The Last Round - Chapter 9

Jaxon

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the buzzing.

It’s everywhere-my phone vibrating on the nightstand, notifications lighting up the screen, the faint sound of the TV in the other room.

I groan, running a hand down my face before grabbing my phone.

The second I unlock it, I see the damage.

My name is trending.

#JaxonKane #LostLove #WhoIsShe #FindHer I sit up, my muscles stiff from last night’s training, and click the first link.

Jaxon Kane Breaks His Silence on His ‘Greatest Regret’-But Who Was She? Boxing Champion Admits He Lost The Love of His Life-Fans Are on the Hunt.

Jaxon Kane’s Mystery Woman: The One Who Got Away? Fuck.

I swipe through the screenshots-my own damn words staring back at me.

“It’s for someone I lost. ”

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

“Some mistakes you don’t get to fix. ” I slam my phone facedown on the bed, exhaling hard.

What the fuck did I just do? It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I never talk about her.

I never even think about her when cameras are rolling.

But last night? Last night, I fucked up.

For fifteen years, I’ve kept her locked away, buried beneath wins and belts and the sharp sting of regret.

I’ve thrown every damn part of myself into this sport, into making sure I never felt that kind of pain again.

But one question.

One moment of weakness.

And now the past is clawing its way back to the surface.

I grab my phone again, this time checking my texts.

My manager, Will: WILL: What the hell was that? WILL: You’ve got the media losing their minds.

You just turned this into a goddamn soap opera.

WILL: Call me.

I ignore him and move to the next message.

Unknown Number: You said some real nice words, champ.

But regret don’t mean shit when you never looked back.

I stare at the text, my pulse slow and steady.

Mercer.

I don’t need to check the number.

I know it’s him.

It’s been years since I cut ties with that bastard.

And yet, he’s still there, waiting in the shadows, like a fucking parasite.

My grip tightens around the phone.

I shouldn’t have said anything.

Not because I regret it.

But because now, the fans have turned into detectives. They’re looking for her. And they’re finding her.

I switch to my social media, clicking the unread messages.

Thousands of them. Some are from reporters. Some from fans.

But some? Some are worse.

I click the first one.

“She was stupid to leave you. You should’ve made her stay. ” My jaw clenches.

I scroll down.

“You need to get her back. We’ll help you find her. ” Then another.

“Your lost love is a cop now. How wild is that?” My stomach drops.

I keep scrolling, my breath slowing, fingers moving faster, rougher.

They’re finding her.

Sutton.

They know who she is.

And if they know… that means she’s being dragged into this, whether she wants to or not.

I keep scrolling, my pulse hammering.

Then a new message pings.

Unknown Number: You should’ve kept her in check, Kane.

Now we all get to see what happens when you let something slip through your fingers.

My stomach twists.

This isn’t from a fan.

This is a warning.

And I know exactly who sent it.

Another text pings in, this time from Mercer himself.

MERCER: The thing about ghosts, Jax? They stay buried until someone digs them up.

MERCER: You spent fifteen years running.

Now you just told the whole fucking world where to start looking.

MERCER: I bet she’s real pretty still.

Maybe even prettier with some age on her.

MERCER: Maybe I should go see for myself.

Remind her how this game is played.

MERCER: You know I don’t leave loose ends.

The blood in my veins turns to ice.

I know Mercer.

I know what the fuck he’s capable of.

And if he even thinks about going near Sutton.

I breathe through my nose, my hands curling into fists.

I don’t give a fuck if she hates me.

I don’t care if she never wants to see me again.

Because she’s in danger.

And that? That, I can’t live with.

I shove a hand through my hair, my breath sharp as I force myself to think.

To plan.

I don’t have her number. I don’t know where she lives. But I know where to start. I need to find her.

Not for myself. Not for closure.

If she even gives me the smallest chance.

I need to know. I need to know if she had the baby. If it was a boy or a girl. If they’re okay.

If I left more than just her behind.

I exhale hard, grabbing my jacket.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years, and I swore I’d never go back.

But I’ll burn the whole goddamn world down to make sure she’s safe.