He nods, his slate gray eyes thoughtful. He knows that fancy footwork isn’t a strength of his. He’s more of a brawler, but he’s getting to the point in his professional career where he can’t afford to have weaknesses, which means we need to tighten up his flaws to the point where they won’t provide a clever opponent with a way to beat him.
Jase starts to turn, but then pauses. “You okay, man? You seem a bit off this morning.”
I’m struck by the urge to tell him everything. Jase may be more than a decade younger than me, but he’s the little brother I never had. For some reason, I keep my mouth shut. Opening up isn’t something I’m good at.
“Didn’t sleep well.”
“Damn.” He pulls a sympathetic face. “Hope it’s better tonight.”
“Yeah.” My phone rings, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. At least, I am until I check the screen and see it’s Tyrell. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear whatever he has to tell me. Indicating to Jase that I have to take it, I head for my office and shut the door. The space is larger than I need because in my heart I’m still a kid born on the wrong side of the blanket in the kind of crappy town where people hold that shit against you, and this is my way of proving I’ve made something of myself. The office has been useful since the divorce though, because my condo doesn’t feel like home. This space is familiar. Comforting. I know exactly who I am when I flop on the sofa and put my feet up: “Iron-Shin” Seth Isles, former UFC champion. Never been knocked out. The guy everyone wants to learn from.
“Hey, what’s the deal with the contract?” I ask, in lieu of a greeting.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Good morning, Tyrell,” I grind out, impatient for details.
“I’m good thanks,” he replies, as though I’d asked. “The contract is nothing out of the ordinary. Basically, it’s the best deal you could ask for. All you have to do is get your swimmers tested and then, if everything is fine with them, jerk off into a sample bottle. You’d have no ongoing responsibility to either Ashlin or any child that might result.”
Wait, what?
“What the fuck?” I demand, shaking my head, trying to comprehend his words. “There’s so much wrong with what you just said.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have no rights to the kid?”
“Noresponsibilityto provide for the kid,” he clarifies, as though that should make all the difference.
“No. Hell, no.” I put the phone on speaker and pace the length of the office, arms crossed over my chest. I can’t believe Ashlin would even suggest that. Not when she knows how I grew up, never completely sure who my father was. I always vowed I’d take care of any kids we had. Even when we’d only just started dating, I let her know that if an accident happened, I was all in. To be fair, I was obsessed with Ashlin from the moment I saw her, looking completely out of place at a fight night. An innocent Snow White, with the sweetest smile and a habit of glancing down when she spoke as though she wasn’t quite sure of her place in the world. I’d decided in that instant that her place was beside me. So, really, promising to take care of her had never been a hardship.
But I’d failed anyway.
“Buddy, this is a good thing. It means you’re free and clear.”
I don’t want to be free. I want to be bound to Ashlin forever. “I need to talk to Ash. What was the other thing you said? Jack off into a cup? You mean there’d be no sex involved?”
“It’s a hands-off process,” he confirms. “IVF. Didn’t she say?”
I frown. She did, but for some reason it never clicked. Damn. It hurts more than it should. I don’t want to go through some impersonal laboratory process like our baby is a science experiment. Does she not trust me to touch her? To make her feel good? Because if she gave me the option, I’d make her feel better than she ever remembered. I may be out of practice, but I’ve never forgotten how it feels to strip off Ashlin Isles and help her block out everything except bliss.
“Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ve gotta talk to her. I’ll call later.”
“You should sign it,” he says before I hang up. “That’s my official advice.”
The more I think about it, the more I hate the idea, and I know that Ashlin must have expected this, which means she’s waiting for me to call and argue. Excitement pings through me. She gave me an opening, and I’m not stupid enough to ignore it.
“I hear you. Talk later.” I hang up, and sink back onto the sofa, my stomach churning with nerves and anticipation. My hands tremble more than they should as I bring up Ashlin’s number. It rings for thirty seconds and no one answers. I try again, frustrated. With how much this means to her, shouldn’t she be sitting by her phone and waiting to hear from me?
“Good morning,” she answers, slightly breathless. “I’m in class. Can I call you back in twenty minutes?”
“Yeah, I guess—” A crash reverberates through the speaker, and then the sound dies.
The next twenty minutes feel like the longest of my life. I force myself to return to the gym floor and supervise some of the up-and-coming fighters, but my phone doesn’t leave my hand, and the instant it buzzes, I beeline for my office, regardless of the fact I was halfway through telling Jimmy something.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “The kids are working on art projects, and the collective mood is a bit destructive. What were you calling about?”
Hearing her voice cools my temper. I love the sound of her in my ear. Back before we lived together, I used to talk to her for hours on the phone at night, while I closed my eyes and pictured her beautiful face. I do that now, and feel the pressure in my chest ease.
