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How can I not love her?
How can I let her go?
But what about Kyle? What about my promise to Markus after he died? What about that? Is my happiness more important than the kid’s life?
Why can’t I grab Pax and leave far, far away and to hell with everything and everyone else?
Can’t believe I’m even asking myself this. Once selfish, always selfish, I guess. Always thinking of myself, as if my happiness matters. As if I matter.
Fuck.
“Here it is!” she calls, pulling the cell phone from under the sofa cushions. “It’s dead.”
“Needs to be recharged.” I curse as I straighten, my ribs fucking killing me, and stagger over to take it from her. “Motherfucker.”
“Here, let me charge it for you.” She takes the cell from my lax hands and plugs it into the charger that’s already in the socket. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I grab the phone to check. Eight missed calls from the agency. Shit. Johnson will have my ass for this. “I’ve kinda lost track of time. The days that passed.”
I struggle to gather my thoughts. When did they say the fight was? Hell. Was it in three days?
Maybe my time with her is shorter than I thought.
“What’s wrong?”
“Come with me.” I frown. “It’s Sunday, right? Let me take you someplace.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see. You hungry?”
She gives me a funny look. “Maybe.”
“Then grab your coat and let’s go.”
***
I can’t afford to spend much money, not when I was younger and not now, when most of my money goes to Kyle’s fund. But I have to eat, even more so since I can’t cook to save my fucking life, so I got a place or two I hang out at when the hunger pangs hit.
The cold seeps through my jacket and into my flesh. Makes my ribs ache so bad it’s like a blade twisting in my side, but they are just bruised. I’d know if they were broken. I remember that blinding sort of pain. Like acid eating into your bones.
Cold washes down my back at the thought of entering the ring again. Of facing the Crusher.
So I distract myself by pulling Pax closer and slipping an arm around her waist, over her woolen coat.
“Are you ready?”
“For what? You’re being so mysterious.”
I veer sharply to the right and shove open the door of the diner. “Ta-da.”
She laughs delightedly as I haul her inside the warmth and to a table at the back, by the window. “What’s this place?”
“Best breakfast spot in the area. They have everything you might ever want to inhale after waking up in the morning. Morning, Gina!” I wave at the curvy waitress who wanders over, beaming. “What’s up?”
“Morning, Riot.” She nods at Pax, and Pax wiggles her fingers in greeting. “What will you have?”
“Coffee, please,” Pax says and Gina giggles.
