Savannah sat staring at the half of her sandwich that remained untouched, trying to deal with the sick feeling churning in the pit of her stomach.
The Meyers fight. Mexico City. A month from now. The words swirled in her head, a maelstrom of pain and fear following them, chasing out any of the good feelings he'd given her these past few hours. She'd begun to put the pieces together after the ESPN report had triggered his escape into her bedroom.
All conversations had ended in there now, given the silence, but he wasn't coming out. She got to her feet, feeling shaky and weak, and moved to the French doors that led onto her little Bourbon Street balcony. There was a small bistro table with a couple of chairs out there, and she sat there now, watching the tourists stroll the street. A horse-drawn carriage clattered by, the people inside laughing along with their tour guide. Probably headed for a stop at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop for a hurricane. She could use one herself, had hoped they might go for one later.
Five or so minutes passed, and he stepped out on the balcony with her, his handsome features tight and closed off. Even those full lips were in drawn into a grim line, and a hard, steely determination had seeped into his eyes. The Michael who had emerged from her bedroom bore little resemblance to the man who had gone in twenty minutes ago.
This man looked like the one who had stepped into the cage with Tommy.
But his dangerous expression somehow drew even more attention to that dangerous body, and she had to suck in a breath and tear her gaze away before she began to hyperventilate from her racing heart. Without speaking, he pulled the other chair from the table and dropped into it, lacing his fingers across his flat abs and glaring at the buildings across the street.
"I take it you heard," he said finally, when an unbearable silence had stretched out.
"I didn't mean to. My walls are thin." She hated the way her voice trembled. "What happened to retiring?"
"It's a title shot. I told you from the start I hadn't decided what I was going to do yet."
"And this decided you."
"Well, it's a pretty damn big incentive. It was something I never expected to come along, especially now."
"It's up to you, though, right? You don't have to take it."
"No, I don't have to."
"Please don't."
"Savannah," he began patiently-at least, she forced herself to think he was being patient, because she wouldn't be able to handle him being patronizing-"this is what I do. It's the path I chose, and I have to think long term. It will be a damn good payday, and I have to plan for the rest of my life here, you know? I'm not like you or your brother, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I won't be able to climb in the cage and throw hands when I'm sixty. You see fighters years after their careers are over, washed up, broke . . . that can't be me. I won't let it be. I have to be smart and take any opportunities that come my way, because they won't always be there."
"But if you get hurt or worse, what about the rest of your life then? I hear what you're saying, Michael, I even realize that I'm probably being irrational, but . . . this scares me so much. And you know it does, and you don't care. That's what I can't wrap my mind around right now. I know we haven't been together for very long, but I thought what was happening here meant something."
"It does. It means so much, Savannah, you mean so much."
But this means more, she thought. It was a cruel truth she would have to live with if she wanted a life with him. It would be unreasonable to expect him to throw an entire career away over a woman he'd only known a couple of months.
"When we were in your kitchen that night," she said, tracing the iron patterns of her bistro table, "you told me we have to seek solace wherever we can find it. I had the thought that my solace was you. If you do this . . . you can't be my solace anymore. There's too much hurt, too much grief, tied up in what you do. I can't see through it. I would live in constant fear for you."
"But you shouldn't, baby." He reached across the table to put a hand over hers.
"I know I shouldn't," she snapped, "but I would all the same."
Maybe this was the sign she'd needed. How fucking tragic that it had come just when she thought things might be smoothing out somewhat with her parents and Rowan. Like fate had stepped in and kicked her in the head while she was struggling to get to her feet. Boom! Ha-ha, got you, you dumbass. You were thinking you could have him after all, but you still can't.
"It's a chance I'll just have to take," he said at last, glaring out at the street again. The clouds above were breaking into a clear blue, the wet street and sidewalks glistening in the golden light of early evening. "The risk has always been there, the same way it's there for everybody. I know you had a bad experience, but it's so rare, darlin'. I'm good, and I'm careful."
"And Tommy wasn't?"
That made him shift his glare from the street to her face. "That isn't what I meant, and you know it. But if you want to go there, no, he wasn't. Not if he got in the cage knowing he might have a head injury he didn't get checked out or either didn't fucking tell anyone about. He set himself up, he set me up, for some bad shit to happen to him, and it did."
She sucked in a breath and shot out of the chair, but going back inside meant squeezing by him. For a second she hoped he would grab her and take those awful words back, but he didn't. He let her go, and he didn't follow. Savannah fled to her bedroom, slammed the door, and burst into sobs so violent they gagged her.
Well, he'd made a royal fuckery out of that. A mere few hours after vowing to her brother that she was taken care of, he'd said something that cut her to the heart.
Maybe it was for the best. This coming month was going to be hell on him; the last thing she needed was to suffer through it with him. The press, the speculation, some lauding him for coming back so soon, some saying he was a piece of shit, and of course, Tommy's name being revived in countless articles and sportscasts. She wouldn't be able to handle it. He hoped he would.
Sighing, heartsick, he pushed to his feet and gripped the iron railing around her charming little balcony, watching the people stroll by. They'd planned to scarf down their sandwiches and go out again, so they should be among them right now, walking hand in hand, contemplating their plans for the evening and anticipating the night ahead. All he had to do was say the word and it could be reality-if he hadn't already fucked everything up beyond all repair with careless words.
Careless, he realized, but true, one of those many instances when he hadn't admitted his real feelings about a subject until they flew unbidden from his mouth. That habit had served him well in his fighting career, but would eventually wreck every relationship he ever tried to have.
True or not, she hadn't deserved to hear it.
He left the balcony and went to her closed bedroom door, hearing her sobs beyond it as easily as she must have heard him talking to Brad and Jon. Pressing a hand to it when he wanted to rip it from its fucking hinges to get to her, he uttered a prayer. As if that would help. "Savannah, baby, can I come in?"
Her answer was immediate. "No. Please don't."
He knew her breakdowns always embarrassed her, as if she wasn't allowed to express them. He'd tried to give her a safe place to do that, and now he'd fucked it all up.
This wasn't working. It was never going to work as long as he kept giving in to her.
Leaning his forehead against her door, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"
This time, she was a long time answering. "Just . . . go home. I'm sorry I asked you to come all this way."
"Like hell I'm going home and leaving you this way."
"You're the reason I am this way."
"Savannah. I'm coming in."
Her door was locked, but the knob was old and flimsy. He broke the fucker with a violent twist and shoved his way inside to see her sitting on the bed, staring at him in disbelief. "You-"
"I'll buy you a new one." Stalking over to her, he grabbed her left hand and showed her the little tattoo on her ring finger. "Found it."
Her streaming eyes were furious and her mascara had smudged around them, making her look half crazed too. "When?"
"This morning."
"You didn't say anything."
"Did you want me to?"
"I don't . . ."
"Considering what you told me about it. That it was there for the man you're going to marry. Where did you really see us going, Savannah?"
"I didn't know! But I was willing to find out, before this."