Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(45)

Since Mia. Yeah. I got that last night when you kicked me out of your room.

I laughed loudly, spinning toward a group of trophies. My vision swam as I pretended to read the inscription on each one.

“Shit. I kinda wish I did remember that. Most action I’ve had in forever,” I squeaked out around the lump in my throat.

“I’m serious, Rocky. It was seriously f*cked up. I’m so sorry.” His voice shook.

My chin quivered.

It was seriously f*cked up.

But that wasn’t his fault.

“It’s no big deal, Q. Stop apologizing. I’ll make sure I don’t drunkenly find my way to your bed again. We should be good.”

I felt him at my back, but I didn’t dare turn to look at him.

In a thick, jagged voice, he said, “About that. We need to talk.”

Actually, that was exactly what we did not need to do. I needed to get the hell out of that room. Sleep for a week. Maybe take a vacation…to Antarctica. Where I could figure out how to get my head straight on what exactly had happened in his bed.

And then figure out how to turn it off.

My Quarry Page switch had been in the off position since the day I’d met Mia. But one night with his hands on me and that switch hadn’t just been flipped—it’d been uninstalled. I had successfully harbored over a decade of feelings for Quarry, and last night, that dam had been broken, emotionally flooding me to the point of insanity.

I was not built to feel that much. Not all at once.

Definitely not for him.

And especially not when he was dreaming I was her.

I moved backward as I spun. He didn’t budge as I hid my face in his back and wrapped my arms around his waist. My heart sputtered at the contact and then shattered when it slowed.

“Stop freaking out. It’s fine. It was just a little grab-ass. I should be the one apologizing for all the crap I said last night. Let’s just say there’s a reason the government will never trust me with national secrets. Two drinks and I’d spill it all.”

“That was the fun part.” He laughed.

Oh goodie. That had been the fun part.

Stepping away, I pasted on a million-dollar smile. “It’s all good. So stop being weird and point me to my coffee. I’m dying!”

He sighed and reluctantly mumbled, “It’s in the kitchen.”

I slapped him on the shoulder as I hauled ass out of that room.

I didn’t go to the kitchen.

I went to the bathroom.

I didn’t cry.

I wept.





EVERY MORNING WHEN I’D WAKE up, I would swear to myself that it was going to be the day I finally talked to Liv about how I felt.

Three weeks later, I was still telling myself that lie.

My job was to fearlessly step into the ring with giants and dodge their merciless fists while attempting to level them with my own. But, somehow, talking to five-foot-seven, one-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound Liv seemed more terrifying.

Although it wasn’t like I got many chances. Liv had started avoiding me. It was subtle at first. But, as the weeks passed, I saw her less and less. Her work nights had started running later. She hung out with Eliza and Ash more than ever before. And, when I had to fly to LA for a few nights, she suddenly couldn’t make it, even though she had found an assistant to cover her. It was hard to tell if I was just being hypersensitive and reading into her every move or if she really was pulling away.

She still packed my lunch, answered my e-mails, and texted me occasionally throughout the day, but it was different. The levity that usually surrounded us had faded. Sitting in uncomfortable silence became our new norm on the nights she was home.

Together—completely alone.

We were all at Till’s the night my fight against Davenport had been announced. Liv was usually the first person jumping up and down, hugging me, and then ranting at whichever ESPN sportscaster had predicted I might lose. But, that night, she sat in Till’s recliner across the room and signed, I’m so proud of you.

My family was shouting and cheering in celebration as clips of me flashed across the screen. But I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. I held my breath as I searched her big, brown doe eyes, knowing I was only one exhale away from a breakdown.

I wanted that woman more than I wanted any title in the world, but I was losing her.

And I didn’t have a clue why.

I knew that the way I felt was going to change things between us. But she didn’t even know yet. I couldn’t take it back or swear to her that we could go back to being friends.

I couldn’t do anything at all to fix us.

Several times since that night in my bed, I’d attempted to talk to her about it. She would make jokes and dismiss it as no big deal. I often replayed those moments with her writhing under my touch, but I would have gladly erased them from both of our memories if we could have just gone back to the way things had been.

Eventually, things got so strained that I started avoiding her too. I didn’t want to see her bright smile aimed at me when I got home, not when her eyes held such emptiness. I didn’t want to sit on my couch night after night while she hid in her room, claiming she was tired—at six p.m. I didn’t want to go to Till and Eliza’s for dinner, where Liv would flitter around the room like the woman I so desperately missed only to have her mood shift so drastically when her attention would swing my way.