Erika's POV:

If I could turn back time, I wouldn't change a thing. I would repeat everything, just as I did up until now.

I'd make the same sacrifices, to travel thousands of miles away from home to study in this city and become someone I was proud of. I'd be doing the same job, covering long-hour shifts, just so I could meet him; just so I could be here, at this moment.

"That's it, Brandon. Keep your head in the game."

In the past, I remember myself having the urge to run away when things got harder. That changed, after my first personal victories.

I loved winning.

Med-school was my challenge, and I went through my obstacles humbled, but always a fighter. Giving up was never an option, once I tasted the sweet taste of success.

I loved winning for myself, but was surprised at the feeling of winning for someone else; when my patients survived their own battles. That brought a sense of accomplishment unlike any other.

It was fulfilling to watch them escape illness and be able to live their lives to the fullest; seeing their hopeful eyes when they woke up after a long, difficult surgery, their warm smiles after they were told the operation was successful. They were healthy. They could finally go home.

"Don't get cocky now."

It was different when he won.

That sort of adrenaline was addictive, more dangerous, thrilling.

But I craved it.

"That's it! Remember your training."

His uncle's voice, always louder than the cacophony of the crowd, guided him through every step, each pivot.

Tonight's game was intense. Not only because of the fiasco the media stirred about his alleged drug-abuse, but also because of the rumpus caused between the CEOs in charge of the league and the health care providers. They weren't ready to take responsibility. Which meant, the games would proceed as planned, and medical examinations would follow afterwards.

Brandon tried to persuade them, so the doping and drug tests took place before the start of the match. He feared nothing since he was clean, but almost faced serious repercussions in the form of elites who were attending tonight's game. He didn't want to trigger Cyrus' wrath on top of everything else, so he took a step back, with the silent promise of wreaking havoc after the event.

He was closely monitored by them, that was for sure. And while we both knew that certain drugs had a relatively short half-time in the bloodstream, there was nothing to be done other than wait until after the event.

"We're sorry we're late." Stella's voice caught my attention, as she sat right beside me in the empty seats I saved for her, Markus and Jax.

"What did we miss," asked my brother, his eyes focused on the people in the middle of the ring.

"Nothing much," Liam said from right next to me. "No one managed to land a good hit, yet."

From the moment the bell rang, signaling the start of the second round, I felt a heaviness in my stomach unlike any other time.

Blinding spotlights illuminated the two men circling each other, while the rest of the underground stadium was left in darkness.

There was nowhere to look at, but him.

"That man is huge."

My brother's words did nothing to ease my anxiety, but they were true. His opponent, true to his stage name, was built like a machine. Brandon wasn't considered small, but the man standing opposite him, clad in red, was one of the biggest athletes of their division.

Brandon was faster, dodging the other's attacks with ease. The only problem was, he wasn't able to land his own fists accurately. 'The machine' was built like a truck, with biceps big enough that covered the sensitive places Brandon tried to exploit, and that gave him an advantage.

But it was only a matter of time.

Hoots and booing reverberated around the room, when my Guardian landed a strong punch; not everyone tonight was a fan. The Machine shook his head, trying to get his bearings, leaving an opening for Brandon to attack again.

And that was his mistake.

Luring Brandon closer to him in such a brief time, gave him a split-second opening to attack back. Brandon tried to defend himself with an arm raised, feinting and dodging to avoid the flurry of punches. Suddenly, he lunged in with a powerful cross, aiming to break through the Machine's guard, but his opponent quickly parried the punch and swung a hard right hook, landing a direct blow to the jaw.

The audience gasped with shock and wonder, but everything was static to my ears. I was watching with bated breath, as Brandon staggered back, nearly falling to the ground. The Machine advanced, his fists pumping, ready to finish the fight.

Feeling the blood pumping through my veins, I got to my feet, the urge to do something overwhelming, when I felt Liam reach for my wrist. I felt so lost in my fear and anger, I turned to fight him as well, when the referee stepped in, calling an end to this round.

It was only by sheer luck that this match didn't end right at that moment.

I watched him sit by his corner, Elijah running to his side with a water bottle and a towel. His eyes were closed, head leaned back, as he breathed heavily. He nodded a few times at whatever Eli was telling him, when he finally opened his eyes. He didn't have to search the audience to find me. I was still standing, eyes focused on him the entire time.

My lungs were burning from how breathless I felt. I wanted to run to him, the urge getting stronger by the second, when he offered me a smile; a mischievous one, filled with hidden promises.

He would win. For me. For himself.

Before I could rein in my overwhelming emotions, the two athletes jumped to the center of the stage. The referee took a position between them and called for the bell to initiate the next round, the sound creating goosebumps on my skin.

The audience could hardly contain their excitement, while I trembled at the site of his newly acquired bruises on his wrists and chest, the darker red shade on his jaw.

Their gazes were locked in intense concentration, patiently, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The crowd jumped to its feet, screaming and cheering, as the two fighters circled each other, their fists ready. Eager for a quick knock-out, the Machine moved forward, throwing punches that Brandon barely managed to parry.

Just when I thought the Machine got him, Brandon pulled back and did a quick jig, dashing in with a combination of blows that seemed to land all over the bigger man's face. The Machine staggered, dazed by the attack, but managed to stay upright. He responded with a massive uppercut, knocking Brandon off balance, and sending him tumbling towards the mat.

At the deafening sound, shivers of pain ran up and down my spine, while the crowd erupted into a roar. But Brandon wasn't ready to give up, regaining his footing and pressing forward.

"Damn it, Brandon. Remember your fucking training!" Elijah said, his words reaching my ears like a safety line.

Brandon unleashed a barrage of strikes, hitting his opponent repeatedly. The Machine was stunned and could only cover up, desperately hoping to survive the onslaught and regain his breath. But Brandon pummeled him relentlessly.

"That's it, B. Remember where you came from."

Where he came from.

He came from a lot of pain, hiding everything behind a mask, the persona of a bully, and fuckboy, an emotionless bastard. But here he was, surviving so much, to be the loving man, the fighter he was today.

He survived everything life threw his way, to be the guardian for so many people and for himself; to be my Guardian.

Finally, the referee had to step in and call the match as the bigger man sagged on the mat. The crowd was ecstatic as they cheered, and Brandon stood victorious.

He had just beaten one of the biggest fighters in the division, and the victory was sweet. He had proven himself, and soon he would prove his strength wasn't rigged with artificial or illegal substances.

Relaxing my fists, I cringed at the burning sensation my nails left behind on the pierced skin of my palms.

But it didn't matter.

Letting out the breath that was caught in my throat throughout this last round, I only watched one man.

If only he could see what I saw; the man that, even through all the hardships, persevered and never gave up. Even with the guilt of his past, dragging along behind him like an extra weight on his shoulders, he cultivated the pain to his advantage.

If only he could see the man I fell in love with. The stubborn man that knocked the breath out of my lungs.

The man that called me Angel.

Up until now, it was a battle of nerves, as I stopped myself multiple times from running to him.

But right now, I didn't have to.

Eyes connected with my own, he jumped under the ropes of the stage, each step bringing him closer. A sea of people surrounded him, all ecstatic, wanting to tell him a few words of praise. His eyes searching for my own, as he thanked them, taking each dragging step towards me.

One moment his eyes were happily locked on mine, and the next he was looking at something beside me, his once happy façade morphing into one of terror as he attempted to push through the barrier of people surrounding him, trying to run towards me.

Confused by the sudden change in his demeanor, I turned to my left, when someone pushed Stella, and she fell to the row in front of us. I tried to steady her, see if she was hurt, but her eyes were also concentrated somewhere else. I turned around, trying to see what colored Stella and Brandon's faces in fear, only to be met with eyes cold.

The cold feeling of a blade slushed through my side, slow and burning; like the deathly eyes that were still watching me. The man was holding me upright for a second to long, before he pulled away, gone in the havoc he created.

My hands flew to the wound on my side, coming back wet and red. I tried to breathe, as everything stilled, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears.

Pictures flashed through my mind, voices rang loudly, painting a very confusing puzzle in front of me. It took me a few seconds to piece things together, but soon I was falling as I clutched at the fresh wound on my body. I was falling, but never touched the ground. Instead, I found myself in Brandon's arms, who kept shouting at no one and everyone.

It was hard to concentrate on the people around me, the picture distorted. Markus' shouting voice threw the blame on him. Stella tried to assess the wound and keep Markus from freaking out. And Jaxon... Jax was staring at the wound behind my hands, before his terror-filled eyes found my own.

"Jax... snap out of it... c-call 911!" Each word hurt more, but managed to snap him out of his trance.

Everything hurt. Even breathing hurt. And I felt cold.

I turned my gaze towards Brandon, needing to look into his eyes for a few seconds longer. I needed to stay awake, concentrate on his eyes; the only reality I needed right now. Fear pooled into his warm greens, and I placed my hand on his cheek to erase the lines of discomfort on his beautiful, bruised face.

He placed his forehead on my own, whispering things I couldn't discern.

My hand fell from his cheek, leaving behind scarlet lines and fingerprints painted on his skin.

Tears filled my own eyes.

It hurt.

I didn't want to be his pain. I didn't want things to end like this.

Never like this.

Like an old movie, Elijah's promise came into my mind, a weak attempt at a chuckle that almost sounded like a sigh left my lips. The irony hurt.

Everything hurt.

Was this a sign?

Was this my sign, that this between us would never work, or that I had to fight harder?

Which was the right decision?

Stay alive. That was the only correct answer.

Because even if I had a choice, I would do everything as I did up until now; follow the same steps that led to the same path.

Everything happened, so our paths would cross, and I could be in his arms.

So, I could be his in this moment.

Just so we could win.

___

I can't believe I hurt my baby like this! Please forgive me Eri!!!

Allow me to cry in a corner, while you try to find a way to fix this mess!

Feel hugged and loved. Take care.

xo, Dear J