Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
We kiss, and then she leaves the car, leaving my soul empty, hollow, and hungry for her. I close my eyes, breathe, harness this feeling, and think about the rage at not being together, the pain of our betrayal, harnessing it, getting ready for the fight.
Before, it was just the heavyweight belt. Now, it’s for my family, for their financial future. I never needed much money before. I live a simple, Spartan life, but knowing there’s a baby on the way is different. I’m going to be the man my father never could. I will be there for my woman, my future wife, the mother of my child.
Even if it means I have to let go of the only friend I’ve ever had, I will support Mary every day for the rest of our lives.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
MARY
FOUR WEEKS LATER
When my alarm goes off, I force myself to spring out of bed and go straight into the ensuite, splashing water on my face and muttering my morning mantra. “We’re going to raise our baby. Brad will be happy for us. Everything will be okay.”
Rust and I have had no contact since the night in the car when our passion got the better of us. He’s gone quiet, not even responding to Cain on social media. The fight-week press conference will be his first appearance since the last one, where Cain pulled that picture stunt.
After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I head downstairs in my motel uniform. Brad’s at the table, eating toast. I feel a shimmer from deep inside—the baby, no bump yet, but still, the baby judging me. He still doesn’t know… I’ve gone from imagining my mom’s to my future baby’s voice. I wonder if that makes me more or less sane.
Since the trip, I haven’t watched any of Mom’s videos. All I’ve done is go to work, come home, try to read, think about Rust, finally pass out, then repeat. He said he wanted a life together, and now it’s here—the fight week. Then soon, win or lose, he’ll be here. We’ll be… telling Brad.
I sit at the table, taking a slice of toast and buttering it.
“I was thinking of going to watch the fight,” Brad says.
I almost close my eyes to take a moment to gather myself. These past few months have changed me so much. I started as a girl with a crush and a slave to Mom’s videos. Now, I’m a woman with a baby, a man, and possibly a future. I’ve broken out of that prison, but this agony won’t quit until I do the right thing.
I could tell him right now—say I’ve been keeping a secret and go from there. However, we agreed we’d do it after the fight. Honestly, I’m not even sure I can do it then.
“Do you want to come?” Brad asks.
“Did Rust ask you to go?”
“No, but you know what he’s like. He’s gone into Spartan mode for the training camp. He probably doesn’t want to think about anything else.”
Yeah, I know that for sure. He told me right before we had sex for the second time, riding him in that car when I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to at first. It felt so right with him buried inside me, fusing us, proving we have something real.
“I’d like to see him win the heavyweight championship,” Brad goes on, a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s looking deep into the past. He probably is, seeing some memory of Rust and him when I was too young to know anything. “He used to talk about it sometimes. It was those rare times I saw him smile. What do you think?”
I should say no. I’ve made this mistake once before. We agreed we’d end it, then I showed up, and everything changed. It led to the passion, that beautiful moment in the room when he spun me around, the promise in the car. It led to the adventure of us. What’s the difference between telling Brad there instead of here after the fight?
He waits patiently for my answer. He’s been cautious around me since the Mom news, but I have to think about my man and what he said. He needs to focus. “I think we should see if he wants us there first. Maybe ask through Marquis or something? If he hasn’t asked, maybe there’s a reason.”
I feel like such a bitch saying this, sniping at my brother’s friendship. He nods. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll reach out.”
When I get home from work, Brad is cooking sausages in the frying pan, the kitchen billowing with smoke. I rush across the room and open the back door, grabbing a magazine and waving it, thinking of the baby as I cover my mouth.
“Thanks,” he says, taking them off the heat. “They smoked up on me.”