Caged (Mastered, #4)(139)
“You have the f*cking balls to say that to me? You’re the goddamn one pushing me to be here to support you on this ‘sell JFW’ bullshit.” And now that Deacon knew his dad had Warren as an heir? No f*cking way would he take Warren’s future from him. “Officially, I’m no longer backing you, Tag. Selling isn’t the answer, and you know it.”
Tag scrubbed his hands over his face. “I know. Hearing Uncle Bing speak yesterday . . . I figured it’d be an uphill battle. Now I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t mean to set you at odds with your dad, D. The truth is, nothing is gonna change with JFW in the immediate future, so go deal with what you can change. Don’t f*ck up your fight career because you f*cked up with her. Just go fix it.”
Deacon turned and ran toward the door. He didn’t stop even when Tag yelled, “You’re welcome.”
* * *
FIFTEEN minutes later Deacon sat on the bed in their hotel room, Molly’s note in his hand.
Deacon,
You didn’t come back to the hotel last night. While I understand you had family matters on your mind, I at least deserved the courtesy of a phone call.
Fuck.
I don’t know what’s going on with your parents, with your board position and future at JFW, or what your plans are for after the Watson fight. I won’t berate you for keeping me on the sidelines of your decisions, but I can’t take this anymore either. I’ve gone back to Denver, where I belong. You have too many things on your mind and too much going on in your life right now to make our relationship a priority. That’s not a judgment call from me, but the truth.
What the ever-lovin’ f*ck? Was she breaking up with him? He read on.
You have an incredible chance to prove yourself in the ring and to get to the next level in your career. So go to the camp in Laredo and train with Vasquez. Win against Watson.
You’ll be angry when you read this—but please let it go. Please don’t call me and leave pissed-off voice mails. Please don’t hop on a plane and return to Denver to confront me in person, because we both know you’d eventually blame me if you’re not prepared for the fight.
So take care of yourself. I’m sorry it came to this. We both know it’d be best if we don’t see each other for a while.
M~
“Wrong. You’ll be seeing me a lot goddamn sooner than you think, babe.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
BOOKING a last-minute flight meant Molly had two stops and a four-hour layover. It’d take her eight hours to reach Denver.
The lack of sleep the previous night caught up with her, and she managed to sneak in a nap at the airport. But the screaming baby two rows behind her on the last leg of the trip home kept her wide-awake, giving her time to think. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to block the past forty-eight hours from her memory banks entirely.
When she arrived in baggage claim at DIA, she remembered she’d ridden to the airport with Deacon. So it looked like she’d be taking a cab home.
As Molly stood in front of her apartment building with her luggage, she had a flashback of being in this exact same spot after Grams’s funeral, waiting for Deacon to park her car. Hard to believe that’d been less than two months ago.
After she’d showered and unpacked, she turned on her cell phone. She hadn’t wanted to deal with Deacon or anyone else while she’d been traveling.
Only one missed call—and not from Deacon. Disappointment slugged her in the gut. She listened to the voice mail Amery had left three hours ago.
“Hey, Mol. Got your text that you were coming back a day early.” Amery paused on the line. “With Ronin out of town, we need to discuss my expectations about the projects on tap this week. Come to the penthouse around nine. I’ll meet you at the Black Arts main entrance. Just text me when you get this message.”
Shit. Amery wasn’t requesting her appearance; she was demanding it. The longer the woman was married to Ronin, the more she became like him.
Good thing she hadn’t cracked open a bottle of wine since she’d be getting in her car.
To kill time, Molly jotted down a grocery list. No need to worry about Deacon’s dietary needs now. That was her tipping point. She’d managed to keep from breaking down, besides a few escaped tears here and there, but this time she didn’t even bother to try. She rested her forehead against the freezer door and sobbed.
Why did everything Deacon had told her about his relationship with his family seem meaningless in the face of his dismissive actions? That wasn’t the Deacon she knew. That wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with. That wasn’t how a man who claimed to love her should treat her.
As the rush of tears slowed to a trickle, her misery didn’t cease. But she’d have put on a brave front for the next week as she figured out where she and Deacon went from here. At least she had the excuse of Deacon staying in Texas to keep people from knowing the truth.
Which is what? You left him because he hurt your feelings?
No. She left him because their relationship shouldn’t be a burden to him, and that’s how it’d started to feel. That’s how she’d started to feel too. She’d suffered through those feelings for too many years to not have it affect her so deeply.
Since she’d be in a work situation, Molly forced herself to put on makeup and dress appropriately. After slipping on her favorite pink knit halter dress and flip-flops, she grabbed her keys and tore off her grocery list—might as well get that out of the way. Halfway to her car, she lamented the fact she’d backslid into a woman who had nothing better to do than grocery shop on a Saturday night.