Sin and Ink, page 19
She shakes her head, still pale, hand still pressed over her heart. “I don’t hate you, Knox—”
“Not yet,” I cut her off. Partly because I need to get this out while I can. And the other part because if she utters how she loves me but not in the same way, I might punch a hole through her wall, screwing up any chance of her getting back a security deposit. “Connor’s death. That’s on my head. My hands.” I spread my hands open in front of me and stare down at them as if I can see blood painting my skin.
“I told you—don’t ever say that again,” Eden snaps, some of the fire my announcement leeched out of her returning. “It’s not your fault—”
Once more I interrupt her. “I could’ve stopped the fight,” I state, laying out the bald, ugly truth I’ve been hiding between us. And as her arm drops to her side, I can’t do anything but stand witness as what I was terrified of most comes to pass.
Her eyes darken, and she moves those elegant fingers up her chest and circles her neck. Her knees buckle, and she slides toward the floor, the couch breaking her fall. Heart barreling toward my throat, I lurch toward her, but she slams a hand up, palm out in the age-old sign of Stop right the fuck where you are. Her lips form around a word, but no sound comes out. But I can read it. What?
Answer. She wants an explanation, not my touch.
“The BFC office wanted an event where they could promote both the Gordon brothers,” I continue. “They knew it would bring in mad money, sell the most tickets. A championship match as well as the heavyweight champion’s younger brother—it was marketing gold. And I went along with it because not only did I get a kick out of being on the same ticket as my brother, but I wanted that title match against Israel. In my heart, I knew Connor wasn’t ready for the match. I tried to talk to him about it, but he was stubborn. Got pissed when I suggested he wait, that he didn’t need to step into that ring because of the head office. He felt he had so much to prove. ’Cause of me, maybe. I know he got tired of being compared to me whether he won or lost. And there’s nothing wrong with desiring to be your own man, but I think it pushed him into accepting that match.”
Connor had always been the best at what he set his mind to; damn, the man had graduated high school and college early. Had been courted by top accounting firms, promising him any and everything if he’d join them. But he’d chosen to enter MMA. And as talented, as hard-working as he was, he still wasn’t the best there. Given time, he possibly could’ve been, but Eden had been right about the Gordon men: we’re competitive as fuck. And someday hadn’t been coming fast enough for Connor. Yet, that determination and drive were two traits I loved most about him.
“I tried to tell him that,” she whispered, her wide eyes so dark they almost appeared black. Shock. Her arms were back around herself, as if holding herself together so she didn’t shatter into pieces.
“I could’ve had the fight pulled,” I repeat, refusing to look away from her. Like a masochist, needing to glimpse the moment when disgust and rage entered her gaze. “Yeah, I believed the worst that would happen was Connor would take an ass-kicking, not die. But my beliefs and assumptions don’t amount to shit. If I’d told them I wouldn’t fight unless they pulled Connor’s match, his death wouldn’t have happened. He would’ve been mad as hell, but he would also be here. But I didn’t. And that’s on me.”
Saying the secret that has weighed me down for two long years out loud is…freeing. Cathartic, in a way. I’m no longer hiding. The burden of my brother’s death—I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of it. Maybe. In time.
But this truth is a double-edged sword. It slices away the chains of the secret that has held me bound. But it also severs the bonds of relationship between us.
She doesn’t utter a word, just stares at me. And her silence is as much of an indictment as if she started screaming and hurling accusations at me.
I knew it—I knew she would realize I’m to blame. And I’d prepared for it. Or I thought I had. Nothing could’ve readied me for the searing agony razing me to the ground. But I throw up fire-retardant walls, blocking the memories that are already trying to crowd in and overwhelm me, mocking what I had for a brief time and lost.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I continue, voice flat, revealing none of the chaos whipping and swirling inside me. “But when I walk out of here, I’m going to try and forgive myself. I can’t…” I cut off, clenching my jaw and glancing away before returning my gaze back to her, unable, even in these last few moments, to not look at her. “I can’t live this half-life anymore. I’ve spent the years since my father died enslaved to something—my anger, my career, my guilt…my love for you. I want to be free. Not of loving you; it would be easier to stop breathing. But of holding myself hostage to a woman who can’t return what I want…what I need. I convinced myself that even a little of you for whatever time I could grab would be enough. But it’s not. Maybe for the first time, I’m beginning to believe I deserve more. I don’t know, but one thing I do know is this”—I wave a hand between us—“isn’t healthy. Not for you. And not for me. Eden.” I pause but then push out the rest. “Never doubt for one second that I fucking want you more than life. But I won’t hold you hostage to that, either.”
Only then do my feet unglue from the floor, and I move toward her. I stroke a hand down the length of her hair. My muscles tense, and my heart thuds heavily against my rib cage, bracing for a possible rejection of my touch. Could be shock, but she doesn’t flinch or avoid my touch. Bending over her, I press my lips to the top of her head, inhaling her warm, sweet scent, searing the sensation of the dark strands under my palm into my sensory memory.
After a moment, I straighten, and without glancing around, I retrace my steps and exit the apartment.
I don’t look back.
Not when I descend the steps.
Not when I push out the building.
Not when I climb into my truck and pull off.
A clean break is supposed to be the easiest to heal.
I’m going to find out.
Chapter Thirteen
Eden
I pull up into Katherine and Dan’s driveway and cut off my engine. Closing my eyes, I drag in a breath and sit there behind the wheel, needing to gather myself before I go into the house I used to call home.
Sunday dinner.
Sighing, I lift my lashes and stare out my driver’s side window at the front of the house. The last one I’d attended had been two weeks ago, without Knox. Before the world as I’d known it for the past eighteen months had imploded and left me reeling, a leaf swirling and tumbling on a strong, uncontrollable wind. That’s how I feel right now. Out of control. Adrift. Lost.
The person who’d been the mainstay, the grounding force in my life for a year-and-a-half is gone. Physically to Reno, having decided pretty much right after we last saw each other to spend the next few weeks there, training and preparing for his fight. Emotionally? He was so much farther than seventeen-hundred miles across the country.
It’d been a little over two weeks since I discovered his intention to return to MMA.
I chuckle, and the brittle, raw sound echoes in the confines of the car.
As if his plan to fight was the only thing he’d disclosed.
The most Knox had ever spoken at one time, and it’s to tell me he loves me—has been in love with me almost from the moment he saw me five years ago—and that he’s responsible for Connor’s death.
Seventeen days later, and I’m still reeling over both revelations. I swallow, the fist of hurt and disbelief hindering the action.
His words had crashed into me like a brick through a window, shattering every belief and idea I had about him—about us. For so long I’d seen Knox as this stalwart, quiet sentinel incapable of weakness and human emotions like fear. Not him, who stepped into an octagon and faced down men intent on beating him to a bloody mess. He’d been that pillar of strength we all looked to, especially me, for security, for sanctuary. Even after sex changed us, he’d still been my…rock.
But the Thursday before last, in my living room, he’d changed that with nine, phonetically simple but Big Bang-universe-altering words…
I told you I’ve wanted you for years…. But what I didn’t say was that I’ve loved you for almost the same amount of time.
He’s still strong and powerful. But incapable of weakness, of human emotions? That image is shot to hell and back. Knox Gordon is not only capable of emotion, he is a seething cauldron of it, just with a tightly screwed top.
And I’m his Achilles heel.
I’m still not sure how I feel about that.
Not sure how I feel about anything, since my MO lately has been to shut down everything but what is strictly required to get through the day. Because something else became abundantly clear when Knox left. My world turned from vivid technicolor to muted blacks and grays.
I’m empty. Lonely.
A rap on the window startles me, jerking me out of my morose thoughts.
Jude peers through the window, frowning.
Forcing a smile to my lips, I pull on the handle and open the car door. Stepping out and closing it behind me, I shrug at my brother-in-law. “Hi, Jude.”
His frown doesn’t clear. God, with a black beanie pulled over his short hair and a couple of day’s growth of dark blonde and brown hair darkening his jaw and bracketing his mouth, he resembles Knox. It twists a knife in my chest, and my smile wobbles before I can catch it.
And like his brother, he misses nothing. “What’s going on?”
Since, I think your brother broke me, most likely won’t go over well, I stick with, “Nothing. Just got some things on my mind.”
“Is this about—damn it,” he growls, snatching his phone from his back pocket and quickly swiping a thumb across the screen. “Are you sure this isn’t about—shit.” His phone vibrates in his hand again, and once more, he touches the screen, ending the cell’s shaking.
“Ana?” I ask, though I really don’t need to. Only one person irritates Jude to this extent, and that’s his ex-girlfriend. Correction. Crazy ass ex-girlfriend who’s apparently never seen Frozen because the girl refuses to let it go.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “I’m not going to deal with this all night.” He powers down the cell then stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans. “You sure you okay?” he asks, those narrowed, green eyes fixed on me. Right now, it hurts to look into them since they remind me of his absentee brother.
“Yes.” I walk ahead. “And I’m hungry, so let’s head inside.” Lie.
As soon as we walk into his mother’s house moments later, the aroma of roast hits me. Normally, I would be drooling over one of my favorite dishes, but today, my stomach tightens, lurching a bit in protest. My appetite has been zero lately, and the last thing I’m looking forward to is Katherine commenting on me picking over my plate and asking why I’m not eating.
Yeah, answering that truthfully is off the table.
“I was wondering where the two of you were,” Kathrine called as Jude closed the door behind us. She smiled, holding a platter in her hands. “Well, don’t just stand there, everyone else is here. You’re the last to arrive. Let’s eat.”
Following her into the dining room, I greet Simon and Dan with a wave and hug. Unbidden, my gaze slides to the sixth and empty chair on the other side of the table across from me. No, everyone isn’t here; Knox is absent. And irritation snaps inside me that Katherine doesn’t seem bothered over one of her sons not being there.
As soon as the thought pops into my head, it feels disloyal, and I shove it down. But stubbornly, it refuses to be cowed.
Maybe it shouldn’t be.
Dinner crawls by, and even though the food looks delicious and perfect as always, it might as well as be cigarette ashes on my tongue. And that I can’t stop from glancing at the empty chair doesn’t help matters, either.
“Would anyone like coffee?” Katherine asks, rising from the table and gathering her husband’s plate and mine. All of us, except for Jude, answer in the affirmative, and she smiles again. She’s in a lighter mood today, meaning it’s one of her better days.
Simon stands as well and helps his mother clear the rest of the dishes. He follows her into the kitchen, returning minutes later with a tray full of cups and saucers.
“How’s Knox doing?” Dan asks, taking a coffee cup off the tray. “He had to work?”
“He’s fine,” Simon replies, removing the cups from the tray and placing them in front of him. “And no, he’s in Reno, not the shop.”
“Reno?” Katherine echoes, entering the room with a coffee urn. “What’s he doing there?”
My stomach clenches, dread curling in it, and my gaze meets Jude’s. His eyebrow arches, and I give my head a small shake, understanding his unspoken question. No, I hadn’t said anything to their parents.
“Jude?” Katherine presses, standing behind Dan’s chair.
“He’s there preparing for a fight,” Jude answers.
Silence permeates the room, heavy, thick, and vibrating with tension.
“Since when did he start fighting again?” Dan frowns.
Katherine set the coffee pot down on the table with an ominous thud.
“It’s an exhibition match,” Simon explains, his solemn gaze on his mother.
“A portion of the proceeds will be donated to a scholarship in Connor’s name. It’s specifically for kids from low-income backgrounds who couldn’t afford college otherwise, and whose dream is to enter MMA,” I add. Katherine’s attention swings to me, and I meet it without wavering. Yeah, I hadn’t wanted to hear anything about this fund when Knox had first told me. But I’d ended up searching the BFC’s website for more information on the proposed scholarship and reading more about it. The tribute they’d posted to Connor at the bottom had been beautiful and had drawn tears to my eyes. “He would’ve loved knowing this is his legacy.”
But it’s as if I were speaking in another language. Her blue eyes narrow, and her mouth firms into a hard, grim line.
“Are you telling me he rejoined that sport after it took his brother’s life?” she demands, voice low, dark, and nearly trembling with anger.
“Katherine…” I murmur.
“No,” she cuts me off, voice sharp. “Don’t you dare defend him. How could he do this?”
Her question reverberates in the room, and my jaw clenches, swallowing down a barrage of words that shove and push at my throat.
How would Katherine react if I relayed Knox’s second admission to her? Would she heap more vitriol on him, seeing as she already blamed Knox for introducing Connor to the sport that had killed him?
I can’t lie; his confession stunned me. Not because Knox didn’t stop Connor’s match when he had the opportunity. No, contrary to what Knox believed, there’s no way in hell Connor wouldn’t have marched into that Octagon anyway. We’d talked about it many times leading up to it. He’d been determined, even if Knox didn’t approve. Yeah, I’ve known all this time that Knox hadn’t agreed with Connor fighting this particular match. Connor had been upset that his older brother hadn’t had confidence in him. I’d tried to explain that hadn’t been the case, but Connor had a lot to prove to the BFC, the reporters, the fans, and more importantly, his brother.
So, yes, that’s why I’d been struck speechless when Knox had dropped his bombshell—that he’d been walking around for two years with that enormous burden of guilt and blame on his massive shoulders for nothing. And God, those shoulders were indeed massive, so I can just imagine the amount of pain he’s been carrying. I wanted to cry for him, but I’d been stunned, frozen. And by the time I could force my vocal cords to speak, he’d already left.
And didn’t return. Not to my apartment or the shop.
He left without me telling him I didn’t blame him, too quickly for me to catch up to him to deliver that message. And he hasn’t answered or returned any of my phone calls since. I wanted to assure him that in no way did I hold him at fault. That my lack of reaction hadn’t been due to resentment but shock. He’d just confessed the burden he’d been carrying around for two years, admitted he’d loved me, then followed it up with talk of my being unhealthy for him. With all that hitting me at once, I’d been confused, paralyzed. And by the time I’d fought through the surprise, he’d left.
Now, sitting at his mother’s table with her bitterness damn near humming in the air, I understand why he didn’t wait. Because of the venom that emanated from his mother. Since Connor’s death, Knox had been the sacrificial lamb in this family. He’d been made to feel an outsider, an interloper by his own mother. So, if Katherine felt that way, how could he possibly believe I wouldn’t?
Dismay slides into my chest, and I could kick myself for my slow reaction.
I would never make you choose, Eden.
The words from that morning in my kitchen bounce off the walls of my skull, gaining volume and speed. Why hadn’t I seen it then? How hadn’t I seen it?
He wouldn’t make me choose because he didn’t believe I would pick him. He was convinced he would always come in second place with me—to his family, to Connor.
And why wouldn’t he assume that? Out of my fear of losing, I hadn’t realized all that I could gain. Who I could gain.
Oh Christ.
“Mom, calm down,” Jude tries to soothe his mother. “It’s just one match. He’s not going back to fighting full-time.”
“Honey,” Dan murmurs, setting a comforting hand on her arm. “If it’s for a scholarship honoring Connor…”
“What good is that?” she demands, and I’m reminded of my own caustic response with Knox. And am ashamed. “My boy isn’t here. Is it going to bring him back? I don’t care about anyone else’s son when mine is in the ground.” Her voice cracks, and the grief echoes in my chest. Dan stands and reaches for her, but she vehemently shakes her head, pressing her open palm to his chest. Resignation crosses his face before he sinks back down into his chair. Her gaze, damp yet hot with anger, scans the table, lighting on Jude, Simon, and me. “Don’t any of you dare defend this to me. It’s unforgivable. Connor isn’t here because of that damn sport. A sport Knox introduced him to. It’s his fault—”
