Broken Beautiful Hearts(72)

“Do you honestly believe that?”

Owen studies the weathered boards on the floor. “It changed things with my dad. It changed him.”

I scoot closer to Owen and touch his hand. “What do you mean?”

“My dad was a kickboxer. He started training me as soon as I could walk. Mom says I was a natural, so my dad kept training me—every single day except for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“That seems a little extreme.” I don’t want to judge, but Owen doesn’t sound thrilled about it.

“Extreme is a good way to describe him. My dad’s dream was to compete in the Olympics or fight in Thailand, at Lumpinee, a famous boxing stadium. Only the best of the best compete there. But he didn’t make the cut. So his dream became my dream.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.”

Owen nods. “But it was the only thing I knew. And pissing my dad off was dangerous.”

He means literally.

I can see it in his eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” I thread my fingers through Owen’s and he closes his hands around mine. He gently pulls our hands toward his chest and I move even closer.

“Yeah. But not as bad as he hurt my mom.”

The world around me stills.

“He hurt her?” The words sound like a whisper when I say them.

Owen clutches our intertwined hands against his chest. “He pushed my mom around all the time when I was growing up. Sometimes he hit her. I tried to stop him, but he was stronger than me, and he was a better fighter. So I started studying jiu-jitsu at twelve. It’s the only martial art that’s popular here because it’s great training for wrestling. I couldn’t beat my dad at kickboxing, so I changed the game. I had to do something to protect my mom.”

Owen looks away. This can’t be easy for him to talk about. “A year later, I had the attack. When the doctors diagnosed me, my dad went ballistic. He didn’t want a ‘defective son.’ That’s what he said to my mom right before he threw her across the living room.”

“Oh god.”

“That was the first time I really tried to fight him. I lost and he bailed.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t have anyone to train me. It’s not like there are a ton of martial arts instructors hanging around Black Water. But I was interning for Cutter, and I knew about her background in martial arts and Lazarus’ experience training boxers.

“At first, Cutter didn’t want to do it. She was already pissed off because I told her that I didn’t want to follow through with the internship. I think Lazarus talked her into helping me. She agreed to train me and I started competing in MMA. I realized that my body could still do what I needed it to do.”

“But you told me that fighting increases the odds of you having an attack.”

“Sure, if I’m not careful. And last night I wasn’t. I should’ve used my inhaler before the fight. I don’t know what I was thinking. But none of that means I can’t fight.”

“Why are you telling me all this? I mean, why me?”

“Well, I sort of had to tell you about my asthma.” He gives me a sheepish smile.

“That’s true.” I let out the breath I’m holding.

Owen scoots forward so his knees are on either side of mine. “But I’m glad I told you the other stuff, too.”

“Me too.” I swallow hard. “But last night … that can’t happen again.”

“An asthma attack? I agree,” he says, acting serious.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“You mean when we kissed.” His eyes lock on mine, and I can feel him kissing me again.

“I don’t want to date anyone,” I blurt out.

“I know you felt something when I kissed you. And I haven’t been able to think about anything else since. Just tell me why you won’t give this a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

I want to give him a reason, but I can’t tell him the truth.

He ducks his head so he can look at me. “What are you thinking?”

That I let things go too far, and now I’m in over my head. That I can’t stop thinking about you, either, and it scares the hell out of me. And I really wish you would kiss me again.

But I can’t say any of those things. I look down and let my hair fall over my face.

“Talk to me, Peyton.”

“I can’t.” The words come out as a whisper.

The silence stretches too long and Owen inches closer. “How about if I go first?”

I peek out from behind my hair. “Okay.”

He catches on to my hair trick and brushes the long waves off my shoulders. His fingers graze my neck, sending a shot of heat through my body. “I think someone hurt you, and now you’re scared of getting hurt again.”

Talking about this, even when I’m not doing the talking, is harder than I expected.

“My last relationship ended badly.” I try not to think about the night of the party. “It was complicated. We had a lot of the same friends, and people took sides. His side.”

“I’m sorry.” Owen touches my leg and runs his hand back and forth between my knee and my ankle.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say softly. “I just want to focus on getting my knee back in shape. And I’m not here for that long. There’s no point in dating anyone.”