Page 10 of Fighting Fate

“Wow,” Rosie said after a moment of shocked silence. “That puts a one-night crying jag in perspective, huh.”

“I’m not diminishing your pain, here! Just saying you actually dealt with it in a much healthier way than I did. If I wasn't trying to be such a big tough strong guy, maybe I’d actually have let my emotions out and mourned what I was losing properly rather than trying to bury it all in prescription drugs.” Adam shrugged massive shoulders. “It’s why I’m here. Getting away from temptation.”

Rosie sipped her drink and considered him. “I think that’s plenty brave of you. You could have gone to rehab, seen psychotherapists…”

“Did a bit of both,” he admitted, “but in the end I decided getting away entirely was the best course of action.”

“Coming home? I’m presuming you lived in the US during your fight career.”

He nodded. “In LA, which is not reality as the rest of us know it. I’m from Arnhem Land originally, but my family are in either Katherine or Darwin now. Staying with them would be plunging into a different kind of chaos, and I needed the space to figure out who I am now, what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

The waitress returned then to see if they were ready to order, and Rosie quickly apologised, since neither of them had even looked at the menu yet.

“No worries, I’ll stop back in a few.”

Rosie squinted up at the specials board, trying to make out the wording.

“Do you need glasses?” Adam asked, obviously noticing her squint.

“Well, sometimes,” she admitted, not wanting to admit that she had them in her purse but didn’t want to put them on, in case he was put off by her nerdy look.

“Me too,” he startled her by saying, fishing a slim case from his pants pocket. “At least to read the small writing on this menu. Would it kill them to print it in a font size bigger than twelve point?”

Rosie started laughing, making Adam look up at her in surprise. “What?” he said.

“You keep surprising me!”

“Is that good or bad?” He flashed her a grin, a surprisingly shy one, she thought.

“It is.” Taking out her glasses, she perched them on her nose and read the specials board in comfort.

“Would you like wine?” Adam asked when she closed her menu and laid it down on the table. “Or are you happy with cocktails?”

“I could go some wine, as long as I’m not trying to get through a bottle on my own. Do you drink alcohol?” She glanced at his ice water.

“I don’t, no. Family issues.” His smile was a little bitter. “Habit, too. Alcohol was always empty calories I couldn’t afford.”

“I’ll just get another cocktail when the meal comes, then,” Rosie decided.

The waitress returned then for their orders, and Rosie made her selection; a small seafood pizza with a side salad.

“That’s all you’re having?” Adam checked.

“It’ll be plenty.” Amused, she watched his brow furrow. “You have no idea how much an average person eats, do you?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “Do you mind if I get a starter? You could have a bit…”

“Go for it.”

He shot her a grateful glance before turning back to the waitress and ordering garlic bread, stuffed mushrooms, a large house special pizza with so many toppings Rosie guessed it would probably be an inch thick, and a large Caesar salad.

“You’re right,” Adam told Rosie as the waitress departed, “I’ve spent the last few years living in a bubble.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far,” she disclaimed.

“It’s true, though. Since I moved to LA, the only people I spent time with were my training partners and my trainers, all of whom are former career fighters themselves. It’s not just that I wouldn’t know how much an average person eats, I wouldn’t know what they eat on a daily basis. Hell, we had a chef who prepared all our meals for us; we rarely ate out because we couldn’t know the precise portion sizes or ingredients we were consuming.”

“It sounds very regimented,” Rosie said thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand to gaze at him.

---