Chapter Forty-Seven
Brooklyn
I felt the other side of the bed, my hands coming up devastatingly empty, and my heart squeezed into a tight knot that made it hard to breathe. I’d dreamed that Shane had shown up on my doorstep and we’d kissed and everything was right between us, and then we’d fallen into bed, and he was supposed to be next to me and he wasn’t, and dammit, I was going to start the day crying again.
I bolted upright, threw off my covers, and forced myself to get started on my day instead of sulking, because it was getting pathetic. When I had a paintbrush in my hand and a canvas in front of me, I felt alive. Each time I stopped by the ritzy gallery where tonight’s exhibition would take place, I got a contact high from all the magnificent artwork. The first day I’d strolled inside I’d had to beat back the voice in my head whispering that I was a farce and they’d find out they’d picked wrong. But after spending time setting up my display, I could now walk inside and feel like my pieces belonged there along with the others.
As for me? I still wasn’t sure if I belonged there. Mostly because every time I thought about Shane and my brothers and the gym, I felt like I belonged there instead, even though I knew otherwise. The damn pull of the MMA world was just that strong, constantly trying to take over, the way it always would if I let it.
Basically, if I didn’t fill every waking minute of my day with art, art, and more art, I forgot why I was here in San Francisco, and thoughts of home left me floundering and two shades past miserable.
I cracked a couple of eggs in my skillet, then I thought of how Shane made me eggs and bacon one morning, and instead of pushing it away, I closed my eyes and relived the way it felt to be wrapped in his arms. The way his lips felt against mine, and how his kisses awakened something inside of me I’d never felt before.
Then I was thinking of that night when he’d uttered the words: But most of all, I like you being mine.
It was enough to make me want to crawl back to him and beg him to let me be his again. If he really cared, though, surely he would’ve wished me luck and told me good-bye. He would’ve made at least one fucking phone call to check in or tell me he missed me. Something. Anything.
You could call him.
But the ball’s clearly in his court. I’m not going to beg. Not going to take second place in his life. Not going to wait for that day when he blames my not being there for why he cheated.
What did you expect? You should’ve been there. Conrad’s voice echoed through my head, a tormenting, stuck record that played every time I thought that maybe Shane and I could’ve found a way to work things out. I hated that the asshole’s words were in my head. Hated that he’d made me doubt Shane, who didn’t deserve to be compared to someone so far below his level.
Except for when they stepped into the cage tonight. Then everyone could compare how much better Shane was in every way.
Out of habit, I opened my calendar on my phone, despite being more than aware of the date and the two very important events happening today. I focused on the Golden City Art Exhibition!!!!! entry, and on how my paintings had been chosen from thousands of submissions—thousands. Along with established, well-known artists, my pieces would be on display for everyone who wandered through the gallery this evening, and over the next week as well. Unless I sold them all tonight, but that was getting way ahead of myself.
Even if I don’t sell a single one, it’s still a win. Nervous bees swarmed my stomach, and I placed a hand over the worst of the stirring, as if that’d help settle it down. Then I let my thoughts drift to the fights that’d take place in San Jose around the same time, and the swarm turned into an angry hornet’s nest that I’d kicked. Sting after sting, no end in sight.
It would’ve been hard enough knowing the fight was taking place, but the fact that it was a mere hour away made the burning sensation even worse. My brothers, Dad, and Shane would’ve traveled there yesterday. They would spend most of the day going through strategies and trying to calm their nerves, and later Liam would tape up Shane’s hands, put on his gloves, and the tension in the locker room would practically choke out everyone on the team. But my boys wouldn’t tap out. They’d use that tension in the cage.
I could picture Shane walking from the locker room, through the crowd, up to the octagon. Most fighters’ hands were bound up enough that if they hadn’t come out shirtless, they’d need someone to help them out of it.
I volunteer as tribute! Of course, then I’d have to touch Shane’s pecs and abs and that V disappearing into his shorts. Man, I should’ve spent more time tracing it with my tongue. My throat went dry, my thoughts counterproductive in so many ways that I should really slam the door on them.
Since I was bad at listening to reason, I shut my eyes and recalled that day in the locker room when he’d been wearing only a towel. How he’d pushed me back against the wall. The dirty reel took right off from there, replaying snippets of every time we’d had sex, although now I regretted not fitting more in. But it was so much more than that. I could talk to him about anything and everything, including my rocky relationship with my dad. Morning afters, snuggled up next to him, so much happiness filling me I thought I might burst. Training in the gym with him and how he’d never made me feel like I was a weak girl who couldn’t keep up. No, he’d made me feel stronger than ever. Then there was the way he’d studied my art and told me it was where I threw my punches.
Maybe I should’ve told him that I loved him. Not enough people told him how truly extraordinary he was. I couldn’t decide if that would’ve made it better or worse. Either way, the sucky end would’ve still come. We’d already pulled the pin out of the grenade by that point, and waiting around to see how big and devastating the explosion could be if we drew it out wouldn’t have done either one of us any good.
But, man, I missed him. Missed the gym and my brothers and even my dad. I missed the beach he and I walked along, and riding on the back of his bike, and that secretive smile he’d give me whenever our eyes met.
Grief washed over me in waves, wanting to pull me under, but I couldn’t stop fighting the current. I didn’t have time for that.
I’d survive this crazy, busy night, and then I’d deal with the rest of my issues.
Six more hours till go time.
An eternity and a blip of time.