The sordid, shameful, sickening rest. Knowing that, once I told him, it might not matter anyway. He might still hate me, just by association.
So I’d blown him off and now, more than a week later, I still hadn’t worked up the balls to face him.
He’d already left four messages on my voicemail that I refused to check, but I could only bury my head for so long. I still had a job to do and I couldn’t keep letting my cowardice stand in the way of me doing it.
I spared a glance at the clock and stood. End of my work day. For now, at least, I had an excuse to procrastinate for a little longer. I made my way down the maze of hallways to the open part of the warehouse where the makeshift ring stood. In the center of it was Mickey at a table set for two, each place with a silver dome-covered plate and a wine glass filled with ruby liquid in front of it. Next to him on a white-clothed platform sat a three-tiered birthday cake shaped like gift boxes set askew on top of one another, each in a different buttery pastel shade. It was a work of art and I knew it had cost a fortune.
"Happy birthday, sweetie." Mick smiled, happy to see me as usual and I couldn't help but smile back in spite of the weight on my chest. “I got the Duke of Cakes to make it for you."
Aside from MMA, Mickey knew I loved watching the Food Network and that was one of my favorite shows. Tears stung my eyes as I climbed into the ring with him to get a better look. "It's so gorgeous, thanks Mick." I’d been so distracted lately, I’d completely forgotten about it, but Mick was big on birthdays.
“Glad you like it.” He motioned for me to sit and then handed me a long, slim box. I took it, wondering what other outrageous thing he’d gone and done. I didn't give a crap about jewelry, but that never stopped him before. The cake though? He'd been dead on there, and I wondered idly if he'd solicited help from his secretary Rita in choosing it.
I opened the box, delighting in the crunchy feel of the papyrus style paper. A note sat inside, folded into a tiny rectangle. Not jewelry. Excellent.
I unfolded it, breathless with nerves. We were in a ring. Maybe, along with the Food Network, Mickey had finally caught on to the fact that I wanted to fight and this was some sort of declaration that he wanted me to go for it. Imagine that? Then I wouldn’t have to choose between disappointing him and giving up my dream.
With shaking hands, I held the note to the flickering candles so I could read it.
"A voucher for tuition at a cooking school?" I said, as I took in the contents of the note.
"Yeah, aren't you happy?"
I liked watching cooking shows, but no way did I want to cook for a living.
"I figure this could help you get past that whole MMA thing. Between cooking classes and managing fighters, you'll be so busy, you won't have time to think about fighting yourself."
I folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into the box, forcing a smile. No matter how misguided he was, he'd tried. For real this year, more than ever before. I wasn't about to reward that effort by shitting on some truly thoughtful gifts just because we didn't see eye to eye on something. And Mickey’s gift had done something I hadn’t been able to do up until just that moment. It settled the war going on inside of me. As I stared at that note, having no idea what it could be, there was only one thing I’d wished for.
I was going to fight MMA.
Now I just had to hope that, by the time he found out about it, he was willing to accept it and get on board. I couldn't lose him. I had no one else.
An image of Matty's face floated through my mind but I pushed it away. I didn't have Matty. If anything, he had me. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The fun we’d had sparring. The keen way his mind worked when we were prepping for our meeting with Carmine. The way his hands felt on my body when he touched me…
But what did any of that really mean in the scheme of things? Nada. We might have more in common than I'd ever had with a guy, but one of those things was that we both had seriously fucked up lives and neither one of us was in the emotional place for a healthy relationship.
“And on that note, I wanted to talk to you about something else. I need a favor,” Mickey said, settling back in his seat.
The pseudo-innocent tone sent my guard up. I’d heard it before, and it put me on edge. He was about to ask me to do something that he knew I wasn’t going to like. Possibly even something illegal, and it made my stomach clench.
Was that why he'd given me such great gifts? Because he wanted something from me he knew would hurt to give? I hated to think it. It sickened me, but in the moment, I couldn't think of anything else.
“Okay…”
He lifted the silver cover from the plate in front of him and gestured for me to do the same. A plump lobster tail glistening with butter perched on a smear of mashed potatoes stared up at me, but all it did was add to the queasiness.