Beauty and the Barbarian

by Nikki Winter

  What the fuck had she just done?

  “That had to be nice, didn’t it? It had to be nice to know that your quiet, naïve, steadfast Mac would always be there without so much as a word of protest when you wandered in late. When you came to bed with the smell of VIP lounges and female desperation clinging to your clothes night after night. It had to be nice to know that I’d ignore the numbers and the blatant flirting. That I'd ignore the fact that the man who I trusted far more than I probably should have could bend me over the nearest surface and I’d shut up. I'd shut up and enjoy it because where could I go and what could I do without him? This man who’d somehow forgotten I existed unless I was nursing his child or helping him find his lucky pair of socks for his next game. This man that suddenly cut away every ounce of confidence he’d helped me gain during our years together.” Her voice rose, lashing through the air. “What could I do without you, Ashleigh? What, the fuck, could I do without you?” Mackenzie raked her eyes over him, an unsolicited rage piercing through her like an ice pick as she recalled the sensation of hands that had once let her go, let her fall. “Apparently everything.”

  His jaw worked but he said nothing.

  “And I had to leave you—uproot my entire life—to discover that. I had to separate my child from the only person who will ever love her as much as I do. I had to spend days on end trying to drag myself up out of a hopeless abyss because I was told that I was no longer needed. As if I’d been there to service you. To hold your attention until…” She stopped, sucked in a breath. “Fuck you for thinking I still belong to you. Fuck you for thinking your flag is still planted here. Fuck. You. For having the audacity to believe that I’m the one who gave myself away.” She held his gaze. “Congratulations, you have your evidence that physical attraction was never a problem where you were concerned. That you could bend me with just a kiss. Now move. And. Let. Me. Go.”

  Ashleigh swallowed and ducked his head, hoarsely saying in a sotto tone, “I wish I could, plums. I really fucking wish I could.” He suddenly stepped to the side, waving towards the door.

  Mackenzie didn’t hesitate. She got past him. From there she shot down the hall and into her bedroom, locking herself in. It was only until she heard the knob click that she could manage to breathe again.

  Ten

  It was the harsh crack of thunder that made him jolt upwards. Ashleigh blinked wide, trying to remember precisely how he had gotten on the floor of Mackenzie’s living room, Arista sprawled across his chest with her favorite bear—wearing his current team’s colors—clutched in a chokehold. A glance upwards gave him a view of stretched and twisted blankets that they’d used to build a makeshift shelter, leaving just enough room to see the television a few feet away.

  Another whip hammered across the sky and Arista let out a whimper. He made a soothing noise and rubbed her small back until her breathing evened out again. As she settled down, the dim lights overhead flickered before going out completely.

  “Power outage,” he muttered to himself, poking around for his phone.

  It brushed across his fingertips and Ashleigh grabbed it, scrolling past messages from Noel that asked if he’d been filleted yet. A flick of his thumb and the flashlight feature turned on, illuminating the small space again. He needed to get up and see if Mackenzie had a storm kit stored somewhere around the kitchen or the hall closet, but that meant jostling Arista. Unable to move and debating whether he should just wake his daughter, Ashleigh stayed on the floor, listening to the storm intensify. The quiet patter of steps cut through the noise and he watched light slide down the stairs as Mackenzie made her way to the banister at the very bottom, a flashlight in her hand. It came up, aiming for the fort and he covered his eyes to shield them.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, catching sight of him. She lowered the flashlight and nodded to Arista. “She all right?”

  He shifted the little girl. “Fine. She seems disturbingly comfortable in the midst of danger.”

  Mackenzie grunted. “She’s always been good at that. Fading out like all is right in the world.” She turned to head towards the kitchen before he could reply to that not-so-subtle statement. “Let me go get the spare lanterns.”

  Ashleigh watched her disappear, hearing the quiet rustle of cabinet doors opening and closing before she rounded the corner again. Quick and graceful movements produced batteries and more light. “That should last the rest of the night,” she told him. “Although they usually have things up and running within a few hours of an outage, the stove is gas range. If the power isn’t back on by morning and you wake before we do, you can find matches in the drawer left to the refrigerator. Everything should be there to make a sufficient breakfast. If there’s something else you want, there’re delivery menus in the drawer to the right of the dishwasher.”

  Even with her voice barely there, he could still hear every impersonal word. Mackenzie’s eyes were on the floor and tension radiated from her; tension that he’d put there. In a moment of pure male ego and lowbrow logic, Ashleigh had let instinct rule, firmly pushing himself back at least twenty goddamn steps with her because he couldn’t just enjoy the temporary submission and shut the fuck up.

  “It had to be nice to know that I’d ignore the numbers and the blatant flirting. That I'd ignore the fact that the man who I trusted far more than I probably should have could bend me over the nearest surface and I’d shut up. I'd shut up and enjoy it because where could I go and what could I do without him?”

  Any victorious swell he’d had in his chest was brutally clubbed to death with those words. That’s what she saw when she looked back? That’s what she thought of their time together? The moment she fled from him, self depreciation had rose and nearly crippled him. Fuck if he could argue with that perspective. He couldn’t. There was no way to spread rose petals across it and get rid of the stench left over. He’d never touched another woman during their relationship but he’d entertained the shameless advances. He’d allowed the too long hugs and the occasional brush of lips against his jaw. He'd laughed at jokes, enjoying that he didn’t have to do much more than call a woman “darlin’” to watch her eyes glaze over as she melted.

  Ashleigh had ignored the niggling voice that told him how wrong it was to sit in dark corners, talking for hours all the while knowing he had someone at home simply waiting to ask him what he’d like for dinner. He’d viciously shoved down any regret for missing a lunch date or a movie night because he’d wondered what, exactly, he had to feel remorseful over? His work had been done. A home had been bought. Money had been supplied. Gifts had been given. A lifestyle had been achieved. What could Mackenzie complain about in the midst of rooms shrouded in custom made furniture that she’d happily picked out? What could upset her when racks and racks of the best designer clothing occupied her half of a closet? A closet so big that it was literally a separate room. What could agitate the mother of his child when she had not only several cars to choose from in her personal use, but an actual on-call driver who would take her anywhere she wanted to go? What else could she want? What else could she look for? Him. Mackenzie could want and look for him.

  She could complain about feeling as though her only job was to spend the money he’d earned. She could be upset by his lack of interest in her interests. She could be agitated by the fact that she’d shifted her entire life, her entire existence, to travel with him, to be with him. And Ashleigh only paid attention to her presence when it was convenient or he could spare the time in his schedule. But complaints hadn’t come, her upset hadn’t come, and agitation never showed itself. Impassive Mackenzie had. The one who couldn’t be read or compromised with, because she wouldn’t beg for his time. She wouldn’t question where he’d been the night before or why he’d missed important functions. She wouldn’t withhold sex as punishment. No, impassive Mackenzie was a man’s nightmare and a woman’s way of driving home the point that she could most certainly function without you as long as she found the footing to do so.

  He
couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d lost her to that side, but once he realized it, her things were already boxed up and ready to go. And just as he’d done hours ago, he’d allowed ego and lowbrow logic to rule every thought. He’d made her think that everything they’d had together could be duplicated with someone willing to stay and put up with his narcissistic behavior. He’d told her—without saying much at all—that her purpose had been served and he would be just fine if she chose to amble back home. It had been the dumbest act he’d ever committed in his life.

  “What could I do without you, Ashleigh? What, the fuck, could I do without you?”

  She’d been right. She could do everything. He’d made her shove aside any goals or wants, because his career had taken precedence. The need to feel like a man, like more than someone’s sad little story of abuse and dejection, had taken precedence. Gleefully enjoying the toys, the attention and the millions, Ashleigh had forgotten the one goddamn person who’d been on the sidelines of every game. The person who’d woken up at ungodly hours to make sure he ate properly before training. The person who’d lit into any and everyone that she felt was a threat to his happiness. He’d given her everything that he thought she needed while essentially forcing the will of their new found life onto her and expected that she would just take it because…fame. And endorsements. And fans. And status.

  In his quest for acceptance from people that couldn't truly give a fuck if he died tomorrow, he’d alienated his best friend. Ashleigh had shown her that what she felt and what she thought and what she wanted didn’t matter. And then, to add insult to injury, he let her leave with that. He had let her walk out on him believing that he could function without her. He hadn’t chased her. He hadn’t fought for her.

  Ashleigh had devalued her. And he would possibly never forgive himself for that.

  “Do you want me to take her to her bed?” she questioned softly, motioning to their daughter.

  Involuntarily, he clutched Arista closer to his chest, realizing that if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now; he wouldn’t be in Mackenzie’s space, attempting to glue back together what had been shattered. Unknowingly, their child had gifted him with more than just the humbling feeling of watching her grow and learn and love. She’d given him another avenue to refill some of the gaping isolation he’d suffered through.

  “No,” he answered, watching the light play over her face. “I like doing it. I miss doing it.”

  Mackenzie backed away and nodded again, but before she could return to the stairs, she stumbled into one of the lanterns and knocked it over. The clang of it hitting the hardwood floors of her living room made Arista jump.

  Frowning, the little girl pushed up from Ashleigh’s chest and looked over her shoulder. “Mommy?”

  “Sorry, Ari-bear,” her mother murmured, replacing the lantern. “Mommy didn’t mean to wake you. Daddy’s going to tuck you in.”

  She shook her head and held out a hand. “I want you to come too. So you can do ‘Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear’ together like you used to.”

  Ashleigh watched Mackenzie fidget, her gaze bouncing towards the stairwell in the obvious need to escape. “Ari—”

  “Please?”

  No person with a soul could listen to the plea in that small voice and ignore it. And Mackenzie certainly had a soul. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to disturb the surrender he saw coming.

  With a heartfelt sigh, she opened her arms and waited for Arista to make the transition from his embrace and into hers. Ashleigh crawled out from beneath the swathe of blankets as Mackenzie backed up to give him room. He stood once he had enough space and picked up a lantern to lead the way.

  By the time they reached the top step, Mackenzie had begun to softly recite the bedtime poem they’d been lowly chanting for years now, replacing “Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear” with the affectionate nickname Arista had received at just a few days old.

  Ashleigh joined in, falling into the familiar routine with ease as they tip toed into Arista’s bedroom. He stood off to the side while Mackenzie gently laid her out, smiling when she gave them a sleepy glance before curling up and waving them off.

  Officially dismissed, he leaned over to press a kiss to her temple and followed her mother out after she’d done the same. The door closed with a barely there click and they were alone.

  He swallowed and decided to buck the fuck up. “Mac—”

  “Good night, Ashleigh,” she interrupted, turning to head down the hallway and towards her room.

  Ashleigh followed until they reached her door. “Plums—”

  Stopping, she didn’t turn around when she said, “Don’t. All right? Just…don’t.”

  Oh but he had to. “I don’t know what you want me to say, darlin’. I don’t know what you want me to do.” When she remained silent, he took a cautious step forward. “I love you.”

  “Ashleigh.”

  “I’ve always loved you.”

  “Ashleigh.”

  “And I can’t pretend anymore,” he continued over her voice. “So this is me telling you what I want. This is me telling you what I need.”

  Mackenzie rounded on him then, her hands balled at her sides. A growl rumbled from her, making him take a step back. “Do you listen to yourself, Ashleigh? Do you hear yourself at all?” She tapped one balled hand against her thigh and shook her head, looking off. “Your wants. Your needs. That was always the end to everything for me. Your comfort. Your happiness. Ashleigh’s never had a proper birthday party; I should help him celebrate. Ashleigh’s never been to an amusement park on a family trip; we should do that. Ashleigh needs more than just his siblings on the sidelines of his game; he should see more faces, see more of his family. I love him. I love him. I love him. He has to feel secure. He has to feel safe. He has to feel like someone cares outside of the people obligated by blood to do so. I can’t pay attention to my wants at the moment. I can’t pay attention to my needs. I can’t worry about how my weight gain makes me feel. I can’t be concerned with postpartum depression. I have to power through that shit. I have to function. I have to keep breathing and ignoring the fact that I can’t ask him to get up for three a.m. bottle feedings because the sound of my own child’s cry makes me cringe.”

  He grimaced. “Mac—”

  “I can’t tell him that I just need a few hours to myself, just a little bit of time so I won’t have to hide—hole up—in a room downstairs because my baby won’t stop screaming and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what to do about it. At this point I’ve tried everything, every goddamn thing, and nothing has worked. So the best option? Taking shelter under a desk and crying along with her because fuck if I can fix it!”

  Both her fists were tapping now. “Shove through it, Mackenzie. Shove through it until that feeling of inadequacy disappears because the bread winner, the man making your life as comfortable as possible, is running himself into the ground just so you can have nice things. He’s physically hammering the field so you can send money home for your parents for a real vacation. He’s taking hits from men his size and bigger so your child can have a college fund. He’s getting up before the sun rises just so you don’t have to. What do you have to complain about? Your kid won’t stop crying? You won’t stop crying? You’ve left your family and your friends and everything you’ve ever known? Get the fuck over it. Ashleigh and Arista are your family now. Make new friends. Try harder. Stand up straight. Fix your wardrobe. Keep the house clean. Don’t slouch. Don’t whine. Fuck him when he asks for it. You can’t be too tired. You can’t be too bothered.”

  He was going to be sick.

  “You can’t be upset or angry when he misses dinner. When he’s not around for lunch. When he’s gone before breakfast. No, close your mouth. Don’t tell him he’s acting like an inconsiderate asshole. You know how hard his life has been. You know. Suck it up. Don’t you dare cry in front of him. Don’t. You. Dare. Make sure the camera catches you cheering. Make sure he knows how much you l
ove him. Make sure he knows how much you miss him when he’s away. Ignore the smell of alcohol when he comes in. Ignore the number written on his wrist. Don’t go through his things. Don’t go through his things. Do you want to find something? Is that what you want? No, you don’t. So close your eyes, lie next to him and forget about the list you wrote at thirteen. Forget about all the things on it. Forget that fifty percent of those things haven’t been done yet. Forget that you feel absolutely useless on most days. Forget yourself.” She stopped, sucked in a gasping breath and when she looked at him again, her eyes were devoid of anything aside from unbridled rage. “I forgot myself for you. I forgot everything for you. And the second—the very second—that you could, you forgot me too. So excuse me if I’m not in the mind to give a shit about what you want or need right now.”

  He wanted to deny that—to tell her that he hadn’t. That he had always been thinking of her; even when he had a shitty way of showing it. But he couldn’t. Because it would invalidate what she saw, what she felt. He had ignored those feelings before and look at what it had done to them.

  Instead, he found his voice and said, “You’re right.”

  She stared.

  “You’re right, plums,” Ashleigh told her again, walking forward until there was very little space between them. He extended his hand, wanting to touch her but thought better of it and curled his fingers. “And for the last three years, I’ve sat in a cell that I made, remembering you. Remembering everything about you. I can’t do anything else. I can’t function any other way. I close my eyes and you’re there. Then in a blink, you’re gone. That’s my hell. I notice your absence every. Single. Day. The absence of Arista. It hurts, Mackenzie. Even more so because I know I caused this. I let you go. And I didn’t fight.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I should have fought, plums.” Unable to stop himself, he cupped her nape and dropped his forehead to hers. “I wish to God I had. Because I wouldn’t have to unravel so many mistakes now. I wouldn’t have to make it so that you can trust me again. But you have to understand something, darlin’.” He tipped her jaw upwards so that their stares met. “If you think that I’ll watch you walk away from me a second time you’re wrong.”