Page 88 of The Knockout Rule

Instead of being there for Eric, all she’d done was accuse him of lying. “I should go,” she said. She couldn’t offer the comfort he needed now, not after what she’d overheard. But she could give him space. “You should rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No,” Eric said, his voice strong. Then to Preston, “Isla and I need to talk alone.”

Preston glanced between them again and nodded. “Call me later.”

The second he left a sea of tension expanded between them. She felt nauseous, didn’t want to have this conversation now. It was unfair to Eric. He deserved to wallow, get angry, or sad—whatever it was he did when he lost a fight. “Please, Eric. We’ll talk tomorrow, after you’ve rested.”

“Things happened,” he said quickly, ignoring her suggestion. “Eliza got sick this week. She’s fine, but she ended up in the hospital. I’ll need to cover those bills, and I haven’t told you, but I’ve been borrowing money from Preston. Cash to cover the cost of my mother’s broken wrist and our busted furnace. Normally Preston wouldn’t care when I pay him back, but an investment of his went south and he needs the cash.”

She hated hearing Eliza had gotten sick. She felt every inch of Eric’s desperation, her body aching to go to him, to offer him the hug he surely needed. She couldn’t move.

“Isla, please.” He moved closer, took her hands. “Please don’t leave me. It’s just one more match.”

Preston was right. Eric Kramarovsky was the best man she knew. He’d never have promised to quit boxing if he hadn’t believed in that outcome. He was also loyal to a fault. His role of caregiver in his family hadn’t been a choice for him. It was duty, because he was that kind of guy. Even if his choices weren’t the right ones for him personally, he’d never falter. She’d also bet he was as clueless as her father about how his fighting impacted those he loved.

She doubted Rosa and his mother liked watching him get slaughtered in the ring on their behalf. She’d bet her new business Rosa would’ve rather had her brother there in the flesh, as a support, instead of his money. Eric didn’t know what it was like to be on that side of the boxing ring. The family. Second best to the sport. Watching the person they loved get hurt.

He didn’t know that helplessness, and he didn’t know why all the reasons in the world couldn’t change Isla’s mind.

In the taxi with her father, when he’d asked if she was willing to date a man who could end up like him, she’d believed Eric was quitting boxing. She’d told her father Eric was her match. I love him. The reply hadn’t been a direct answer to his question, only a sentiment.

Nothing had changed on that front. She couldn’t imagine finding a better man than Eric. If her dating app experience was anything to go by, she’d be lucky to find a man half as wonderful as her Baby Whisperer. But if she’d answered her father’s question truthfully, the reply would have been no. I’m not willing to watch another man I love deteriorate.

This wasn’t just one fight for Eric. He’d always feel responsible for his family. Health and home expenses would always pop up. He’d carry the burden of father and son and brother and uncle, even if it broke him. His loyalty was part of what Isla loved about him. What right did she have to ask him to change?

She suddenly felt incredibly selfish. This was Eric’s life, not hers. His responsibilities. He had people who depended on him. She was just a woman in love.

Tears burning the backs of her eyes, she pressed her hands to his cheeks, softly, careful not to hurt his swollen face. “I love you, Eric. More than I thought possible. But there’s no guarantee this will be your last fight.” He opened his mouth to argue. She pressed to her tiptoes, kissed his lips gently. “You want it to be the last, but it’s not a promise you can make.”

His bruised face slackened. “But you’ve felt better, haven’t you? The anxiety isn’t like it was.”

She did feel stronger, and Eric was the main reason she’d faced those demons. This wasn’t about her panic attacks, though. This was about long-term health, and she couldn’t tell him about her father. If Eric kept boxing, he’d want his trainer with him. As much as she hoped her father would come clean about his Parkinson’s, she couldn’t make that choice for him.

“My anxiety’s better,” she said, “but I’ve lived this life already. It isn’t the future I want.”

As hard as it was watching her father’s health struggles, watching Eric deteriorate would be even harder.

Eric’s nostrils flared on a ragged inhale.

A tear slipped down her face as she pressed to her tiptoes again, stole one last kiss, and walked out of Eric’s life.

29

Álvaro Garza stood from Isla’s treatment table and shook out his legs. “Feels good. Better than it has in ages.”

Isla jotted down some notes on her clipboard. “Might have something to do with the fact that you’re between seasons. Talk to me when you’re in the thick of your games.”

“How about I talk to you over drinks this weekend?”

Isla tried to laugh at Álvaro’s usual pickup line. At least once a session, he hit on her. She didn’t think he was actually interested. It had become a running joke: his asking, her turning him down with a snarky comeback. Over the past month, her snark had fled the building.

“This was our last scheduled appointment,” she said as she led him to reception, ignoring his date request. “We should book next month’s sessions.” She sat at her desk and pulled up the appointment calendar on her computer. “I’ve left Tuesday and Thursday mornings clear for you.” Because she didn’t have many clients yet, but he didn’t need to know that detail. Better to make Álvaro feel important.

When he didn’t reply, she glanced up.

He leaned on her counter, looking more concerned than flirty. “You’ve been off lately.”

“My treatment’s been off?” Panic had her voice rising. She could not lose Álvaro as a client. While she’d been doing better than she’d expected for the first two months of her business, Phoenix Physiotherapy was still in its infancy. The books weren’t showing a profit. She was barely able to pay herself.