I must be a fucking tool, but I realized that if I couldn’t be with her, if she couldn’t be mine, I could at least spend time with her in this way. And that was better than nothing.

Damn, I fucking loved to punish myself.

MacKenzie

I’d barely held it together as I worked for several hours with Ian on his strength exercises, but at least we had something else to focus on.

When it came time for him to drive me home, I had to sit on my hands. Ian had figured out why I balled up my hands in fists; somehow he knew that meant I was upset. So I determined that anytime I was about to cry, I would sit on my hands. That way he couldn’t see it, couldn’t see how I felt, because he couldn’t know my true motivations for staying with Chris. If he did, my plan wouldn’t work. I needed him to think I was done with him so he would forget about me and focus on the fight.

Forget about me. The thought was sobering, but given my past, was something I was accustomed to. Chris had made it clear that the only reason he was still considering letting Ian fight was because he wanted to humor me as his “girlfriend.” So if I wanted Ian to fight, I’d have to remain Chris’s girlfriend whether I wanted to be or not, and I definitely did not. But what choice did I have?

I felt so empty that I had to lock my arms straight in order to hold myself up as he drove. We talked about strategy in the car, and then on the way up the steps to my apartment.

“So I’ll come by your place after work tomorrow,” I said.

Ian shook his head. “I’ve been thinking it might be time for me to move back to Chris’s gym. After all, I have most of my strength back. I’d like to at least be around the other fighters, even if I can’t fight too.”

“Sure.” I nodded. That made sense. And maybe it would help if I didn’t have to be alone with him. I would have to be better about hiding the longing in my eyes and focus on my job. “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow at the gym.”

I pulled my key out of my purse and unlocked my door, opening it. Then I turned back to look at Ian. He was quiet for a moment, and I caught myself remembering the first night he’d walked me to my door. How protective he was when he thought I was in danger. How he’d stepped in front of me.

My heart thumped unevenly. Resisting the urge to sink into his broad chest and wrap my arms around his waist, I turned away and faced my door.

“Good night,” he said.

I walked inside and locked the door behind me, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he heard that click. Dropping my keys and purse on the floor, I dragged myself into the living room and sank down onto the sofa, curling up into a ball. I held in the first sobs, not wanting him to hear, but as his footsteps faded down the hallway, the tears began to flow, and I couldn’t help the cries escaping. I hugged a pillow close to my chest and let go, my body releasing sob after sob. My head hurt and my chest ached—actually ached. This was why I never let anyone get close to me. Because it effing hurt.

I’d realized how easily Ian could lose Chris’s sponsorship in the Vegas fight. Ian had been training for this his whole life, and Chris wanted to take him out of the fight even before he knew we were together. There was no way he’d continue to back Ian if he found out I was leaving him for Ian, which was why he could never know. And why breaking things off with Ian was the only thing to do.

So when Chris sent me home to sleep, I spent the morning crying my heart out. I cried until I was numb, and then I cried some more, because I had to get it out of my system if Ian was going to believe that I wanted to stay with Chris. And before I left, I’d loaded on the eye makeup and the eye drops, and given myself a pep talk. I was good at pretending like things were normal when they weren’t. I could do this.

And I did, but I barely made it through. Breaking up with Ian had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. Working next to Ian after that, without being able to be with him, was even harder. But I’d made it through. And tomorrow I would too. Maybe each day, if I was lucky, it would get a little easier, because I couldn’t imagine how anything could feel any worse.

Now that I knew the sweet side to Ian, his protective streak, and that he felt the same way about me as I did about him, it made this a hundred times harder. And of course I tortured myself the entire time we worked together as little memories seeped into my brain—his full lips nipping at mine, the large bulge below his navel pressing insistently into me…

But Ian was no longer just the addictively hot MMA fighter I wanted to bang the living daylights out of. He was more. Much more.

Twenty-Seven

Ian

I was worried about moving back to the gym, worried I’d be tempted to push myself too hard, or jump right into sparring. And as valid as those reasons were, the biggest problem was that I didn’t think I could handle another round of one-on-one with MacKenzie unless I had the safety of other people around. It wasn’t that I couldn’t respect her choice, I would never force myself on her or anyone, but the simple thought of being alone with her and not able to touch her depressed the fuck out of me.

The next morning I headed to the gym early. I wasn’t supposed to work with Kenzie until later in the afternoon, but I planned on getting in a good workout. I might not be able to use my left arm yet to its full potential, but I could abuse the shit out of my other three limbs, and every other muscle in my body. Something I’d been doing at my home gym every day, five or six hours a day, but looked forward to doing back at the full gym. I could hammer on a punching bag in my gym until my arms fell off, but something about being back with the guys pushed me even harder.