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A car door slams and footsteps approach me.
“What the fuck?”
I lower my eyes to see Luca standing before me, as I lay on the hood of my car. And even though it’s dark, I can see that he is pissed.
And worried.
“It’s fucking cold out here, what are you doing?” he asks, glaring at me.
I sit up so I can look at him. “Thinking.”
“Thinking? Thinking? What the fuck, Ty?” he shouts, opening his arms wide. “Everyone is fucking worried about you. You don’t talk to anyone for days, you apparently show up to work before you’re supposed to and rip everyone’s heads off, then you just disappear without telling anyone anything. No one knows where you are! I went to your work, your apartment, and nothing. Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Well, you found me,” is all I can say as I take in just how angry and frazzled he looks. His words echo in my head as he just stares back at me. He went to my work, to my apartment… he went through a lot of effort to find me.
And that’s all I can say…
He scoffs. “Yeah. I fucking did. And you don’t seem to fucking care that everyone is stressed out over you.”
My chest tightens at those words, as I know he’s right. I didn’t care, and I hate that. I didn’t consider what everyone else would think or feel about this, as I threw myself into my own misery and blocked everything and everyone out.
“I’ve been trying to give you your space, Ty. But this is enough.” Luca runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to help you, in whatever way you need or however I can, but I don’t know how to do it.” He drops his hand forcefully. “So, things suck, and you have some things to work through. But you don’t get to push me away, you fucking asshole. If you lose MMA, that doesn’t mean you have to lose me too.” He pauses for a moment, taking a big breath in. “I love you, you fucking idiot, even after this shit you’ve pulled. You’re not just MMA. You’re Tyler fucking Roscoe, a badass fucking tiger who no longer has to hunt alone at night. But you need to get it through your thick fucking skull that-”
“I love you, too.”
He stops and stares at me. Just when I think he’s not going to say anything, for once, he blurts out, “What?”
“You heard me,” I say, as his eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Did I?”
“I don’t know, did you?”
“You’re a dick.”
“We’ve established that.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, but what was it you said? You first.”
He doesn’t say anything, standing before me as I sit on the hood of my car.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice losing the edge he came here with.
I push myself off the car to stand before him. “I went to the doctor.”
He nods. “I’d fucking hope so. And?”
“I’m good.”
His eyes widen. “You’re good?”
“Yeah.”
“Like… no more head shit going on?” he asks, hope lacing his voice and his eyes brightening.
I nod. “I still have a concussion, but it’s healing as it should. No head contact in sparring for a month, but otherwise, at the end of this week, I can return to light training.” My lips tilt up at the look of complete shock on his face. I shrug. “So, yeah… no more head shit.”
