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“I’m sorry,” Noah said to Billy outside of the cage.
Billy looked at him a long minute, and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I see where you are right now, Noah. I recognize it because I was there. Better get a handle on it before it consumes you.” He gave Noah a pointed look, and all Noah could do was nod.
Damn hard to hide the shit inside you when the person standing in front of you had once waded through it himself, wasn’t it? Right in that moment, Noah didn’t know if that was a relief or a curse.
When time was up, Mack asked Noah to hang out afterward. Noah was glad for the delay, because it gave him an easy excuse for not joining the guys for drinks after. He was pretty sure that the last thing he needed to be doing was adding alcohol to the fucked-up cocktail in his brain, although there was a certain temptation there, he had to admit.
And wasn’t that a cheery goddamned thought.
Noah helped Mack stow the gear in a supply closet. Back out in the gym again, Mack turned to him. “What happened in the cage today?”
Shit. Guess he should’ve expected that. You never kept fighting after the bell rang, the round ended, or your opponent tapped out. “I lost focus,” Noah said.
Mack’s gaze narrowed on him. “You sure it wasn’t more than that?”
Noah frowned, hating that this was one of the first impressions he was making on the guy. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I didn’t think that you did,” Mack said. “Colby said you were really waling on Billy, and didn’t hear either the tap out or Colby’s voice. And that tells me that whatever’s going on in your head was louder.”
Shame ran a flush across Noah’s skin.
“I was there, Noah. I know what it is. And all I have to do is look at you to know you’ve lost, what, a good eight or ten pounds since I last saw you?”
Noah dropped onto one of the benches, his elbows on his knees, his head hanging. “Yeah.”
Mack sat down next to him. “You’re not okay, and I’m worried about you. Did something happen?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “I was an asshole to someone I care about, and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost her.” He almost surprised himself by saying this, but Mack got his bullshit on some fundamental level, and Noah was too tired, too overloaded to keep it all inside.
“Have you tried apologizing?” Mack asked.
“I haven’t done anything at all since it happened.” Noah turned his head to look at the other man.
“I see,” Mack said, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Look, I’m not a doctor or a psychologist. But a couple of things seem important here. First, apologize. Right? You don’t know where things stand until you do, and things might seem worse than what they really are. Depression does that. Makes everything seem worse than what it is. I know that first-hand.”
Noah dropped his gaze to the floor again, and he fought against the knot suddenly in his throat and the sting at the backs of his eyes for all he was worth. Because his depression had never been this bad, not even right after his injury. And deep down he hated himself for not being stronger, for not just willing himself to get the fuck over it already.
Mack clapped his hand against the back of Noah’s shoulder. “Second, you need to get some help, Noah. I’m telling you that you can’t do it alone. Also from experience.”
Noah looked to Mack again, relieved not to see any pity on the other man’s face. Finally, he nodded. “Okay, Mack. I will.”
Chapter Twenty
By seven o’clock on Friday night, Kristina was already in her favorite nightgown—a pretty yellow little thing with blue ribbons under the bust, along the shoulders, and along the frilly bottom hem.
It was beyond pathetic.
This had been her first week of summer break, and she’d barely left the house except to teach her workshop at the Art Factory, which met on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. She’d actually been really glad for those classes, because they’d given her something fun and rewarding to think about, something to distract her from the ragged hole that existed right in the center of her chest.
The hole caused by removing Noah from her life.
And damn, it wasn’t easy to do.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much she tried to distract herself with TV or books or work for her class. And she occasionally unthinkingly reached for her phone to text him, not remembering until her fingers hit the keys that she couldn’t. Or, at the very least, shouldn’t.
Clearly, she had a long way to go.
For his part, Noah hadn’t reached out to her, either. And frankly, that seemed to say quite a lot.
