethan. They're both smiling. Even her human family can see why the divine chose us.

* * *

We're deep into the third match when there's some shuffling around us. My eyes are searching, and Jake stands up, roaring out, "'Bout feckin' time, fellas!" My gaze goes to where his is, and I find Enzo, Brandon, and Dom entering, all in green hoodies, all smiling on their way over to sit behind us. We cordially greet one another, and Enzo does nothing to hide the defiance and cockiness exuding from his green eyes.

Everything has been easygoing since we got here. Marcus has been extremely welcoming, and we've gotten over our own shit: the four of us and our relationship have grown so much over the last several weeks. We've been having a good time.

The energy changes with Enzo.

It doesn't matter too much, though, since the fights are giving us all something to get lost in and talk about.

Billie

I'm in the back locker room with Micky and Jimmy. Jimmy pounded water all morning, so he's been peeing like a pregnant woman, even though he's hardly drunk any over the last several hours. Micky's massaging his shoulders and back, rubbing some Tiger Balm in while I'm reading specific passages from The Greatest Salesman in the World .

I will persist until I succeed. I was not delivered unto this world in defeat, nor does failure course in my veins. I am not a sheep waiting to be prodded by my shepherd. I am a lion and I refuse to talk, to walk, to sleep with the sheep. The slaughterhouse of failure is not my destiny. I will persist until I succeed.

"How ya feelin'?" Micky probes, tossing a glance at Jimmy while digging through his athletic bag and pulling out his gloves and tape.

Jimmy stands up from the bench and looks at me. I smile and give him an affirming nod, pushing off the lockers I was leaning against to stand next to him.

"Feelin' good, Pa," he confirms, and we both inhale, raising our arms above our heads, beginning our first round of modified sun salutations. We exhale to forward fold, inhale to halfway lift, exhale-float back to chaturanga , inhale to up dog, staying there for a few breaths. "I'm in the best shape I've ever been. Training's been going real well." He groans before we exhale to down dog, again holding for several breaths, walking out our dogs by lifting and pressing through our heels. Gazing at our hands, we float our feet up to meet them. Inhale, halfway lift; exhale, forward fold; inhale, reverse swan dive all the way up; exhale, hands to heart center. We both turn to each other and smile. "And we got Demon here now. It's all as it should be," he says with a little more sentiment than we normally share before a fight, so I thoughtfully give him a backkick to lighten the mood.

Jimmy shakes his head and snickers before we go through eleven more sun salutations, together, in sync. When we're done, Micky steps over and tapes Jimmy's hands. Afterward we sit on the matted area, Micky on a footstool between Jimmy and me, both of us cross-legged. Setting a timer for twenty minutes, we begin our meditation, all focusing on our breathing.

We finish up our routine with some light sparring, Micky and I alternating to give Jimmy some different heights and approaches to warm up with. "Demon, when this over, you're gonna tell me about your eye, right?" Jimmy demands more than asks.

"Yup, after the fight, brotha," I reply with a wink.

The rat-tat-tat of a fist knocking on the aluminum door echoes through the room, right before it opens just wide enough for Chuck, the head organizer of the event, to lean in. Turning toward him, a small smile sweeps across my face at the sight of his graying Joe Albano beard. He shouts out, "Two minutes, O'Sullivan!" My stomach flutters and flips with nervousness as if it were me heading into the ring.

The three of us huddle up. Micky whispers, "O'Sullivan smart. Den strong."

Then Jimmy: "O'Sullivan smart. Den strong."

Then me: "O'Sullivan smart. Den strong."

Then we join in together at a whisper, our voices growing louder and louder with each repetition, continuing until we're bellowing it out with the full force of our diaphragms, filling the empty locker room with our chants.

Then we hear it. Jimmy's song.

" Moooothhhheerr ," Glenn Danzig croons over the speakers. The three of us head to the door. Hoods up. Heads down. I'm in the lead. Jimmy's hands are on my shoulders. My hands are on his hands. "Let's do this, Demon," he says giving me a little shake. The door opens, and we strut out.

It's not until Jimmy's opponent is introduced in the center of the ring that I smell it. Wolf-shifter. My head snaps up, and I look at Jimmy's opponent. He looks at me, nostrils flaring. Our eyes connect. He startles. Yeah, he didn't expect me just as much as I didn't expect him. The fighter in him quickly returns, smirking. His brown eyes glow honey. FUUUCCCCK.