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‘And they made you miserable.’
I shrugged. ‘Plenty of people are fucked up by their families.’
‘That’s true.’
I realized I didn’t know much about his family. He’d told me once that his mother had left when he was young and that he’d lived with his father. It had all sounded pretty normal to me, but most things were compared to my crazy, dysfunctional family. I realized now that my own altered perspective had stopped me asking more questions. ‘Were you?’
His grip tightened. ‘I was fine.’
That wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to know more. Last time we’d been together I’d been focused on my own issues, but now I’d moved on and I wanted to know about him. ‘Was that why you spent so much time at the gym? Because home was grim?’ At the time I hadn’t even questioned it. I’d been so focused on myself and my own problems I hadn’t thought to question why he’d spent so mu
ch time at the gym. I’d presumed it was because martial arts were his passion.
He rolled onto his back and sat up. ‘Do you want some food?’
I wasn’t really listening.
I was remembering what he’d said on that first day, about everyone having something in their lives. At the time I’d been so swamped in my own misery I hadn’t picked up on it.
‘I want you to talk to me.’
‘I need something to eat.’ Without looking at me, he pulled on his jeans and strolled out of the room to the kitchen and I sensed he wasn’t walking away because he was hungry.
I realized now that when we’d been together, I’d been the one to do all the talking.
I slid out of bed, too, pulled on my shirt and followed him into the kitchen.
‘When we were together, you never talked about yourself.’
Without looking at me, he turned the heat up under the pan. ‘You had enough worries of your own. And anyway, talking doesn’t help.’
‘It did for me.’
‘Good. It’s important to know what works.’
‘I want to talk about you for a change.’
He didn’t turn. ‘Talking doesn’t change the facts.’
‘But knowing the facts can sometimes help someone understand.’
‘What do you want to understand?’
In my head there was a vision of him squatting down in front of the little boy in the gym. Hunter Black, who had trained stars in Hollywood, giving all his attention to a child who was being bullied.
‘Tell me about your family.’ I pushed my hair away from my face, conscious that wild sex had left it tangled and messy. ‘I mean, do they even know you’re back? Have you told them?’
‘There’s no one to tell. My mother lives in Spain now.’
‘What about your dad? You once told me your dad was the reason you took up karate.’
‘He was. Indirectly.’ He picked up the eggs he’d abandoned earlier. ‘Omelette all right with you?’
‘Fine, thanks. What do you mean, “indirectly”?’
There was a long pause and then a sizzle as the eggs hit the pan. ‘He hit my mother. She sent me to karate so I would be able to defend myself if something happened to her. She saved what little money he let her have and spent it on lessons for me.’ He paused. ‘I went because I wanted to be able to defend her, which was a pretty big ambition for someone of that age.’
‘Oh my God.’
