“Because you were out of control. I thought if I made up a guy who was known for killing his opponents, you’d slow down or be more careful. I had no idea it would make you want to fight him more. That’s when I realized…you were not fighting to win, Archer. You were fighting to die.”
The world seems to stop turning around me as I stare at him, and it feels like everything from the stars above to the cobblestones at our feet pulses. Something about my brain accepting what it knows is true hurts like a motherfucker.
I wouldn’t say I was fighting todie, but I was fighting recklessly, and eventually that’s exactly what was going to happen. I was chasing a high that was going to lead me directly to the grave.
“I’m sorry, Rex,” I say with more sincerity than I’ve ever said anything before. My best friend had to sit by and watch me nearly get myself killed night after night. Sure, he could have tried talking me out of it or stopped cashing in on it, but he did what he could to keep me alive, and for that I owe him my life.
He grows uncomfortable with the sudden emotional weight of our conversation, so he clears his throat and looks away.
“So anyway. I like this idea for a gym. You should do it.”
“Will you help me? Help me run it.”
He scoffs. “You’re going to need my help.”
“I know.”
“Anything will be better than having to pop your shoulder back into place,” he teases.
With a laugh, I nod. “Don’t you think I fucking know?”
And just like that, things feel right again. Sure, I’ll miss the adrenaline rush of the fights and how good it feels to win. I’ll miss running in the dark streets of Paris with my best friend at my side. But I don’t need that to feel alive anymore.
When Julian and I pull down the gate to close the restaurant at the end of the night, Freya pops a bottle of champagne. It’s just the three of us left, and our exhausted cheers fill the empty space where diners and cooks filled it just moments ago.
We don’t even bother with glasses. We pass the bottle around in celebration, collapsing into one of the empty tables nearby.
“You did it, Chef. How do you feel?” I ask.
“Fucking exhausted,” she mutters while sinking against the table. “But I can’t wait to do it all again tomorrow.”
“We’re so proud of you,” Julian says to her with a rare smile. Even his smiles look evil somehow.
“So,” she says, propping her elbows on the table. “Care to tell me what you two got up to in the storage room?”
Julian’s expression doesn’t even flinch as he stares at her. Meanwhile, I’m grinning like a fool.
“If you’re going to get each other off in the restaurant, the least you could do is invite me,” she adds before letting out a big yawn.
“Any other night, we would, Chef.”
“It was so nice to see our families sitting together,” she says with a far-off look in her eye. “I think my mom really likes your parents.”
She’s obviously looking at Julian, but it makes my heart feel achy and heavy.
“They definitely loved her,” Julian replies.
“Your parents love everyone,” she laughs.
Suddenly, it feels like my phone is burning a hole in my pocket.
“Everything okay, Arch?” she asks with her caring eyes on me.
“Yeah,” I stammer after clearing my throat.
Julian’s watching me as if he knows what I’m thinking. He probably does. He seems to get me even when I think I’m keeping things guarded.
“You should call them,” he says softly.
