by Cate Cameron
So Cal needed to stop thinking about her and move on.
He wished there was someone else around who needed a good yelling-at, and when he realized just how hard he was looking for something to complain about, he left the factory and headed to the gym. Where, of course, he was reminded of Zara. Damn it.
He lifted weights anyway, working until every muscle in his body was shaking, and then he took off, running into the falling night. He and Zara had jogged together often and it wasn’t easy to find new paths, routes that weren’t haunted by her memory. He pushed on, though, working his exhausted body to the point of revolt. He was staggering a little by the time he slowed to a walk at the end of his street and started toward the house.
And then he stopped altogether when he saw the car in the driveway. Zane’s Mustang. Well, Zara’s Mustang, which Zane had been driving since he got out.
He forced his feet to start moving again.
Zane stepped out of the car and met him at the end of the driveway. “Welcome home. You look like shit and I heard you were having a temper tantrum at work. Want to get a beer?”
“If I start drinking, it might be a while before I stop.”
Zane shrugged. “I can babysit you, if you want to let go.”
“Even if my ‘letting go’ involves me saying some uncomplimentary things about your sister?”
“Would it?” Zane’s gaze was intent, despite his casual words and body language. “Doesn’t seem like you’d get all that upset about anything she did if you didn’t care about her.”
“Yeah, I care about her. Way too much.” Cal looked toward the door of his house, then back to Zane. “Come inside. I’ll have a shower while you order food. And then I’ll get drunk. That should solve everything.”
They were eating pizza and Cal was on his third glass of scotch when the doorbell rang.
There was a moment of stupid, wonderful hope when he heard the door open and somebody let themselves inside. Zara had come, he thought. She was going to—well, he wasn’t sure what. Best case would be that she was going to drop out of the fight. But what if she’d just come to tell him to stop being a baby and get his ass back to the city because she wanted company while she trained? Would he go?
It turned out he didn’t have to answer that question, because the voice that rang out from the entry hall, while familiar and female, was not Zara’s. “Calvin?” his mother called. “Are you home?”
For a brief moment he was tempted to roll off the couch and scurry away, finding somewhere to hide. And from the look on Zane’s face, he wasn’t the only one considering that approach. But Zane’s car was in the driveway, the lights were all on, the place reeked of pizza . . . too many clues. “Back here,” he called, and he and Zane both pushed themselves to their feet.
The front hall was only a few steps long, and Cal’s mother was in the main room before he was even standing up all the way. She cast an appraising eye at him, smiled politely at Zane, then said, “Drinking, are we?”
“I am,” Cal replied. “And you can be, if you want.”
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Do you have any more of that Chilean Malbec?”
Cal nodded and headed for the kitchen. It wasn’t completely unheard of for his mother to drop by unannounced, but usually her visits had a purpose. She’d arrive, drop something off or issue a carefully phrased directive, and be gone. Staying for a glass of wine was different, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.
“Good to see you, Zane,” he heard from behind him. “Is your sister still in the city?”
“As far as I know,” Zane replied. He and Cal had poked around the problem with Zara a little, but they hadn’t dived right in, so Zane was probably low on facts. But he was also being discreet; if Cal’s mom heard about his relationship issues, she’d hear about them from Cal.
“She must be looking forward to the fight?” his mother asked.
“I guess so. Honestly, I haven’t talked to her much lately.”
Cal returned then, handed his mother her glass of wine, and took a deep breath. “Zara went to the doctor and was told that fighting was dangerous, but she’s going to do it anyway. I told her I couldn’t watch her do that, and she . . .” Well, there was the difficult part. But there was no point in pretending it wasn’t true. “She didn’t care enough about me to walk away from the fight. So we broke up.”
The other two didn’t speak as Cal drained his glass of scotch and refilled it. He sat down and took a sip, and finally his mother said, “Was that how you presented it to her? She had to make a choice? You gave her an ultimatum?”
“No!” At least, he didn’t think so. “I just—told her. I said I couldn’t watch her do it.”
Zane was still quiet, but he was the one Cal’s mother was looking at when she said, “Cal never knew his grandfather—my father. He died in Vietnam when I was little girl. A career sergeant.” She glanced at Cal and added, “And every time he reenlisted, my mother threatened to leave him. She said he was putting his honor and his concern for his friends ahead of his love for her and his duty to the family.”
“I’m not sure you can equate military service to MMA fighting,” Zane said carefully.
“They’re not the same. But they’re not that different.” Cal’s mother seemed placidly confident as she sipped her wine. “My father didn’t reenlist because he wanted to serve his country. He did it because it was all he knew.”
“And because he wanted to look after his men,” Cal broke in. “It’s not the same at all!”
“Looking after his men was more important than looking after his family?” Another sip of wine, and his mother shrugged. “You’re right. It’s not the same. But for my mother? She supported him in the end. He risked his life, and she went along with it. And when he was killed, she felt guilty for not having done more to stop him. I know she did.”
Cal stared at her. What was he supposed to be doing with this perspective?
His mother smiled gently, as if he’d asked the question out loud. “Would she have felt any better if she’d left him, and he’d gone over anyway and been killed without even the comfort of knowing he was loved? Or if the ultimatum had worked, and he’d stayed home, would he always have resented her for it? Would they have ended up apart anyway, because he wasn’t able to forgive her for taking that choice away from him?”
“They might have broken up, but they’d both be alive,” Cal retorted. He wasn’t really sure what argument his mother was making, but he didn’t think he liked it. “That’s important, isn’t it? I mean, sure, in a perfect world Zara would not fight and we’d be together. But the world isn’t perfect. If I can only have one of those things, I want the one that makes her safe. I want her to not fight, even if it means she hates me.”
“If she was for sure going to die, you’d be right,” Zane said. He sounded too sober, and too sad. “But this? She’s taking more of a risk than you want. That’s all. It’s not as black and white as you’re making it out to be. So you have to ask yourself: How much of this is about loving her, and how much is about controlling her?”
Cal stared at his friend. “Is that how you see it? You haven’t argued with her about this. You haven’t really tried to get her to change her mind. Is that because you think she’s making the right decision, or just because you don’t want to control her?”
“It’s not about being the right decision or the wrong decision. It’s about it being her decision.” Zane glanced at Cal’s mother before adding, “I spent ten years not being allowed to make my own choices about much of anything. It’s no way to live. So I wouldn’t want to try to take Zara’s choices away from her, no. But also . . . come on, Cal. It’s Zara. She’s . . . she’s Zara. If she’s made up her mind on this, you really think anyone’s going to persuade her to change it?”
Cal had thought that, he realized. He was Calvin Montgomery, after all
. He was good at things. He persuaded people, achieved goals, found solutions. And Zara was just . . . Damn it. Had he really been thinking that way? Zara was just a Hale, just a poor kid with a poor family who should be enthusiastic about accepting his guidance and wisdom.
He’d never thought it consciously, certainly. And he didn’t think he’d thought it unconsciously all that much. It was pretty hard to spend any time with Zara and see her as anything other than her own woman. But maybe there’d been a tiny bit of snobbery inside him, just enough to make him believe what he wanted to believe?
“I can’t change her mind,” he said slowly.
“And she couldn’t change yours, or you wouldn’t be here,” Zane responded.
“But I’m right!” Cal said.
“And so is Zara,” his mother said calmly. “Right that it’s her choice. Her privilege to decide what risks she wants to take.”
Cal leaned over far enough to find the bottle of scotch and slosh a bit more into his glass. He was right, and Zara was right. So maybe their breakup was right, too. Even if it felt totally wrong.
Or maybe there was still something he could do. Zara wouldn’t change her mind, not with the way things were. But maybe he could do something to change the situation around Zara, something that would make the choice different. Maybe he could still save her, even if he couldn’t save the relationship.
* * *
ZARA woke with stiff, sore muscles. It had been stupid to overtrain this close to an event, but she’d had too much energy, too much negativity, and she’d needed to wear it off. It was either working out hard or getting drunk, and the second would have been much worse for her training.
Andre had been at the gym, watching her, and he’d come over as she’d been pulling off her sparring gear. “You’re back,” he’d said, sounding almost surprised. “You’re ready for this fight.”
She’d sneered at him. “I’m a professional. Of course I’m ready.” And she hadn’t been able to keep herself from adding, “I’ve been watching your girl. She’s good, no doubt. But I’m better.”
He hadn’t argued, and she’d known he’d realized the truth. The fight would be a tough one, but Zara would win. As long as things didn’t go wrong with her head.
But she couldn’t think like that. She rolled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen. She was adding bananas to her protein shake when her phone rang.
Cal! she thought, and the hopeful excitement blossomed in her chest. It turned to something bitter when she looked at the call display, and she tried to swallow it down before saying, “Hi, Terry.”
“Zara. We need to talk.”
“About what?” She didn’t want to feel defensive, but there was something accusatory in his voice.
“About your head. About post-concussion syndrome and the risks associated with receiving another head injury when the previous one is not fully healed.”
Her body was cold, and she dropped the banana so she could hold on to the counter for stability. “What are you talking about?” she almost whispered. “The doctors checked me out. They said I was fine. That was weeks ago, Terry. Your doctors said I was fine!”
“And what did your doctor say, Zara?”
“What are you . . . what are you talking about?” She tried to think it through. What did he know? And did it matter? “I saw a doctor, yeah.” How did he know that, how did he know? “She said it was always dangerous to get hit in the head. Big deal. There was no proof. Nothing to get me a medical exemption.” She didn’t know if she’d have used it, if it had been offered, but it hadn’t been offered, so that didn’t matter.
“So why didn’t you mention it to me?”
“Why would I? It wasn’t important.”
“I’m not sure I agree. We should talk. Do you want to come to the office, or should I come out there?”
She didn’t want him in her home, didn’t want any more turmoil or confusion in her personal space. “I’ll come down there.”
“I’m here all day. I can see you as soon as you get here.”
He hung up the phone, and she stared at it. He knew she’d been to see the doctor. The only person who’d known about that was Cal. Cal and Terry were friends. And Cal wanted to keep her from fighting. Her hands were shaking, and her brain had stopped working properly. Instead of coherent thoughts, all she had were flashes of images. Cal running with her, their strides matching. Cal smiling at her when she came into a room, his gaze finding hers and holding it for that one extra moment of connection and intimacy. Cal in bed, watching her like she was a miracle he was privileged to be close to.
And Cal yelling at her, telling her it was stupid for her to fight.
He had betrayed her.
Her phone rang again and she managed to pull herself together at least enough to look at the call display. And when she saw the name there, every uncertainty drained out of her, replaced with a cold, hard rage. Her hand wasn’t shaking anymore as she lifted the phone to her ear.
“You calling to gloat?” she spat into the mouthpiece. She didn’t give him time to answer. “I trusted you, and you stabbed me in the back. Go to hell, Cal. I never want to see you again.”
She ended the call and resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. Cal had betrayed her, and Terry knew more than he should, but that didn’t mean things were over. Nothing was over, not until she said it was.
She jolted to her feet. She’d go see Terry, she’d control the damage, she’d keep fighting. Nothing was over. She was still in it.
She’d always been good at tapping into her anger and using it to give her energy and determination. Calvin Montgomery thought he could beat her? He thought he was going to win by cheating?
Hell, no. She wasn’t going to let that happen.
She needed to stay angry. If she slowed down and let herself think, let herself feel anything but rage, she was pretty sure she’d fall apart. The fight? She’d handle the fight. Cal, going behind her back? No, she couldn’t think about that. Not if she was going to function.
* * *
IT took longer than it should have for Cal to put the phone down. When he did, he had to make himself look across the table at his mother and Zane, both of them looking about as blurry and confused as Cal felt. “I think I caught her at a bad time,” he said. It was stupid to try to cover, since they’d been sitting close enough to have heard Zara’s tone, if not the actual words she’d used. But if he didn’t admit it had happened, maybe he wouldn’t have to think about it. “We should try again later. Or, Zane, maybe you should be the one to talk to her about it.”
Zane was watching Cal a little more closely than was comfortable. But finally he nodded and said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll go get a couple hours of sleep, and then give her a call. I mean, this is a good plan. We’ve got good ideas here. We just need to get her to listen to them.”
Which she apparently wasn’t going to do if Cal was the one talking.
He walked his visitors to the door. They’d stayed all night, working with him, trying to figure out ways around Zara’s concerns. Zane’s commitment made sense, since it was his sister they were trying to save, but Cal’s mom? She’d gone above and beyond.
He gave her a quick kiss on the temple as she headed out the door. “Drive safe, Mom. You’re tired.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel tired. That was . . . invigorating. It felt good to be part of something.” A quick squeeze to his hand before she said, “We’ll find a way to make it work, Calvin. Don’t give up.”
He stood in the doorway and watched them both drive away, then dragged himself back to the table. It had all made so much sense, as they’d worked it through. Zara knew fighting wasn’t a good idea, but she just couldn’t see a way around it. So they’d come up with that alternate path. They’d found a way for her to keep her pride, maybe even strengthen her reputation, without risking hersel
f.
If Cal had just figured it out sooner, before he’d thrown the relationship away, maybe he could have had it all. Zara, safe and with him. If he’d spent more time thinking about finding ways to give her what she wanted instead of just convincing her to do what he wanted.
But he’d left, and she wasn’t going to forget that. He looked down at the notes they’d taken the night before. It was still a good plan. But Zane would have to be the one to convince Zara to give it a try. Cal had messed up, and Zara wasn’t interested in forgiving him. He was just going to have to find a way to accept that.
Twenty-two
ZARA FOUND WAYS to distract herself on the subway ride to Manhattan. She braced her back against the seat and pushed herself up so she was holding all her weight with her quads, and she made herself stay like that while her thighs started to burn and tremble. Physical pain was better than feeling anything else.
By the time she was downtown, she was sweaty and her breath was coming in jerky little gasps, and she knew people had started staring at her. She didn’t care.
When the train reached her stop, she stood up, then stumbled and caught herself on one of the poles as her legs tried to give out. An older woman, heavy and tired looking, reached out and touched her shoulder gently. “Are you okay?” she asked, and that tiny bit of kindness was enough for Zara’s eyes to fill.
“I will be,” she said, and pushed her way out of the train.
A block to the company headquarters, a tense elevator ride to the top floor, and then Zara was dealing with Terry’s never-too-impressed assistant.
“He knows I’m coming. He said I could see him whenever.” Zara couldn’t face the idea of sitting there, waiting for Terry. She needed to get this over with and move on.
The assistant made a noncommittal noise and spoke into her headset, looking almost disappointed when she had to wave Zara through to the inner office.
The door opened before Zara could reach it, and Terry was there. He was a big man, lots of muscle with a bit of late-middle-aged fat on top of it. He squinted at her, then guided her inside and shut the door behind her. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said gently.
