"I don't know how many girls I've dated, depending on your definition of the word. The majority of my experience with women is either a one-night stand or a casual hookup type thing. Not sure if I'd qualify either of those as really dating." I shrug awkwardly as I prepare to answer the second part of her question. "I had one serious girlfriend in college, but it ended when I went pro. Since then, I haven't really been interested in relationships. It doesn't seem to pair well with how selfish I have to be as a fighter."
I can see the wheels turning in her head as she considers my answer. I realize suddenly that I've never had this kind of honest conversation about relationships with a woman. I've never admitted that I am okay with being in this selfish phase of my life. I wonder if she's going to ask me more. But she seems to be resigned to the fact that we keep shooting down the other's follow-up questions, so she just nods in acceptance of my answer.
I think about the next question I want to ask her. We each have two questions left and there's a certain heaviness that's settled into the mood of the room—clearly calling out the personal nature of our questions.
"What's the longest relationship you've ever had?" I ask finally.
She sighs and meets my gaze with a resigned look on her face. "Six months."
My eyes widen in surprise. "You had a serious relationship in six months?"
"I see through people's bullshit pretty quickly," she mumbles with a shrug. "By the six month mark I already know if I'm going to get bored of them."
I frown when something occurs to me. “What about that pothead you dated a year ago? That seemed like it lasted a while.”
She turns to me with a slight frown, as if surprised that I remember that. I’m a little surprised, too, but I don’t take the question back.
“He… wasn’t really a pothead. He was actually crazy smart. But he had really bad ADHD and needed to tame his own brain with something.” Something flashes through my chest at her positive mention of the guy. I always knew she liked smart guys, so it shouldn’t exactly come as a shock, but for some reason hearing her confirm it makes me annoyed. Especially since I know most people think I’m an idiot.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, she continues her answer with a sigh as she drops her head back against the couch. “It was only six months, but it felt longer because he chased me for a while. In hindsight, it should’ve been a sign that he had to convince me to date him, but at the time, it felt nice to be chased. We ended up being really wrong for each other.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that with anything other thanGood, so I just stay silent.
"Okay, last question," she says quietly, raising her eyes to look at me. Actually, it feels like she's lookingintome. And when she asks her question, I understand why. "What's your favorite quality of your mom?"
I wince and rub my forehead. Family questions always make me uncomfortable, which is why I freaked out on Remy earlier when she asked me about them. It's no secret that I don't have a great relationship with my parents. Jax is the only one I swallowed my embarrassment for and vented to about my clusterfuck of a family dynamic, and I'm certain he wouldn't have shared it with anyone, even Remy.
Since I'm sure she at least knows the relationship is rocky, I wonder if her question is meant to carefully broach the subject while keeping a light spin on it by asking me to focus on the positives. I study Remy for a moment, debating how much I want to tell her.
"Her kindness," I eventually mutter. "She has the best heart. Even with all the bullshit with my parents—them not accepting my career and putting my shithead brother on a pedestal just for having a respectable job—it’s never come from a place of hate. She's just confused, and a lot worried." I laugh humorlessly. "In her own fucked up way, I think her hating fighting is actually her way of trying to protect me. She's only ever wanted what's best for me—even if she happens to be wrong. Her kindness is so all-consuming that she puts all of our needs in front of any of hers. There isn't a thing in this world that she wouldn't sacrifice if it somehow meant we could be happy."
I fidget with my beer as I avoid Remy's gaze. Even when I told Jax last year, we hadn't exactly sat around and talked about it. He just happened to catch me in a full-blown meltdown after my dad had called to tell me that he had no interest in coming to my upcoming fight. And oh 'when was I going to be done with this karate bullshit.' I still fume when I recall the memory.
"She'll come around," I hear Remy say quietly. I look up at her in surprise—I hadn't expected her to say anything. "I don't know your dad, so I can't speak for how much a douchebag he is or isn't, but if your mom is a good person then she'll figure it out eventually. She loves you. She just needs to see how important fighting is to you."
I feel a comforting warmth seep into my chest. I didn't realize how desperate I had been to hear someone tell me that until just now. I just assumed this is what it would always be like with my parents. But with Remy's words, I feel an ember of hope light inside of me.
Not wanting to ruin her declaration by responding to it, all I manage is a gruff—but appreciative—nod. I finish the rest of my beer as I mull over my final question for Remy.
I decide on a family question of my own. "Were you always close with your sister?"
Remy smiles and rests her cheek on the couch cushions. "Always. Ever since she was a baby and I helped take care of her. There may have been a brief time in my early teens where I preferred my friends over her, but that felt normal. She was always my best friend." She grins cheekily as she straightens up and pulls her feet beneath her. "It helps that my parents raised us well and we both ended up being cool as fuck. Because to this day she's still the best person I know."
I roll my eyes. "Arrogant much?" I ask with an amused drawl.
Her grin widens. "I am about this.”
I can’t help the smile that pulls at the edge of my lips. “She is pretty cool, though,” I admit. “Quiet, but seems like she has a good head on her shoulders.” I grin when a memory surfaces. “I remember her telling off a guy that was hitting on her at one of the fights. She must’ve been, like, 17, but basically told the guy she didn’t have enough time or patience for idiot boys. You almost bit the guy’s head off when he kept pushing.”
Remy practically growls next to me at the mention of it. “Damn right I did,” she mumbles. “Men are idiots.”
When I shake my head with a chuckle, she finishes the rest of her beer and turns to put the empty can on the table next to her. "OK, well my seven questions are up. I guess I'll—"
"What's your biggest struggle in life right now?" I blurt.
Her eyes widen. I mutter a curse, immediately regretting my outburst—not to mention the fact that I just broke several game rules—and begin searching my brain for a way to smooth it over.
But when I look up at her, she's opening and closing her mouth, each time trying to vocalize what I assume will be her answer. I guess she doesn't mind that I broke her rules. Maybe, because I opened up about my family, she feels like she can—or should—open up about this. I puzzle over what her answer might be.