“Do you really have to wonder if I want to go with you or not?”
I peeked over at him. “Well, if we show up together then people might think . . . things.”
“Do I look like I care about what people think?”
No, he didn’t, but I had no idea what he meant by that in terms of us being together or not. “Okay then,” I murmured, sending Abby back a quick text saying I might be there. I didn’t mention that Brock would be with me, because I didn’t want to open that Pandora-size box of questions at the moment. “I guess we have plans for later.”
“I guess we do.”
Placing my phone back in my purse, I twisted in my seat and checked on Rhage. “So, I’ve been wondering about something,” I said, looking to change the subject. “Why did you retire? You still have a couple of more years left in you.”
He chuckled. “The way you say that makes it sound like by the time I hit forty, I’m going to be useless and should be put down. You know, that’s not a long time off from now.”
“Well,” I drawled the word, teasing him.
One hand on the steering wheel, he shrugged a shoulder. “I was . . . getting tired.”
I stuck my fingers through the little holes in Rhage’s cage, touching his paw. He immediately withdrew. “Physically or . . . ?”
“Physically and mentally,” he answered as I gave up on the cat and twisted back around. “You know how it is,” he continued. “The constant training that sucks up the entire day. The traveling wasn’t bad, but worrying if you were going to lose your endorsements to the next big deal or if you were going to get hurt again can really wear on you.”
All of that was completely understandable. I wasn’t sure if fans knew how much of their lives the fighters gave up to fight even two or four times a year.
“And even if you’re not worrying about serious injuries, you get tired of your nose likely getting broken once a year.” He grinned as he reached up, feeling along the back side of his left ear. “Or cauliflower ear.”
“Yours isn’t bad.”
“I’m lucky.” His hand dropped. “But yeah, you know, in my last match I felt it—felt it in here.” He placed his right hand to the center of his chest. “It was just a sharp, stabbing sensation. I didn’t tear the muscle again, but damn, there was a second when fear punched the air out of me. Did not want to go through that again, and I knew that tiny bit of fear meant it was time for a change. You can’t get in there with anything holding you back. The moment you find yourself hesitating, it’s time to bow out.”
The idea of him tearing that muscle again terrified me. It could still happen. Especially since he still liked to get on the mats with new recruits. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes, but I was ready to move on. And I think being ready when I left makes it all okay.”
Something occurred to me as I listened to him. He’d said he broke off the engagement with Kristen about a year ago. His last match was probably six months to a year before that.
Asking about Kristen felt weird, but the curiosity was too much. “How did Kristen take you retiring?”
If my question caught him off-guard or if he was uncomfortable with it, his expression didn’t show it. “I think she liked the idea of me being around more and we could actually do things together. When I was actively fighting, it was like having a ten to twelve hour a day job. I was always training, so it didn’t leave a lot of time to go and do things.”
I studied him closely. “You say that like once it happened it was a different story.”
He grinned. “You know, Kristen and I were together for a long time, but we really weren’t in the same place often. You really don’t know each other—know their wants and desires until you’re spending a lot of time with them. Things change then.”
“So . . . you two didn’t get along?”
One shoulder rose. “I don’t think we did. Not really. She didn’t see it that way.”
I wanted to ask him what was it about Kristen that made him propose marriage to her if he didn’t think he knew her, but there was no way I could ask that question without it sounding incredibly bitter.
“What about you and that guy you dated?” he asked.
“There isn’t much to tell.” I tucked my hair back as I gazed out the window at the endless concrete of the turnpike. “We met at Shepherd. He asked me out, and I . . .”
“What?” he asked after a moment.
The reason why I’d gone out with Ben and stayed with him was embarrassing to admit, but since it was caring and sharing time, I forced out the truth. “I was just . . . I was just lonely. I wanted to be with someone and he was interested in me.”
Brock was quiet for so long that I had to look over at him. His profile was stoic, made of marble and ice. “Did he treat you well?”
I squirmed. “That’s a weird question to ask.”
“You never brought him home to your parents.”
“That’s not an indication of how he treated me,” I pointed out.
“Did he want to meet your parents?”
I looked away. “Not really.”
“So did he treat you like you deserved?”
Uncomfortable, I folded my arms. “Most of the time it wasn’t bad or good. It was just . . . somewhere in the middle. I don’t regret the relationship. I learned a lot from it.”
“Like what?”
“Like not to ever settle again.”