Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(65)
I can hear Caleb and Rex laughing downstairs, where the main living space is complete with a state-of-the-art home theater, an open kitchen with fancy-ass appliances, and a dining room fit for royalty. The three bedrooms are upstairs, each with their own private bathrooms, which are bigger than my studio back in Vegas. That Jacuzzi tub will come in handy after those long training weeks.
I cross to my bag that I tossed at the foot of my bed when I stumbled to it last night. Grabbing some clothes, I allow myself to indulge in a fantasy. I pretend Axelle is here with me, I imagine her sky-blue eyes alight with excitement at living in such luxury. She’d giggle at seeing the bidet and the separate urinal in the marble-floored bathroom. My fingers tingle as I imagine sliding them into her hair, looking deep into her eyes until her humor fades as I promise her every luxury I can afford for the rest of her long and beautiful life.
My chest cramps violently at the realization that these things will never happen. She made her choice, and I thought I made mine when I stepped onto that plane, but it’s as if my heart needs the constant reminder. As if the last few beats of my love for her are refusing to simply die, but would rather suffer from a long drawn-out process that has me in knots.
I drag my body under the shower spray and close my eyes. “It’s over, Killian. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”
I shove all those feelings, all the hurt and the love, deep into the darkest corner of my soul and lock it there behind brick walls. I’ve made the choice to spend this year in London, working on my fighting career, and I intend to do just that.
No more pain and no regrets. No friendships and complications.
From here on out I’m a fighter.
That’s it.
Twenty-two
Axelle
By the time Monday rolls around, I’m ready to get the hell out of my mom and Blake’s house and back to my apartment. After confronting Clifford yesterday, Blake insisted I stay with them. I’m sure it was my crumbling into a sobbing mess in my mom’s lap that spoke to my instability. The more I cried, the more my mom cried, and between the two of us, we could’ve hydrated Nevada with our tears.
When we dried out, Blake made us dinner, and I fell asleep on the couch with my head in my mom’s lap. I don’t remember how I got into my bed, but I do remember Blake’s voice telling me everything would be okay, so my guess is he probably carried me there.
My mom slides a bowl of fruit in front of me while holding my baby brother, who just woke up. “What time is your first class?”
I pop a grape into my mouth. “I missed it. I think I can make my afternoon classes though. But…” My stomach sours and I threaten to heave. “I have to get my car from Killian’s.”
I’m grateful I have my keys with me. Since we were coming to babysit Jack on Saturday, I brought them so I’d have Mom’s house key just in case I needed it. The problem is the bag I brought with me for our little weekend sleepover is still in his place, and since I don’t have a way to get into his studio without him there, I’m forced to see him face to face.
Ever since Clifford practically spit on me, I’ve been entertaining the idea of taking Killian up on his offer. If we raise this baby to know that Killian is his dad, but not his biological father, there will be no surprises. As much as I’ll hate to one day have to explain to him or her that their father was in no shape to be a dad, I believe with all my heart that Killian’s love would cushion that blow. But what would Kill be giving up?
Guilt spills like liquid lead over me, and I slump into my seat. I love Killian. I can’t expect him to make sacrifices to take care of us.
I always dreamed about what my life would’ve been like had my mom been strong enough to walk away from Stewart back when I was born. If she’d braved it and raised me alone, I never would’ve had to bear witness to her abuse. And now here I am considering making the same choice, leaning on a man—albeit a wonderfully loving and gentle man—to avoid having to face the consequences and hardships of my own mistakes.
No, I have to do this on my own—if only to prove to myself that I can. Then and only then will I have anything substantial to offer someone like Killian.
I love him.
I will always love him.
And if we’re meant to be together, we will be, regardless of whose baby I’m carrying.
Right?
“Blake’s taking Jack for a couple of hours. I can take you to Killian’s when you’re ready.” My mom sets her worried eyes on mine as if she’s following the direction of my thoughts.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She comes around the counter and drops onto the stool next to mine. Her deep brown eyes are bloodshot from yesterday, or it’s possible she was crying even this morning. I hate that I’ve done this to her. “Listen. I want you to know I understood what you said the other day about doing this on your own, but without a job, you’ll need to accept a little help.”
She’s not telling me anything I haven’t already made myself sick trying to figure out. I could drop out of school and get a job, but who’ll hire a pregnant woman taking maternity leave just a short time after being hired? And then what? I go back to work to make just enough money to pay for daycare? What about diapers, rent, electricity?