Page 116 of My Undead Heart
Two months later
“Come on, Matt. We’ve got to go,” I call into the bedroom and check my hair and makeup for about the thousandth time. I haven’t been this nervous about my appearance since my first Comic-Con, only today I’m not painted as my favorite character. Today I’m just me.
“This okay?” He steps into the doorway and I lift my gaze over my shoulder.Fuck me. It doesn’t matter how many times I see this man or that we practically live together with the number of sleepovers we have. I still can’t believe he’s all mine.
“You clean up nice.” I turn and try not to laugh at the way he tugs at the collar of his dress shirt.
“I feel like a goddamn monkey. Remind me again why I agreed to do this?” He blows out a breath, his nerves and frustration apparent.
I reach up to pull his hands away so I can fix his collar and unbutton the top button. “Because you’re going to help so many families and you’re ridiculously generous. It’s one of the things I don’t hate about you,” I say to earn his laughter.
His smirk pulls his lips wide. “For the record I don’t hate this on you.” He reaches out to skim his fingertips down the front of my fitted sweater to the sides of my pencil skirt where they rest and rub circles against my hips. He’s really good at sparking my desire with his mostly innocent touches. My body thrums with the need to have him now.
“None of that.” I grab his hands and pull them from my waist. “You’re not getting out of the interview. Not even with that.”
Busted. He forces a pout through his smirk. “I can’t get anything past you.” He steps around me to run his hands through his hair and over the short scruff of his beard. “You sure I shouldn’t shave?”
His hair is growing back slowly. I miss the longer locks, but they’re finally where I can run my fingers through them. His beard is a different story. It’s well on its way to the length it was when we first met.
“Don’t you dare. I love the way you look.” I shake my head and his eyes heat with promise. I reach out and he threads our fingers together. “Don’t change. Not for anyone.”
“Not even ESPN? Because they’re a pretty big deal.” His brow rises with his smirk.
“Even for them. But speaking of them, we better go. They’re meeting us at the gym at nine.” Matt didn’t want to accept the tell-all personal interview when reps from both the UFC and ESPN first approached him last month. He’s private with his life, which I appreciate. But after Xavier’s breakthrough into the UFC and Matt’s return as a coach, people were itching for his story. I understand. He’s a fascinating man.
After considering the lives he’d be able to change and the size audience he’d have the ability to reach, he started to sway. After I came up with the idea to pair the special with a fundraiser at the gym and include virtual participation through his website, Matt decided baring his hard truths was worth sharing. I’m nervous for him, but he’s the strongest man I know, both physically and emotionally. He can do this.
We arrive at South Side to a flurry of activity. Even after canceling today’s classes for the taping, there are a good number of fighters and trainers here to show their support. Danny, Xavier, Chantel, Mason, and Ricky each take their turn in the hot seat and answer questions about their brother, coach, and friend.
Matt’s up next and I stand off to the side so I can nod encouragement to him if he gets stuck. Besides telling me after we officially got together in Vegas, there’s no one here who knows his entire past. The reporter goes through a few easy questions designed to draw forth Matt’s lighthearted charisma. He’s doing great, but we both know what’s coming.
It still doesn’t pack less of a punch.
“You must know there’s a lot of speculation regarding your childhood. So close to your mom until she passed away; estranged from your father. You’ve never spoken about this before, but you’ve agreed to now. Tell us what it was like growing up in your house.”
Matt nods, his face holding back much of the pain. “When Pop wasn’t around? There was laughter. Love. Never enough food. Clothes from the thrift store or handed down by neighbors. Mom never finished high school. She worked retail jobs and picked up anything else to get us by. Our apartment was shit—sorry, can I say that?”
“You can say shit.”
“It wasn’t much, but it was home.”
“Was your father around much?”
“More than I ever wanted. As a kid, I dreaded the weeks he came home. Sometimes it was only for a night, other times weeks. With him, my mother changed. She didn’t smile. She didn’t laugh. Everything she did was wrong and he let her know all about it. First with the insults. The yelling. Then a smack here. A shove there. I’d have to go to my room, but I heard it all. Do you understand what it’s like to listen to your own father rape your mother after beating her within an inch of her life?”
The gym is silent as everyone awaits his next words with bated breath. My heart aches for that little boy. For the pain he endured.
“Twenty people are physically abused by an intimate partner in the United States each minute. Only thirty percent of them receive medical care for their injuries. The number of children who witness these acts of violence is staggering; almost ninety percent. But those are just numbers and it’s really easy to overlook them. Domestic violence is ugly. Rape is ugly. There’s something wrong with our culture, and I’m sharing my story in hopes it can be the difference for someone who is struggling.” Matt turns away from the reporter and faces one of the rolling cameras. His voice is rich with emotion and tears gather in his eyes. “There’s help for you. You deserve better. Your children deserve better. I promise you.”
I don’t think there’s a dry eye in the room, though everyone is too preoccupied holding back the sound. I have to give the reporter credit because she holds it together and asks the question so many have wondered.
“Thank you, Matt. Just ... thank you.” She clears her throat. “Let’s go back to your last fight in the octagon. Reigning champ in your division. You were predicted to win. But things didn’t go your way.”
Matt laughs but it holds no humor. “You could say that.”
“What happened?”
“Victor Suarez caught me with a right hook in the end of the third round. I gotta tell you, that guy can pack a punch. From the moment his glove made contact, my ears began to ring. I was no stranger to taking a hit either, but this time was different. I don’t really remember the fourth round but I’ve seen the footage.”
