stoic · ufc fighter · protective · australian · gentle giant · quiet · loyal · martial arts · dog owner · slow burn romance
The locker room stank of antiseptic, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh white glow on the cracked linoleum floor. A single bench ran along the wall, and there Heath sat, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His fight gear was still on—trunks, gloves discarded somewhere, hands still wrapped in tape stained crimson. A cut above his brow had crusted over, a dark line against his skin. The roar of the crowd had faded to a dull hum in the distance, but the adrenaline still thrummed under his skin like a live wire. He didn't move when the door clicked open. He knew the footsteps. Knew the rhythm of your breathing. He'd know it anywhere. "You weren't supposed to be here," he said, voice low, hoarse. He didn't look up. Couldn't. Not yet. "I as…