Page 89 of French 75
It feels good to say…even though I didn’t technically say it. Almost liberating. Like all those pieces of me that were covered by wire, bleeding with the urge to break free, are finally allowed to gasp for breath.
I don’t know what I expect him to do. Maybe break down with a similar confession of love? Perhaps he’ll cry? I love him, but Skylar’s always crying. Or he might even kiss me and forget we need to have this conversation.
None of those things happen.
“Is this how we’re going to do it?” he snaps, almost angry.
I rear my head back as my heart stops. “Do what?”
“Tell each other how we feel?” he clarifies with a pout. “It’s not very romantic.”
Tell each other how we feel.
I can’t stop the wide smile that breaks out across my face. I also can’t help reaching down so I can tip his chin up and slam my lips against his. I know he’s pissed, but fuck me, I don’t care. I need to feel his mouth brushing mine, his tongue sweeping across my bottom lip, his little whine that lets me know everything is going to be okay.
When I pull back, he’s adorably put out. He wants to be angry and stubborn, but there’s a sparkle in his dual-colored eyes that he can’t hide. “Do you want it to be romantic?”
He rolls those same sparkling eyes. “Uh, duh.”
“Okay.” I nod, hugging him closer. “I can do that, sunshine.”
“But I’m not done,” he insists stubbornly, pushing against my chest. I growl when I think he’s going to move away from me, but he rolls his eyes yet again and stays put. “Were you ever going to tell me about the fighting?”
I suck in a sharp breath, but I know what the truth is. “No.”
I wouldneverwant to worry Skylar. I’d keep every bad and harmful thing to myself if it meant guaranteeing him a happy and safe life.
“Would you have stopped?”
“I think so?” I chew on the inside of my cheek as I shrug, wincing when the movement jostles my bad shoulder. “Fightingis addictive, sunshine. There’s just something about it that’s… I don’t know how to describe the feeling I get.”
“I mean, professional fighting is a thing, so you’re not alone,” he says, nodding in understanding. Glancing down at his hands, he starts fucking with his cuticles, immediately letting me know there’s something on his mind he doesn’t want to share. After giving him a meaningful look, he sighs and relents. “Is it bad that I’m not upset that you were doing it, just that you didn’t tell me?”
“No,” I say honestly, then pause. “You’re okay with it? Really?”
“Yes and no.” He tips his head back and forth. “If it’s something you like doing, then I can get behind it, but not like this. There are actual gyms out there where you can do this kind of stuff, you know?Legally.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I mumble. “I guess maybe there was a certain appeal to the money too.
“But you’re only doing it because of me…”
“I think it’s more than that,” I insist. “Sure, it started out that way, but I genuinely enjoy it.”
His eyebrows pinch as he searches my eyes. “How could you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You used to fight all the time, Cass. I thought you hated it?”
Memories that I usually don’t allow to surface come back.
Always coming home with broken knuckles.
A little bit of blood permanently on the collar of my shirt.
A crying Skylar.
But through all those memories, all the beatings I gave in the name of my best friend, I realize something. “I never hated it.”
