“I hate this too. I hate it most because I’m the cause of your missing smile.”
She frowns, then catches herself and leans forward. “It’s not you, Dominic.”
“Really? What else is it?”
“It’s fighting. And Red,” she snarls, then grins so I know she’s not completely serious. “It’s my brothers and charity events and self-absorbed heirs that invite me to Paris.”
“I’m still busting his ass.”
She rolls her eyes. “I want things fixed. We have to figure out how to navigate all of this before it causes real problems.”
“Can we fix it at all? I mean, really, Cam. How much of this will just keep coming back over and over again because of who we are and what we do?”
“You aren’t fighting after this though, right?”
“No,” I concede, “but I’ll still go down there and train. It’s my therapy, and God knows I need therapy. I’m tight with Percy; he’s like family to me. You’re still going to do charity work because that’s who you are. It’s . . . us, Cam, that’s the problem. Not something we can just say we won’t do anymore.”
Her eyes get watery. I feel like a dick, although I’m trying to be honest. I don’t want to hurt her—that would be the last damn thing I do on purpose. But these aren’t things we can ignore and we may as well get them out there.
She stands and comes around the table. I scoot back and she wastes no time sitting on my lap. I rest my head on her shoulder, breathing in her perfume with the scents of the body wash she uses just underneath.
“Tell me we’re going to be okay,” she demands, swaying slowly back and forth.
“We’ll figure it out after the fight.” I sit up and touch her cheek. “I can only do one thing at a time and I fight tomorrow. I have to focus on that.”
“How are you feeling? Honestly?”
“Better. Not great,” I add when she starts to call me out. “But I’ll be fine. It’s just three rounds.”
“Just three rounds,” she scoffs.
“Three. Rounds.” I take her face in my hands and kiss her, knowing it will be our last kiss before I fight.
Breaking the kiss, I stand and look down at her. “I’ll text you tomorrow before I go in the ring. But don’t call, okay? I need to get you out of my head or that’s all I think about.”
“I’m going to be a nervous wreck,” she says, wringing her hands.
“Then I’ll text you as soon as I win. Promise.”
She walks me to the door, that stupid wedge apparent between us.
“Don’t forget to text me,” she says.
“I won’t.” I can’t help myself. I kiss her again, this time longer and deeper. “Talk to you soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
Dominic
THE LOCKERS BEHIND ME WERE once painted black. Before then, they were red. You can tell by the layers of paint peeling away on each and every one of them.
A faucet drips in the shower room next to the locker area I’ve been put in while I wait my turn in the ring. The room on the other side of the showers is a little nicer and most fighters pick it . . . and that’s why I pick this one. I’m alone.
Not talking to Camilla last night or all day today seemed like a good idea. But I’m starting to wonder if it was a mistake. I thought I could focus on the fight, but all I’ve managed is a knot in my stomach that I can’t get to go away.
Winning this fight is a must-do. I’ve trained for it, battered myself for it, and I could use the money. Why I can’t block everything else out and feel good about my strategy not only confuses me, it pisses me off.
I trained through the police investigation when I was a kid. I trained through work lay-offs and break-ups with girlfriends and working two jobs. I even managed to focus when I was working towards my HVAC certification. Now, the final fight of my life, and I’m losing my edge.