Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JASPER
Foster and I sat across from each other on the mats at his gym, stretching our hamstrings after a three-mile run.
“So did you see the announcement?” he asked.
“I did.”
This was the subject I’d been waiting for him to bring up all morning. I’d thought he might want to talk about it during the run. Instead, he’d stayed quiet, letting me push him faster and faster. Until now, when he was ready.
“Great statement,” I said.
“Talia helped me write it.”
Foster had announced his retirement today. In the news article I’d read this morning, he’d thanked the UFC and his fans for supporting him throughout his career. He’d even thanked me.
His retirement wasn’t news, not to those of us who knew him personally. He’d told me about it weeks ago but had chosen to hold off on the announcement to ride the wave of his final victory for just a little bit longer.
Until now, when it was time to say goodbye.
“It feels strange.” He dragged a hand over his beard. “Not bad, just . . . I don’t know the right word.”
“Official.”
“Something like that.”
“You all right? No second thoughts?”
He shook his head. “No regrets. I’m where I need to be.”
And he had a whole future ahead of him, a life to build with Talia and their growing family.
“Even though I’m retired, you’re still my trainer,” he said.
“I know.”
He’d told me the same thing when he’d shared his decision to step away from fighting. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Foster would pay me for the rest of his life just to run alongside him around Quincy. To spar with him at his private gym. To stretch in this very spot.
But training had never been about the money. I didn’t need money.
I’d started training because I’d needed . . . something.
More than ten years I’d been doing this and I still couldn’t exactly articulate that something.
The physical release was part of it. So was the thrill of watching a student or athlete win. And when I’d started down this path, it had been the first time in my life when I hadn’t felt like a second thought. When I’d walked into my first dojo all those years ago, I hadn’t been a burden.
Finally, I’d been in the right place at the right time.
Montana had been the right place, initially. With Foster’s retirement, well . . . I wasn’t sure what was next.
For years, Foster had forged the path. He’d led. I’d followed. That had suited me just fine. But he’d finished his journey. He’d found that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
So where was I headed?
The last time I’d been in this position, staring at a blank future, I’d managed to find a career. A best friend.
But that friendship was about to change. When Eloise and I got divorced, Foster would choose a side, and I wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be mine.
Damn, but I’d miss him. The worry of what was to come was like an endless cloud hanging over my head.
Foster jumped up to his bare feet, rolling his arms in big circles, loosening his muscles. “Is Eloise working today?”
“No, she’s at home. The weekend desk clerk needs Saturday off so she’s going to cover and take today off instead.”
When I’d left the cabin this morning, she’d been folding laundry. She’d mentioned running errands later and swinging out to the ranch. There’d been no invitation to tag along, probably because she knew I would have said no.
It had been a month since that awkward and tense dinner with her family. Other than occasionally crossing paths with Talia here at the gym or my infrequent stops at the coffee shop where I’d bump into Lyla, I hadn’t seen much of the Edens.
I preferred it that way.
Eloise didn’t bring them up. Even Foster rarely mentioned them anymore.
I’d only gone to that dinner because Eloise had insisted, but it had taken all my willpower not to call out her parents on their bullshit.
How could they not see how hard she was trying? I had no doubt that they loved her. But there was a reason she was faking this marriage.
Her family, her parents, had put so much pressure on Eloise to change that she’d convinced herself she wasn’t good enough. That to get that hotel, she couldn’t say no. That she had to be perfect.
She already was.
They wanted her to harden that beautiful heart, to put up walls and shut people out. To guard herself so no one, including me, could take advantage of her trusting nature. If they kept pushing, they’d snuff out all of the wonderful that made her Eloise.
But this wasn’t my fight. Considering the unhealthy relationship I had with my own parents, I had no place to speak up. So I’d stayed quiet at dinner.
Did I have to like the Edens? No. And despite Eloise’s wishes, they didn’t need to like me either. I’d be gone soon. The wedding was at the end of the month.
It would be Eloise’s turn to deal with family—mine.
And Sam’s.
After that, she’d realize just how messed up this entire situation was, how shitty it was of me to ask her to go with me to Italy. She’d probably put a rush on drafting our divorce papers.
“What else do you feel like doing?” Foster asked. “Want to spar?”
“Do you?” We’d spent so many years together, I knew what answer was coming.
He shrugged. “Not really.”
“Let’s call it quits.” I stood, walking over to the bench where I’d left my sweatshirt and phone.
“How about we go to lunch?” he asked.
“Sure.” I pulled on my hoodie, covering my sweaty T-shirt. If I only had weeks left in Quincy with Foster, I’d do just about anything he wanted.
Except another painful dinner at the ranch.
“You good with Eden Coffee?”
“Sounds good.”
Although going there felt like a slight betrayal. According to Eloise, Lyla was still acting strange, so she’d been avoiding the coffee shop. But if that was where Foster wanted to eat, I’d let him choose. He had to live in Quincy for the rest of his life. He had to deal with the Edens.
Eloise and Lyla would patch things up after I was gone.
“Mind if I take a quick shower?” Foster jerked his chin to the gym’s small apartment. It was where he’d lived when he’d first moved to Quincy.
“Not at all.” I swept up my phone, taking a seat on the bench while he disappeared into the apartment. A moment later, the water turned on.
I was just about to scroll through the news when my phone rang. My insides knotted at the name on the screen.
Samantha.
The call shouldn’t have surprised me. Ever since I’d mailed the reply to that wedding invitation with my name and a plus-one, I’d known another call was coming. Still, my pulse quickened as my heart crept toward my throat.
“What, Samantha?” I answered, gripping the phone too tight as I pressed it to my ear.
“Oh, my full name. You’re in a bad mood.”
When was I going to stop answering her calls? I regretted it each and every time. Yet here I was, listening to her voice on the other end of the line for the thousandth time. “Did you need something? I’m working.”
“Are you though? I read an article today about Foster Madden’s retirement.”
I gritted my teeth, holding back a snide comment that would just drag this out.
So she’d called to rub it in my face. Sam had always criticized my job as a trainer. To her, it was a hobby. Not something any self-respecting man would do, because it would never make me rich.
I was already rich, something she very well knew, but no amount of money would ever be enough for my ex-wife.
“What’s new? Fuck anyone interesting lately?” she asked.
“Do we really need to do this?”
“Oh, that’s a yes. Tell me all about her. Does she tug your hair just the way you like it?”
As a matter of fact, yes. Eloise was always pulling on my hair when we were having sex. But I kept my mouth shut.
“Tell me.”
“No,” I clipped.
“Jasper.”
I stayed quiet, having learned a long time ago that whether I talked or not, it wouldn’t matter, not to Sam. She didn’t give a damn what I had to say.
She’d fill the lull in conversation.
Eloise did that too.
Though Eloise never spoke with the intention to hurt. Her tongue wasn’t her greatest weapon. No, when Eloise talked, that heart of hers shined even brighter.
“How many times have you fucked her?” Sam asked. “More than once? Is she the first since me?”
Yes. At thirty-three years old, I could count on two fingers the women I’d slept with more than once. Samantha.
And Eloise.
“Your silence is telling, Jasper.”
I always regretted these calls, but none so much as today’s.
When had we started this sick game? I wished I could go back in time, to that first phone call after our divorce, and block Sam’s number.
There’d been a woman in my bed when she’d called. I’d just moved to Vegas. I’d met a pretty woman at a bar and had forgotten her name as soon as she’d spoken it. But I hadn’t needed a name to take her to bed.
The morning after, Sam’s call had woken me up early. It had woken the woman too. Sam had heard her in the background, and instead of hanging up, she’d asked if I’d liked fucking another woman.
I’d lied and said yes, mostly to make Sam jealous.
But Samantha had called me on the lie. We’d known each other too damn long to pull off convincing lies.
Two weeks later, Sam had called again. Asked if I’d been with another woman. So I’d told her all of the vivid details, rubbing my sex life in her face, thinking maybe it would hurt her the way she’d hurt me.
It hadn’t.
Ten years had passed since our divorce.
When would this stop?
“I had sex last night,” she said. “I thought about you. I thought about our first time. Remember that? We were so young.”
And stupid. We hadn’t used any protection. Thank fuck she hadn’t gotten pregnant.
“It was so . . . bad.” She laughed. “It was sweet. You were so gentle. But we were so bad in the beginning. Then we got better, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I dragged a hand through my hair. We’d learned with each other. Taught each other. I’d never forget the two of us sitting on my bed, shoulder to shoulder, reading a book on tantric sex.
Any other woman and I probably would have been embarrassed. Not Sam.