1
Seth
I don’t remember the last time I was this nervous. Not when I stepped into the cage for a championship bout. Not even when I got married. Smoothing my hands down my button-down shirt—something I haven’t worn in forever—I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection from the cafe window and wince. I should have shaved. A week’s worth of scruff decorates my jaw, with far more silver amongst it than there was back when I was with her.
With Ashlin.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my dark jeans—the nicest pair I own—I glance inside and spot her immediately, at a table in the rear of the cafe, as though she wants to be as far from the other customers as possible. At the sight of her, everything inside me clenches. There was a time when that woman was my entire world. But that was before she sat me down with a homemade dinner and asked for a divorce.
I haul in a breath, straighten my spine, and shove the door open. Inside, the cafe smells of cinnamon buns and pastries. My stomach gurgles, but I dare not put anything in it. I don’t know what she wants with me or why she asked me to meet her, but I’m hoping it’s for a second chance. There’s nothing I want more.
“Ashlin,” I say as I stop at her table.
She meets my eyes, every bit as gorgeous as I remember, with delicate pixie features, dark silky hair, and porcelain skin. But where’s her smile? Ashlin Isles has a smile for every occasion. At least, she used to. Now, she’s cool and reserved as she appraises me. Curling my fingers into my fists, I resist the urge to fidget as I wonder what she sees. I’ve changed since we were together. I’ve grown rougher, because it was her influence that smoothed my jagged edges. These days, I rarely glance in a mirror, but I know the crinkles around my eyes have multiplied, and tattoos cover even more of my skin than before—not that she can see them, since the long sleeves and jeans hide the majority.
“Hi, Seth.” Her voice is quiet but strong. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” I pull out the seat opposite her and drop into it. “Want to tell me why we’re here?”
A furrow forms between her brows. “Would you like to get coffee first? Something to eat?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
She nods, and her fingers venture over to the ring finger of her left hand, then pause, and she glances down, as though confused by them. “Do you mind if I do?”
I shrug. “Sure. Go right ahead.”
If this is a “let’s try again” conversation, I want her to be as comfortable as possible. At the moment, it’s plain she’s nervous. Ashlin is usually the essence of grace, but every time I catch her eyes, they hold for only a moment before darting away. She waves to a waitress, who comes over, and orders a decaf latte. I raise a brow. Decaf? The Ashlin I knew loved her coffee strong. But then, I haven’t seen her for years, so how much do I really know about her these days?
“Good day at the gym?” she asks while we wait for her drink to arrive.
“Same as usual.” I’ve been running Crown MMA Gym for eight years, since before we divorced—before we were married, as a matter of fact. But she was there in the very beginning, encouraging me to pursue my dream because we both knew that my time as a professional MMA fighter was limited. No matter how good I was, age catches up with everyone. Becoming head coach at my own gym was a retirement plan. Now here I am, with one of the best gyms in the country, but no wife to share my success.
“Devon is back at training?” she asks.
I nod. “Dangerous” Devon Green has recently returned to the gym after a brief stint away while I came to grips with his relationship with my baby sister. I was worried about them at first since they effectively had a workplace romance, but fortunately, it seems to be working out. I’ll never hear the end of it for going overprotective big brother on their asses.
“Yeah. He is.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I wish they’d gone about things differently,” I confess. It had taken them God knew how long to come clean with me. Am I really such a scary guy that my sister and one of my closest friends couldn’t be honest from the beginning? “I’m not upset about them as a couple though. They’ll be good for each other.”
“I think so too,” she says. Her drink is delivered, and she takes a sip, then clasps it between her hands as if to warm them, even though it’s a balmy eighty degrees out. “Right.” She takes a breath. “I suppose I should get to the point.”
“That would be great. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing here.”
She nods, then meets my eyes and holds the connection. “I want to have a baby.”
“What?” I gasp for air as the metaphorical floor falls out from under me. No blow I’ve ever received from an opponent could knock me down me the way she has with one statement.
I was there the last time she got pregnant. I witnessed the emotional aftermath of our miscarriage. Hell, I lived it. She fell apart, went through a period of depression, and I couldn’t do anything to help. Why would she want to put herself through that again?
She continues to hold my gaze. For all that she’s delicate and sweet, Ashlin is steely when it counts. “I still want children, and after all this time, I’m finally strong enough—body and mind—to have them.”
I want to protest. She didn’t see herself after we lost Cara. My thumb goes instinctively to the small tattoo inside my wrist. Our daughter’s name. I rub it back and forth, soothing myself, trying to ward off a wave of helplessness brought on by the memories. Ashlin had vanished into herself, and I disappeared into work. Then everything I cared about came crumbling down. But on the heels of the old grief comes something else.
Jealousy.
