Page 138 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
“Yep,” Riale says. “And you’re petrified that Shae will never love you again. Not if you actually give her the choice.”
My fist throbs as I land a cheap punch to his jaw, and Riale stumbles back, pivoting away from my follow-up shot.
He laughs, thick blood coating his teeth.
“Come on, baby boy,” he sneers. “Get all your rage out. Because yeah, I kept information from you. Information I knew you couldn’t handle. But you wanna know the real fucked thing?”
He leans to the left as I throw out another punch, opening myself to the hit he delivers to my kidney. Falling to one knee, Riale leans over me.
“The most fucked-up thing is that all of this happened because ofyou.Youdecided that breaking her heart was the best decision.Youdecided to pursue Lakeland and destroy him, rather than walking away and building from where you stood.Youdecided to create the hell you’re living in—and that she and your kids are living in.”
I kick my leg out and get the advantage when he lands on his back. Despite being pinned to the ground, Riale smiles, still smiles, while I deliver hit after hit to his face.
There’s a horrible sound filling the room, and as my senses start to flood in, I realize the roar comes from me.
“Face the shit and let it go!” Riale shouts, and I stop, my chest heaving as my stomach swirls.
I created this hell. I created this hell, and that’s a horrifying reality to live with.
“Fuck!” I shout, lurching up and heading toward the ropes. Hanging my head, I repeat the word several times.
Riale coughs, and I face him, pacing and watching as he spits up blood.
“Feel better?” he grinds out, wiping blood away from his nose.
No. No, not at all, because the words keep ringing in my ears: I created this hell.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together and making the bottom one sting.
“That’s because—” he grunts as he stands “—you’re going to have to accept that in order to survive, you’ve got to release control.”
My eyes slide closed at those words, and I stop in the middle of the ring, looking down at my bare feet.
A memory comes forward: My mom and I sitting in the loft of the art barn. She reminded me of the time I almost died in the Gulf of Mexico, ripped away by the tide. I fought and fought against the waves, but the only real way out was to stop.
So, I stopped. And I lived.
I sniff and wipe my face, but some of the moisture on my cheeks isn’t blood.
“You need to think clearly here, Storm. You need to consider what’s good for her, your kids, for everyone. Not just on whatyouwant. Not just on what you fear.”
And that’s it, that’s the core of the wound.
The fear is that Shae will see me clearly, not as the man I want to be, but as the man I am—a man who chose revenge, pain, retribution…over her.
I rejected faith, partnership, and love for darkness.
I rejectedherin favor of holding on to my grief and rage.
And because of that, the deepest, most cutting fear I’m so afraid to face? It’s that I’ll try to be worthy, I’ll try to earn her forgiveness, but because forgiveness isn’t earned, it’s given, she’ll see all the horrible, closed-minded, temperamental parts of me and say, “Thanks for trying, but no, thanks.”
And then where will I be? What will I have if I can’t have Shae and my family?
“Storm.” Riale grips my shoulder, standing in front of me. For the first time in a long time, I’m back to that broken man who craved Shae with every part of my body and soul.
“You’ve got to let go,” Riale says, his voice low.
“I can’t let her go,” I grind out, shaking my head.
