Going the Distance by Meg Maguire Page A

couple inches above the mat.
    â€œWe’re waiting for confirmation,” the announcer revealed, “but it’s looking like...yes—”
    â€œLooks like what?” Lindsey demanded, throwing popcorn at the screen. A medical official knelt by Rich, messing with his foot.
    â€œYes, looks like Estrada’s right foot is probably broken.”
    â€œOh, no,” Jenna said, while Lindsey opted for a fouler expression.
    They showed a close-up replay of the moment Rich’s kick slammed the top of his foot square into Moreau’s elbow, the impact looking a hundred times worse in slow motion. She swore again, earning a glare from Brett.
    â€œCalm down, Linds. He won.”
    â€œDo you have any idea how long it takes a foot to heal? It could take a guy out of commission for months— ”
    â€œThis time last year you didn’t even know what MMA was—now you’re a groupie. Give it a rest.”
    A guy with a mike made his way to Rich. “Your second consecutive win since you signed, and your first title. How do you feel?”
    â€œI feel like I just broke my frigging foot.”
    â€œUnusual to see you dominate on the mat.”
    â€œDesperate times,” Rich said, annoyance seeming to give way to exhaustion. One thing was certain—he was not happy. Someone presented him with a flashy gold belt, but he did little more than clutch it to his ribs.
    â€œAnything else before we let you get that foot taken care of?”
    Rich said what he did at the end of every match. “Thank you, Mamá . Thank you, Diana.” Then he added something he never had before. “See you soon.”
    Lindsey shivered.
    The guy with the mike moved on to Moreau as Rich hopped down from the cage with the help of his corner, belt slung over his shoulder.
    Jenna shook off her alarm. “Rich is healthy. He’ll be back in no time, I bet.” She stood and replaced the throw pillow.
    â€œYou heading out? The main event’s next.” Don’t leave me with Brett.
    â€œI think I’ve hit my threshold for stress. Plus I’ve got a client first thing, and who knows how late Mercer will keep me up rehashing this.”
    There was more to Jenna’s hurried exit, though, and Lindsey couldn’t blame her. She and Brett weren’t exactly bringing out the best in each other lately. She went to fetch Jenna’s purse.
    â€œWell,” Jenna said when they met at the door. “At least there’s one rather selfish upside to this.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWe’ll probably get to see a lot more of Rich around the office again.”
    â€œYou think?” Lindsey glanced back at the screen, a queasy sensation tumbling around in her stomach. The camera followed Rich as he was led hopping from the arena, supported by his trainer and a medic. His face was pained, glistening with sweat. He didn’t look like a man who’d just won his first title fight. He looked... uncertain.
    â€œI’m sure he’ll come home during his rehab,” Jenna said. “Mercer said he’s really close to his family.”
    â€œRight. Yes.” The coverage had shifted to the next match, leaving Lindsey dangling, feeling too many conflicting things: dread and relief, fear and triumph. Pride. Worry. More emotions than she’d felt in the past month combined. The result of Rich’s injury? Partly. And the thought of him coming home.
    â€œWell,” she managed to say, “that’s something.”
    Something that had guilt rising in her middle for all the times before the breakup when Brett had been making the effort to be sweet, rubbing her feet, maybe, and boom! Rich’s hands. No, Brett’s hands—Brett, not Rich. But he’d flashed across her mind, unbidden.
    Worst of all, Brett’s kisses had paled for her. She’d kissed Rich for all of three minutes—and a champagne-clouded three minutes at that—full of