Every time I gave them money, they’d blow it in weeks. The two cars I’d bought for Dad had been hawked for cash. The same was true with the jewelry I’d given Mom.
I worked too hard for them to gamble away my money. So I’d bought them a house that was in my name so it couldn’t be sold. They received nice gifts on birthdays and at Christmas, and I didn’t ask what became of those gifts.
“Growing up, our house wasn’t peaceful,” I told Talia. “The normal volume was a shout. I think that’s why I got into fighting. It was an outlet. A way to quiet the noise. I had a friend in high school who started boxing and he took me to Angel’s one day.”
Angel’s gym, owned by Arlo Angel. He’d been my savior at that point in my life. He’d taken me under his wing and trained me personally for years. Probably because he’d seen natural talent and a fuckload of pent-up aggression.
“I didn’t respect my dad,” I told Talia. “I didn’t listen to my mother. But Arlo . . . he was my hero. He took a pissed-off kid and gave him a future. He told me I could be great, so I fought to be great. I needed that. I needed someone who believed in me. I needed something to fight for.” And for far too long, Arlo’s approval had been the source of my motivation.
“Understandable,” she said. “He’s a charismatic man.”
“Was,” I corrected. “He died in November. Heart attack.”
Talia gasped. “Oh, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. A lot happened with Arlo. None of it good.”
“What do you mean? You loved him.”
I blew out a long breath. Telling this part of the story was never easy. Probably why I’d only shared it with Jasper. “I stopped fighting for Arlo when I met you.”
“Huh?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t understand. You were fighting at his gym.”
“He wasn’t the motivation. Not the bulk of it anymore. At first, I fought because I needed the outlet. Then I fought to make him proud. Then I met you. It wasn’t about me anymore, it was about you. I had no education. No hopes of being a lawyer or banker or businessman. My talent was in the ring. So I fought to win, because winning meant the brightest smile on your face. It meant hearing you cheer my name. And it meant money.”
It had all come down to money. Fool that I’d been, I’d thought money had mattered.
“You talked about your family. Their businesses. The ranch. The hotel. I knew you came from money. And I promised myself that I would never make you take a step backward. I wouldn’t drag you down.”
Talia sat straighter, letting go of her knees. “Are you saying you broke my heart because you were acting like some sort of martyr? You let me go to find someone ‘better’?”
“No.” I gritted my teeth. Just thinking about her with another man had sent me spiraling more than once in the past seven years. “I was going to fight anywhere they’d let me. I was going to fight every time, earn every dime. Until my body was broken. I was never going to let you go.”
“But you did. You chose Vivienne.”
I met her blue eyes brimming with pain and betrayal. A million apologies wouldn’t take away the guilt. A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to make up for the hurt I’d caused her. “I’ll never forgive myself for what happened, Tally. For what I did to you.”
“But . . . why?” Her voice sounded so small. “What happened to us? We were happy. I thought we were happy. Weren’t we? You should have told me you had feelings for Vivienne.”
“I didn’t.”
Her hands balled into fists on top of her knees. “You married her.”
“Because Arlo blackmailed me into it. Either I did exactly what he wanted, including marrying Vivienne. Or he’d turn on me.”
“For what?”
“For throwing a fight to make fifty thousand dollars.”
CHAPTER TEN
TALIA
“W-what?” I shook my head. “You threw a fight? When? Which fight?”
I’d gone to every one of his fights and he’d lost twice. Both times, it had been by decision and so close a call it could have gone either way. Foster had taken a beating but delivered the same. He hadn’t held back. No one could have watched either fight and said he’d let the other guy win.
Foster gave everything he had when he was in the ring. Always.
“It wasn’t a fight you watched. About six months before we, um . . .” He swallowed hard.
“Before we broke up.”
“Yeah. One of the guys at the gym approached me about an underground fight.” Foster cringed at the admission.
“No.” Oh my God, no. “You didn’t.”
Even as someone who hadn’t been rooted in the fighting world, I knew that underground fights were nothing but trouble. It hadn’t happened often, but every now and then, I’d heard a whisper at Arlo’s gym about an underground fighting ring. Mostly the chatter had happened after a fighter had been badly hurt.
I’d asked Vivienne about it once. She’d told me those fights were dangerous, but the guys did them for the money.
Not only was it illegal—if caught, the participants could be arrested for assault—but they risked their standing with the UFC. For Foster to have done this, he’d put his career in jeopardy. And his life. The rules in illegal fights were . . . flexible.
Vivienne had told me that one of the guys in the gym had gone to an underground fight and his opponent had done an eye gouge. The man had lost his eye.
“I’m not proud.” His voice was hoarse, rough from the scrape of brutal honesty. “It was, without a doubt, the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve regretted it every day since.”
Foster wore a stoic expression most of the time. He faced the world with his shoulders squared and his guard at the ready. But when he dropped his hands, when he gave you his vulnerabilities, you were in. All the way in.
“You did it for the money,” I said.
“I did it for the money.”
“Because you thought I needed it?” I flew off the couch, rage brewing in my chest. All that pain, all the tears and anguish, because he’d thought I’d needed money? “Stand up. I need to punch you again.”
Foster obeyed immediately.
“That is insulting,” I spat. But when I met his gaze, clouded with humiliation, my anger fizzled.
He would let me punch him, over and over and over again. But it wouldn’t make me feel better. It wouldn’t fill the hole in my heart.
“I needed you. Not money.”
“Took me losing you to figure that out.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to cry. Not tonight. “How did Arlo get involved?”
“Arlo had always been involved.” Foster sighed, sinking back into his seat. He waited to continue until I was seated too, my hands tucked beneath my knees to keep them from fidgeting. “The first fight I agreed to was small. Not a huge payout, a thousand bucks, but more than I’d make at the gym working all day. And a decent supplement to what I was winning with the UFC fights they were giving me at the time.”