“Why an illegal ring? You must be a member of some fancy gentlemen’s club where you can box every day in complete safety. Why not go there and be safe?”
“Exactly.” He opened and closed his hands. “A proper club doesn’t give me the same thrill.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Years ago, I was attacked by a group of anarchists. They beat me within an inch of my life.”
She held his hand, feeling his tendons tense. She expected him to slide his hand out of hers, but to her surprise, he gripped it with his strong fingers. “I know about the incident.”
“I spent months in the hospital in a deep sleep. After I recovered, for a long time, I was easily startled and scared of walking alone at night. I hated feeling so vulnerable and frightened. The wounds healed, but from that moment, something changed in me. I started boxing to learn to fight back, and I found that I enjoyed the pain. Now I need the pain. I crave it.”
Her throat became dry as she tried to understand how anyone could enjoy the pain. “You go to this illegal ring not to fight but to let other fighters beat you until you feel pain?”
He nodded without looking at her. “It’s called The Octagon and is under a house of ill repute. I guess that’s why there are rumours about me visiting such a place.”
She took a moment to ponder his words. What was she supposed to say to someone who enjoyed feeling pain? She had no idea such a condition existed. Addiction to pain wasn’t anydifferent from addiction to opium. Both of them led only to one end.
“I understand it’s shocking,” he said.
“Terrifying more than shocking.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. “If you don’t want to see me again, I won’t blame you.”
“I’ve never said I don’t want to see you again.” She held his hand in both of hers. “But Tristan…”
He stared at the bed canopy. A tear welled in his eyes and refused to trickle down.
“Look at me.”
He turned his sad eyes to her. He had nothing of the usual cocksure marquess who tossed orders around. He was a vulnerable soul, filled with pain and loneliness, but stubborn enough to refuse her help.
“You must stop.” Her voice cracked as the possible outcomes of his addiction filled her mind.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. One day, you’ll be punched too hard, fall to the floor, and never get up again. One day, you won’t recover from an injury.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“Honestly, I want to slap you, but you would enjoy it.” A sob broke free of her. “What will happen to Rowan?”
“He’s a clever boy. He’ll be all right.”
“He lost his father. His mother abandoned him, and he still hopes she’ll return one day. Of course, he won’t be all right without you. I won’t be all right without you.”
A flicker of life lit his gaze. “You don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true. I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re here because you’re worried about your father and made a ridiculous deal with me.”
“I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
“Effie.” He blinked, but that tear didn’t want to slide down. “Quitting is more difficult than you think.”
“I’ll help you.” She sniffled. “We’ll find a way. Next time you feel the need to go to the ring, you’ll send for me, and we’ll be together until the need is gone.”
He flashed her favourite crooked smile. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
