I turn around to watch the rest of the bout. Doherty may be good at hyping the fight, but Ty is an amazing fighter, who can spine-rip Doherty in seconds, Mortal Combat style.
He blocks Doherty’s punches skillfully and has him on the mat in a matter of seconds. Then grounds and pounds him on the floor. He manages to take down Doherty in a minute and forty-five seconds. Months and months of preparations, endless hours of workouts and enough mental stress to rival a president at war, for less than two minutes of work.
Ugh, men.
It makes me giddy with emotion that he wins. Adrenaline pumps in my veins, making me dance behind the bar. The men at Ned’s look pleased with the result, and I watch as both fighters pull their tees back on. Ty’s is black with a white skull and says ZombieNation.
They bow to each other and shake hands politely, like they didn’t just try to annihilate each other. The usual attractive woman reporter whisks Ty straight to the champion’s interview, and I sneak to the back of the bar to stock up on some more Bud Light, and also to avoid watching him more.
He inked my initial. On his heart. He won the fight, despite being all messed up. This gives me hope, because if he can bury his feelings, so can I. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Or, at the very least, I intend to try.
Chapter Sixteen
I decide to send the new phone that Ty got for me back to The Grind. I don't dare set foot in there, though. Not after how I had left things with Dawson, AKA the adoring coach, and Jesse, AKA the wingman. Both probably consider me public enemy number one now that I dumped their boy.
As for Ty, I would definitely never risk bumping into him.
No. I send the phone to The Grind via Izzy, who doesn't seem to share my disdain for the XWL. She returns home horny as hell and muttering about Shane. She’s already replaced my old phone with a new one—her graduation gift. I purposely get a new number so I won’t be tempted to text Ty when I get lonely, sad and teary-eyed at night.
I earned my degree, but I skip the commencement ceremony. I never really dug the whole college thing anyway. In hindsight, I may have been better off studying somewhere else, far away from home, but considering my lack of success in high school, there was no way my parents would have funded an out of state tuition fee.
Especially to major in communications studies.
Needless to say, my parents were very disappointed with my decision to keep the festivities to a minimum, even more so when they suggested we celebrate my graduation at a restaurant and invited me to a steakhouse.
Me. Their daughter. Who refused to eat meat since she was around nine.
I declined politely, Mom was angry, Izzy reminded her of my food preferences, Mom apologized, and now we're all good. And by “good” I mean the usual not-talking-about-it state or repressed anger and silent tension typical in my family.
But hey, I graduated.
I freaking graduated, and no one can take that away from me. They thought I wouldn't, but I proved them wrong. Hah. Take that, Mr. and Mrs. Skeptical.
Mikey and Bree throw me a little Sunday-afternoon graduation party at Ned's. It's nothing, really. Just a few beers and ice cream sandwiches with the staff. It's not even my shift, so I find myself sitting on one of the stools next to Bree, holding a root beer in one hand and an ice cream sandwich in another, grinning when Mikey goes on and on about how they're all so proud of me.
After his speech, Bree studies my face. "How are you holding up, honey?"
I'm not, I want to tell her, but instead take a big gulp of root beer, buying time.
"Yeah, not bad,” I finally say. “Not bad at all." Jesus, even I don't buy this.
Bree cocks her head, a funny look plastered on her face. "Hey, are you and Ty back together?"
I snort loudly. "Not in this lifetime."
Bree purses her lips. She's awfully quiet when she excuses herself from the barstool next to me, grabbing her drink and joining one of our colleagues, Amy. She doesn’t even like Amy.
I turn my head in the direction that made Bree change her mind about sitting next to me, and now it's my turn to purse my lips.
Oh, no he didn't.
Only he totally did.
Heart takes a nosedive and my shoulders tense.
"What are you doing here?" I say quietly, my voice almost a whisper. The unbearable emptiness I've been walking around with for the past week turns into an excruciating pain that slams into me with anger. I may feel hollow without him, but seeing him now only makes things worse.
"Can we please just talk? I'm running out of ideas about where and how to find you." His voice, that I missed so dearly, is pulling every emotional string in my body.
"Good." I try to keep my expression neutral. "That's the general idea."