This time, I hear a scoff. “Will not. You have a fight to be at tonight.”
“Don’t care.” Much as it’s hard to believe, it’s the truth. If it comes down to a choice between this one fight and keeping Sydney forever, I’ll choose her every time. I understand why she doesn’t believe me. My priorities have been messed up in the past, but now that my head is screwed on straight, I’m not going anywhere. “You’d better believe I’ll stay right here until you’re ready to talk, sweetheart. However long that takes. I have enough food here to keep me going for a good while.”
“Please don’t make a scene,” she begs. “Just go. Do your thing. I can’t handle seeing you right now.” Her voice breaks on the last sentence, and my hands tighten into fists.
“No one is making a scene,” I promise. “I’m just sitting here nice and quietly. You let me in when you’re ready.”
“Gabe.” She sounds annoyed. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“I won’t give up on us, sweetheart. Things are all kinds of wrong, and I want to fix it, which means I’ll be staying here and boycotting my fight if that’s what it takes to prove to you where you rank for me.” I mean it, one hundred percent. I’m staging a sit-in, and I won’t be moved.
She huffs, and in that soft breath I hear months’ worth of bottled-up frustration—if not years. “If you’re trying to guilt me into letting you in so you make it to your fight on time, don’t bother. I won’t let you manipulate me.”
“Good, because I don’t want that.” I can see why it would cross her mind though. After all, I left it until the day of the fight to put my foot down. But that’s only because I have this awful feeling that if I go along tonight without resolving things between us, it will be too late. The damage to our relationship will be irrevocable. I can’t let that happen.
“I’m not here to guilt you. I’m here to talk this through. To make it better.”
For a long moment, she doesn’t reply, and I think I hear her groan under her breath. The door handle turns, and my gaze shoots to it, my entire body tensing, ready to leap up the second it opens. But then she releases it, and the lock snicks back into place.
“Seriously, if you don’t move I’ll have to call the building manager,” she says.
“If you feel like you need to, go ahead.” Although I doubt the reedy guy I’ve seen bumming around in a polo shirt would dare to remove me from the premises. But if she really wants me gone that badly, I’ll leave. Until then, I’ll wait her out, because I don’t truly believe that’s what she wants. She’s just trying to protect her heart. While it causes an ache in my own chest to know that she feels she needs to, I get it, and I intend to prove that I’ve finally grown up enough for her to trust me to keep it safe.
“Why are you so frustrating?” she asks, sounding so tired I wish I could gather her in my arms and hold her close.
“Because I can’t think of any other way to prove myself to you, baby. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
21
Sydney
Why did I have to fall in love with a guy who could out-stubborn a ram?
And exactly what is he planning to accomplish by camping outside my door?
All he’s going to do is drive home exactly how much more MMA means to him than I do when he leaves. Either that, or he’ll guilt me into letting him in, which means I’ll only resent him more when he goes. All in all, it doesn’t seem like the most well thought-out plan he could have devised. Plus, it’s making me skittish. Moving around the apartment, I’m hyper conscious of every sound I make and can’t help but wonder whether he can hear them, too, or if he can figure out what I’m doing based on the noises drifting through the door. The place isn’t even remotely soundproof.
Still, I go about my day, doing the laundry and vacuuming, watching an episode of a sitcom I love about a city girl who moves to the sticks, and then I’ve started making a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch when my phone rings. Grabbing it out of my pocket, I see the caller is Mrs. Ramirez, my neighbor from across the hall.
“Hey, Mrs. R. What’s up?”
“Hello, Sydney dear,” she rasps, her throat rough from cigarettes. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. There’s a man loitering in the hall by your door. He looks vaguely familiar but I can’t quite place him. Is he causing you any trouble?”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. Gabe is still out there? “No, he’s fine. Don’t you worry. Just a friend I’m having an argument with who can’t stand losing.”
“Oh.” There’s a pregnant pause, then she adds, “Are you sure? Because my nephew is a sergeant with the Metro PD. I can give him a call.”
“No, no, no,” I gasp, hoping she hasn’t already contacted him. She’s a lovely old lady but a tad interfering and it would be just like her to call her nephew with some exaggerated tale of a damsel in strife. “There’s no need for that. I promise you, everything is fine. But thanks for checking in on me. How is Molly doing?” I ask, grasping at straws. Mrs. Ramirez is obsessed with her Maine Coon, Molly, and never misses an opportunity to talk about her.
She huffs. “You would not believe what happened yesterday.” Ten minutes pass before she stops telling me about her cat. When the call ends, I’m tempted to reiterate to Gabe that he should leave, but I feel like ignoring him is probably the safest way to ensure he does. I smell something burning, and rush to save my grilled cheese. It’s extra crispy, but edible. My stomach grumbles, and I think of Gabe outside. Should I make him a sandwich?
No, of course not!
But maybe he’s hungry. He needs to be well-fueled for tonight.
It’s not your problem. Besides, he said he has food.
Ugh. With immense willpower, I manage to squelch the need to take care of my friend and eat by myself. Then I climb into bed—because it’s easily the most comfortable place in the apartment to read—and settle in with a romance novel.
