* * *
Tegan sat on the bed of Fiona’s guestroom, needing a minute to rest. Well, OK, more than a minute. Even walking up two flights of stairs had left her tingling and light headed. She could very well keel over and sleep right here, she was that tired, but she was also wired at the appearance of Owen. Her heart had leapt seeing him again. Just for a moment, all the reasons they weren’t together had disappeared. Joy was all there was. For that brief moment, she was at peace.
But then, like a rollercoaster descending after reaching its peak, all the reasons came back. Flooding her stomach like a snowstorm. Her situation. Her medical condition. He didn’t live in the country. His fighting. His training. No time together. It would only be a part-time relationship. And on and on the reasons went. Each one like a blade, making her peace bleed out.
She flicked on the TV and channel surfed, trying to find the movies on when a sports broadcast flashed, and she briefly caught Owen’s name on the screen which made her pause. A CNN graphic had come up on the screen. A black and white mock-up of Owen and Diaz facing off and a caption underneath:
THE MATCHUP NO ONE EVER THOUGHT THEY WOULD SEE. THE FIGHT THE WORLD WILL WATCH.
She froze on the bed. She was looking at a highlight interview with Brent Diaz, recorded only a few hours ago. Seated next to Diaz and opposite the interviewer was a rather sharp dressed, olive-skinned man with a clipped beard and slight paunch.
“So, champ, it looks like this mock-up is outdated now. What are your thoughts on your cancelled challenge from Owen Gasnier due to personal reasons?”
“What challenge? A challenge has an actual chance of winning. It was a fight only the media wanted to see. Most fight fans knew it was going to be a joke if we ever got in the ring together. Ask the dozens of women that follow him. They’ll sleep soundly in their cute little ‘Owen, Eat Me’ panties tonight now that Big Bad Brent won’t wreck that pretty boy face.”
“Easy there, champ.”
“You asked the question. He’s got personal issues, huh? Don’t we all? My mum was buried without me because I was training. We’re athletes. Sacrificing. It’s what we do. I said all along he was the most well-known heavyweight and the least deserving of the attention. People call me every name under the sun. He’s nothing more than a woman basher who pays to have his mistakes, as in kids, killed. The bloke is a freakin’ menace to society. He belongs in prison.”
Tegan unconsciously rubbed her stomach as Diaz spoke, but no tears came. She was too angry for that. This was Owen’s world; the world he had prospered in before she came along. Now, he had a reputation and a smear he didn’t deserve. Even through her exhaustion, if she could have one wish, it would be to help him make it right.
The camera focused on the man beside Diaz, captioned as Khoder El Masri, manager of Brent Diaz. “Many attempts were made to contact Mr Gasnier to straighten any issues out, but as we say in the business, a dog with its tail between its legs doesn’t linger, lest urine stains be seen in its wake.”
“You’re falling just short of calling him a coward?”
“Not just short, I am calling him a coward. How else can you explain his sudden departure? His reluctance to take on a superior athlete? If he’s not afraid, why hide? Our offer is the most coveted prize in the business, which he won the right to challenge for. Yet, after their altercation following the bout, suddenly Gasnier has personal issues and steps away from the match. Where were those personal issues before? Did they just suddenly spring up? Or are there perhaps fresh allegations about to be revealed?” El Masri gave a sinister, feral-like grin. “Pathetic excuse for a number one contender.”
The interviewer countered, “Well, he always has been a polarising figure, keen to run his own race as they say.”
“Yeah, run his own race right out of the sport when he knew exactly what he was up against. One punch, that’s all it took. He knew his legacy was ruined. All he has got to his name is his undefeated streak. Without it, he’s truly nothing. We are the only two undefeated fighters in the division. Even if I lose, at least I’ll be a two-time champion of the world. He’ll be nothing but a few horny mothers’ wet dreams.”
The TV switched off, and Tegan spun around to see Fiona had the remote in her hand. “While you’re under my house, you’ll obey my rules. Any programming of that nature is strictly prohibited due to fuckwitery. Is that clear?”
Tegan didn’t take her eyes off Fiona as she asked, “Did Owen really give up on all this for me? Am I the personal issue?”
“Well, you’re not an issue, but yes. He wants to be close to you.”
“But this was his dream! He worked so hard for it.”
“OK, OK. Calm down, Teegs.”
Tegan pressed her fingers into the front of her skull, her head pounding, her heart racing.
“I think I got everything,” Fiona said. “Can I fix you some lunch?”
“No thanks, I’m not hungry. Fi... Why did you ask him over for dinner? You know how awkward it’s going to be, right?”
“It’ll only be as awkward as you make it. Look, the guy cares about you. Forget who he is and what he does. That’s a huge thing. He’s proven that by doing something I never thought possible. He walked away from the biggest match of his career.”
“Why would he do that though? It’s insane. Look what they’re saying about him!”
Fiona shrugged and replied rather sadly, “I guess, right now, nothing else matters to him.”
* * *
Owen arrived a bit before six, hoping to get Tegan one on one, but it seemed she was always either glued to Fiona’s hip or seated at the table playing with her phone, making an attempt to keep a distance between her and Owen. More than once, Owen had asked to help her carry something and was told abruptly that she was fine.
Owen was no expert on women but had been with enough to know when they said ‘fine’, nothing, whatsoever, was fine. The three sat down at the dinner table, and Owen glanced towards Tegan who kept her gaze firmly on the plate. She had worn a headscarf with a beautiful flower pattern, and yet when he quietly mentioned how pretty it was, she didn’t utter a word. No thank you. No acknowledgment.’’
Owen reached over to hold her hand, and Tegan jumped in shock, spilling over her water glass and drenching the table cloth.
Fiona dabbed the area with napkins as Tegan tried to help. Owen, though, never took his eyes off Tegan. “Fiona... Could you give us a minute alone, please?”
Fiona, usually the chatterbox, offered no retort or smart-ass comment. Instead, she left abruptly. Just as he asked.
“Are you alright?” Owen asked.
“Peachy, why do you ask?”
“Because, ever since I showed up, you’ve been treating me like a leper. What is wrong?”
“Nothing besides the obvious.”
“Well, why don’t you tell me the obvious? You have some kind of problem with me, so out with it.”
“Can we not? Not everything is about you.”
“Not everything is about you either. We are in this together.”
Tegan gave a false laugh and rose to her feet, “Are you kidding me? Together? Together in what? A freak show?”
Owen took a breath and rose too, “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Tegan said, her voice breaking. “This is what you left your dream for. This. It’s all I am. There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
“I don’t want a pot of gold. I want you.”
“WHY?” Tegan burst out. “I have nothing, Owen. Nothing to offer you or myself. I don’t have a job or even a place to live anymore.”
“I don’t care about any of that—”
“But I do! God... Don’t you see how this is tearing me up? I met with doctors and nurses that kept shoving pamphlets down my throat saying all you can still do while having treatment. How to live your life and not feel sorry for yourself. How to maintain a can-do attitude. Well, fuck it. I’m laying out the truth. This fucking sucks. I’m
not supposed to feel sorry for myself. Well, you know what? I do. So, sue me. I want to give up. I don’t want to go through this anymore. I’ve been feeling like shit for ninety-nine percent of the time, and you know that one percent? That one brief, glorious moment when I didn’t feel like a corpse is when I woke up to see you sitting there…” Tegan shook her head slightly as she looked him up and down. “You have no idea what it felt like to finally feel alive again.”
Owen took a step forward as he said, “Please don’t shut me out. Let me help you.”
“No!” Tegan yelled, taking a step back. “I can’t, Owen.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t depend on you! I need to do this myself. I can’t drag you down too. Look what they are saying about you!”
“I don’t care.”
“I do! You and Fiona are the only two bright spots in my life. The only things that make me actually try to wake up another day. But with you it’s different. I know the abortion broke your heart, just as much as it did mine. It was our loss together. But you’re the fighter. You just have to sweep it under the rug, right? Look at how its affected you since. God... I tried to make you go away, to forget about me, even though I needed you more than anything. I just wanted to fall into your arms and have you be my strength. I still want to let you carry me through this. But if I lose that part of myself, I lose everything. I can’t do that to you, make you have to be the one to take care of me.”
Owen closed the distance between them until her back hit the wall. Her eyes glistened as she shook her head. “Please, Owen... Don’t.”
For a brief moment, Owen thought about adhering to her request. But when he saw her gazing at his lips and biting her own, he ignored it. He lowered his face to hers, and their lips met. Once. Twice. Tegan brought her fingers to his face, tenderly keeping him still before moving her head away. “No. I can’t.”
“You don’t want me to kiss you?”
“I do, but I... I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t want me to touch you?”
Tegan lowered her eyes slightly. “Of course, I do... Seeing you again... You look so fucking... I just... We just... We shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.”
Owen wanted to ask why, but an idea struck him. He took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. He closed the door behind them, locking them in the dark. He cupped her face with both hands. Here, he didn’t even need to come forward. She kissed him with such energy, little moans escaped from her every few seconds. As much as he loved this, Owen reached for the lights and turned them on.
Tegan immediately stopped and felt her obviously flushed face. “What are you doing?”
“I want an answer. Why won’t you let me touch you without darkness as your cover?”
“Owen, I...”
She couldn’t answer. Owen reached behind her shoulders to the zip of her dress, slowly undoing it. He unclipped her bra and tossed it to the floor. The dress dropped, along with her underwear, with a swish. She offered no protest. Instead, she reached out and clung to him as she was left naked, pressing into him.
“Turn around. Face the mirror,” he whispered.
“No,” she replied thickly.
“Yes,” Owen whispered, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead as he gently slid the scarf off.
“Owen, please. Stop forcing me.”
“I’m not. I want to know why you won’t look at yourself. Why you won’t kiss me when you obviously want to. Please, just tell me.”
Tegan slowly turned around, and after a good ten seconds, looked at herself with trembling lips. “Because I’m so ugly.” she said before burying her face in her hands.
Owen let her. She needed to get it out. He understood, but he also knew he had to do something. He let his fingers run along her arms, his mouth leaving soft kisses in between her shoulder blades. “Now, you listen to me,” he said, almost into her skin. “You are not ugly. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. You’re just sick. We are going to get through this together. But first things first, we make a pact. No more tears. No pain. Say it with me. No pain.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist as she said the same words he did. And again, once more.
“Good,” he said, running the tip of his tongue along the skin between her neck and shoulder, leaving small bites as he traversed back and forth. “You’re not ugly. Say it.”
“I’m not...” Tegan trailed off, eyes closed, her hand reaching behind, stroking Owen’s hair as he continued to bite and lick her neck.
“Finish it,” he growled, cupping her breasts with both hands.
She gasped and leant back into him at the same time, silently begging him to keep going. “I’m not ugly.”
She had to stop kissing him to comply, but immediately after, she opened her mouth again to take his tongue deep. He moved one hand from her breast down her stomach as he said, “No pain.”
“No pain.”
“You’re not ugly.”
“I’m not—” she said, taking more of his kisses before she managed to pry herself off and slowly get dressed. He watched her, helping where he thought he should until she stood before him as she was minutes earlier. Yet she looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. She embraced him and snuggled into his neck. “Thank you…” she whispered. “…so much.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, rocking her gently. “Shall we be getting back?”
“I need you to make me a promise,” she whispered into his neck, continuing to kiss him there.
“I’ll get you through this, I swear. Don’t give up. You and me.”
“If I can’t give up, you can’t either. If I’m going to do my best to beat this thing, which is what I want to do, I need you to do something for me too.”
“What’s that?”
Tegan leant back and looked him in the eyes. “Fight.”
It took him a moment to process what she had said, but he saw how serious she was. Her gaze was like steel, iron clad and immovable. “You’ve worked too hard to let that bastard carry on about you like that. I’m not going to let you throw everything you’ve wanted away, out of loyalty to me. I’ll never understand fighting, Owen. I’ll never like it. But it’s who you are. Not what they say you are.” Tegan pressed her lips against his forehead and placed his hand on her stomach. “I know you would’ve loved our baby. It would’ve had the best daddy in the world. But we can’t hold on to pain, sweetie,” she said as Owen sniffed away tears. “Never forget, but let it go.”
Owen got to his knees and pressed his forehead into her stomach, shaking with emotion, his eyes scrunched as he cried. He had never gotten closure with Tegan and what they had lost. She had just dismissed him. And although she thought she was doing the right thing, she hadn’t given him the chance to grieve with her. It wasn’t just her heartbreak. He wrapped his arms around her waist and mumbled the words “I’m sorry” over and over. It wasn’t his fault. They both knew it, and he wasn’t apologising in that sense. He was sorry there was nothing he could do to help her, to save their child. Now, she was strong for the both of them, in saying what needed to be said. Doing what needed to be done. She had already stepped up to the bridge so to speak. She was standing there, with her hand stretched out behind her, waiting for him to join her in crossing it.
In his mind, he knew what she wanted him to do. What he needed to do. He had to join her in saying goodbye and moving forward. He let out a breath, softly kissed her stomach and stared at her for a few long seconds. He knew now what she meant. His fight and hers were not the same, but Tegan viewed them as such. They were both championships. His was the belt he had dreamed of since he was a boy. Hers was survival. She wanted them to inspire each other. She accepted him for who he was. He was a fighter. Right now, though, Owen could safely say she was the toughest fighter he had ever seen.
He then stood and let her clear his face. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“’Bout fuckin�
�� time,” Fiona’s harsh whisper to herself carried from outside the bathroom door where she had obviously been listening.
“Call me when you can,” Tegan smiled, kissing him just before he left the bathroom.
Fiona stood still, seeing them come out of the bathroom, and her eyebrows could not have gotten much higher.
“Oh. Hey, babe. Um...” Tegan looked from Fiona to Owen. “He was... We... Um...”
Fiona looked as though she was trying not to laugh. “My house. I’m a snooper. Love me for what I am.”
Owen gave a mini smile, kissed Tegan’s cheek and headed out the front door. He pulled out his phone and dialled his father. “Hey, mate, I need your help.”
“With what?”
“We need to call a press conference.”
“Uh... Why?”
“I’m back.”
Chapter Fourteen
Owen walked into the same rented apartment he now used whenever in Sydney. Where he made love to Tegan all those months ago. Where Robert sat waiting for him now, stone-faced. “What’s going on? You sounded pissed off over the phone.”
“Sit down, son.”
Owen crossed his arms. “Nah, I’m good like this. What’s up? Is there trouble with the press conference?”
Robert sighed. “There isn’t a press conference, Owen. I didn’t call. Sit down, please.”
Owen reluctantly lowered himself to the nearest seat, waiting for Robert to speak. “Owen, you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’ve talked it over with Tegan, and I’m going to fight Diaz.”
“Son. You can’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ve been off for months now, and tonight you’re just proving it again. We both agreed, stepping away was the right thing to do, and now you’ve...changed your mind? You think you can just pick and choose your title shots? That they come around every few months if you just wait long enough? This was our life’s work, Owen. Everything we had ever done was leading up to this. You knew that, and you walked away. I have spent years protecting you from those that wanted you out, that wanted to bury you. They never succeeded. And although I will always want that belt in some form, as I never got it in my time, I am so glad those arseholes never got their wish to bring you down. I have done the best I could to keep you winning and to keep you safe. Undefeated in a career is rarer than hen’s teeth. Be proud of that, Owen, and forget the rest.”
Undisputed (The Undisputed Series Book 1) Page 13