19. Oliver
19
Mya watched me for forty-five minutes without saying a word. I’d kept track of the time on my watch while training.
Not a peep from her. And I wasn’t sure if this was some party trick to get me to breach the quiet first, confused by her lack of speech, but it was working.
It didn’t help that she was still barefoot, looking like a goddess in my shirt. And I could confirm for damn sure she was braless. Thank God my father had left. I didn’t need to burn his retinas for seeing her nipples. Just needed to burn mine now.
“How long are you going to stand there?” Drawing my hands to my hips, dripping in sweat, I stood on top of the blue mat, ready to get the “talk” over with now.
“Is that Krav Maga?” She stepped onto the mat, and my gaze flew to her pink-colored toenails. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”
“Yeah,” was all I gave her. Because I was back in asshole territory again. Mad at myself for feeling so weak around her, so ready to crumble and fall to my knees. Beg for forgiveness for leaving her, and plead for her to take me back.
I wasn’t ready yet to be the man I once was. I was basically Humpty Fucking Dumpty sitting on the wall, but I was already broken and no one could put me back together again.
I was unstable. On edge all the time. Case in point, four in the morning when she’d found me on the floor by the couch. And then I’d gone off on her, running my mouth out of anger shortly after.
“If you don’t plan on returning to Falcon, why are you training?”
There it was. The million-dollar question, and she’d hate the answer. “Hugo.” I actually shocked myself that I'd so easily revealed the truth. “I plan to kill him.”
She angled her head, eyes shooting to the ground as she put it together. “Bloodsport,” she whispered. “He’s been training with some of the best martial artists in the world for decades. And you want to take him on in some kind of Mortal Kombat match?” Facing me again, she rasped, “Are you freaking serious?”
Now I’m just offended. “You don’t think I can handle him?”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Quiet was how I’d wanted her earlier. For some reason, I very much wanted to hear from her now.
“Yes, Mya, I plan to kill the bastard with my bare hands.” I validated her suspicions while she allowed the wheels of her mind to process everything. “He never misses the big fights around the world. He’s even competed himself. There was a UFC fighter who challenged him to a match just last year, and he accepted. Then a YouTube kid jumped on the bandwagon and asked to fight him, too.”
“And Hugo won both matches. I did my research, too, remember? He nearly killed the kid, and he destroyed the professional fighter.”
Fuck, I’d given her too much information about my plan. Why’d I let my mouth run off like that? I had to shift gears. “I’m not coming back to Falcon, Mya.” That was the point I’d been trying to make, right? “But I’ll be personally handling that man. I have no choice. I have to do it.”
She closed the space between us, raising her hand as if preparing to touch my chest but she refrained, doubtfully because of some reluctance to get sweat on her hand. “We will take him down. But together, as a team. I just can’t believe you’ve been up here in the woods preparing for revenge when you could’ve been doing it with us. With me.”
Unable to look at her sad eyes, I went over to the tool bench beyond the mats, grabbed the towel I’d tossed there earlier and wiped the beads of sweat off my face and chest. “That’s not why I came here.”
But taking him down had given me something to focus on, to help me move forward through the pain. I probably should’ve told her that, but then she’d try and psychoanalyze me, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.
“Don’t bother asking why I came here. You know.”
Most of it should’ve been pretty obvious, at least. But then Dad’s words started ringing in my ears. Tell her. “I don’t want to talk about Hugo, or what happened, or why I’m here.” I tossed the towel.
“Then let’s talk about what happened this morning. About what you said to me.” She waited for me to turn before dropping more on me. “Mason. Let’s talk about what you said about him.”
“Now, you see, talking about that or him is definitely not on the agenda today, either.” Despite her eye roll, I did feel a little bad. I also owed her an apology for being such a dick at four in the morning. That I could do. “I’m sorry you saw me like that, and I’m sorry for being an asshole after.” There. Done. Time to go back to not talking.
Well, shit, maybe there was one more thing I had to say. Working up the nerve to find her eyes, I added, “And I’m sorry for leaving you in Singapore without saying goodbye.”
“But not sorry for leaving?”
When her hands landed on her hips, the fabric of my shirt inched up higher on her thighs, and I hated myself for looking. But I did.
“You miss me?”
She hit me with that second question before ever allowing me to dodge the first one. And I kept quiet for both our sakes.
She did not.
Of course she didn’t, what’d I expect? A miracle?
“Let me help you. Let me be here for you. I’ve had so many people in my corner these last few months to work through what happened, and I’m glad you’ve had your dad—confused, but glad?—”
“Please, don’t do this.” I had to stop her. Stop this conversation. “If you want to stay in here, either train with me, or watch quietly. Better yet, just leave. But no more talking.”
“How will you ever get better if you keep everything bottled up inside?”
Eliminating the space between us, I dipped my chin so we’d be closer to eye level. “And who says I want to get better?”
“Lie to yourself all you want. Don’t lie to me,” she shot back, clearly not worrying about my short lit fuse. “That’s all you’ve tried to do since I’ve shown up. Telling me you don’t want me here? Lie.” She slapped a finger down on her palm. “Saying you want me to go? Another lie.” Another finger down. “You wanting me to be with Mason?” She faked a laugh with her next finger. “Lie, lie, lieeeeee.” She pushed up on her toes to draw her face even closer to mine. “Give me another one, why don’t you? Answer that question of mine with a lie and tell me you didn’t miss me.”
“I didn’t miss you.” The lie cut through my teeth as I brought my lips dangerously close to that pouty mouth of hers that was dying to be fucked by mine. Another time, another place, that would have happened.
“Tell me you don’t want to kiss me.” She didn’t blink as she tried to call my bluff.
“Definitely not.” My triceps flexed as I forced my arms to remain bolted to my sides.
“Liar,” she murmured, the word almost coming out as a seductive tease instead of an insult. Her soft breath floated with the syllable, and with her so close, I could feel it touch my heated skin. “And for the first time in four months, I’m not aroused. And you’re not either.” She lowered her eyes to the evidence that suggested I was lying. “We may both be damaged, but we’re not completely broken. We can heal together.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, stealing my ability to remain a harsh block of unmalleable steel.
“I can do it alone, but I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”
Another tear. Another hammer to my defenses. I closed my eyes, keeping quiet for a few moments, contemplating what to do and how to move forward. It was so much easier to convince myself the world was ending and everything was doom-and-gloom without her bright light shining in my face. Now that she was there . . .
“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t want you to go. Fuck Mason.” I forced open my eyes. “I did miss you. I do want to kiss you. You did turn me on. First time in four months, too. Well, unless you count yesterday.” I let the truth out fast. “And you don’t have to heal alone. If you need my help, you have it.” Now for the part she wouldn’t want to hear. “But you can’t fix me. So, for the love of God, Mya, please don’t destroy yourself by trying.” Forcing myself to move, placing a safe amount of space between us, I lifted my hands and showed her my palms. Maybe she’d see the blood there, too. “I’m a killer. My punishment isn’t a prison cell, it’s much worse. It’s losing you.”
“No.” She caught a tear with her lip. With no visible tremble in her hands, she reached for me and gently lowered my arms to my sides, removing the blockade between us. Standing before me, she cradled my face, her skin soft against the tough texture of my beard.
She was touching me. Facing her fears when I couldn’t face mine.
So damn strong.
“I’m right here, don’t you see that?” she cried. “See me?”
I covered her hands with my own, and unable to stop myself, set my forehead on hers. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” I choked out.
“Since when do either of us ever listen?”