Surge: (#7 The Beat and The Pulse) by Amity Cross Read Free Book Online Page A

for the next twenty-four hours. Symptoms can appear hours after the fact. That blow was hard.”
    With Coach and the paramedic gone, it was just me in the locker room. Glad for the privacy, I stood and began pacing, feeling dizzy but too amped up to sit still.
    My mind went over and over the fight as I tried to pinpoint the moment I’d slipped. I replayed it so many times, trying to convince myself it was something other than what it was, but I was coming up empty. I’d let O’Connell split my focus and go for someone I cared about. I’d let his nasty mouth get to me.
    The door creaked. I glanced up and found Josie slipping through the crack into the lion’s den. After the things O’Connell said about her, I wasn’t sure seeing her right now was a good idea. I was in a mood. A real nasty one.
    “How are you?” she asked, closing the door behind her.
    “Fucking shit. How do you think I am?”
    “It’s just one fight,” she said, leaning back against the wall. “You’ll bounce back.”
    “It’s not just one fight! I lost to the guy who tried to take you from me!” I didn’t realize what I said until I turned away. I didn’t even realize I wanted to say it until it was out there like projectile word vomit. It had to be the punch to the head.
    “Dean…”
    I cursed aloud, smashing my fist against the locker. Damn, my head was pounding.
    “Josie,” I heard Lincoln say behind me. “You won’t get much sense out of him tonight. He’s on a bender.”
    Damn right I was. I’d royally fucked up, and on bloody camera and center stage, too. I’d fucked up over her .
    “Dean.”
    I turned and found I was alone with my identical twin. I thought it was time for another smackdown, but he picked up the ice and handed it to me instead.
    “What? No pep talk?” I asked with a sneer.
    “Nope. Just ice your head, dipshit. We need to preserve what little is left up there.”
    I sank down onto the bench and jammed the ice against my temple.
    “We know one thing,” Lincoln said, sitting next to me.
    “What’s that?” Here we go…
    “O’Connell wants the belt. I’ve got it.”
    “He’ll challenge you next,” I said.
    “And this time, I’ll get the little fucker.”
    I snorted. “I want a rematch. We aren’t kids anymore, Linc. You can’t fight for me.”
    “Who said I was fighting for you? I still have to defend my honor, you know,” he shot back.
    “So you beat him,” I went on. “Then where do I go? Either into the cage against you or up or down a weight class to avoid it.”
    “That’s an argument for another day,” he said, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Right now, let’s get your sorry ass home.”
    I frowned. “No press conference?”
    “Not tonight. You got a pass because of the KO. Coach saw to it.”
    “Don’t remind me,” I drawled, and I pushed to my feet. Linc handed me my shirt, and I dragged it over my head. “It won’t go down well if I’m not there.”
    “It’s up to you, bro. You don’t have to face the little fucker if you don’t want to.”
    “And have the entire world think I’m a piss-weak little turd? I’m going.” Grabbing a damp towel, I wiped the blood off my face. “How do I look?”
    “Like a badass motherfucker,” Linc replied with a grin.
    Checking my reflection one last time, I pushed out of the locker room and into the hall. O’Connell might’ve beaten me this time, but he’d eat his words before besting me again.

7
    Josie
    I wasn’t surprised when Dean showed up to the post-fight press conference the other night.
    But what did open my eyes was the tactful way he’d described the fight. Whatever Gabe had been saying to get Dean to throw his focus in the octagon had since rolled right off his back and into the distance. Either that or the twin had developed a brutal poker face.
    He hadn’t once looked at Gabe or rose to any of his quips at the desk. He just answered the questions fired at him by the assembled reporters with the