by Maya Cross
And then the door was closing behind him. He didn't look back.
I sunk down into the sofa, fresh tears streaming from my eyes. The familiarity of that parting line struck something deep inside me. It was eerily similar to the final words of Tom's suicide note. Two men, both willing to destroy themselves because they thought I'd be better off. My emotions were in tatters.
I'd known Logan had issues — that self-loathing he carried around like a virus inside him — but I hadn't realized the magnitude of it, the way it fed upon itself. Charlie and Joy were right. Logan hated himself for this. It didn't feel like a choice at all. He'd hurt me more than I'd ever thought possible, but he was a much a victim here as I was.
Maybe it was just a no win scenario. Maybe our relationship had been doomed before it even began. But seeing him like that, so bitter and full of rage, made me think of the way I'd been when he first met me. He fought for me at a time when I wasn't even willing to fight for myself. I didn't know if I had the strength to fight for him now, but maybe I owed it to him to try.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Logan
By the time I returned, night had fallen. The house was dark and silent, and Joy's car was gone. I waited at the edge of the woods for a few minutes, listening, trying to catch a hint as to whether Grace was still there. I didn't want to face her again. I didn't have the energy.
Five minutes passed and there was no sound. I walked toward the porch, stumbling briefly as a tremor shook my muscles. It was the longest I'd gone without a drink in months, and my body was already rebelling. Alcohol is such an insidious fucker. Drink too much and you want to die, but cut it out and you feel just as wretched. Despite the fact that I was barely exerting myself, my heart was racing and my skin burned. I felt like I could sleep for a hundred years, but first I had a conversation that desperately needed blotting out.
I'd done the right thing sending her away. I had. She deserved so much better than an emotional cripple who collapses at the first sign of trouble. For Grace, there was still hope. For me, there was none. If I gave in, I'd only wind up hurting her again.
Staggering into the main room, I felt around for the light switch. The place looked like a bomb had hit it. I felt bad about trashing Charlie's property, but I couldn't muster the willpower to actually do anything about it. I didn't have the willpower for much anymore.
"You're wrong."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Fucking hell," I said, turning to find Grace slouched against the wall in the corner behind me. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Looks like I finally got one back on you then," she said, flashing a sick little smile.
"What the hell are you still doing here? Joy's car is gone."
She shrugged. "I sent her home. We're not done talking, and now I've got no way to leave even if I wanted to."
I let out a long sigh. I shouldn't have expected her to just give up. She was as stubborn as me, when she put her mind to it. Crossing over to the sofa I threw myself down opposite her. Mental anguish aside, she looked good. She still seemed a little stiff, and she moved with crutches, but compared to the last time I'd seen her it was a fucking miracle. I still couldn't believe she'd made it through that.
Even after everything that had happened, just being near her again was a temptation. I'd spent months cementing my decision in my head, but with every word from her lips, I felt my resolve waver a little more. I still had an incredible desire to fix her, to do whatever it took to stop her hurting. But this was different. Now I was the source of that pain.
"What am I wrong about?" I asked wearily.
"About there being nothing left for me here. It's the complete opposite. The only thing left for me is here. I think it's been that way since the moment we met."
Such sweet words, Jesus, why did she have to make this harder than it already was? "How can you say that after what I did?"
She shrugged. "Because it's true. It might not make sense, but love never does. I think if it ever did, the magic would be gone." She hesitated. "I forgive you, Logan."
I closed my eyes. It felt like everything inside me was unraveling. How was this even possible? It didn't make any sense. Nobody should have this much compassion, this much understanding.
"Well, maybe I can't forgive myself," I replied.
"Or maybe you're just afraid to. I know what you're doing. I spent a good amount of time trying to push you away, remember? I was terrified and angry and I hated myself, hated the world. I just wanted to be left alone, but you didn't give up. You cared when no one else would, and you refused to let me self-destruct. Well, now the shoe is on the other foot. I had a chance to help Tom when he was hurting, and I didn't get there in time. That is going to haunt me forever. But this time, I'm not too late."
Even now, she refused to let my issues get the better of her. I felt like crying. I betrayed her in the worst possible way, and yet she still wanted to fix me?
"So what are you saying?" I asked. "We should just go back home and make nice and pretend like nothing's changed?"
She shook her head. It was such a profoundly sad gesture. I hated that I was responsible for that emotion. "No. Too much has happened for that. But maybe we can start again, from the beginning, and rebuild. Maybe we can find a way to get past this."
The urge to just stop fighting and wrap her in my arms was almost too strong. God, how I wished the things she was saying were possible. But I'd tried that already, squashing my fears to be with her, and look where we ended up.
"I don't know if there's any way past this, Grace."
"What have you got left to lose by trying?" She nodded to the room around us. "If I walk out of here and leave you alone, like you're asking, you're going to drink yourself into the ground. I'd hate myself forever if I let that happen."
"And I'd hate myself forever if I hurt you again."
"You're hurting me by saying no."
"But you'll get over it."
She gave a tiny shrug. "I'm not so sure. You've got it in your head that I'm better than you somehow, less damaged, but the truth is, we're exactly the same. We're two people walking a constant tightrope. I haven't fallen yet, but..." She reached into the shadows and pulled out a bottle of Jack that she'd been hiding behind her body. "I picked this up almost as soon as you left. It pulled me like a fucking magnet. I've been staring at it for hours. I'm not really sure how I haven't cracked it open yet. God knows I want to."
Her hands shook, her fingers locked in a white knuckle grip around the glass, as if to relax them was to let them take over and follow through with that threat. My stomach twisted. It was my worst fear coming to life before my eyes; everything I'd worked so hard to stop. "Grace, please don't."
We both stared at the bottle, hunger blazing in our eyes. I never thought anything could hurt as much as this. Watching her poised to throw it all away was the worst kind of agony.
"You were better," I said. "I saw it."
"We both know there's no getting better from this. There's just strong enough, or not strong enough, in any given moment. You know what I was waiting for more than anything while I lay in that goddamn hospital bed? I was waiting for the day there was nobody watching anymore so I could go out and buy a bottle of vodka just to blot out some of the agony you left behind. And right up until I walked through that door, I was planning on following through with that. But then I saw you on the sofa, looking so utterly wrecked, and I realized how much I don't want to be that person again."
She set the bottle down purposefully on the ground in front of her, and I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"I don't know if I'll still be this strong tomorrow, or the next day," she continued, "but one of us has to try, or I don't think either of us will get through this. You need me, Logan, and I need you. Together, maybe we can beat this."
I ran a hand through my hair. My mind was going a million miles a minute. Everything hurt. The situation felt impossible, nightmares looming at the end
of every possible path.
"How do you know it won't blow up in our faces again? How do you know that in six months or a year I won't freak out and break you for good? How do you know?" My voice shook. I realized I was screaming.
"I don't," she replied with a shrug, her eyes still fixed on the bottle. "I know you're scared. I understand that. I am too. For two months, a very loud voice in my head has been telling me to just let you go so you don't have the opportunity to hurt me again. Most days, I wanted to listen to it. But you know what I was thinking about, while you were gone just now? That question you asked. Did I still think all of this was worth the risk." Her gaze snapped up to me. "The answer is yes. I wouldn't trade our time together for anything, Logan, and if you told me things would play out exactly like this, I'd still make the same choice. Before I met you, I really thought life wasn't worth living anymore. But you showed me that wasn't true. You showed me there was light at the end of the tunnel. Things may be dark right now, but I have to believe it's still out there somewhere. I love you, Logan, and I know you still love me. Maybe that's enough for us to find it again."
Hearing those four words again broke something open inside me. Jesus. She was right. Of course she was right. And I felt the same way. Even if I'd known how it would go between us, I would have done it anyway. Grace was the most amazing person I'd ever met. She was still here, after everything I'd done. She'd shown me that I was more than the sum of my past. That was a fucking miracle. It was worth the pain. I'd started out trying to save her, but really she was the one who'd been saving me. I opened my mouth to reply, but all that came out was a sob. How could I have been so selfish? How could I have tried to throw this away?
"Okay," I managed to choke out, tears running down my face.
"Okay?" There was a trace of hope on her face now.
"Okay," I repeated.
For the first time in three months, I saw Grace smile, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. She dragged herself to her feet and limped over to the sofa, and I pulled her against me, my hand knotted in her hair, her face against my chest. Jesus Christ it felt good, like returning home. I wanted to hang on to her like that forever.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"I know." She didn't say "that's okay," and she was right not to, because it wasn't. But maybe it didn't have to be.
"What do we do now?" I asked.
"Well, Joy isn't coming back until tomorrow, so I guess maybe we get rid of all this," she nodded to the bottles, "and then we sleep."
"And tomorrow?"
She looked up at me, eyes shining. "Tomorrow, we start fresh."
Epilogue
Logan
The ground shook — five hundred voices at fever pitch, vibrating through concrete and wood. It registered dimly in the back of my head, but I tuned it out. It wasn't relevant, just background noise, like wind through a gully.
The crowd roared as I stepped into the arena, and my eyes went instinctively to Grace. She smiled up at me from the front row, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. She looked absolutely radiant. It felt like a miracle to see her that way again, vibrant and full of energy. It had been three months since she came to me in Charlie's cabin, and her injuries were mostly healed now. She'd carry some scars for the rest of her life, but scars can be helpful if you look at them right. They can be a reminder, a warning.
It still made me cringe, thinking of her lying broken in that hospital bed. I'd come so close to losing her, in more ways than one. Even now, I still had no idea how she'd found it in herself to forgive me — I sure as hell didn't deserve it — but I was done second guessing things. She'd saved me, and it was something I'd never forget. There were still moments when I became terrified about what the future might hold for us, but I didn't let them overwhelm me anymore. Right now, we were together, and that was enough.
I shot her a grin and blew a suggestive little kiss that she caught in one hand, swooning dramatically. Moments like this were worth a lifetime of pain. They were worth the risk. We still weren't back to the place we'd been before the accident. After everything that had happened, rebuilding wasn't easy, but we were making progress. She had to learn to trust me again, and I had to learn not to hate myself for what I'd done.
The first few weeks after returning to the world were rough for both of us. Going cold turkey is agony and, even with life returning to "normal," there were plenty of occasions where the allure of a quick drink was almost overpowering. What kept it in check was Grace. She was a goddamn inspiration. I'd seen the truth in her eyes that day in the cabin — she came incredibly close to breaking down too. After the things she'd been through and the pain I'd caused, I couldn't blame her. But somehow, she found the strength to stay dry. If she could manage that, then I could do the same.
I'm not sure Grace's parents felt the same way. They were still in town, and they made no secret of the fact that they didn't like me. I understood. If I had a daughter, I sure as hell wouldn't want her with a fuckup like me. They didn't know the details of everything that went on between us, but they could spot trouble when it was lurking nearby. I didn't know if they would be a problem yet, but for now we seemed to have reached an impasse.
I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders. I felt good. It had been hard work getting my body back into combat shape after the damage I'd done. At the time I'd been sure I'd never fight again, so what did it matter? But there I stood in the ring again, the only place I was truly at ease. My body felt loose, my muscles primed. I was ready.
In the end, Charlie had solved our problem. He'd sold Final Blow to Task, on the condition that it was folded into his own league. In return, Task promoted him to general manager, putting him in charge of the day-to-day running of the league. Charlie acted like he did it for my benefit, but a few days watching him in his new role told me how excited he was about the opportunity. Now he got to play puppet master with a much bigger set of toys.
Running a national league is a big step up from the nickel and dime stuff of Final Blow, and he soon realized he had to take a step back from the bar to dedicate himself full time. He hired some new manager, a woman named Beth, who seemed competent.
I could have ditched my job too, if I wanted. My new contract combined with the huge TPW winners' purses was likely enough to keep me sitting pretty, but there was something about Charlie's that stayed with me. It's where I found my feet after everything went to shit, it's where I found the ring, and it's where I met Grace. I wasn't ready to throw away all those new beginnings just yet. I still worked a couple of nights a week — short shifts that still left plenty of time for training. I had another incentive for hanging around too — Grace was also back there. She was determined to get back into a kitchen soon, but until a position opened up, the bar paid the bills. In some ways, I think that was good for us. It took us back to the beginning, those nights cleaning up once everyone had left. The best way to rebuild is going back to where it all began.
Even if I did quit, I wouldn't be gone from the place totally. My deal with Task meant that most of my fights would stay in Vegas. Charlie gave him this idea about setting up a home town hero in each state and having other fighters try to knock them off, so I was the new guinea pig. I still had to travel to other cities occasionally, but they'd all be on the west coast and easily accessible by car. Maybe one day I'd be ready to get on a plane, but that would be like trying to run before I could walk. Right now it was just one foot in front of the other.
Part of me still didn't like that we caved to Task's bullying, but some wars just can't be won with brute force. We lived to fight another day, and that's what was important.
Charlie announced my opponent, who stepped up beside me, studying me with derisive eyes. He was blonde and baby faced, and he moved with that limber arrogance of a youth who feels like he has the world at his feet. Charlie had told me to be careful of him. He'd steamrolled his last five TPW fights, but that only made the moment sweeter. A real threat was exactly what I needed. I c
ould feel my pulse through my clenched fists, slow, but gradually increasing. Long dormant electricity was building in my veins, that heady rush of adrenaline that would set my reflexes on a hair trigger and send my mind soaring. I glanced once more at the girl who had saved me. Grace grinned and raised a fist, giving an exaggerated whoop. This was what I lived for, now. Grace's smile and the thrill of the fight.
Hope is a dangerous thing, but now it's a risk that I'm willing to take.
Sequel Info
Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed following Grace and Logan's journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. I poured a lot of heart into these characters, and I couldn't be more thrilled with how they turned out.
If you did like the book, the best way you can show your appreciation is by helping spread the word and leaving a review. Even just a couple of lines and a star rating goes a long way. Authors survive on word of mouth, and the more people hear about our work, the better the chance that we can keep producing more of it for you to enjoy.
As for this particular book, there is likely to be a sequel later this year that will follow the couple as they try to rebuild their relationship and struggle with Logan's growing fame. If you would like to be the first to find out when it's available, you should join my mailing list here. Signing up also gives you access to exclusive giveaways and bonus content. I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your inbox (I'll only contact you when a new book is approaching or I'm having a sale).
Thanks again for supporting my work!
-Maya
About the Author
Maya Cross is a writer who enjoys making people blush. Growing up with a mother who worked in a book store, she read a lot from a very young age, and soon enough picked up a pen of her own. She's tried her hands at a whole variety of genres including horror, science fiction, and fantasy, but funnily enough, it was the sexy stuff that stuck. She has now started this pen name as an outlet for her spicier thoughts (they were starting to overflow). She likes her heroes strong but mysterious, her encounters sizzling, and her characters true to life.