“Spar?” he asked him without preamble.
Antoine set the bar back on the stand with a puff of breath. “Sure. You want to warm up first?”
“Not really, but I will,” he muttered, ignoring Antoine’s curious stare.
He did a quick tape job on his hands and worked the speed bag first, really laying into it, working up a quick sweat. It felt good, that burn in his muscles, the impact of the bag against his knuckles. But he needed a challenge. He went to find Antoine, who was still working out with the weights.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Antoine looked up, set the heavy dumbbells down. “Okay. Let’s go.”
They ducked under the ropes and stepped into the ring. Antoine started to move right away—he was always good with the footwork. But Mick felt his brain settle into laser-focus. He threw the first punch, but Antoine ducked. And it pissed him off.
He went after him, managed to land a fist on his chest, a kick to the thigh, then another punch to the body.
“Hey! What the hell is up with you, man?” Antoine yelled.
But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His bad leg ached. It only made frustration boil through him. Made him think the words that had haunted him most of his life.
Failure.
He remembered in a flash the doctor coming in after his leg surgery, telling him he’d never be able to pass the physical required to be a firefighter. He remembered the look on his father’s face, the shock and dismay he’d tried to hide. But Mick had seen it. Had felt it every damn day since.
Fuckup.
He remembered all the times he’d come home after curfew. Cut school. Hurt Allie. Hurt his family. Hurt his own chance at the life he should have fucking had.
Antoine fought back, finally taking Mick down to the mat with a roundhouse. He held him down.
“What the fuck, Mick? You gone crazy?”
He was breathing hard, his airway partially constricted by Antoine’s elbow across his throat. “Let me up.”
“Not until you explain yourself.”
“I can’t.”
Antoine was silent for several moments before shoving himself off him. He stood up. “You need to figure your shit out, man. Go take a sauna or something.”
Mick glared at him.
Antoine crossed his arms. “You wanna tell me what you’re trying to prove? Fucking coming after me in a spar, man. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you had some kind of death wish.”
Hadn’t he thought the same thing not that long ago? Mick sat up, then got to his feet. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of one arm. “Sorry I’m being an asshole. Rough morning.”
“Yeah, well go spread that sunshine somewhere else. I don’t need it.” Antoine shook his head and walked away, leaving Mick in the middle of the ring, anger still bubbling like some black cauldron in his belly.
He needed to fight. But the fight he needed wasn’t with Antoine.
He left the ring, left the gym, driving home too fast in the morning traffic.
What he needed was dirty and rough and illegal. He’d make some calls until he found it.
* * *
ALLIE WOKE ALONE. She knew even before getting out of bed that her house was empty, Mick gone, and it weighed on her heart. It wasn’t like him to leave without saying good-bye.
She got up and checked her phone. Nothing.
He’d been so weird the night before. Even the sex had been weird. Strained. Desperate. But she’d had some sense of giving him something he needed. She’d thought it would be enough.
Her body was sore from the workout he’d given her. It would have felt good if she didn’t feel this sense of dread. She got in the shower, blasting the hot water to ease some of the aches, trying to figure out what to do as she washed her hair.
Should she try to call him? Or give him the space that men sometimes needed to clear their heads?
It was obvious he didn’t want to discuss how the conversation at his parents’ house had left him feeling. She understood it—as much as she could, anyway. She tried. But his family obviously adored him—they certainly didn’t find him lacking, didn’t treat him any differently. He did it all to himself. Didn’t he have to find some way to deal with it eventually? That’s what she didn’t quite get. Didn’t he want to?
If only he would let her help him.
She shut off the water, stepped out to dry herself and saw her bruises in the mirror—the marks on her thighs and arms and breasts from the ropes. They hadn’t even done any heavy impact play, but he’d used a lot of knots—that was what had marked her. That and his teeth in a few places. Normally she would have gloried in her marks, but this morning she knew they’d come from a place of desperation and pain, and it only made her chest go tight with concern for him. And a little impatience.
Where the hell was he?
She wrapped her hair in a towel and herself in her robe and went into the living room to boot up her laptop and check her email. Sure enough, there was one from Mick.
Allie,
Sorry about my early departure—I woke up and found a message on my phone from one of my clients. I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll be tied up with this job all day. Talk to you later, babe.
Mick
Babe. That’s what he called her when he needed to distance himself. Not baby, like he usually did. Not princess. Not that she needed to see that to know. He’d called her babe last night. Had had sex with her only from behind. Had hardly looked into her eyes since they’d left his parents’ place.
She’d felt his emotions, even though he’d tried to hide them from her. She knew him, and she’d felt it bone deep. And she understood with just as much clarity now that the email was a lie. There was no client. No message. No job. Only his anger and the guilt that had been eating him up for most of his adult life.
And there was nothing she could do.
She’d be thoroughly pissed if she didn’t get how much he was hurting. It made her hurt.
Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away, frustrated. Mick was just going to have to work through this himself. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do for him. Because he wouldn’t let her. She’d have to wait and see if what they had together was reason enough for him to do what he hadn’t done in years. Move on.
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST ten that night when her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID before answering.
“Hi, Jamie.”
She wasn’t in the mood to chat—it had been one of those endless, dragging days while she pretended her feelings weren’t hurt, pretended she hadn’t been practically sitting on top of her phone—but maybe he’d talked to Mick.
“Allie, Mick’s hurt.”
“Well just launch right into your agenda without even saying hello, why don’t you? And he’s the one who left this morning without saying a word to me.”
“No. Hurt, Allie. He’s in the emergency room.”
“What?” Shock coursed through her, then panic. “Tell me.”
“He took a pretty hard hit to the head. Lost consciousness for at least a few minutes, apparently. Someone dropped him off here—I don’t even know who. The hospital called me—I’m in his cell phone as his emergency contact.”
“Oh my God. How bad is it?”
“He’s having a CT scan now. But he was awake. Alert enough that he made me promise not to call you.”
“He asked you not to call me? Did he think I wouldn’t find out? Jesus.” She pushed her hair out of her face, blew out a breath. “Okay. Okay. I appreciate you calling. Thank you, Jamie.”
“Of course. I thought you should know.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I don’t think you need to come down here. Mick said—”