He extended his hand, breaking the thick and palpable silence. “Hey, I’m Tack. You obviously know my mom?”
Obviously, I do not. I stood frozen several beats too long before I unconsciously tucked the extra latte under my arm and raised my hand to meet his grasp.
“Asher.”
“Great to meet you.” He turned toward his mother, his mother, and said, “Mom, I just need to stop by the research lab and have my mentor sign off on my hours. I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes. Do you mind?”
She barely nodded in agreement. He kissed her cheek and lifted his chin in my direction, another all too familiar sight, and was gone.
Tal’s mouth moved, but I heard nothing.
“Don’t.” I raised the coffees in the air and slammed them into the trash nearby. “Just. Fucking. Don’t.” Yes, I cursed at her. Still trying to process what just went down, I stayed motionless and watched as tears streaked her cheeks. The last time I saw her cry like this was nineteen years ago. If this was what it was like to feel numb, I was paralyzed. Her shaking hand reached for my arm. “Don’t touch me.” I hissed between my locked jaw.
“Asher, please-” Her voice quivered, low and broken. I could tell she was trying to hold it together. “Please, let me explain.”
“No need. I’m done!”
She gasped, pain seared over her expression. I didn’t care.
I intentionally walked slowly toward the stairs and stopped. I yanked open the door, banged my fist against it, and uttered just loud enough for her to hear over her own sobs, “And I was worried you couldn’t trust me. Fucking joke.”
I never looked back.
Chapter 13 Balance, Cock, Torque, Strike
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, sweat stung my blurry vision, and blood oozed from my torn knuckles as I punched the cylindrical bag repeatedly. The vision of Talia’s son burned in my brain. Talia and Chase’s son.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. The son my best friend believed she aborted and then spent a decade torturing himself over.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. Tack: the tattoo that had little to do with four best friends and everything to do with her son. ‘I regret plenty, this is not one of them.’
Balance, cock, torque, strike. Her secrets unraveled one by one in my mind—mysterious phone calls and texts, including the random New Year’s ‘I love you’ scene—old roommate my ass, it was Tack.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. Always too agreeable to fly here, making it obvious why she never wanted me to see her house, the one she shared with her son.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. Befriending your son’s father’s wife. Shit, Lili.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. Lies.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. My punches were coming faster and stronger. All of it, lies.
Balance, cock, torque, strike. Nineteen years of lies.
Balance, cock, torque, strike.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I sucked in a deep breath but the oxygen had little effect on my burning lungs. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Chase wasn’t amused with my response. His problem, not mine.
“Last time I checked, you could tell time.”
I glanced at the gym clock overhead. “Yeah, well, I didn’t feel like waiting until four.” Two hours felt like ten minutes. I unwrapped the blood soaked towel from my hands and drained my water bottle.
Chase glared at me with those fucking eyes. “Any chance you want to talk about what’s eating you?”
“Nope.” I didn’t. I couldn’t. Besides how the hell did I tell him I just met the son he didn’t know he had?
“You have anything left?” Taking note, Chase looked almost as pissed as I felt. I knew him well enough to not even bother asking.
I raised my chin toward the ring and said, “Let’s do it.”
Forty minutes later we were sitting on the bench, drenched, catching our breath. I was mentally no better. Forty minutes of beating the shit out of one another and I was still breathing fire and battling the burn beneath my chest.
Chase started talking at the cement floor. “Lil came by the hospital right after you left. Remember that douchebag that she testified against and helped put away last year, that child abuse case from her hometown?” Hard to forget that scumbag’s lawyer. In an effort to discredit Lil, he exposed the fact that she was brutally raped years earlier in front of a room of gawking strangers and Chase. That was the last time Chase and I traded three minute rounds for ten minutes and ended up looking like we did right now.
“Yeah.” I remembered.
“The asshole’s up for parole. She’s heading home next week to speak at the hearing. Not to mention one of the families she’s been working with sent her threatening mail. I’m not fucking thrilled about either. And you know her, totally unfazed. Just part of the job. Chalking it up to an extra visit with her father. Taking Sierra and Layla with her, like it’s a goddamn vacation.”
He shook his head in disapproval. I couldn’t blame him. The only reason Chase was even tolerating the idea of her stepping foot back in her hometown was because the douchebag lawyer and the ex-boyfriend that violated her now spent their days tossing ribs a thousand miles away. We made sure of that.
“So fill me in … little confused here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m tempted to put my fist through a wall every time I think about what Lil’s been through. But you said it yourself—she’s made of steel. So do you want to explain why you almost let me break your nose?” This uncharacteristic heart to heart served as a better distraction than two and a half hours of self-torture.
Chase bent over, elbows to knees, eyes still on the floor, hands raking his hair. Not a good sign. “She can’t let it go. As many times as I’ve tried to convince her we’re enough. She can’t.”
I sighed, searching for some inner strength. It was all spent. This day couldn’t get any more twisted. He was really about to confide in me about their fertility issues. Now. Like right fucking now. This was another one of life’s sick jokes. Approximately three hours and twelve minutes ago, I accepted the fact that Chase and I had an intense, life-changing conversation coming down the pike. That was about five minutes after I shook his son’s hand. No way I would ever keep this from him. But right now it was too raw and he had a lot of shit on his plate.
“What are you going to do?” Obviously I was referring to the situation with his wife and not life’s latest punch in the face.
“Whatever I have to.”
Usually I had patience for his cryptic dialect, but I wasn’t feeling it. “Try that in English, dickhead.”
He looked up, attempting to read me. Good luck with that. I couldn’t even read me. He paused then said, “We need a surrogate.”
Fucking A, this day just kept getting better.
I drained a second water bottle. “As in another woman … and Lil’s okay with this?” Shit, that was impulsive. I was losing it and fast.
“What the hell’s up with you?” he asked, scowling.
I deserved it. But that was a question he wasn’t ready for me to answer. Hence the reason why my left eye was swelling as we spoke.
“It’s not like I’d have to fuck a stranger.”