Page 91 of Heartbreaker
“I wish you two would just talk it out,” she said, falling into the driver’s seat of her Toyota earlier. “Just admit you still have feelings for each other and you want to fix things.”
“It’s not that easy, Rae,” I said.
“Savannah, that man loves you, he always has, and you’re just being stubborn. It’s been two years. Don’t you think it’s time to talk about it?” She said the same thing every time John was brought up. Her opinion on the matter hadn’t changed, and I knew she’d never let it go until he and I finally sat down and talked. Even if it meant letting go for good.
My conversation with Raelynn isn’t the only thing keeping me up tonight. I’m still sore after the shit Viviana pulled on Monday. Was I aware that she and Austin were coming out to “surprise” attack us during the match between Brooks and Wolf? Yes, but I wasn’t aware she had intentions of drawing blood. She hit harder than necessary after she baited me out from the commentary table, going straight for my old shoulder injury. Almost like she knew it had been bothering me recently. Part of me wonders if it was revenge for our match years ago when Iunintentionallybusted up her knee in a street fight. A bigger part of me thinks she’s mad that I called her a slut on national television without warning. Fair, I suppose, but it isn’t the first time any of us have gone off script, and it won’t be the last. Sometimes you have to act now and ask for forgiveness later, from both your opponent and corporate.
Everything got a little hazy after I went headfirst into the corner of the steel steps. Viviana had taken advantage of me being stunned and continued her assault when I didn’t get back up. I vaguely remember hearing Brooks yell over the roar of the crowd before Viviana was plucked off me by her husband. Finally, I was scooped up into strong arms and carried backstage without a fight.
Brooks stood in the doorway of Doc’s office the entire time I was being assessed, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his face pulled into a hard line, arms crossed over his bare chest. His skin was an angry red from the strikes of a Kendo stick moments before the match went awry, but that wasn’t the only reason. The visible blood should’ve told me why he reacted the way he did, but it wasn’t until I saw the replay and the photos that I truly understood. There was bloodeverywhere—my blood. For a smaller laceration, it looked like a damn crime scene.
Brooks refused to leave my side even after Doc stitched up the side of my head and cleared me. He walked me to the women’s locker room and then waited to walk me out to the parking lot, where Raelynn paced outside the bus she shared with Brody. Once she was finished fretting over me, she turned to Brooks, who stood there with my blood still visible on his skin. His hands clenched at his sides before he folded his arms into his chest again. I started to ask if he wanted something to wipe the blood off, but he beat me to it.
“I’ll see you Thursday,” he said with an even tone, and left. Watching him walk away, I felt the disappointment settle deep in my stomach. I stood there until the arena door closed and my best friend called for me from the bus door.
Raelynn is right. I know she’s right. She isn’t the only one who thinks so; Brody does, too. Brooks and I need to talk, but I’m scared of what that’s going to mean when all is said and done. What if we agree to walk away for good? What if he says he wants to try again? Do I want to try again?
Yes, the word comes to mind without hesitation, and it freezes my movements against the punching bag. I come to a still position upside down. Was that…Is that what I want? I don’t…I’ve never allowed myself to think about it before, or tried not to, pushing any thoughts of him to the back of my mind where they could be stored behind a locked door. I know that wasn’t the right or healthy way to deal with things, but it was the only way I knew how to try to move on. To try to get over him. But now…Now, I have no choice but to face it. Face him.
With my back against the vinyl, I take one more deep breath and crunch my abdomen to force myself upward, grabbing the chains. My legs unwind and slide down to the floor before I fall back against the wall.
“You’re here late.”
My eyes open to meet the blue eyes of the man standing in front of me. When did he get here? I never even heard the door open. Then again, I’ve been a little preoccupied…with him.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say. He nods, now glancing down at his feet. “You?”
“Same,” he answers. “That and I wanted to get some ring work in.”
I wonder how many times we’ve just missed each other in our late-night ventures to the training center. I’ve spent many nights here when I couldn’t sleep recently, but I’ve never run into him. Brody and Rae rely on the training center to work out, which means I do, too, as long as I’m staying with them. Unlike Brooks, I don’t have the luxury of a home gym anymore.
My gaze sweeps over his face, and I get the sudden longing to reach out and touch him. To caress the side of his face, to cradle his face in my palm, and feel the warmth of his skin against mine. To graze my thumb over his pink lips before he’d smile and pull me into a long kiss. It would start soft, slow, and careful, but eventually turn into something much more…Well, I’ll let you use your imagination.
Oh, for the love of God.I am so fucked.I cannot be thinking about this.
When our eyes meet, the mental wall he’s built, the same one he had when I first returned, is firmly in place. He’s shutting me out again.
“Well, I’ll be out here if you need anything,” he says, not waiting for an answer. He leaves, and through the large picture window that overlooks the ring room, I watch him stuff headphones in his ears, and he finishes wrapping his right wrist.
A little over an hour of cardio later, I decide it’s time to head back to the condo and finish packing for tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even try to get a little bit of sleep, if I can. The ring area is dark; the only light comes from the spotlights over the ring in the center of the room. It casts a pale glow as heavy footsteps against canvas echo through the still air. The sight is entrancing, begging me forward, and I slowly make my way through the maze of six rings to the one he occupies in the center. Brooks runs the ropes—slingshots himself side to side—touching the rope on each side twice before dropping to the mat, doing two quarter rolls and starting over. After three run-throughs, he adds a third touch and a third roll. I know he’ll do this until he gets to ten total.
I shouldn’t stay, but my feet refuse to listen. I admire the way his massive form moves with such fluidity in such a small space. His determination is one of the things I’ve always admired most about him, because despite not always being the strongest wrestler, he has character and charisma, and he worked his ass off to become better. He still does. That’s what makes him the best. That’s why Amos loves him and why he skyrocketed to the top of the company so early in his career.
Brooks stops after five and moves to the center of the ring. This is new. He begins moving his feet through an in-out-in-out-in pattern, as if weaving them through an invisible opponent’s feet, almost like a grapevine motion.
“That works better when you have a real opponent there, you know,” I say, and it stops him in his tracks.
He looks over his shoulder and chuckles, breathless. “You offering?”
It’s my turn to laugh. Was I offering? No, of course, I wasn’t offering…Was I? “I was just about to leave, actually.”
Brooks reaches for the towel hanging on the opposite rope and wipes his face. It looks like he’s about to start his run-throughs again. I rap my knuckles on the apron and take a deep breath, turning on my heel, but he calls after me. “One match.”
“What?”
“One match,” Brooks repeats, leaning over the ropes. He stares down at me with a neutral expression. Calm, cool, and collected. “You and me. Right here, right now. And if I win, you and I have dinner on Sunday.”
He can’t be serious, but there are no signs of backing down. Okay, I’ll play along. “And if I win?”
