I've never been so fucking nervous in my life. This day is going to be important for so many reasons I can't decide what's freaking me out more but I need to be on my A game. I need to fucking do this.

"Emerson."

Coach enters the ring, a small smile playing on his face that I return. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at him and not feel so fucking grateful that he's alive.

It's been four months since he was shot and he's recovered well. It took a lot of physiotherapy for him to get back on his feet but he did it. He's a motherfucking champ. You can barely tell he evaded death, aside from the limp he walks with now. We didn't realize it at the time but when Coach jumped in front of me and got hit, he went down at an angle that broke his knee and passed out from the pain rather than the actual bullet. The doctors didn't notice it until they started the surgery and had to treat the bone at the same time as they were dealing with the bullet wound. That's why Coach was out for so long — withstanding two surgeries is no joke. But he woke up four days later and has been going to physiotherapy since. His limp hasn't stopped him from coaching us in the least and I know I'm prepared for this match.

"You doing this?" He asks now and I know it's about more than just the match.

"Yeah," I blow out a nervous breath. "I'm doing this."

"Good," He claps me on the shoulder. "There's no reason you shouldn't. You have it in the bag, son."

"Thank you, Coach."

"Two minutes until the match starts. Need a speech?"

"I'm good," The corner of my mouth tugs up. "Trust me, I'm amped up more than you know."

"I think I do know," He laughs and claps my shoulder again. "Give 'em hell."

I nod and bounce on the heels of my feet, trying to ignore the way my stomach is flipping over. I look around at the crowd and most of them are already on their feet in anticipation, holding signs with my name on it and shouting for me. It's kind of fucking crazy and a hell of a lot different from my first match. My fan base grew after that fifteen-second knockout and they're all eager for more. I hope I can deliver.

"One minute," The ref reminds me and I tip my chin at him.

"Let's go, Emerson!"

"Fuck him up, kid!"

I look back at the front row where all the VIP seats are. Aside from the Fighter's Den gang, Mitch and Dante are here too. It's weird how thing unfolded these past few months. South Bloods was in dire need of a leader after the way it fell apart and surprisingly, Mitch stepped up and took place. He turned the gang around for the better. South Bloods is no longer recognized as a ruthless gang but a damn organized one, with fewer enemies and more allies and who the streets turn to when they're in trouble. Dante rejoined but just as a member, specifically as Mitch's right hand man. The two make an unusual pair and work together well, surprisingly enough.

My eyes shift down the row to where my friends and family are, all of them cheering me on. Their support moves me. As much as I wish everyday that my parents and Gramps could still be with me, it's safe to say I found a kick-ass family that never makes me feel alone. And the person I love most? At the very end of the row, leaning back in her seat and watching me with a smirk that screams all kinds of trouble. She tosses me a wink when I give her a look of warning and have to turn away because she's going to distract the hell out of me at this rate.

"Fighters to the centre of the ring," The ref calls.

My opponent, Douglas Grey, meets me in the middle where we knock together our gloved fists. Grey is a big dude, close to my height and packing on some serious muscle. It's rare to be this tall or muscled in the boxing industry but Grey seems to be on the same spectrum as me so this should be an interesting match.

"Good luck," He offers and watches me with calculating eyes. I've seen his fights and he's good. He's breaking me down as we speak and I prepare myself to put up hell. I know this won't be like my fifteen second knockout match. Not even close.

The ref blows the whistle and Grey wastes no time. Within seconds he's in my space and throwing a right jab to my jaw, causing the crowd to go wild. I get hit with more force than I anticipated and stumble backwards, losing my footing. I push my weight forward to stop myself from falling down and don't see the second jab coming as it lands on my temple. A third jab clocks me in the nose and I blindly try to move away from his attacks. The next thing I know I'm cornered and a burst of pain shoots along my rib cage, where Grey is delivering body shots in rapid succession. I try to turn away but that puts me deeper against the ring and then there's no room for my arms. They stay locked against my body and I'm unable to defend myself.

"Incredible start from Grey! Emerson is cornered and has yet to land a single punch!"

Shit, he has hardcore power in his punches. My sides ache and I can feel my body curling into itself on instinct to protect myself. This isn't helping at all because I should be on offence, not defence.

"Get out of there, Emerson!" Coach demands. "The only way out is through him!"

Fuck, he's right. I duck my body low and push my shoulder against his chest, shoving him away from me. My arm shoots out in a left hook that knocks into his face and snaps it to the side, another hook hitting the same place.

"Stick the jab!" Coach instructs. "You're still cornered!"

I hit Grey with a straight punch to his gut and narrow my punches to body shots. I drill my fists into him and force him back to get myself out of the corner. I rear my arm back and bring it down hard on his temple, the sound of flesh smacking letting me know just how strong that punch was. His body folds like a card and I bring my arm down again but he beats me to it, sending a jab to my side that's pulsing in pain. He's attacking one part of my body and whatever he's trying to do seems to be working because my right side is so goddamn sore it's hard to lift my arm and not feel the aching muscles hold me back. He jabs that spot again and I grunt in pain, turning away from his attacks.

"Brace yourself!" I catch Coach's eye from over Grey's shoulder and he's holding his arms locked against the front of his body. "Brace!"

I bring my arms together to act as a shield before the fucker breaks my rib cage. It works but there's a disadvantage — the rest of me is wide open. One uppercut knocking into my chin is all it takes for me to stumble until I crash into the ropes behind me, leaning against them to hold myself up. I don't even have time to straighten out before Grey is in front of my eyes and I fixate on his gloved fist heading straight for me. It sinks deeply into my eye socket and I groan, my head snapping back from the force of his punch. Specks of colour float around in my vision followed by a sheen of red that probably means I'm bleeding. I have to squeeze my eyes shut against the pain and for a moment I'm blind to the match. All I feel is Grey pounding the fuck out of my torso and I go on immediate defence by locking my arms in front of me.

"Time!" The ref blows the whistle and Grey backs off. I can hear his heavy breathing but I can't quite see him yet. My eye is still trying to adjust but my eyelid feels heavy, like it may be swollen.

"Fucking hell, this asshole isn't fucking around," The muttered words come from Coach and I feel him grab my arm and guide me away. A moment later I'm sitting and a cool washcloth rests atop my eye. I breathe a sigh of relief and cling on to the sensation of the cold water soothing my lid that pulses warmly with pain.

"He saw all of my moves coming," I feel the need to point out. Maybe it's because I'm having trouble processing it. "My only televised match was the one against Crew and it was fifteen seconds of footage. How does he know how I fight?"

"Must have dug up your exhibition match from somewhere. Went through intensive lengths to study you."

"And did too good of a job."

"Yeah, but so did we," He reminds my firmly. "He just caught you off guard. That's all this is. You know exactly how to beat him in theory but you're doubting yourself too much to carry it out. Enough of that. Just because you got off to a bad start doesn't mean you can't win this thing. Attitude is everything when you fight. Everything. Stimulate your mind with thoughts of winning and nothing else. Teach your brain what you want it to do and it'll do it. Don't let anything cloud your head except the thought of owning this match. Your body will take care of the rest, get it?"

He removes the cloth and I blink slowly, watching as the spots fade away and everything comes into focus. The overhead lights are bright as fuck and I wince, turning away. I blink fast until the sight of the crowd sharpens and I can see every person in the stadium on their feet and cheering. They're just starting to get amped up and it reminds me that there's a long way to go in this match and that I have plenty of time to turn it around. I look back at Coach who's waiting for a response.

"Guess I needed a speech after all," I hold my hand out and he chuckles, grasping it to pull me up to my feet. "Want to remind me how I'm supposed to play this? It's hard to think right now."

"Look at him," Coach instructs and I watch Grey over his shoulder. "Look at how he's standing. Arm tucked against his right side. Something off to you about that?"

"Should there be?" I ask because I'm not following.

"Think with your head, Emerson." He smacks the back of it for emphasis and I wince. Christ, I'm out of it. "Remember the hours of footage we watched? Grey fractured his right ribs twice. He's too cautious of getting hurt again to get out of his head. That's why he attacked your ribs so violently. Subconsciously he was injuring the part of you where he's scared to get hurt himself. It's like when you meet someone new and look for a feature of theirs that you're insecure about on yourself. He attacked the part of you that's actually his weakness. It makes us assholes but that's where you hit him. Get to his weak spot and he'll be so goddamn paranoid that he'll abandon fighting just to protect himself. Then you'll have him right where you want him."

"Jesus," I mutter. "That's kind of ruthless."

"So? You here to win or fucking braid his hair?"

"To win."

"Then shut the fuck up and listen to me. Now get back in there and show me a real fight."

"Yes sir," I nod and move to the centre of the ring just in time for the start of round two.

I have to admit, it's easier said than done. Halfway through the round Grey catches on to my play and realizes that I'm targeting his weak side. He maneuvers his fighting to protect himself and the one advantage I had is now gone. He's also kicking my ass better than I'm kicking his.

By round four I'm frustrated and beaten. My left eye is completely swollen, my torso marred in bruises, and my eye brow split. The most damage I caused on Grey is a swollen jaw and a cut lip but they don't slow him down. He's fast and agile despite his size and it's like he knows exactly what move I'm going to hit him with before I even get the chance. He's reading my mind and it's fucking me up. He won't lose his cool, either. His face is hard and focused and he's ready to take this match all the way.

"Time!" Round four comes to an end at the sound of the ref's whistle and I slink back to my corner where Coach is waiting. He looks as pissed off as I feel.

"He's better than we thought," Coach mumbles as soon as I'm in earshot. I let myself fall into the chair and lean my weight on it, breathing hard. I'm losing stamina fast and we're only halfway through this thing. "Time to risk everything."

"Meaning?" I wonder through a groan when he pats a wet cloth on the cut above my eyebrow. Jesus fuck, that stings.

"He knows your fighting style too well. We have to improvise and make a new play."

"Now?" I gape at him. "How do we create an entirely new play in three minutes?"

"Copy someone else's. You've studied these boys for years as they went pro one by one. Whose fighting style is most similar to yours?"

I think about that for a moment. "Cage. He's aggressive like me. Depends on strength more so than speed."

"Good call," He nods in approval. "The only difference is you take your time thinking about your next move and Cage just makes them on autopilot. That might be what you need because this guy is too quick for you to be playing this slow and careful."

"But I like planning my moves in advance."

"And the longer you take thinking about them, the more time you give Grey to do the same. You need to fight with your body. Yes, the mind is important but you can't live in it in the middle of a match. You need balance. Just use your fists however instinct tells you to."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"You have no choice. Get out of your head, Emerson. Your body was built to fight and you have to let it do its job. You have to give up control."

"You're right," I scrub a hand over my face. "But changing my play entirely means I could make a mistake that will cost me this match."

Coach nods solemnly. "That's why I said it's time to risk everything. It's up to you if you want to take it."

If there's one thing I've learned it's that you can't get anywhere without risk. Getting comfortable and staying in the same place because it's familiar is always going to hold you back. I had to risk using my voice to talk again, I had to risk confronting my past to finally move on, I had to risk giving up my heart to find Melanie. I'm going to take this risk too.

"Let's do it," I agree and Coach claps me on the shoulder.

"Instinct, Emerson. Your body knows what to do."

"Fighters in the middle," The ref blows his whistle and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind as best as I can. Don't think, just act.

I knock gloves with Grey who's starting to appear a little smug. I don't blame him — he truly has the match in the bag. If I can't pull this play off then I'm just a few punches away from a knockout, weak as I am. I look over my shoulder until I meet eyes with Melanie. She looks distraught and worried, and seconds away from jumping into this ring herself. But when our gazes clash she nods with determination, silently telling me I can do this. She lifts her hands and signs, moment of truth.

I said that to her once. Before she told me the last piece of her past she had yet to share with me. Before she did the one thing that changed everything for her. And she knows this match, this round. will change everything for me. I nod back at her because she's right. Moment of truth.

I raise my gloves up to my chin just as the ref blows the whistle and calls the start of the match. I don't think. Not for a second. My fist shoots forward in a straight punch that knocks into Grey's chin. I know he doesn't see it coming because when his head snaps back it stays there for a second, like he's trying to process what the hell just happened. I use that second to my complete advantage, throwing a powerful left hook before I can even comprehend what I'm doing. I want to stop and take a second to think three moves ahead but I can't. So I just fight. Before I know it I'm using the same fighting combos that Jaxon uses and I don't know how it comes to mind but I go with it. Jab, jab, hook. Jab, jab, uppercut. I'm on Grey with punch after punch that he's unable to recover from and he's tripping over his own feet trying to stay upright. One right cross to his jaw and a straight punch to his throat later, he crashes against the ropes and fights for air.

"That's the fucking money!" I hear Coach encourage over the roar of the crowd. The cheering is deafening now that the match has done a one-eighty and I'm not about to stop now.

"Three jabs alternating between both sides!" That's definitely Jaxon's voice instructing me, reminding me of his plays. "Three jabs and a cross! Stick the jabs!"

I move. One jab to his throat, one jab to his left rib cage, one jab to his right. Grey folds and I swing a left cross, putting my entire shoulder into it. The crack of his flesh is all too satisfying as he goes down and hits the canvas. I blink at him and try to think of what's next.

"Just move!" Coach yells. "Don't let him get away!"

I'm on him again, on the canvas with my knees and hovering over him. I punch blindly, two jabs to his nose and one uppercut knocking his chin back. The maneuver forces him to unfold and when his torso is exposed to me I know what to do.

My fists rain down on his right rib cage, the muscles of my upper arms burning as I put all my strength into the jabs that I deliver in rapid succession. There's nothing but the smack of his flesh being hit, the roar of the crowd, the yells and cusses from my teammates, the grunt of my breath that I try to get under control before I run out of stamina. Grey blocks my next punch with his forearm and throws a right cross to my temple. I go down, my body bouncing on the canvas, and then he's on top of me. I quickly cross my forearms in an X to shield my face when he starts delivering jabs. His weight on me is too heavy to try and push off with my hips.

"Offence!" Coach calls. "Take a hit if you need to but get out of there!"

Grey jabs my throat and my breath locks up for a moment, getting strangled in my airway. He swings another hook that snaps my head to the side and a jab to my gut that hurts like a bitch. Motherfucker is strong. I throw an arm out blindly but Grey moves out of the way in time, landing another jab on me. I throw a second punch and this time I manage to graze him but it's not enough. His fist knocks into my chin so violently I taste the metal of my own blood when my teeth scrape against my tongue. I curse, spitting blood out on to canvas, and grunt at the swift uppercut Grey digs into my side.

"Find his blind spot!"

"Tear through him!"

I have no idea who's saying what but everyone is growing anxious. The crowd is buzzing and alive the way they are when a round is coming to an end and I know I'm on limited time here. It's now or never.

I sit up as far as I can and grit my teeth through the pain of Grey's fist crashing against my temple. I take the hit, nice and clean, and swing my arm out as hard as I can in a right cross that strikes his cheek. I hear him grunt in pain and swing another cross, hitting him in the same place as before. My arms and shoulders are burning, running out of energy from the force of my punches but I push through. I throw one more right cross and finish it with a left hook that finally pushes Grey off of me. I waste no time when he's down and begin pummelling his face with a series of jabs and punches that I know will hurt him most. My gloved fist beats the fuck out of his face, the whipping sound of his flesh being hit so springing me on. I yell out against the pain of my muscles cramping and bunching, screaming to distract myself from how exhausted I am. Grey's face is fucking done for. It's swollen and bleeding and he rolls away in an attempt to get away from my advances. He's lying on his left side when I stop him with my arm, my right hand dripping straight jabs into his rib where I know he's weakest.

"Fuck!" He screams, his face contorting in pain.

But I don't stop. Punch after punch, each harder than the last, crushes his ribs violently. He screams again and tries to get away but I lock him down and finish it. He throws an arm backward and it catches me on the face unexpectedly. It hits my swollen eye and I go down, groaning from the fresh burst of pain. For a moment I can't see anything.

"You're seconds away, Emerson! Last fucking push!"

I growl low in my throat and force my eye open, sitting up and looking around. A second later I spot Grey rolling away and crawl on my knees after him. But he doesn't stop and in the next second he's rolled straight out of the ring. I freeze on the spot and try to hear what's happening over the rapid pulsing in my ears.

"He's out! Grey is out!" One of the announcer declares. "He has twenty seconds to get back in the ring or he loses the match!"

The ref hits the canvas and hits it with each count, starting from one. The audience counts down with him and I finish crawling to the edge of the ring to see if he's going to get up. Grey is on the floor and groaning miserably, curled in himself but not knocked out. He could make it back to the ring in time and I hold my breath in anticipation, refusing to tear my eyes away from him.

"Get up!" Grey's coach calls for him. He runs up to him but another ref holds him back, screaming at him that he can't touch Grey while he's out of bounds. His coach looks ready to yank his hair out. "Come on, Douglas! Get back in the ring or it's over!"

The referee makes it to ten, halfway through the count. I plead in my head that Grey stays down when he suddenly rolls to his stomach and places his palms on the floor, pushing up and getting to his hands and knees. My stomach sinks. Shit.

"That's it!" His coach claps. "Get up! Get up, Grey!"

Grey's arms visibly shake with the force of holding his body weight up. He gets one foot up, pushing on his palms to get the second one up just as the ref gets to thirteen. He could make it in the ring if he wanted to. He could.

But then he falls. His weight gives up on him and he falls back to the floor on his stomach and even from up here I can hear his exhausted groan. He's in too much pain. He rolls over to his back and holds a hand up for help but no one's allowed to touch him. No one can help him.

"This is it!" The announcers are on their feet with the rest of the crowd and everyone's eyes are on Grey to see if he's going to pull it off somehow. "It all comes down to this!"

My heart is beating so goddamn fast I can't breathe. Grey pushes up on his elbows and tries a final attempt at getting up. His eyes meet mine and I can see the desperation in them. I swallow hard.

"Twenty!" The ref calls out and smacks the canvas hard on the final number, effectively ending the countdown.

"That's it!" The announcer screams. "Twenty seconds and Grey did not make it back into the ring! Grey is considered knocked-out which makes Emerson the winner of this match!"

My eyes fall shut and the relief I feel is so overwhelming that I allow myself to hit the canvas, rolling over to my back and shielding my eyes with my arm from the overhead lights. I can hear the absolute insanity of the crowd cheering, their collective screams like a harsh whisper that raises goosebumps all over my skin. I suppress the urge to shiver and throw another arm over the lower half of my face to conceal my smile. Holy fucking shit. I can't believe I pulled that off at the last minute. But it's not over yet.

I sit up and grab the ropes to get to my feet. It takes me a moment to steady myself because my bones feel like fucking jello from exhaustion. I look over at the crowd and swallow hard to suppress my nerves. This is it. The final risk. I meet Coach's eye who nods at me, his arms holding back the rest of the guys who are trying to run up to me and yelling at Coach to let them go. But Coach is holding everyone back as I asked him to. I need this ring.

I wave a hand at the cameraman and gesture to the overhead microphone, signalling him to lower it. There's obvious shock on his face because he knows I don't speak the same way everyone else in this stadium knows it. But that's about to change.

There's a collective hush that falls over the entire stadium when I grab the overhead mic and bring it to my mouth. Now or never, Emerson. I swallow down the nerves making my throat tight and force the word out. "Hello."

Stark silence greets me. The thousands of people in this stadium gawk at me and there's a stillness in the air around me. It's full of anticipation and confusion and curiosity. So I force myself to go on.

"I'm aware that for many of you this is the first time you're hearing me speak," I continue. My voice is shaking but it'll have to do. "I'm also aware that you've all known me as the mute boxer of Fighter's Den. That changed about a year ago, give or take, when I spoke for the first time. When I stopped being a mute after twenty-one years."

Some life is breathed back into the crowd and I hear a flurry of excited murmurs. Phones are whipped out and start recording, all the cameras are pointed at me, my face is on the jumbotron, probably on live television too. Jesus, this is hard. That's how I know it's worth it.

"I decided to speak to you all today for many reasons. I wanted to stop being known as the mute, wanted to prove to myself that that part of my life is officially over, wanted to share with you all how I've changed. And I'll admit it, I wanted to impress the love of my life."

And it's like the audience sparks up, their whispers turning into whistles and cat-calls and hoots of encouragement. The cameraman looks around and aims his camera in all directions until I help him out and point at Melanie. She's absolutely floored, her gaping expression appearing on the jumbotron a moment later. The cheers rise and all eyes are officially on hers as she partially tries to cover her face, sliding lower into her seat and silently trying to ask me what the hell I'm doing.

"Melanie," I start and bring my hands up. And then I start speaking and signing at the same time and I can see the way Mel pulls in a shocked breath, watching me with her entire focus. Along the way things got crazy and we abandoned our sign language lessons. Little did she know I've been learning on my own in secret in order to prepare for this moment. "You gave me my voice back, my life back. You heard me when I didn't say a word and listened to me when I finally decided to talk. You loved me when I was silent, and loved me even more with every word I spoke. You turned your entire life upside down in order to help me fix mine. I want to show you that wasn't in vain. I want you to understand that I'm standing here and showing the world my voice only because you got me this far. I want you to see for yourself that you made me who I am, right here, right now. This is all you, baby girl. Everything I am is because of you."

I pause to take a deep breath because I'm so goddamn emotional, my throat is tightening with every word. Across the stadium a chorus of "aw's" ring out and some jeers from the announcers but I don't notice any of that. I can't pull my eyes off Melanie who's clearly fighting tears, her hand slipping over her mouth as she shakes her head at me. I keep my gaze locked with hers as I walk to the end of the ring, ducking under the ropes and jumping down. The cheering and hooting around me intensifies as I walk up to Melanie and I don't stop until I'm in front of her, lowering myself on one knee. Her hand and mouth both drop is disbelief.

Marry me, I sign. I want this part to be just for us. Marry my silence. Marry my words. Let me marry your stubbornness and your craziness. I want us to love each other as loud as we can, for the rest of ours lives. Marry me.

"Wolfe," She whispers, a sob getting caught in her throat when Aria leans over to hand me the box I gave to her before the match started. I open it and present it to Melanie, watching her as she swipes away the streaks of tears falling hard and fast. She leans forward and clutches my face, laughing through her tears. "Yes, big guy. I love you so fucking loud. Yes."

Our mouths crash against each other and the cheering around us fades. I don't hear any of it. For the first time ever, the world around me is silent and my heartbeat is the loudest sound in the room.

_________________________

A/N

I'M FUCKING SOBBING!!! MY BIG GUY IS THE SWEETEST MOST PURE HUMAN BEING EVER! From a kickass match to a kickass proposal, my heart is so content! I can't even describe how sad I am that we're only ONE CHAPTER AWAY.

And a HUGE bonus that you'll want to keep your eye out for. Trust me... *hint hint*

Also, in case you missed it follow my IG! It has a ton of updates about my upcoming stories and I did an in depth Q&A that you can find on my story highlights! I also posted a list of my book recommendations and I'm going to be making a video of my story plotting process as well. My IG will feature all this and more so don't miss out!

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