Chapter 144 Chapter 144 Confessions of A Boxer
Stepping inside Mason’s apartment feels like stepping backward in time. Just like that night—the night he hurt me. The place smells the same, clean and sharp, everything in its place. But this time there are four security guards inside, not outside. That alone shifts something in the air.
Sunlight pours through the wide living room windows, bright and almost too warm. Mason sits next to me on the couch, close enough that his knee brushes mine every so often. He’s wearing jeans and a basketball jersey, casual, but his arms—his arms look massive, flexed even at rest. I have to fight the urge to reach out and run my hands over them.
The guards linger just outside the living room opening, silent but very present. Watching. Waiting.
I can’t help thinking I should’ve invited him to my place instead. Mason has never been inside my apartment. We barely had anything, really, two months of dating—one time having sex, another when he went down on me in the bathroom. And yet somehow it turned into this…mess, it's been three years though, water under the bridge, right. Yet I still wonder, where did it go wrong?
“Why did our relationship go south?” I ask, turning toward him. “What the hell were you thinking? I mean, even after…” My fingers brush lightly against my neck, remembering the soreness, the bruises, the deep purple that lingered for days. “…I still wanted to stay with you. But then you did a full one-eighty.”
Mason inhales deeply, holding it in like he’s bracing himself, then exhales hard. “I was so fucking mad at myself,” he says. “For putting my hands on you. For hurting you. Even if you had agreed to come with me to the weigh-in, to the fight—I wouldn’t have let you. I’m a monster, Elle. And if people saw you with me, those bruises on your neck, they would’ve known it too.”
He pauses, jaw tightening.
“Sergey set me off,” he continues. “Whispered some shit about you asking him to suck his dick. I lost it. Went after him, tried to hurt him—but all I did was hurt you with my words.”
“The club?” I press.
He shakes his head. “More of the same. I got piss drunk. I should’ve been celebrating—I won the fight, didn’t send anyone to the hospital—but instead I was pissed you didn’t come out after. Grant invited some girls, and…you saw the rest.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “I’m not that guy. I don’t do one-night stands. It took me two months just to work up the nerve to sleep with you.”
Silence settles between us for a moment, heavy but not suffocating.
“After that video came out,” he adds quietly, “my sisters and my mom stopped talking to me. My dad threw money at me so I’d quit fighting. Nate dropped me. But the worst part…” His voice softens. “The worst part was your face. The way you braced for me. Like I’d hit you before.”
His hand finds mine, fingers threading through mine carefully, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. I don’t. My eyes close for a moment, letting the warmth of his skin sink in. Familiar. Kind. Sweet.
“Why did you save me?” he asks gently. “Tell me about that.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “We had a family dinner before my sister’s wedding. My dad was tearing into her over a call she made to me. We had this whole falling out over a guy—a childhood friend engaged to my cousin. No one told me.” I shake my head slightly. “Anyway, my dad started talking about accidents. Specific ones. Then he asked—Him or Her.”
I pause, breathing through the memory.
“I didn’t hesitate. I said her.” My voice drops. “She tried to poison me over a guy. I was his…” I exhale sharply. “His side piece. She didn’t care. No apology. No remorse, even after everyone found out. Later I learned I wasn’t the only one she hurt.”
Mason’s eyes lock onto mine, searching, unreadable.
He lifts my hand slowly, pressing his lips to the back of it. The contact sends a spark straight through me. Heat blooms under my skin, sudden and undeniable. His hazel eyes look lighter against his dark skin, almost golden in the sunlight. He runs a hand through his black hair, pushing it back, and my gaze drifts to his lips—slightly parted, tempting.
There it is.
That fire.
The one thing I didn’t feel with Mike.
Mason’s tongue flicks over his bottom lip, and I feel myself slipping, unraveling right here on his couch.
“Tell me what happened to you,” I say, my voice lower now, softer, edged with something I can’t hide.
He leans back slightly, gathering himself. “I was asleep,” he begins. “Woke up to a sharp pinch, then everything went black. When I came to, I was in some warehouse. Duct tape over my mouth, wrists and ankles bound. Just…thrown on the concrete floor. I was laying in chunks of someone else, dried up blood.”
My stomach tightens.
“I could hear voices outside a door. Talking about a weapon. Over and over—the weapon this, the weapon that.” He shakes his head. “At one point they got pissed because you didn’t want them to kill me. They were trying to figure out what to do instead.”
His jaw clenches.
“I thought I was going to die. I was fucking pissing myself, Elle.” He exhales harshly. “Then lights out again. Next thing I know, I’m back home. Drugged out of my mind. I remember one of them grabbing me by the shirt, saying, ‘I don’t know why Elena wanted you alive. I should kill you.’”
A chill runs through me.
“When I woke up for real,” he continues, “I smelled like shit, my body hurt, my mouth was dry as hell. I’d been gone a week. A week. And no one noticed.” His voice cracks with something raw. “Not my friends. Not my family.”
He leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “There was nothing on the cameras. Elevator, hallway—nothing. Like it never happened. Like I imagined the whole thing.” His eyes drop back to me. “How the fuck did they get in here?”
I can almost feel the fear still clinging to him, lingering under his skin. And somehow, instead of pushing me away, it pulls me closer. The heat inside me sharpens, intensifies.
His hand lifts, brushing along my cheek. My lips part without thinking, my body responding before my mind can catch up.
He leans in, slow, deliberate.
“What are you doing, Mason?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
His breath brushes my lips.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Elle?” he murmurs.