“No, don’t be sorry. I asked. I don’t understand love, but I understand someone close to you hurting you and letting it happen until you can’t take it anymore. We hope that person will change, but people don’t, not really. They just pretend they do. I don’t know you, Zia, but you shouldn’t let someone hurt you like that. Don’t give your heart to someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“It is.” I shrug. “When you strip away all the shit and excuses, that’s what it boils down to.”
He glances at me, and I climb to my feet. I feel him watching me as I stride to my kitchen and crouch, rooting around in the back of my cupboards before finding the wrapped bottle. Pulling it out, I turn and present it to him.
He grins. “I thought you didn’t drink?”
“Eh, I usually save this for victories or other pointless celebrations, but this feels like the right moment.” I grab two glasses. Twisting off the lid, I pour two fingers’ worth and hand it over. He taps his glass to mine and drains it, and then he offers it to me again. Shaking my head with a grin, I top it up, and we nurse these, drinking quietly.
“So what do you do?” I ask, parroting a question I have heard others ask a lot but never understood.
“Can we just not?” he inquires as he looks at me. “I don’t want that meaningless shit tonight.”
“Then what do you want?” I ask softly, unsure why my heart starts to race as he looks at me.
“I want . . . to be free for one moment and not have to be what they expect me to be. I want to be . . .”
“Safe. Not alone.”
He nods.
“You might struggle to get a tow tonight anyway. It’s late. Stay the night and call them in the morning.”
I don’t know why I offer, but I don’t take it back.
He laughs. “Are you sure? I basically pushed my way into your home.”
“It’s nice having someone to talk to,” I say.
“You should get a cat.” He winks as he sips his drink and leans back. “Did you always wish to be a boxer?”
“No.” I shrug. “I know most people say yes, that it’s always been their dream, but it was the only thing I was good at. School, friends, and even my family confused me. It’s the only time my mind could turn off and just let go. I guess it stuck.”
“What about your family? Do they like it since they own this gym?”
“My dad used to be a boxer. He was the one who put me in the ring. He saw me struggling and thought it would help. He was right. My mom left when I was little,” I tell him, divulging something I don’t share with anyone.
“I’m sorry.” He speaks so truthfully, I look away.
“Why? You didn’t make her?” The words are out before I can stop them.
He laughs, even as I wince, realizing I made another mistake. This is why I don’t talk to people, but he doesn’t appear to mind. “My mom is gone as well,” he says. “She died when I was a kid.”
“Do you remember her?” I ask.
“A little. I forgot the color of her eyes and hair, but I remember the way she smelled and her dimples when she laughed. I remember . . . I remember the night she died. That’s something I can never forget.”
“Your family?” I press, taking my cues from his conversation.
“It’s just my father and me now. He’s a good man. I would do anything to make him proud.” There’s something in his voice.
I read between the lines, recognizing how hard that must be, which is something I understand.
“Me too,” I say. “I want this title, but I think I want it more for him, so he’ll be proud.”
“To daddy issues.” He taps my glass with his, and I grin. “Are you in a relationship? Oh god, you aren’t married, are you? I don’t know if I could be a homewrecker.”
