My nostrils flared, but I bent, peeling off one boot to throw over the ropes followed by the other. They each landed with a thud on the concrete floor. I was a little shorter without the boots, so I stood on my toes and poked him again. “You did this. Not me. So you don’t get to be mad at me.”
“You didn’t bother telling your family about me.” He planted his hands on his narrow hips. “We were together for a year. Admit it. You were worried about what Daddy would say when you brought home a guy like me.”
“Oh, fuck you.” I slammed both hands into his pecs, pushing as hard as I could. He didn’t even rock on his heels. “How can you say that to me? How can you think I’d be ashamed? Fuck you for thinking I ever cared about money.”
“Because you had it!” He threw out his arms. “You fucking hid me, Talia. You hid me.”
“I loved you.” I pushed him again, giving it my full weight. “I was twenty-one years old, living in Las Vegas, a thousand miles from home. My parents knew your name. Everyone knew I was dating a guy. But no, I didn’t get into the details of my love life with my brothers.”
“Excuses, Talia. What about your sister?”
“She knew enough. I didn’t know what was going to happen to us. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her, okay? It wasn’t to hurt you. Or to hide you. I was leaving and we never talked about it.”
“We talked about it.”
“Oh, really? When? I was moving to Seattle and all you ever said was ‘We’ll figure it out.’ ” I tossed those air quotes in his face.
“We would have figured it out.”
“Was that before or after you married Vivienne?” This time when I pushed, I gave it all my weight. I gave it seven years’ worth of anger and heartbreak. And this time, he had to take a step back to keep his balance.
“I loved you for 437 days.” I didn’t give him space. I crowded him, making a fist. “One year, two months and eleven days.”
It had been a long damn time since I’d thrown a punch. But we were in a fighting ring. And damn it, I wanted this fight. So I threw a jab at his nose.
He blocked it with a flick of his wrist. “What the fuck?”
“I thought you said you had a fight coming up.” I threw another jab, the muscles in my arm tensing. “You wanted my help, right? Well, here you go.”
“Talia, knock this shit off.”
“No.” This time I threw a punch with my right arm, aiming for his kidney.
He knocked it away with his elbow, backing away and around the ring.
But I just kept following, throwing pointless punches that never landed against his skin.
“I hate you for choosing Vivienne.” Another punch.
“I hate you for not loving me the way I loved you.” Then another punch.
“I hate you for being so fucking hard to forget.” A tear dripped down my cheek as I threw the next punch. My eyes flooded and Foster was blurry but I just kept on swinging. “Ashamed of you? I would have done anything for you.”
“Talia, stop.” He grabbed my hand but I yanked it free, and this time when I threw my punch, uncontrolled and vicious and with all my might, he let it collide with his chest.
Pain exploded through my hand, my knuckles aching. “Son of a bitch.”
“Shit.” Foster seized it, completely unfazed that I’d hit him as hard as possible, and peeled my fingers back, inspecting my hand.
“It’s fine.” I ripped it away, retreating to the other side of the ring and turning my back to him as I shook out my knuckles. Once the pain faded, I sniffled and wiped my eyes dry.
Nice, Talia. I’d just completely lost my mind.
I tugged on the ropes, ready to make an escape, but Foster’s hand closed around my elbow, stopping me.
“Tally, I’m sorry.” It was as sincere as his other apologies. Little by little, they were sneaking their way inside.
“I was never ashamed of you,” I whispered. “Never.”
Foster hadn’t talked much about his childhood while we’d been together. He’d taken me to meet his parents at lunch once and they’d both seemed nice. But we hadn’t gone to his parents’ house. We hadn’t spent much time at Foster’s apartment because it had been in a rough neighborhood.
“Will you look at me?” he asked.
I dragged in a shaky breath and turned. A small block of black letters ran in a vertical line along his ribs. Earlier, I’d been too busy gawking to notice them. Then I’d been too busy punching.
But now, there was no missing them.
GARNET FLATS
“What is that?” I pointed to the words, meeting his gaze. “Why do you have that tattoo?”
It was the only ink on his body.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, his shoulders slumping. “You told me once that your great-grandmother loved to hunt for garnets.”
“Great-great-grandmother,” I corrected.
She, along with my great-great-grandfather, had founded Quincy. Our family had lived here ever since. People joked that you couldn’t throw a rock down Main without hitting an Eden.
It wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
People called our immediate family Quincy royalty—either in jest or jealousy. I really hated that term. We were just people who loved this town enough to stay and build our lives in the community. We were a family who cherished our roots and our stories, like my great-great-grandmother’s.
She’d loved hunting for garnets. By the time she’d died, she’d amassed quite the collection. Most had been turned into jewelry, handed down through generations. I had a pair of garnet stud earrings. Lyla and Eloise each had necklaces.
Garnet Flats was the area on the ranch where she’d found most of her garnets—hence the name. Dad used to take me there to hunt for my own in the summers. Mom would pack us a picnic lunch and we’d have a daddy-daughter date. I’d never found a gemstone of my own, but that spot had become my special place.
It had been one of many stories I’d told Foster about Quincy. About the ranch. He’d always seemed fascinated by my Montana home, saying how he couldn’t wait to see it for himself.
He was here now.
And my special place was inked on his skin.
“I’ve never heard anyone describe a place the way you talked about it,” he said. “I could close my eyes and be there, standing with you in the meadows. I could see the mountains and smell the trees. I could picture the house you wanted to build. The life you wanted to live.”
“Why is it tattooed on your body?”
“As a reminder.”
“Of what?”
He gave me a sad smile. “Of what I lost.”
The tears came back.
“Your dreams were my dreams, Tally. I lost them when I lost you.” He hooked a finger under my chin. “Did I lose you?”
Yes. It should have been an easy answer. He’d chosen Vivienne. So why couldn’t I say it? Why couldn’t I walk away?
His eyes searched mine as he towered over me, leaning closer and closer. And just like the other night, I didn’t push him away.
I wanted rainbows.
Foster’s lips brushed mine. A whisper of a touch that ignited a fire in my veins.