The Last Round - Chapter 6

Kingston

I shouldn’t be doing this. I know it. I feel it.

The guilt sits heavy in my stomach as I sit in the media room, the glow of the TV flickering across my face.

I’ve done this more times than I can count- waiting until Mom’s busy, until the house is loud enough for me to disappear, and sneaking off to watch.

Jaxon Kane.

The undefeated champion.

The man who built an empire with his fists.

The man I have never met.

My father.

I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything.

That I’m just curious.

That it’s not about him-it’s about the sport.

About boxing, about fighting, about being the best.

But it’s a lie.

Because every time I see his face, I wonder.

I wonder if I have his temper, his sharpness, his ability to keep his guard up.

I wonder if my left hook-fast, deadly-came from him or if it’s just mine.

I wonder if he ever thinks about me.

And then I remember.

I remember Mom.

The way she doesn’t say his name.

The way her voice hardens if anyone even brings up boxing in conversation.

The way she held it together every single time someone asked why I don’t have a dad like the other kids.

I remember the pain she never speaks about.

And I feel sick for wanting to watch.

But I can’t stop myself.

So I sit here, remote in hand, my leg bouncing, waiting for the interview to start.

The second his face appears on screen, my jaw tightens.

He’s older now.

Not old, but different.

His hair is still dark, but there’s something in his face that wasn’t there before.

Something sharper.

Regret? No.

That’s not possible.

He’s a fighter.

Fighters don’t regret leaving people behind.

I lean forward as the interviewer starts talking, my fingers gripping the remote a little too tight.

“Jaxon, I have to ask. There’s something you do at the start of every fight. You kiss two fingers and press them against your chest. The fans have speculated for years-some say it’s superstition, others say it’s a dedication to someone. But you’ve never explained it. Who is it for?” My breath catches.

I’ve seen him do it.

Every single time.

I always assumed it was for some girl, maybe his mom, maybe a good luck thing.

But now? Now, Jaxon Kane goes still.

For a second, I think he won’t answer.

And then he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, and says-

“It’s for someone I lost. ” I grip the armrest, my pulse hammering.

The interviewer leans forward.

“Someone you lost?” Jaxon’s jaw tics.

“Someone I loved more than anything. And I let them go. ” My stomach drops.

No.

No way.

This isn’t happening.

This isn’t about us.

He doesn’t know me.

He doesn’t care.

But then-his eyes change.

Just for a second.

Just for a tiny, flickering moment, something breaks through the steel in his gaze.

Something raw.

I hate him for it.

I hate that I can see it.

That I recognize it.

Because it looks a hell of a lot like Mom when she thinks no one is watching.

The interviewer hesitates, like he knows he’s just opened a wound.

“Do you regret it?” Jaxon clenches his fists.

“Some mistakes you don’t get to fix. ” His voice is gravel, full of something I don’t want to understand.

Then he exhales, rolling his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake it off.

“I hope that you never had to do it alone. ” I freeze.

My whole body locks up.

He knows.

He fucking knows.

I don’t even realize I’ve stood up until the chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

My heart is pounding, my chest tight, my fists curled so hard my knuckles are white.

He doesn’t get to do this.

He doesn’t get to sit there, all sad and full of regret, like he was some victim of fate.

Mom raised me.

Alone.

Mom carried that heartbreak.

Alone.

And now, fifteen years later, Jaxon Kane sits there pretending to care? Like he’s some tragic hero? Like he’s the one who lost something? I want to break something.

I want to hit something.

But I don’t.

I take a deep breath, pressing my hands against my thighs, forcing my body to relax.

I won’t lose control.

I won’t let him make me angry.

Anger is easy.

I’ve been taught that my whole life.

Anger is just a mask for pain.

I reach for the remote and shut the TV off.

This changes nothing.

He’s still a ghost.

Just because he said a few nice words on national television doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a father.

Mom is the only parent I’ve ever needed.

The only one I will ever need.

I shove a hand through my hair, exhaling hard.

I should tell her.

She needs to know.

I grab my phone and head for the kitchen, the scent of chocolate and sugar still lingering in the air.

Mom is standing by the counter, her back turned, sipping from a glass of water.

I hesitate.

Because for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to say something to her.

She must hear me enter because she turns, her gaze sharp as it lands on me.

“Something wrong?” My throat feels tight.

I don’t want to be the one to tell her.

I don’t want to be the one to put Jaxon Kane’s name back in her head after all these years.

But I don’t have a choice.

I swallow, my voice rough when I finally speak.

“Did you see it?” She frowns.

“See what?” I exhale sharply, shaking my head.

Mom stills.

For a second, she doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, she sets her glass down, her face carefully blank.

But I know her.

I know every little sign.

The way her shoulders tense.

The way her lips press together.

And the way, just for a split second, her eyes flicker with something she doesn’t want me to see.

I brace myself, jaw tight.

Because whatever she says next, it’s going to change everything.