THOUGHT YOU WERE A FIGHTER
“Got bad news for you, Amanda.”
Monday morning, ten days after Jake and I broke up, still an emotional mess, I raise an eyebrow as Ray drops into the chair across from my desk.
“Is this in retaliation for me swapping out your Victorian monstrosity for my nice blue corporate couches over the weekend?” I lean back in my chair and give him a resigned look. “I already explained it to Penny, I need paying clients, and they’ll be expecting a professional firm with a corporate image. I’ve been too relaxed about everything. Letting things slide. I’ll never be successful if I don’t treat this like the serious business it is.”
“Old Amanda’s back.”
“Exactly. At least you understand. Penny gave me a hard time when I told her I wouldn’t be doing any more off-site witness interviews or lunches during work hours. You do your job. Penny can do her job. And hopefully, we’ll see some justice done and make enough money to pay the bills.”
“What about your pro bono cases?”
My eyes flick to the pile of cases on my credenza beside the empty space where Jake’s microwave used to sit, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll have to transfer some of them to one of the other attorneys in the community legal aid clinic. I need to free up some time for paying clients. Maybe after I show everyone I can make a success of the firm and we’re in the black, I can pick them up again.”
For a while, we sit in silence and then he says softly, “You miss him.”
And suddenly days of battening down the hatches and shoring up my heart are blown away in an unexpected and unwanted gust of sympathy from the one person who is supposed to be as hard as me.
Gritting my teeth, I stare down at my desk and blink the tears away. “Ray…” My voice cracks, breaks. I take a sip of coffee and follow it with a long, deep breath. “You said you had bad news. Let’s discuss that.”
“Right.” He tosses a disk on my desk and leans forward. “You asked me to find out why the women on the witness list you put together from the names you got from Jill Jackson suddenly started canceling their interviews and stopped returning your calls this week. I visited everyone on that list. No one will talk. And I mean no one. It’s like Farnsworth knew exactly who you were going to contact and got to them first. Some of them were definitely scared.”
“So, you’re saying he had the list? Maybe that’s what the intruder took when he broke in. The witnesses didn’t start clamming up until after Jake and I…” My throat tightens. “After the break-in.”
Ray leans back and crosses his ankle over his knee, brushing his thumb over his lower lip. “Could be. Or maybe someone hacked into your computer system. I’ll call a guy I know and get him to sweep the place for surveillance.”
“Sounds exciting for my humble little office.”
“Sounds fucking suspicious.” Ray leans forward in his chair. “You should be more worried.”
Swallowing hard, I shrug. “I would be, but to be honest, I’m thinking of giving up on Farnsworth…and my new firm. The things he’s done so far are only the start. Every day he files a new motion or makes a new request, or comes up with another way to make my life hell. I can’t keep up, and as we get closer to trial, it’s only going to get worse. Max’s in-house attorney has been helpful but I can’t call him every day. Farnsworth has all the resources of Farnsworth & Tillman, LLP behind him. I have me. Even if I hired someone to do the work, either contract lawyers or even a firm, the fees would kill me.”
Ray’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “You have Penny and me. You have friends and family. You have colleagues that left the firm. After everything that’s happened, all the work you’ve done, you’re going to let him win because you still can’t bring yourself to ask for help?”
Sweat trickles down my back. He makes it sound like it was an easy decision, but it has kept me up night after night. I’ve thought through all the options and possibilities but, in the end, although I may have a case, I am an unarmed, impoverished David to the Goliath that is Farnsworth & Tillman.
“No one could help me, Ray. Even if I asked.” With a sigh, I slide a check across the desk. “I settled Sandy’s case for her last week. There was just enough to cover office rent and expenses, your contract fee, and Penny’s salary. I don’t have the money from the house sale yet. I can’t take out any loans with Max’s loan outstanding. And, except for a few small cases I’m doing for a couple of the Redemption fighters, I have no more paying clients. The big case I’m doing for them, I’m doing for free ’cause they’re like family and they wouldn’t have been in that alley if it wasn’t for me.”
Ray frowns and leans back in his chair. “Thought you were a fighter too.”
My brow creases. Who is Ray to judge me? He doesn’t understand what I’m dealing with. He isn’t drowning under a sea of Farnsworth & Tillman embossed paper. He isn’t alone.
“I’m no fighter. I went through all that training. I suffered through Get Fit or Die. And for what? An intruder showed up at my office and what did I do? Did I rush into reception and knock him over with a double-leg takedown? Did I wrap him in a gogoplata? Did I hit him with a right hook? No. I locked myself in my office, screamed, and busted my microwave. There was a message in there for me. I’m an attorney. I should do what attorneys do, and really the best place for me to do that is in a big firm where I can work hard, bill high, and maybe one day make my parents proud.”
Ray studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “And Redemption?”
“I’m cleaning out my locker today. Even if I wanted to stay, it’s Jake’s gym. He trains there. He teaches there. Those guys are all his friends. They won’t want me around now.”
His response, a disdainful sniff, sets my teeth on edge.
“So that’s it. You give up. What about justice? What about the pro bono clients who think the world of you and who have nowhere else to turn? What about Pen? Did you know she left Farnsworth & Tillman on bad terms after storming up to Farnsworth’s office to give him a piece of her mind? How will she get another job without a reference? What about the next woman Farnsworth blackmails, and the next? Whether you like it or not, you created something here. Something you believed in. And you made others believe in it too. You can’t just walk away.”
He pushes himself out of the chair and stalks across the room. Just before he opens the door, he hesitates and then turns.
“Although you’re hell-bent on pushing people away, you are not alone.”
***
Saturday afternoon, after another hellish week fighting Farnsworth, fielding visits from the police about the break-in, managing workers sent by Jake to fix the door and install a security system, and dithering over whether to close up shop forever, I am awakened by my phone vibrating on the night table.
I pull the pillow over my head to block out the sound. No. This is the one day I need to catch up on my sleep if I’m to keep up the pace of long days and longer nights. I need a break. A big break. A quiet break.
But there is no respite from the noise just as there is no respite from the torrent of emotion raging through me. Even after two weeks, I can barely make it five minutes without thinking about Jake and what I did wrong.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Over and over and over again. If I had a flyswatter, I would get rid of the damn phone once and for all. Since I don’t have a flyswatter, I answer it.
Shayla barks my name into the phone and follows it with an angry string of questions. “Where are you? What are you doing? Why haven’t you picked me up? Did you forget we are going to the Redemption prefight barbecue this afternoon at Blade Saw’s house?”
Oh God. The barbecue. Last thing I want is to spend the evening with the Redemption fighters. Especially since Jake will likely be there. I give her my regrets.
She calls me a few choice names. I compliment her on her foul mouth. She tells me that’s nothing. If I don’t show, I’ll be getting a personal tour of her foul mouth because she’s gonna eat me alive. Even when I tell her I’m an emotional wreck because Jake and I broke up, she doesn’t relent. She tells me she’ll get me so drunk I won’t even remember his name. Oblivion. Alcohol style. Oh, and by the way, Jake is outta town on business.
Two hours later, we are drinking champagne on the terrace of Blade Saw’s mansion, secreted away at the edge of a lake, the grounds lush with acres of flower gardens and beautifully manicured lawn.
“Can’t fucking believe it,” Shayla says for the hundredth time since we arrived. “Lookit this place. You see Blade Saw wandering around in his old clothes at Redemption, all quiet and unassuming until he gets in the ring, and you would never think he runs the biggest distillery in the U.S.”
On Sandy’s advice, she has purchased an actual dress, a straight navy sheath with a thin white belt. On anyone else it might look plain, but Shayla is super fit and has an amazing figure. The belt highlights her tiny waist and the short, tight skirt showcases her long, lean legs. Low-rise pumps, straightened hair, and the faintest brush of makeup make her look almost girly. Too bad her discomfort is so evident. She constantly shifts from foot to foot and smoothes down the dress, although we haven’t once sat down. I silently dare Fuzzy to thump her on the back, but he hasn’t shown up yet.
“So you really did need a wingman?” I wave vaguely over her dress and she nods.
“Not good with the girly stuff. But I figure if I can’t get Fuzzy’s attention being me, I need to try something more drastic. You’re so girly it makes my teeth ache, so I thought you’d be able to help me out. Plus, Sandy’s easily distracted when there are guys around.”
“Maybe he’s just not the right guy for you.” I take a long sip of champagne and let the bubbles dance across my tongue. At least one part of me is enjoying the party. “Maybe you need a guy who likes you for who you are.”
Glass in hand, Shayla beckons to one of the waiters carrying a tray of what appear to be mini éclairs. Hurrah! As I reach for a little bundle of heaven, my thighs rub together in warning. I take only two. When the waiter raises an eyebrow, I take two more. Then I take six.
“I’m depressed,” I tell him. “Nothing is better for depression than high-calorie, cream-filled, chocolate-covered snacks.”
Another waiter refills my glass. I sip and sip and sip. I eat and eat and eat. My dress starts to feel tight and I wish I’d worn my sweats, always good in times of depressive episodes and extreme self-indulgence.
Cheers and laughter from the doorway draw our attention, along with calls of “Fuzz” and “Renegade.” Shayla’s smile fades and she pats her hair. My heart sinks and I pat my new belly.
“You said he was out of town.”
Shayla shrugs. “I lied. Don’t know what’s going on with you two, but whatever it is won’t be solved by staying away from each other. You can thank me later.”
My heart hammers in my chest as the cheers get louder. I twist the gold rope belt on my white layered chiffon dress and wish I were actually an angel so I could fly away.
“Hey, Shilla.” Fuzzy pushes his way through the crowd and then pulls up short in front of us. His gaze rakes over her and then he frowns. “How are you going to fight in that getup? Blade Saw is setting up a ring out back and everyone’s gonna have a go at taking Rampage down.”
“Well, damn.” Shayla deposits her glass on a nearby table and holds her hand out to me. “I’ve got my fight clothes in a bag in your car. I’ll go get changed.”
“I’ll come with you.” I pull my keys from my bag. “I need to get going.”
Fuzzy frowns. “You can’t leave now. The party’s just getting started. You gotta have at least one drink with me and then have a go at Rampage in the ring.” He and Shayla share a glance and then he snatches the keys from my hand and tosses them to her. Before I even finish my “hey” of protest, she is pushing her way through the crowd.
“That wasn’t nice.”
His face softens. “Not nice, but necessary.”
Catching his drift, I quickly change the topic. “So, did you notice anything different about her?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. She’s wearing a dress. Totally impractical for fighting.”
Clueless. Poor Shayla. Definitely not the guy for her. And maybe Jake isn’t the guy for me.
Before I can make a quick escape after Shayla, the crowd parts and I catch sight of Jake, breathtakingly gorgeous in his snug, ripped jeans and hand-tooled leather belt. His thick, gold hair curls just above his collar, broad shoulders straining against his linen button-down shirt.
And there is Sia. A dark sprite with wide green eyes, high cheekbones, and a full, generous mouth. She is gazing up at him and her heart is in her eyes.
And there is Jake’s arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against his side.
And here is my heart, squeezing in my chest so hard I can barely breathe. He didn’t waste any time.
Five minutes pass and then ten. Fighters join Fuzzy and me on the terrace. I make small talk but barely follow the conversations. Sweat trickles down my back. My head aches from too much champagne and too much tension and the effort of conversing when really all I want is to escape. Belatedly, I realize it doesn’t matter when Shayla brings the keys. I am in no condition to drive home.
When Fuzzy is called away to help set up the makeshift fight ring, I slip away from the party and wander through the mansion in search of Shayla. As I turn down yet another marble hallway, someone calls my name.
Jake.
Hope dies a second death today.
Within seconds he is in front of me, sweat beading his brow, his chest heaving as if he was just running. His face is a curious mix of puzzled alarm and irritated anxiety, but still so painfully beautiful to me, my heart squeezes and longing grips me so hard I can barely breathe.
“Where are you going?” Cold. Abrupt. To the point.
“Home. I’m trying to find Shayla. She’s got my keys.”
Jake studies me for all of three seconds and then frowns. “You are in no condition to drive.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’m going to call a cab, but I need my keys first; otherwise I won’t be able to pick up my car tomorrow.”
He scrapes his hand through his hair. “I’ll take you home.”
“I’d rather take a cab.”
“Still can’t accept help?” His jaw tightens and suddenly we’re back to the question game that so devastated me two weeks ago.
“This is who I am,” I say with a quiet voice that belies the turmoil inside. “I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I learned to be independent and self-reliant by necessity. I learned to trust only myself because inevitably people let me down. You want me to give that up. You want both of my feet over the line. You want me to give myself completely to you. I tried, and it terrified me. Clearly, that’s just not something I can do.”
“People change.”
Shayla races past us wearing fight shorts and a spandex bra top. Her hair is scraped back into a ponytail and all traces of her makeup are gone. She tosses the keys to me and then yells “Rampage, you’re going down,” as she hits the patio, fist pumping in the air.
“Maybe on the outside they change,” I say to Jake as I tuck the keys into my purse and pull out my phone. “But at heart, they are always the same. We just have to find the person who will love us for who we are.”
“You think I let you down?” He looks at me aghast. “You think I gave up on you?”
“No. True to form, I did it all by myself.”
***
“’Manda! Where you been? You missed a lot of classes. Fuzzy is foaming at the mouth.” Rampage drops his duffel bag and gives me a big hug as I step through the doors of Redemption a few days after Blade Saw’s party. He is freshly showered and looking very unlike his fighter self in a pair of designer jeans and a fresh white shirt.
“Busy at work.”
“Poor ’manda.” He pats my head and the gentle gesture almost tips the bubbling cauldron of emotions I am so desperately trying to hide.
“Um…I just came to empty my locker and get you and the other guys involved in the Hellhole case to sign some documents. Are they around?” My heart pounds in fearful anticipation of encountering Jake. Although Shayla assured me he wasn’t going to be in tonight, I still can’t stop myself from shooting covert glances down the hallway and toward the locker room.
Rampage shakes his head. “Everyone’s gone to the Protein Palace. I’m heading there now if you want to join us.”
“Protein Palace?”
He throws an arm over my shoulders and leads me back to the door. “New establishment. Run by a coupla retired MMA fighters. Protein is their specialty—protein shakes, grilled meat, eggs, and every supplement you could want. Very popular, especially before big events since everyone is dieting and trying to make weight. They’ve decorated the place to look like a ’50s-style diner. You’re gonna love it.”
I look up at a grinning Rampage. “Sounds…healthy.”
An hour later, I am squeezed into a tiny red vinyl booth between Rampage and Blade Saw. Clearly the owners of the Protein Palace forgot to take into consideration the size of their prospective patrons. The booth would comfortably fit Rampage alone, but with the place absolutely heaving, it’s three to a seat, or two, after I’m squished to death. But Rampage was right. The place looks like a ’50s diner with its shiny, red vinyl stools and booths, glistening chrome, and sparkly tiles. The waitresses wear mini dresses and scoot around on roller skates. But the music is decidedly modern and consists solely of fight songs blasted at a high decibel level through tinny speakers.
“Oh. My. God.” I grab Rampage’s arm. “Is that Pierre Peterson?” I point out the number one ranked heavyweight UFC fighter in California. “And is that…Tommy the Terminator?”
Starstruck, I momentarily forget my mission as Homicide Hank, sitting across from us, points out some other famous fighters standing around the old-fashioned jukebox.
“Does the press know about this place?” My eyes widen when two more big name fighters walk past, brushing up against the wheatgrass planters in the glass brick wall beside us. The diner smells of grass, grass, and more grass. If I close my eyes, I can imagine I’m on a picnic, but with bad food.
“Yeah, but they usually show up closer to the big events when the hype starts to build. You can’t get in without having a California State Athletic Commission card or as a guest.”
A huge, muscle-bound giant bumps shoulders with an even bigger, more muscle-bound giant beside our table. They stop and growl at each other. Knuckles crack. Biceps flex. I huddle down in my seat.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” I whisper, as the giants glare at each other. “I mean, all this testosterone in a small, enclosed space…”
“Big risk if they get in a fight,” Homicide says. “They could lose their license or get seriously injured and have to drop out of an event. There are a lot of close calls, but in the end, the risk isn’t worth it.”
As if on cue, the giants step down and go on their way. I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“So what are you having?” Blade Saw hands me a menu and I peruse the selections:
Tin of tuna, side of steamed mixed veg
Boiled egg whites, side of steamed mixed veg
Steamed chicken, side of steamed mixed veg
Whey protein shakes, all flavors, with your choice of: waxy vol, wheatgrass, omega-3 capsules, flaxseed oil capsules, L-glutamine, cod liver oil.
“Maybe just a plate of grass.” I point to the wheatgrass display slash decoration on the wall beside us and repress the urge to moo. “And…I wonder if they have any steamed mixed veg.” Why, oh why didn’t I eat before I went to Redemption? I am craving a thick, juicy burger covered in cheese and a plate of greasy fries. Maybe even a milkshake. Nothing like food to beat the blues away.
Rampage, so not getting the joke, frowns. “It doesn’t taste good on its own. Better to have it in a protein shake. It will help build up those scrawny arms.” He circles my upper arm between his thumb and forefinger. Point taken. I order a chocolate whey shake with a helping of grass and a scoop of waxy vol simply because I have no idea what it is. I am daring tonight.
And sort of happy. The fighters don’t seem to care that Jake and I have split up. They treat me the way they have always treated me. My hair is ruffled numerous times. My shoulder is slapped. I am poked and teased and included in every conversation.
Soon, I am sipping on my grass and waxy vol shake and trying not to gag as I celebrity spot with Homicide. Ten points for pros. Five points for amateurs. Minus five points for mistaken identity. I score ten points for spotting Don “the Man” Smith over by the protein shake bar chatting with Drake and Shayla. Drake catches my eye and gives me a wink. My lips twitch with a smile. My world might be off kilter, but Drake hasn’t changed.
Fuzzy joins us and leans against the wall of wheatgrass. He growls at me for missing Get Fit or Die and tells me I’m going to suffer next week. When I dare to tell him I cleaned out my locker and I’m leaving the gym, I am lambasted with a ferocity that makes even Rampage cringe. By the time Fuzzy is finished, I have promised to attend every class offered at Redemption, train for the amateurs, volunteer at the registration desk, and hand over my firstborn child. Fuzzy gives me a warm smile and pats my head. Everyone at the table cheers, and I buy the next round of waxy vol shakes.
More Redemption fighters gather around our booth. A discussion about the benefits of the Paleo diet ensues. Basically it involves eating only meat. I tell them they should have no problem since they all behave like cavemen. Rampage throws up his arms to beat his chest and whacks me in the head with his elbow. Stunned, I slide down on the seat and stars flash in my eyes. A worried Fuzzy brings Drake over. Drake diagnoses a minor concussion and says I need a shot of Busta Bicep. He extracts me from my cozy nest of sweat and muscle, and escorts me to the protein bar.
“I don’t have a concussion,” I say as I sit on the wooden barstool.
Drake laughs. “True. But I wanted to get you away to apologize. I was out of line the other day at your office. It’s just hard seeing you with Renegade when I know he didn’t make you happy before.” He commandeers a bag of ice from the “bartender,” a pumped-up version of Hulk Hogan who can blend a mean wheatgrass shake while tossing scoops of waxy vol like there’s no tomorrow.
Brushing my hand away, he holds the ice pack against my head and gives me shot of a noxious-looking green and brown slime-like liquid.
“Spinach, whey, and acai,” he says. “Delicious and full of vitamins.”
“I’d rather have a beer. Maybe two or three.”
He holds the drink to my lips. “Try it. Visually it lacks appeal, but it has a good nose and a rich bouquet of flavor.”
With a sigh, I take a sip and shudder. “It tastes as disgusting as it looks.”
“Try again. It’s better the second time around,” he says softly. He holds the glass up again and I take a second sip. This time my nose wrinkles and I gag. “Definitely worse on the second taste.”
I glance up. Drake is watching me with a searing intensity that reminds me of our intimate history. Fun and laughter and hot, kinky sex. Easy. Relaxed. No demands. No commitments. We never had one fight because in the end we both knew the score. So why am I not with Drake instead of lusting after a mercurial fighter who isn’t satisfied with just my body, but who wants my heart and soul as well?
Drake strokes a finger over my cheek. “Miss you.”
“Miss you too.” And I do. I miss him for the fact that he was easy to be with. There were no emotional swings. No confusion. No fear. He was safe, familiar. Undemanding. He wanted nothing from me I couldn’t give. And he made me feel good.
He lifts the ice pack and runs his hand over the injured part of my head, now pleasantly numb, then strokes his hand gently through my hair. The tender, caring gesture makes my heart squeeze, but not in a good way. I want Jake’s hand in my hair. I want Jake’s finger on my cheek. I want Jake holding the ice pack and making sure I’m okay.
“Five more minutes and then we’ll break for fifteen and do it again. That way you won’t be going to work with a bruise on that beautiful head.”
As I study Drake, all blue eyes and fine, chiseled charm, his mouth tips up at the corners and he traces a pattern over my knuckles with his fingertip. “If you keep looking at me like that I might need to give you some personal medical attention.”
My cheeks flush and I drag my eyes away. “This isn’t such a good time. Jake and I just broke up.”
“I heard.”
A disturbance by the door distracts me from our conversation. God, what if it’s Jake and he sees me talking to Drake? Or would he care? I try to look through the sea of fighters, half hoping it is Jake come to find me. Or to save me from temptation. But when the crowds part, I see only the door closing and a new arrival waving to his friends. A pang of longing washes through me. I just want to go home.
Ten minutes later, I say good-bye to the Redemption team, now thick around Rampage’s table. Drake insists on walking me to my car. He throws a casual arm over my shoulders as he tells me about the time he brought squeamish Makayla to a private club where they only served meat rare. My laughter dies away when he grips my shoulder hard and tips his chin in the direction of my car.
“Renegade is here.”
I suck in a sharp breath and then smile when I see Jake leaning against my vehicle. “Hi.”
His eyes narrow. “I should have known you’d be with him. You never waste any time.”
My smile fades. “He was just walking me to my car.”
“He was doing more than that inside.”
I look at him aghast. “You were there? Why didn’t you come over?”
His eyes flick to me, but there is no warmth in his gaze. “Didn’t want to interrupt your intimate moment.”
“Jake…”
Ignoring me, he stalks over to Drake. “I warned you before. You don’t seem to get the message.”
Far from being afraid, Drake laughs and holds his ground. “Last I heard you weren’t together. Which means there is no message I need to get.”
My breath leaves me in a rush. What the hell is Drake doing? Does he have a death wish? He might as well slap Jake in the face and challenge him to pistols at dawn.
“What the fuck?”
“You don’t get her,” Drake says, his arm tightening around my shoulder. “She can’t handle emotional intimacy. That’s why she pushed you away. You wanted more than she could give. I didn’t push. I accepted her for who she was. And in the end, it looks like I made the right decision. She’s with me right now, not with you.”
“Drake.” I wrench myself away and glare. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re friends. Nothing more.”
Wham. Jake lands a punch to Drake’s jaw before my brain has even registered he has moved. He strikes hard and he strikes fast, letting loose an uppercut that has Drake reeling backward into the cars. Desperate to stop the fight, I lunge forward, grab Jake around the waist, and try to pull him away.
“Stop. Stop. Don’t hit him.”
“My fight.” Jake rips my hands off his waist and pushes me to the side, then throws himself at Drake. Oh God. This is worse than anything I could imagine.
But Drake is now as much into the fight as Jake, throwing Jake against a car and pummeling him with his fists. The car bounces and shakes and then Jake twists and frees himself, knocking Drake to the ground. Drake hits the cement hard and then Jake is on top of him, and they are rolling on the ground. My stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat. This isn’t MMA fighting, with its rules and moves and procedures. This is street fighting, and if anyone reports Jake, it will be the end of his dream.
Fists fly. Blood spatters. Even at the cage fight, I have never seen Jake like this. He is violence with a capital V. Pure, uncontrolled, seething rage.
Terrified to leave them alone, I text Fuzzy. Almost instantly the door flies open and Fuzzy races across the parking lot with Obsidian, Homicide, Rampage, and Blade Saw following close on his heels.
“Fuck.” He rakes his hand over his fuzzy head when he spots Jake and Drake now on their feet, bruised and bleeding but not slowing down in the least. “Rampage! Get her out of here.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not leaving.”
“’Manda. Please go,” Rampage says quietly. “It will be easier for everyone.”
“What do you mean easier?” I spit out. “I’m not part of this equation. Drake knows where he stands with me, and Jake…he said I don’t belong with him.”
Rampage frowns and scratches his head. “Doesn’t matter what he says. What matters is what he does. And what he’s doing right now is saying you’re his.”
His?
He ruffles my hair and gives me a half smile. “Looks like you’re the last one to figure that out…again.”