Chapter 82

Cecilia

"That she doesn't love me." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. "I've always known. I just—I guess I was still hoping, you know? That maybe she'd come back and things would be different. That she'd actually care."

Arthur pulled over, right there on the side of the road, and turned to face me. "Ceci—"

"It's fine." I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff. "I'm fine. I have you. I have Alice. I have a life that doesn't need her in it."

"You're allowed to be hurt," he said quietly. "You're allowed to want your mother to love you."

"I know." I leaned against him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. "But I also know she won't. So I need to stop waiting for something that's never going to happen."

We sat there in silence for a long moment, his arm around me, my eyes closed. Then, without really thinking about it, I said, "When we have kids—when we make our own family—I'm going to love them so much they never doubt it for a second. They're going to be the happiest children in the world."

Arthur went very still. "Ceci—"

"I mean it." I pulled back to look at him, and I could feel tears on my face but I didn't care. "I'm going to give them everything I never had. All the love and attention and certainty that they matter. That they're wanted. That they're enough exactly as they are."

"They will be," Arthur said, his voice rough with emotion. "Because they'll have you as a mother. And that's more than enough."

He pulled me back against him, and I felt his lips press against my hair. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?"

"For wanting to build a family with me. For—" His voice caught. "For trusting me with something that important."

I wrapped my good arm around him and held on tight.

A little while later, he murmured, “Ceci, I’ll take you to relax.”

Twenty minutes later, Arthur pulled into a parking garage beneath a building I didn't recognize. The signage was minimal, just a sleek logo that said "Apex".

"Where are we?" I asked as he came around to help me out of the car.

"You'll see." He had that look on his face—the one that meant he was up to something and enjoying my confusion.

We took an elevator to the third floor, and when the doors opened, I heard it immediately: the rhythmic thud of fists hitting heavy bags, the shuffle of feet on mats, the low murmur of focused breathing.

A boxing gym.

I turned to stare at Arthur. "Are you serious right now?"

"What?" He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Arthur, look at me." I gestured at my cast, my bandaged leg, my general state of being a person who'd recently fallen off a cliff. "Do I look like someone who can box?"

"You're not boxing," he said, his smile widening. "You're watching."

"Watching what?"

"You'll see." He took my good hand and led me through the main gym floor toward a hallway marked "Private Suites."

It was a VIP space—leather seating, a full bar, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private ring. And standing by those windows, looking out at the ring below, was Max Reynolds.

I stopped dead. "What is he doing here?"

Max turned, and his expression was carefully neutral in a way that immediately made me suspicious. "Cecilia. How's the leg?"

"Fine," I said slowly, looking between him and Arthur. "What's going on?"

"Have a seat," Arthur said, guiding me toward one of the leather couches. "You'll see in a minute."

Alice appeared from around a corner, carrying four bottles of water. Her face lit up when she saw me. "Ceci! You came!"

"I didn't know I was coming to this," I said as she sat down beside me. "What's happening?"

"Just watch." She handed me one of the water bottles, her eyes sparkling with guilt and a hint of worry.

I watched as Arthur and Max moved toward the ring. They were both stripping off their shirts, and—oh.

"They're fighting," I said flatly. "They're actually going to fight."

"It wasn't a fight," Alice murmured, her head bowed. "We deserved this."

"What?"

Arthur climbed into the ring first, his movements fluid and practiced. Max followed, and I could see the tension in both of them.

They touched gloves. And then they were moving.

I'd never seen Arthur fight before. I mean, I'd seen him handle that situation with the thugs at the pier, and I knew he had training, but this was different. This was controlled violence, precise and deliberate, every movement calculated.

Max was good too—faster than Arthur, more aggressive—but Arthur had reach and experience and a kind of cold focus that made every punch count.

They traded blows for a few minutes, both landing hits, both taking them. Then Arthur got inside Max's guard and drove his fist into Max's ribs with enough force to make me wince.

Max stumbled back, and Arthur pressed his advantage, backing him into the corner with a series of quick jabs that had Max's head snapping back.

"Okay," I said, standing up despite Alice's attempt to hold me back. "Okay, that's enough—"

Arthur landed an uppercut that sent Max to the mat.

"Arthur!" I was at the ring before I'd consciously decided to move. "Stop! What the hell are you doing?"

Arthur turned to look at me, breathing hard, and the expression on his face was somewhere between satisfied and still-pissed-off. "Teaching him a lesson."

"About what?" I demanded.

"Regarding the guide he recommended who knew nothing about the terrain," Arthur said, his voice flat. "About putting you in danger. About the fact that his girlfriend got you into that situation in the first place."

"You're right," Max repeated, pushing himself to his feet.

He turned to me, and the guilt in his eyes was raw and genuine.

"It's okay," I said, and was surprised to find I meant it. "Max, it's okay. It was an accident. Nobody's to blame. Arthur's being overprotective," I said, shooting Arthur a look.

"Which I appreciate, but you don't need to beat Max to death to make your point."

Arthur's expression softened slightly. "I wasn't going to beat him to death."

"Just mostly to death?"

"Just enough to make sure he understood."

I rolled my eyes, then added with deliberate casualness, "But I'm pretty sure Arthur just did what I've been wanting to do for weeks."

Max's eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Punch you," I said cheerfully.

Alice let out a quiet chuckle. Max turned to look at her, his expression caught somewhere between hurt and defensive. "Alice—"

"She's not wrong," Alice said quietly. "You have been... difficult."

"I'm trying to get better," Max said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice. "I am getting better. Right?"

Alice's expression softened. "You are. But you've still got a long way to go."

Alice took some ointment and walked toward him.