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“But as time went on, he became controlling and jealous. Like crazy jealous, but believe it or not, that wasn’t the worst of it. Nothing I did was right, nothing. He wanted to mold me into this ideal woman he thought I should be. Sexy with him but modest and timid with everyone else. Stay at home waiting for him to be done with whatever he was doing, no life of my own except for him.”
I bite on my lower lip, nasty memories flooding my mind. Not just of Adam but of my dad, too. He used to be the same way–a controlling jackass.
“I wasn't willing to change for him. For anyone, really. To hell with that. Why did he start to date me if he wanted someone else entirely? So, I ended things. It's been four months, and he still can't get it in his head that I want nothing to do with him."
I’m playing with my glass, staring down at it as I recount everything that happened between Adam and me. Except for the after-breakup obsession, many of my past relationships ended similarly. I really know how to pick them, don’t I?
"I'm sorry you had to go through that. I've got your back now, Ty. He won't keep bothering you for long; I promise you that."
Why does a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through me with these words? I'm not the kind of girl who needs protecting, but somehow, with Grayson, it feels different.
"What about before him? Did you date other MMA fighters?"
"God, no. No offense, but you guys can be a bit intense.”
“And you got that from dating one asshole? Trust me, we’re not all like that.”
I snort at this, rolling my eyes at his confident response. “Of course you’re not.”
“You sound pretty confident for someone with only one bad experience under her belt.”
“That’s because I’ve been around them since I was a kid.”
He raises a brow, looking surprised and curious at once. “Do I get some backstory to that revelation, or are you going to keep me in the dark?”
“Pour me another one of those, and I’ll open the vault,” I say, pushing my drink toward him. It’s not until I’ve taken a long gulp of the new drink that I let those memories surge, filling me like a dam bursting open. “Dad was a fighter, a good one, but not, you know, famous or anything. Not the kind you see on pay-per-view. Some people might remember him, but most won’t. But he was good, and he would sometimes take me with him to the gym.”
Grayson leans in, his interest piqued. “And you watched him train?”
“More than that. I loved sitting there watching him train, sure, but he also taught me. He showed me how to throw a punch, dodge a blow, and read my opponent, all while calling me his tough little girl, and I loved that, too.”
I quiet down; my gaze lost in the distance as if I can peek into those happy memories if I stare at the wall the right way.
“But then…” Grayson prompts, and I shrug, letting out a long sigh.
“Then the bad would come. Dad was my hero when he was sober; the problem is, he liked getting drunk more than he liked being around my mom and me. I didn’t even have to see him come through the door to know when he had been at the bar. He would stomp into the living room, raging about something, anything. Dinner being cold, dinner being hot, dinner being take-out, it didn’t matter; it was just an excuse.”
I catch myself nibbling at my lower lip all over again, making sure not to look up at Grayson. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes I usually get when I tell anyone about my dad.
“My mom wasn’t like dad and me. She was fragile, you know? Like porcelain. I loved her, and I think Dad loved her, too, but who knows? When he was sober, he called her the most beautiful woman in the world. When he wasn’t, there wasn’t enough volume in my headphones to block out everything he said to her.”
My voice cracks as my father’s screams flood my head, but Grayson’s hand on mine brings me back to the present. It’s a comforting, warm gesture, and I don’t pull my hand away. It feels like an anchor, and I like that feeling, maybe a bit too much.
“He shouldn’t have put you through that.”
“No, he shouldn’t have, but he did.”
“Hell, that’s not right. I’m sorry, Ty, I’m so sorry that-”
“No, don’t say it. I hate it when people say how sorry they are and how wrong what he did was. I know he fucked up, and his friends were all the same, too. My dad’s gone now, and I want him to stay that way.”
He nods solemnly, and I finish up my drink. There’s a moment of silence, and I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.
“Let’s talk about something else, anything else, okay? Pity is the last thing I need.” I decide the only way to make sure we leave this subject behind is to continue to tease him further: “I don't need to ask you about your dating history. It's pretty much public knowledge."
For a moment, I’m half-certain he’s not going to be able to let go of that pity I know he’s feeling toward me, but then his smirk becomes knowing, and I sigh with relief.
Grayson prompts his voice to drop a decibel, growing husky and deep. "Don't believe everything you read, Ty. My dating history is colorful, I'll admit that, but I don't have a booty call for every day of the week like some people have claimed."
