Page 20 of Heart Sick Hate

“You feeling all right?” Maren’s eyes drop to where I’m clenching my bare stomach.

I changed before coming here, needing to get out of the long sleeves I wore to dinner. I’m more comfortable in my cropped gray top and black jeans, but Rhett would have hated the fake wolf teeth necklace and studded belt. I might not care that Rhett doesn’t approve of my tattoos, but I wasn’t in the mood tonight to hear his comments. Even if it didn’t stop him from pointing out that I was still dressed too casually for a family gathering.

He acts like this is the nineteen fifties, and I’m some suburban housewife.

“I’m fine.” I lie, forcing my best I-don’t-give-a-fuck smile.

Iamfine.

I’m Echo Slater, and I don’t let men affect me. Enough wallowing over the boyfriend I don’t even like. This is still my story, and I’m not done writing it.

“There she is.” Maren grins, likely noticing some kind of shift at my change in mindset, as she drops her hands. “I’ve gotta go fix my hair, but I’ll see you after the fight, yeah? I think most of the girls are getting a drink at Fusion.”

She gives me a final pat on the arm as she turns and disappears, and I don’t miss that the fighter she had her eyes on is lingering by the changing room waiting for her to circle back around for an excuse to talk to her. Something she doesn’t seem to mind one bit as she smiles brightly at him.

I make my way through the rowdy crowd and find a seat in the second row, pulling out a joint. This isn’t a crowd you have to hide openly smoking in since most people here are high or drunk. Everyone’s fucked up on either booze or adrenaline.

A few guys further down in the row didn’t even bother changing out of their police uniforms before showing up.

Taking a long drag, I let the weed settle my brain. Smoke filters through my thoughts and buries what I don’t want to think about. In the ring at the center of the room, someone is getting their face caved in by their opponent, but I don’t so much as flinch as he drops to the ground.

I’ve got an iron stomach for blood.

Some I’ve seen. Some I’ve spilled.

“Echo, thought that was you.” A guy in the seat in front of me spins around and smiles, his gaze traveling to where my crop top shows off my stomach before trailing back up.

He’s trying to act nonchalant but failing.

“Hey, Derek.” I tip my chin up and take another drag of my joint.

It’s strong shit. My mind grows wings, and I slowly float away.

“Haven’t seen you around here in a while.” Derek has fully turned sideways in his seat, holding the back of it with his arm, so he can look at me.

“Haven’t been here in a while.”

It’s been at least six months. I used to come to these fight nights all the time because, even if I probably shouldn’t enjoy watching people get hurt, I like seeing the guys fight. Every hit a reminder of how it feels to unleash what I’m not allowed to.

But then I started dating Rhett, and the strings holding my limbs began to tug. He didn’t like the idea of his girlfriend being spotted at an illegal underground fighting ring. So for him, I stopped coming.

For him, I stopped doing lots of things.

I understood there is a mold my life needs to fit into if I’m going to be his wife. And for the past few months, I’ve accepted it, so long as he doesn’t try to talk me out of working at the shop. He might not balk at my quarter ownership in Twisted Roses, but he doesn’t like that I still work there. It’s not appropriate enough for a preacher’s girlfriend, according to him.

Like he’s one to talk, pretending he’s celibate for his congregation.

“I’ve been busy,” I tell Derek, leaving the crawling itch of truth out of it because it's none of his business.

“I know how that is.” He smiles. Wide eyes, big teeth. Everything about him is overwhelming. “I’ve been busy myself. Things have been wild at the station lately. Got promoted to sergeant.”

“Congratulations.” I nod my head once and take another hit.

Cops that come to these fights are usually dirty, so it’s probably not a good sign he’s moving up the ranks as easily as he is.

“Thanks, if you ever want to see the precinct, let me know. I’ll give you the tour.”

Why in the hell he thinks I’d ever care or want to baffles me. But I force an appropriate smile that’s probably condescendingly sweet when paired with my pinched gaze anyway.

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