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Wes

I’m in trouble.

When I told Honor that her outfit might be a problem for a bunch of dudes? I was talking about me. I’m the dude.

From the moment I saw how delectable she looked in that dress with the tight corset top, I had to avert my eyes or risk giving away my secret.

I’m in love with my best friend.

It’s a secret that wants to tip off my tongue every time I see her, and yet it never feels like the right moment. The right moment is definitely not now, in the middle of a fight.

Still, I have to stop myself from looking at every guy here suspiciously in case he’s eyeing the, uh, attributes of my girl.

There’s a word to describe a guy who’s been secretly in love with his best friend for twenty years: Pathetic.

I sigh as I start to unpack my armor. I feel like a kid at Christmas, unwrapping each piece, and yet my mind is split, thinking about Honor sitting by herself.

This is the problem. Every day, every thought, is split. I can only give half of my attention to anything, because the other half is solely concentrated on Honor.

I haven’t always been this bad. Throughout school, I convinced myself that it was totally fine and appropriate to have a secret crush on your best friend. We spent all our free time together anyway and “dating” mostly consisted of hanging out at the mall and holding hands.

In high school, Honor started dating someone before I could work up the courage to ask her out.

So then I asked someone out just to double date.

Back and forth we went, and it just never seemed like the right time.

At some point, I just accepted that this was the extent of my relationship with Honor and it was all that it was ever going to be.

But I can’t accept that any longer. Every relationship, every date, has only proven to me that Honor is the one that I want to be with. When I go to sleep, it’s Honor that I think about, and when I wake up, it’s Honor that I want to see.

I’ve tried to tell Honor a million times–through hints and insinuations, testing the waters to see if she felt the same way without ruining the most important relationship in my life. But all I’ve done is torture myself.

Last fall, I had decided I was finally going to grow a pair and tell her straight out.

But I still couldn’t. If I told her and she rejected me, our relationship possibly wouldn’t recover.

I’d have lost the person I love most in the world.

Just the thought is horrific, and the fear sometimes wakes me up at night in a cold sweat.

Luckily for me, I found armored combat at just the right moment.

Not only was I genuinely interested, but it gave me an excuse to do something without Honor.

I could feel Honor’s hurt at my sudden abandonment, but I couldn’t handle the push-pull of wanting to blurt out my feelings and not being able to.

So, rather than tell her the truth, I ran away.

Great job, Wes. Very brave.

I pull on my custom-made leather boots and thread the leather cord to fasten the armored sabatons over top.

Next, I step into my padded chausses and tie the fabric belt around my waist. I attach the greaves to protect my shins and cuisses over my thighs, securing both with leather straps and buckles.

I pull on the padded gambeson, fastening with fabric ties down the front.

Then I buckle on the brigandine, or armored chest piece that protects my chest and back.

I’m glad that Honor’s here, even if I’ll lose the excuse of the sport to avoid her. I’ve come to love Buhurt and my team. Having the person I love the most involved with the sport I love the most is the best of both worlds.

By the time I get to the arms and shoulder pieces, I need assistance.

Putting on a suit of armor is often a two-man job; hence, why knights often had squires.

Unfortunately, the only person free is Mike, my least favorite person on the team.

He comes off as a bit of a blowhard, more interested in bragging about fighting rather than actually training.

“So, who’s your friend?” Mike asks as he helps me fasten the vambraces and rerebraces over my arms.

I glance at him, instantly tense. I definitely don’t like any guy’s attention on her, but particularly not this guy. “That’s Honor.”

“Are you two dating?”

My hackles rise. I know where this is headed, and I struggle to control the hot fury flooding through my veins. “No,” I say, the word scraping against my throat like a rock. “We’re just friends.”

Mike winces. “Friend-zoned, huh? Ouch.”

“We’ve known each other since kindergarten,” I retort, as though that makes us blood related. It galls me to use this as an excuse as this is exactly the mindset I fear Honor has that’s been keeping us apart.

Mike nods his head. “Is she seeing anyone?”

Even if I weren’t in love with her, this guy would be the last guy in the world that I would want her to date. Still, I already know that she won’t give a guy like Mike two seconds of her time after he opens his big mouth and sticks his foot in it. In fact, I can’t wait to watch her do it. “Nope.”

I put on my helmet and secure it with the Simon strap to the back of my armor, happy to have the visor covering my eyes so I don’t have to keep looking at Mike. Wiggling the helmet to make sure it’s seated comfortably, I fasten the chin straps.

“Well, put in a good word for me,” Mike says as he gives me a hearty slap to my back.

I pick up my ax and give it a few twirls to loosen up my wrist. “Sure, dude,” I say, with a smirk he can’t see behind my helmet. “I’ll be sure to do that.” Over my dead body and only to watch her destroy you.

I walk out to the list–a rectangular wooden structure made out of two by fours that marks the boundaries of the fight, much like a boxing ring.

The current fighters are just finishing up and as much as I want to watch with interest, my eyes are instead drawn to Honor, still sitting with her nose in a book.

With her attention focused elsewhere, I’m able to give in to the impulse to watch her as I’m seldom able to do when it’s just the two of us.

Her beautiful chestnut brown hair is long and wavy, flowing under a braided flower circlet that adorns her head.

Her cute, upturned nose is tilted downward and there’s a slight blush on her cheeks, which makes me wonder what she’s reading.

Knowing her, likely some fantasy book involving a heroic elven lord protecting his kingdom from evil forces.

She’s so beautiful. I struggle to understand when she makes comments that put herself down, particularly about her weight.

To me, she has the most gorgeous figure imaginable.

When she says negative things, I can only protest so much without giving myself away, when what I really want to say is this: you’re perfect. Don’t you dare change a thing.

As if she can hear my thoughts, her head pops up and she looks directly at me.

A shock wave runs through me as I immediately panic that she can see the longing on my face.

Then I remember I’m wearing a helmet, and she probably doesn’t even realize it’s me staring at her.

I lift my hand to wave, but she doesn’t wave back.

“For our next pro-fight, we have Xander from Seattle and our newest rookie fighter in Olympia Onslaught, Wes!” says Harold, who’s serving as emcee for the event. The crowd applauds as I raise my fist.

Honor’s eyes widen and she drops the book on her chair as she stands. My chest expands and I strut into the list, knowing that she’s watching me.

I take a moment to size up my opponent. Xander is a bigger dude, with several inches and probably fifty pounds on me. This won’t be an easy fight.

Harold waves a flag, indicating that the fight is starting, before ducking outside of the list. Xander and I advance toward one another, each eyeing the other.

Eager to prove myself, I start with some quick attacks, starting with an ax blow to Xander’s head and a rapid shield strike to the body.

Each time I strike, Xander responds by blocking, then immediately swings out with his arms to try to grab me.

I can tell he wants to claim an immediate victory by throwing me to the ground.

But that opens him up to my own move. I fake an ax strike and instead, when he goes to grab me, I hip-toss him, using his own momentum against him.

Xander hits the ground. I immediately pounce, raining down blows against him with both my ax and shield.

The crowd is cheering around me, and while I can’t see her, I can only imagine that Honor is one of them. The thought spurs me on, and I get so caught up in making my strikes, I forget to guard myself.

Xander wraps himself around my leg and yanks me off balance.

I tumble to the ground and before I can get back up, Xander is on top of me.

He hits me repeatedly with his mace and punch shield.

Each blow by the mace against my helmet sends a loud ringing sound through my ears.

The repeated punch shield strikes against my chest, knocking the wind out of me.

I try to buck Xander off and shield my body, but he’s too strong. I can’t budge him. He wails against me until I can barely breathe.

“Stop fight!” Harold yells.

Xander instantly stops pounding me. For a second, I just lie on the ground, trying to get my bearings as I do an all-systems check for any injuries.

I’ll have a nice bruise to my mid-section tomorrow, but otherwise, I’ll live.

I roll to the side and sit up. Xander offers me a hand up and I grab it, staggering to my feet even as my ears are still ringing.

“We have a winner!” Harold announces, holding up Xander’s arm. I clap along with the crowd, then reach out to shake his hand. Xander is definitely the far better fighter, and it was an honor to fight him.

“You did well, young’un,” Xander says. “You almost got me.” He winks.

“Give me a few more months to train,” I say, “then I want a rematch.”

“Oh, you think you can take me that soon?” Xander asks, his eyebrow raised.

“We’ll find out.”

“I like your attitude,” Xander says. “You can fight me anytime you need another lesson in defeat.”

Chuckling, I turn to look at Honor. The smile slides from my face when I see her. Honor stares at me, white-faced, her fingers clutching the wooden boards of the list.

Uh-oh. Maybe inviting Honor here wasn’t such a good idea after all.