After Alfie left,I sat at the kitchen table and stared out at the garden, which looked peaceful in the setting sunlight. Alfie’s insidious words about getting into Stone’s good graces and catching his eye so that he’d look more fondly on my father made me feel sick.
I couldn’t deny it. In only a week, something had happened to me.
I’d developed a crush on the man who had brought me here.
A crush might be putting it mildly. I thought of him near constantly; I dreamed of him, and I wanted him like I’d wanted nothing else. The most surprising thing was that it seemed like he wanted me too.
Dreams didn’t come true for girls like me. Fairy tales of rich, beastly recluses who bargain and steal young women to their lairs and turn into a prince with a simple kiss never happened, at least not to me.
I stood up, energy and tension vibrating in my veins. I couldn’t speak to Stone yet. Alfie’s hateful words and my impotent anger and disappointment were suffocating me. I needed to hit something. I headed downstairs to the gym.
It was set up like a boxing gym, complete with a ring in the middle. When you’re as rich as Stone and have as much space as him, I guessed you could put anything you wanted in your home. I kicked my shoes off and unzipped my hoodie. Yoga pants and vest were my go-to outfit for cleaning, so I was ready to knock some shit out of the punching bag.
The first time I hit it, it barely swayed. Ouch! That was much heavier and harder than I’d expected. Still, there was something satisfying about the thud of my fist against the leather. I hit it again and then once more.
I’d never done anything vaguely like boxing before. I’d never done martial arts, or weightlifting, despite envying the strong-looking woman at the gym who’d been very vocal about how great it was. Instead, I’d done everything I could to stay lean, bordering on skinny, in the name of pageants. If I’d been allowed to choose what to do, hitting this bag would have been it. It felt good to hit something.
My frustrations at my father and the debt rose in my chest and funneled through my fists to the bag. The complicated feelings I had about pageants and making him proud. The guilt and embarrassment at being the age I was without not a dream in sight. I hit harder, putting my whole body into it. Then I tried kicking it. Fuck, that felt even better. I was sweating, lines of salt dripping down my cheeks, and an involuntary grunt left my lips every time I hit the bag. I reveled in the rough ugliness of the actions. I didn’t want to be pretty all the time. I didn’t want to be polished. I was done parading around in bikinis and glittery body lotion for the approval of others.
Sweat soaked through my vest, staining under my arms dark grey, and my face felt as red as a beet. And still, I continued. I kicked the bag with all my might, ducking out of the way when it swung back toward me. In my head, a deafening roar of frustration and anger left me, shooting from my lips before I could stop it. I screamed. It was loud, unbidden, and I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried. The silence after felt louder than a foghorn. I was panting, sweat-stained, but oddly lighter as I stood and watched the bag gently swing.
“Does it feel good?” Stone’s deep voice had me turning toward the doorway. He was lounging against the threshold.
I nodded, my throat feeling raw. “It feels fucking great.”
A rare chuckle left him as he stalked into the room. “Good. Next time, wrap your knuckles.” He looked down at my hand.
Only when I saw the blood on the torn skin did the sting register. “I didn’t even feel it,” I muttered. “Burned, blistered… what’s next?”
“You burned yourself?” Stone asked, a frown crossing his brow.
“Barely,” I muttered, my eyes dropping to his own burned hand. There was clearly a story there, and my eyes must have longed to know it, as Stone lifted his left hand and flexed it, looking at the disgorged skin dispassionately.
“It happened the night my mother died. I was just young, but a fire broke out. She got me out the house, this was my only injury, but somehow, for some reason… she went back in,” he said quietly. My heart pounded hard in my ears at his confession. “I don’t mind the burn, nor the ache in it. It reminds me of her,” he said and his words struck me. Sometimes, hurt should show. Not everything had to be pretty. His stillness gave me the impression that the memory wasn’t something he shared often or lightly, and yet, he had chosen to share it with me. His candidness deserved reciprocation.
I lifted my own bleeding knuckles.
“You’re right. In this case, tearing my hand up was worth the price of getting my anger out.”
“Something your father said made you mad?” Stone asked, tilting his head to the side.
A jolt of electricity struck me, and I shrugged, struggling to hide my expression. “As always,” I sighed and made to go past him. “I should go and shower.”
Stone’s hand closed around my wrist, stilling me, and my heart leapt into my throat. “What did he say?”
I swallowed my fear. Was I going to let Alfie’s words fuck with my head? Only an hour ago, I’d been ready to strip everything off and let him have his wicked way with me, and now, because of my father, I was running scared. I once again pinballed around, reacting to my father’s input mindlessly.
“He doesn’t have to say anything for me to be angry at him. He’s the reason I’m here,” I reminded Stone.
His eyes shuttered. “And being here is unbearable for you,” he muttered quietly, yet his hand never left my wrist.
“I didn’t say that. Believe it or not, it’s not the first time my father’s gambling and drinking have thrown my life off track,” I told him. I didn’t care to examine the part of me that didn’t want to hurt Stone’s feelings too closely. I wasn’t ready for that.
“You deserve better than him, Bella,” Stone said quietly.
“Says the man who doesn’t know me. Maybe I’m just a broken, too-old beauty queen. You don’t know me, Stone,” I responded. This conversation felt dangerous, like it was veering too close to an edge. Even I could hear the self-hatred in my voice. I wondered if he would take offense to my scathing tone.
“Does anyone? Do you let anyone know you?” Stone challenged. He wasn’t upset, not at all. In fact, he stepped closer, and the heat from his body brought back the feeling of being pressed against him, fused against that pillar of muscle and strength, and something in my belly flip-flopped. Crap, I wanted this man. I’d never wanted any man before like I wanted Stone Preston.
He was staring down at me, his eyes taking in every bead of sweat and my red cheeks. He was unflinching in that stare.
“Do you?” I asked. It was the only thing I could think of as we stared at each other. Like a lonely traveler, losing hope of company, suddenly coming across another soul in a barren place. A kinship blossoming in the dark.
“No. Never.” His voice was deep and sent shivers down my spine. “Do you know why punching the bag feels good?” he asked, throwing me with the sudden change of topic. I shook my head. “It’s because you’re angry. You’re not broken. You’re not pathetic. You’re fucking furious, and you’ve kept it inside for so long, you’ve forgotten how to let it out. You’ve forgotten how it feels not to be angry.”
“Angry? Who am I angry at?” I asked, defensive now he was skating so close to the truth.
“Yourself. Your father. Your mother. Your life. Take your pick,” he said flatly.
My free hand was flying before I could stop it. I slapped him and then pushed him away from me, my hand hard on his chest. Not that it moved him much. He was too strong and broad, but it felt good.
“Fuck you. You don’t know anything. Why would I be mad at my mom? I never even met her,” I snapped at him.
“That’s exactly why. You’re mad that she wasn’t here. You’re mad that you missed having her in your life, and you’re especially mad that your father made you feel like it was your fault.”
“Shut up. I’m not kidding.” My finger pointed at his face and then dropped to prod at his chest. “If you don’t shut up now, I’m walking out of here, and you can forget about our agreement,” I warned him.
“You’re mad at your father because he’s a useless father, selfish and weak. He laid the responsibility for his failed life at his young daughter’s feet instead of shouldering it like a man,” Stone continued, unmoved by my threats.
I shoved him in the chest, tugging my wrist from his grip. I felt frantic inside, like I had to stop him from talking. I couldn’t listen to what he was saying. I was unraveling, and this psycho was holding the end of my threads and tugging.
“Stop!” I snarled, hitting at his chest now.
He grabbed my arms, and the tussle bore us back against the ropes of the boxing ring. “You’re mad at yourself because you don’t like your life, but you can’t change it. You’re trapped. You think your father hates you, and you’ve spent useless time trying to make him like you. You think everyone in your life pities you or doesn’t like you… but not me.”
He was holding my arms beside me now, his hard body pressing against mine to stop me from attacking him further. We were both breathing hard, and I felt emotions that I rarely allow to surface roiling in my chest.
“Why the fuck not if I’m so terrible?” I demanded.