I’m tossing my bag over my shoulder as I wave off her concern. “Trust me, he’s not what you’re picturing. He’s charming and handsome and so,sofunny. He’s amazing. You’ll love him.” My own words make me pause in my haste, and my voice loses its natural conviction when I say, “If… if he forgives me.”
Now it’s my mom that’s waving me off. “Just talk to him. If he’s as amazing as you say, you two will figure it out.”
And despite the confusion over everything I just learned still mixing in my gut with the feelings IknowI have for Aiden, those words are the ones that give me hope on my way out the door.
* * *
By the time I get to the arena, I’m practically vibrating with nerves. I’m pretty sure my Uber driver wanted to chuck me from the car for how many times I suggested a different route.
I hurry to the ticket counter, and even though the event started over an hour ago, there’s still a lengthy line of people buying last-minute tickets. I can’t keep my feet from shuffling anxiously as I mentally will the line to move quicker.
Glancing down at the phone in my hand, I debate for the millionth time whether I should text Aiden. Not necessarily to put all my buzzing thoughts in writing, but at the very least to say I’m sorry and that I’m here to support him. But I’m pretty sure the day of a fight is the worst possible time to bother a fighter with anything that isn’t thoughts of victory, so I lower the phone.
And then pick it up again twenty seconds later.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant under my breath. I have no idea what the right option is here.
I start to type out a message. Delete it. Type another one.
“Goddamnit, Aiden,” I whisper under my breath.
Thankfully, my indecision has distracted me from the pain of waiting, something I’m startled to realize when I’m poked in the back and not-so-nicely told to hurry up and buy my ticket already.
“Sorry,” I say in a breathless voice as I step up to the ticket counter. “I just need a ticket to get in. Any ticket.”
“Which fighter are you supporting?” the lady working asks in a bored voice. “We’ll give him the credit for the ticket sale.”
At the reminder, my heart jumps into my throat. I have to swallow twice to be able to talk around it.
“Aiden Reeves,” I answer quietly. “I’m here for Aiden Reeves.”
The second I have the ticket in my hand, I’m rushing through the crowd and hoping like hell I haven’t missed his fight. I’m so busy looking at the fighters in the cage, and trying to figure out which fight number they’re on, that I don’t see Aiden’s dad until I collide with his chest.
“Whoa, easy there,” he says, gripping my arms to steady me. “Where’s the fire?”
“Oh my gosh, I didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry,” I babble, wringing my hands. Nervously shooting glances at Mr. Reeves because I have no idea how much he knows about Aiden and I.
When he doesn’t tell me to go to hell for breaking his son’s heart—he merely gives me a small smile and steps back—I risk the question. “Do you know what fight they’re on? I got the fight card at the ticket counter so I know Aiden’s number eight but—”
“They’re on six right now,” he answers. Shooting a quick look over my shoulder to the cage, he adds, “Looks like it’s just ending. So your timing is perfect.”
“Well, not perfect,” I mumble before I realize what I’m saying. Once I do, my eyes widen and I stare helplessly at Mr. Reeves.
He sighs when I acknowledge the elephant in the room. “Look, Dani, I know things between you and Aiden are… rocky, but—”
“I never meant to hurt him,” I blurt out. “I know I did, and I am so,sosorry I did. Believe me, you can’t imagine how much.” Once the apology starts, I can’t seem to stop it from continuing. The words tumble out of me.
“He’s the most incredible man I’ve ever met. He didn’t deserve what I said to him, and I hate myself for ever making him believe he isn’t worthy of love. It kills me that I hurt him. I just… I got scared when he… when he—”
“Dani,” Mr. Reeves interrupts softly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it. Relationships are scary. Especially since you’re the kind of woman who doesn’t want to be tied down. I have a little experience with that, so trust me when I say I understand.” I see a flash of pain in his eyes, a memory loosened by his words, but his gaze shutters and he continues on. “But what you don’t understand is that there weren’t any shackles to begin with. They’re all in your head.”
His words make me pause, a frown appearing on my face.
“It’s not that I don’t thinkhe’sworth it, I’ve just never thought the changes that come with relationshipsin generalare worth it. I’m not ready to give up who I am.”
Mr. Reeves gives me a sad smile. “What would make you think my son would want to change even a hair on your head?”
At that, the true insanity of my internal conflict reaches the light, all in one fell swoop.