He mulls that over for a second before he responds. Dad's always been supportive of my sport choice, bragging to anyone that will listen on the construction site that his son is a well-known Philly MMA fighter, so he knows as much about the sport as any fighters do. With it just being the two of us as I was growing up, he always made it a point to devote all of his attention to anything I was ever interested in—whether that be baseball, lacrosse, or even rugby for a short time in college.
He's the definition of a supportive parent. The only one I've ever had.
At the thought of the mother that I've never known, a cold feeling comes over me. The same one that always makes an appearance when I think of the woman.
Dad and I never talk about her. Sometimes I think he wants to, but only in the way that he'll answer my questions if I have any.
It's clearly not a secret between us that her abandoning us before I even turned a year old has fucked me up. As much as I don't want to admit it. But it's hard to not hate a woman that hurt my dad and left her own child all in one fell swoop. All because shewasn't ready to settle down.
Her words, and the only thing my dad has ever said about her leaving.
He'll never admit it, but he's fucked up over her leaving, too. I was too young to remember the heartbreak part, but I can see that he was in love with her just by the way his eyes go hazy anytime the topic of moms and wives come up. And even though they never married, he's clearly convinced she was his soulmate. There's probably even a part of him that believes the pregnancy wasn't an accident—that it was fate trying to tie them irrevocably together.
Except, you can't hold someone down whose biggest fear isbeingtied down.
I obviously don't remember her, so I don't know how hard she tried to fight that fear after she got pregnant. Something tells me not very hard. Because a woman who could leave her own child—and then, in twenty-one years, neveroncesay another word or send a birthday card—likely isn't one that cares too much about fighting for the right thing.
I got over my anger a long time ago. When I was a kid, of course I had some days where I couldn't understand why I didn't have a mom like the other kids did, but they were few and far between. For as long as I can remember, it was simply understood that it was Dad and I. Always has been, always will be. We didn't need anyone else.
Instead, I became almost numb to the idea of women in my life. Well… long-term women, at least.WomenI like.
I just don't expect them to stay.
It's one of the reasons why I've never had a serious girlfriend. Even in high school, when I first started coming into myself, it never appealed to me to put my heart and trust into another woman. One look at my dad and I know loving my mom would've been the biggest mistake of his life if he hadn't gotten me out of it.
I prefer to keep things surface-level with the women I meet. Not that I only want them for sex, because that's not the case, but the charming, ladies' man part of my personality is such a comfortable default, and so effective when it comes to keeping things casual, that I don't think I even know how to be anyone else. I probably couldn't deepen a connection even if I wanted to.
Which leaves me with flirting, fucking, and then hoping like hell they aren't looking for anything serious.
I've even perfected the art of gently steering the situationship when that seems to be happening. I love women, and I want them to have nothing but positive interactions with me, even when I'm setting a boundary that might hurt their feelings. Because that’s the last thing I've ever wanted to do.
I just don't want to get attached to them and risk having them leave me.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts when Dad says, "Coach'll come up with something. Even if we gotta fly you out to the West Coast to get some competition, we'll make it happen."
That makes me frown in confusion and raise my head up. My dad's hardly poor as a construction manager, but with me in college and my only job being a measly part-time internship, funds aren't exactly flowing right now. The fact that he's offering something that big just speaks to how much he supports my fighting career.
"I don't have to go to California for competition," I argue. "I mean yeah, it's where the most fighters are, but I don't exactly want to get in the habit of flying out there every time I'm in need of a fight. At that point, it would make more sense to move."
"So then do that," he murmurs.
Just the thought of that is enough to make my blood freeze. Leaving my dad out here on his own? No thanks, nothing is that important.
I let out a forced chuckle. "Don't be so eager to get rid of me, Pops."
No answer. Then again, I wouldn't expect one. He's so used to my humor that he rarely reacts to it anymore.
"Mind if I crash here tonight?" I ask tightly. I'm feeling weirdly lonely this week, and I don't really feel like going back to my college apartment that I share with a never-there senior who overstudies during the day and works all night. The idea of watching a football game with my dad and falling asleep on the couch sounds way more appealing than being by myself.
I obviously get an affirmative grunt as my answer. Letting out a breath of relief, I settle farther into the couch and turn my attention to the TV, letting a content smile creep across my face.
* * *
The next morning when I walk into the gym, I'm greeted by the sight of Jax tossing Tristan across the mat.
"Dude, what the fuck has gotten into you?" Tristan moans, straightening from an almost violent foot sweep takedown. "Why do you have so much energy lately? You only get this way after you've won a fight or gotten a promotion or something."
The blonde Viking only grins in response. "Sounds like someone is looking for an excuse for when I kick their ass."