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My fists are itching for a punching bag right now, and Dominik’s face is looking more and more appealing. I round the desk, barely coming to a stop before he and I are chest to chest. “I check in on Jasper every fucking day. I’m not putting blind faith in him.”
Dominik lets out a bitter laugh. “Wow. You check on your jailbird friend more than your postpartum wife? Wild.”
And there goes the last fucking straw.
My fist connects solidly with Dominik’s jaw, but he must’ve been expecting it because he rolls with the blow and counters with a jab to my stomach.
It’s been a while since we had an all-out brawl, but judging from the way Dominik throws himself at me, it’s long overdue.
Dominik tackles me around the waist, and we crash into my desk. The work I was pretending to be busy with scatters across the room. What I think is a pen stabs me between the ribs, but I barely feel it.
I roll us over so I can pin him to my desk. His head snaps to the side as I land one strike and another.
I grimace as he digs a shot into my ribs, throwing me off-balance enough to get back to his feet.
We go back and forth, sweat and spit flying, neither one of us willing to admit to even a tiny grunt of pain. It’s a mess of elbows and fists careening in every direction. Shit breaks—some of it inanimate, some it very much flesh and blood.
In the end, I power through with an uppercut that sends Dom’s teeth clacking together and his eyes rolling in their sockets. He staggers backwards, but it takes him next to no time before he’s dropping into a fighting crouch once again. Woozy on his feet, though it doesn’t matter—the look on his face says he’ll keep going until one of us can’t anymore.
I sigh and let my hands drop to my sides. That just makes Dominik’s lip curl.
“This isn’t you, Arsen,” he pants. “You don’t run from a fight.”
“Who the fuck is running?”
“You. Again and again and again. Running from me, from Laila, from your fucking responsibilities as a man.”
I spit blood on the carpet. “What part of punching you in the face qualifies as ‘running’?”
He laughs, a nasty, grinding sound. “Oh, you think trading punches is the same thing as stepping up? That’s why you’re so deluded, man. You’re missing the forest for the trees. Focusing on the shit right in front of your face so you can pretend to ignore the big picture. Yeah, punching me counts as ‘running.’ Because I’m honest with you even when you don’t want to hear it. Even when you kick my ass to try to shut me up.”
“I guess it didn’t work. Should I try again?” I look down at him, but I hardly recognize what I see.
Insubordination simmers in his eyes. I may have claimed a victory in the fight, but I know I haven’t changed his mind. That needle hasn’t moved one iota.
“You’ve always been a better fighter than me. You practiced your ass off. You’re quick and you’re strong, and you know it. It makes you confident, which makes you one of the best damn fighters I’ve ever seen.”
I spit another mouthful of blood on my hardwood floors. “If you think flattery will make me apologize, I must’ve hit you harder than I thought.”
With a sigh of pain, Dominik collapses against the couch. He plants his hands on his hips as blood drips down his chin. “You could be a good father, too, Arsen. If you wanted. If you stopped burying your hand in the sand and fought—for them.”
A chill works down my spine. It might be blood from the pen that stabbed me in the back, but I doubt it. “You don’t know what you’re?—”
“Laila believes in you. I do, too, for whatever the fuck that’s worth,” he continues. “But none of that means shit if you’re too scared to come out of this room and take a shot.”
With another weary sigh, he walks out.
But his last words linger long after he’s left.
49
ARSEN
I shouldn’t have let her in.
The second I heard her soft voice through the wood, I should’ve hunkered down and waited for her to leave.
But all I heard was Dominik’s voice in my ear.You don’t run from a fight. Laila believes in you.
