Chapter 15

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

RUST

Marquis calls me into his office after the training session. It mainly was pad work with some cardio at the end. We'll do a proper session this evening. Marquis sits behind his desk, shaking his head up at me.

"Now I really do not understand," he says. "I thought you were missing your friend. Or you that you'd had a fight when you came home early, but the two of you seem good. Friendly. No bad blood."

"No," I say, swallowing, thinking of all the bad blood that could be spilled. "Is that why you dragged them out here? Because you thought we'd had a fight?"

"Something is on your mind." He stands up, pointing his finger at me. He's half my height, but he somehow makes it imposing. "You never talk, so I thought I'd find out. What is it, Rust?"

"It's… nothing."

"You paused." He wags his finger some more. "You can't pause suspiciously and expect me not to be curious."

"I hope you paid for their airfare."

"I did. Rust, this is the championship . Where are you? Come back to us, please."

"You're being dramatic."

"I know what people say about me!" he snaps. "A drama queen, yes, but look at the results. Three championship fighters and a fourth— you —on the way."

"You'll see a different man later," I tell him, leaving his office.

Brad and Mary are waiting for me in the lobby. Well, Brad is. He's standing when I walk in with that grin on his face I recognize from years ago. For almost twenty years, we've known each other. "Shall we get some lunch? Marquis asked us to give you a ride, too."

Before, I wouldn't have questioned Mary sitting over there, withdrawn and shy. She was like that for much of her childhood, lurking in the background. But now, I want to grab her, kiss her, demand to know why she's got that pout on her lips.

"Sure, Brad," I say. "Let's do it."

The three of us walk outside. Mary walks to the back of the car and climbs in without a word.

"I don't know what's gotten into her," Brad mutters.

I have. I've gotten into her. I did it once, and I need to do it again so badly my balls are aching even now. It's the lowest of the low. I shrug and climb into the passenger seat, doing my best not to look in the rearview. That lasts about a minute before I cave and glance.

She's got her hands in her lap, biting her lip again. She couldn't make the nerves any more obvious if she tried. There's unmistakable sadness in her, clear pain. Is it simply being close to me, or is it that Maddie crap, too?

"Right, settle a debate," Brad says, his voice forcibly upbeat. This is how he gets when trying to warm up the atmosphere, something I've never bothered to do. "We want to know. Were you really in a relationship with Maddie Maddox?"

From the back seat, my woman gasps.

My best friend chuckles. "What, Mary? Am I being rude?"

"Uh, it's just… a little."

"I don't mind," I say honestly. I almost want to thank him for bringing it up. "No, I had no idea who she was until that night." Wait, a debate? "Did you think I had been with her, Mary?"

I try to ask it casually, like I've always spoken to her. It was easy when I could place her in the friend's kid-sister box. I'll never be able to cram my image of her into that again, no matter how hard I try.

"Uh, well, I wondered," she says, looking down, not at me. It's like she can't meet my eye. It should never be that way. She should never feel too nervous or intimidated to look at me. "Celebrities have secret girlfriends all the time."

"Brad would've known," I say matter-of-factly.

"People keep secrets," she replies.

"Not me. Not from Brad."

Not until recently.

She finally looks up, nodding as if to tell me, fair point . If I had my way, we'd tell him right now.

"You eating lean for the fight?" Brad asks. "There's supposed to be a good steak house around here."

"Sounds good. I'll skip the potatoes."

"Your loss," Brad chuckles. "That's one thing I don't envy, Rust. Those weight cuts."

"It's not too bad for a heavyweight. Just eight to ten pounds, nothing major."

"Yeah, but I just hate dieting in general," he laughs again. "Dieting and dating," he goes on with another laugh.

Feeling obligated to act normal, I say, "Still no luck in that department?"

He sighs. "Nah, not really. There was this woman at work, but it was an odd power dynamic with me being the store owner. It didn't feel right, so I didn't act on it. It was too inappropriate."

In the rearview mirror, I exchange a look with Mary. She looks like she's ready to burst when Brad says this. He's such a good person that he didn't act on his desire for an employee, but we can't even hold ourselves back when it comes to family, something that will really violate the connection we're supposed to share.

"What about you?" Brad asks. "Except for that Maddie crap, obviously."

We're talking as we often did growing up, like Mary isn't there. It's something I became used to being around her so much. Like me, she'll get quiet, content to observe and listen. Yet, with this topic, I feel she's analyzing every move. It shouldn't matter. We ended things, killed them. It was over before it ever began.

"Ah, you know," I say, not wanting to lie.

Everything feels out of place when I tell a lie to Brad. The world only started to fit together when we became friends. Now, it's slipping out of sync, a sick system of pain that should never apply to us—a nonstop right hand to the jaw on repeat.

"No, I don't know, actually," Brad laughs, not a care in the world. "He thinks we can read his mind, Mary."

"Oh," she says and laughs. She's suffering as much as I am, struggling to contain the pain she feels. Perversely, my instinct is to turn, touch her hand, and tell her everything will be okay. But I keep my hands on my legs and my gaze firmly aimed forward.

"He's never taken anyone on a date," Brad says, talking to Mary, his tone warm, just messing around. He doesn't know it's like twisting a corkscrew into my gut. He's right, though. I didn't take her on a date. It wasn't a date. It was a mauling. A feast. A celebration of the warmth between us, the heat I never expected to feel.

"It was never my thing," I mutter.

"You could have any woman you wanted," Brad says. "Hey, not that I'm jealous or anything."

"It doesn't appeal to me," I say, talking to Brad but really talking to my woman. She needs to hear this more than anyone. No, she doesn't. End it, goddamnit, but I can't. "I've had chances. Parties. Women love fighters. I've seen and been around it all my life, but I don't care. I never have. I thought I was a robot when it came to women for a long time."

"Not anymore?" Brad says, turning into the restaurant's parking lot.

I realize my mistake. I said " thought" as in the past tense. That's offering way too much information. I need to be more careful around him, my best friend. I need to try to limit what I say and think and the indications I give toward this sick thing we've done.

Thankfully, Brad is used to my silence. Parking, we step out of the car, and immediately, our mistake is made evident. Three separate people turn and gape at me, then one of them—a man this time, wearing a pink hat with an I Heart Violence tag on it—takes out his phone and walks quickly toward me. "Oh my God. Rust Hadley!"

The other two seem a bit more respectful, a man and a woman, waiting just behind the man with the camera. More people are turning toward us, like zombies, probably not even spotting me. They see people gathering, want to know why, and have a piece of the celebrity. They're like parasites, but not all of them. Not the two waiting respectfully. Soon, there are ten or twenty people, just like that.

"Crap," Brad says. "Guess dinner's out."

"Sorry, man," I tell him.

"It's all good."

"Rust," the first man yells, waving his phone at me. "What do you think about Maddie Maddox's tease at making an OnlyFans account?"

I shake my head. "That's completely meaningless information to me."

"You don't care about your ex making a porn account?"

"She's not my ex," I tell them.

Brad jabs me on the arm. "Come on. Leave them."

"To all my real fans," I say, looking through the crowd and spotting a few of them. "I wish I could hang around and take some photos with you, but as you can see, this fame-hungry world won't let that happen."

"Hear that, folks?" The man talks into the phone, presumably in selfie mode now. "That's what Rust Hadley thinks of his fans ."

"Didn't you hear him?"

Suddenly, my woman strides forward like a firecracker, ready to explode. She glares at the man with her fists bunched at her sides, looking so angry, cute, and beautiful simultaneously. It's a miracle I don't reach out, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her for standing up for me.

"He's grateful for his fans," she says, glaring at the man. Several cameras are aimed at her now. "But you're not a fan. You just want to leech onto him like Maddie did."

"Ooh, somebody's jealous," the man taunts.

It's a mindless insult thrown out there to piss my woman off, but the fame leech has no idea which nail he's just hit on the head. Suddenly, my woman surges toward him. I don't know what her intention is. I bet she doesn't even know, but I won't let her get close to those vultures.

I rush forward, sweeping my arms around her. She gasps, and I can't help but look at her for a moment too long before I drag her back. I can feel her perfect body against me—no, no, no . Fuck. I have to let her go quickly.

"In the car," Brad snaps at her. "Let's go."

The crowd converges on us as we all quickly get in the car. When Brad pulls away, it's like a riot scene. They swarm toward the car with their cameras aimed.

"That's my bad," Brad says. "Billboards are all over the city, and I suggest going for lunch in public."

"I wasn't thinking either," I say. "Don't beat yourself up."

"And you clearly weren't thinking, Mary," Brad sighs darkly. "You had no idea how that crowd was going to react. That was very, very silly."

"They're just so shameless about it."

"I don't care how shameless they are. You're lucky Rust was there and got his hands on you when he did. Anything could've happened."

I swallow, my body still burning from the contact. I know hers is, too. I know if I reached back and grabbed onto the gorgeous thickness of her thigh, I'd feel the heat tempting me to take her someplace secret. I'd want to own every curve and every kiss.

"You good?" Brad asks me.

"Yeah," I say, my voice flat, telling another lie.

"Shall we get some room service at the hotel? Or go to your apartment?"

"The hotel would be better," I tell him. "I had paparazzi outside the apartment earlier."