“Are you okay, babe?” I ask softly.
“Come here.”
The gravel in his tone skirts over my skin as I take the three steps to the bed. His arms are around me, his cheek pressing into my stomach before I can even get situated in front of him.
He holds me tight, almost knocking me off-balance. I rest my arms on his shoulders, cradling the back of his head as he nuzzles against me.
Instead of talking, I run my hands down his back until I hit a spot that makes him wince. As he pulls back, I catch a flash of pain in his eyes.
“What happened?” I ask, moving around him. Climbing on the bed, I lift the edge of his shirt. There’s an angry, red burst on the right side of his back, halfway between his shoulder and hip. “I’ll grab some ice.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, his blue eyes clear. “Just stay with me. Tell me about your day.”
The simplicity of his request both worries me and comforts me. Before I answer, I help him lie back, probably more help than he needs, and prop his side up with a pillow. He grins the whole time as he tells me it’s unnecessary.
“I don’t care if it’s necessary,” I groan. “Let me make myself feel better about this.”
Once he’s settled, I lie next to him. “You smell like sweat.”
“You like it and you know it.”
“I didn’t say I don’t,” I smile. “I was just pointing it out.”
“What did you do today?”
“Went to yoga. Talked to Mallory and Joy for a little while and then came by here to grab my laptop.”
He runs a finger down the centerline of my face. “You didn’t come here to see me?”
“I hoped you were here,” I admit. “But you didn’t answer my text so I wasn’t sure.”
“I was training. My fight is coming up and the guy I’m going to fight has a helluva ground game.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
He grins. “I know you don’t. Keep it that way.”
“But I want to know. I want to understand you. What those things mean, why you like fighting.”
“I don’t think you can understand it. You’re not cut from that cloth.”
There’s a finality in his voice, one that tells me he’s made up his mind. Before, it was more open-ended. Until today, there was a little window of opportunity that was left dangling out there for another time and place. That’s closed.
“I could learn that cloth,” I offer.
He kisses me simply, easily, just a sweet gesture that turns me to mush. “You’ll be happy to hear that I think this is my last fight.”
“I am happy to hear that. But what changed your mind?”
“My body isn’t cut out for it anymore,” he says, curling his nose. “It hurts when you get hit.”
“I thought you didn’t let them hit you.”
“I don’t. Not on purpose,” he laughs. “My reflexes are starting to catch up with my age and fighting is a young man’s sport.”
“Quit now. Don’t get hit anymore.”
“I can’t. I