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Before I can question her again, she launches herself at me, wrapping her delicate arms around my shoulders and burying her face into my neck with a sob that breaks my heart.
“It’s you,” she cries. “I can’t believe it’s really you. Please, tell me I’m not dreaming.”
I’m so confused.
What the fuck is happening?
I live a structured life with very few people in it, even fewer who would consider getting close to me this way. Surely, I would remember someone as pretty as her, but I have no recollection of ever running into her.
I’m only thirty-four. I cannot be losing my memory just yet, can I? To be fair, I was a boxer, and a few knocks to the head can cause memory loss, but not to the extent that I would forget someone as perfect as this girl.
Even so, I don’t push her away, but instead, run a soothing hand over her back as she sobs her heart out.
“You know her?” Shawn’s voice registers only when the girl pulls back to look at me. Her long lashes are wet from her tears, and before I know what I am doing, I reach out and run a hand over her wet cheeks, wiping away the wetness. “Gunner, maybe we should call the cops.”
“Leave us,” I growl to the kid hovering behind me. My voice is rough enough that it leaves no room for disagreement. I wait to hear Shawn’s receding footsteps before turning back to the girl.
“I’m sorry,” the girl whispers, this time with a chuckle. “I know I’m a mess.”
“You’re beautiful.” I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, but it’s worth it when her cheeks flush a pretty, rosy hue.
“I didn’t mean to jump you like that,” she says shyly, her eyes dropping to her lap. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, hoping her name will help jog my memories.
She must notice my confusion because her face falls. “You don’t remember me?”
The heartbreak in her voice shouldn’t cause my chest to clench with pain, but it does. I lift a hand to her cheek and brush my fingers over her soft skin. “I’m sorry. I seem to be having trouble recalling where we met or how we know each other.”
“Mila Ridge,” she whispers. “I’m Matt Ridge's daughter. My dad used to—”
“Train me!” My heart hammers in my chest at the mention of a name I haven’t heard in years.
“You do remember,” she says in a small voice.
“I do,” I choke out as memories of my late boxing trainer filter in. I remember the man who molded me into the fighter I am today, but he wasn’t just a great trainer, he was a great dad too. Matt would always gush about his daughter every time we were together, showing her pictures to anyone who cared to look. The large man adored the dimpled little dark-haired pixie who often tagged along to our training sessions. She would huddle in the corner with a book and wait for her father to finish so they could head back home together.
Mila.
I remember her now.
She looks so much different from what she did back then. Of course, she does. Mila was quite young when I last saw her at her father’s funeral. Wrapped in one of his black suit jackets, she’d looked so much smaller then. The teary-eyed girl being led away from her father’s grave by her mother was the last I saw of Mila.
I haven’t seen or heard anything from her family for ten years. Although it shames me deeply, I never did check on them after that. Matt had left funds behind for his daughter so she would be set for life, and I was too focused on my boxing career to look back, but looking at her now, I wish I had.
It’s no excuse, but as a hot-blooded twenty-four-year-old, I had no idea how to take care of myself let alone someone else. Still, I should have checked in on them—on her. I’d owed Matt at least that much.
Fuck!
Matt would lose his shit if he saw his daughter like this, sad and dejected.
What happened to you, little pixie? I want to demand answers.
Why the hell would Matt’s daughter be outside this late, barefoot and without so much as a sweater to protect her from the cool weather?
Why is there fear in her pretty brown eyes?
“You look almost the same as you did back then,” Mila says, her lips parting on a small smile, and my eyes drop to the cupid bow, but I quickly look away. Now that I know who she is, I cannot in good conscience lust after her.
