A lot of good it does when I hear Natalie loud and clear. Most of the paparazzi are bottom feeders. They are prowlers. Stalkers, who half the time you aren’t even aware when they are near. They sell their photos and stories to the highest bidder, not giving a shit what happens from there.
My hatred toward them starts piercing through my bones and scratching at my marrow with every hit to the bag.
“I need you to leave.” I can’t have her here when Eden all but spit the words out of her mouth that Natalie and I are having an affair. That story goes to press, and it’ll be the end of my marriage for sure.
“No, I am not leaving you when you are upset. I’m your friend, damn it. You are talented, Mason. You have a gift that draws in crowds like no other. The world loves you, and you are ruining your hands. Stop it.”
Natalie reaches for my arm; the sudden move has me almost nailing her in the throat with the quick backswing of my elbow.
She doesn’t even flinch. I curl my lip; if I weren’t so furious and torn in two, I’d laugh. Or, shut her up by kicking her ass out of here myself.
I fist my hands tighter, punching the bag until the pain soars up my arm, through my shoulder, and explodes in my chest.
I keep pushing myself, blind rage overshadowing my every thought, repeating two words in my mind over and over.
Trust and divorce.
My wife doesn’t trust me. How the hell am I going to gain it back when I don’t trust myself?
Denial. That word won’t leave my mind. I am not in the pits of it. Denial is when someone doesn’t believe. How can I be there when my mind knows getting into the ring could cause me pain. I’ve gotten through it before. If it happens, I’ll get through it again, but I can’t get through it without my wife.
“I told you to leave, why I’m doing this isn’t your concern, Natalie. I’ve shared enough with you.” I slam the bag again, glaring at her through the mirror. If she doesn’t get her ass out of here now, I won’t be responsible for the words that slip off my tongue.
Her shoulders deflate, briefly before she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. It’s a habit she does when she’s upset. The last thing I want to do is make her feel like shit. We’ve been through a lot together, but her pushing me has to come to an end.
“You told Eden you’ve confided in me and not her, didn’t you? Jesus, Mason, why in God’s name would you do that? You shouldn't have told her.”
Easy answer.
“I lied to her enough, Natalie. You know I did. I’ve wronged my wife. No matter what happens from here on out, I can’t take back that I came to you and not her.” Hostility pours into my already boiling blood.
I’m nothing but a liar, a fucking fraud.
Anger weaves and flows — my mouth regretting opening and sharing years' worth of pain to someone who wasn’t my wife. I need to fix it, fix us, and gain back Eden’s trust.
Christ, this is so screwed up.
“Mason, Eden will get over it. Surely, she understands you’d come to me. It’s not like this isn’t the first time we’ve talked about opportunities before you’d talk it over with her. You are scaring me by hurting yourself. Look, I know I’m a pusher. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I wasn’t. You can yell and scream and push back; I’ll come harder, but If you don’t want this, then tell me no, and I’ll call Jacob’s team and end it before I make it back to my office. If you do, then say the word.”
Humorless laughter erupts from me as I take another swing. I don’t know who Natalie is trying to fool herself or me. She doesn’t give up this easily.
Not the shark in the tank who bites and tears off flesh before giving up. That is how ruthless and hard she is.
Her past made her that way. I don’t blame her, but with me, she needs to put on the brakes.
The burn across my knuckles fills with the malice I hold inside for myself — the sting against my flesh, a reminder of how bad I want this match.
Any, for that matter.
“Alright. You need to tell me what all is going on with you. If you’re here beating the hell out of that thing, then I take it there’s more going on than Eden, not understanding. More to the press finding out. Tell me what’s going on, and maybe I can fix it. I’m leaving in a couple of days to fly to Dallas to meet with another client; I can talk to her before I leave if you want.”
Uh, no, unless she wants my wife to kill her.
“You know that’s not a good idea as well as I do.”
My ribs grate against the raw spot in my chest, the cavity a hollowed-out crater of what I’ve done. It makes me slam my unwrapped fists into the punching bag twice as hard as I have been.
I’m not going to be able to withhold the truth that Eden left me from Natalie much longer. She’s going to wait until I’m ready to tell her.
Dipping low, I let loose an uppercut, my knuckles splitting wide open.
I want more pleasure with the pain as much as I can withstand.
I grunt, laying into the bag more. Punch after punch, I beat the thing until every knuckle rips wide open, and blood is dripping onto the floor, just like my bleeding heart.
Eden leaving me slashes my insides to shreds.
My temper catches fire.
“Fuckkkkkkk,” I roar. My legs nearly give out; my shoulders tighten, my chest heaves up and down like I’ve gone round after round.
She left me. It should paralyze me. Instead, the hot rage in my soul becomes a cold fume of bottled-up anger.
If only I were able to box. If only I could accept, I’ll likely never professionally again. If only it were my wife standing behind me, waiting to clean me up like she always did.
If.
I hate that goddamn word.
“Mason, stop please,” Natalie whispers, reaching out and placing her hand on my shoulder.
I flinch, whirling around, set to get in her face. To take it out on her, but then I remember the look of fright on Eden’s face last night when I blew a gasket. I take several steps back, but it doesn’t curb my anger toward Natalie. She needs to knock it off. She better listen good, or she and I will part ways for real this time.
“What you and I did isn’t the same thing as discussing preparations for an upcoming fight. I betrayed my wife. I told her you were no longer my agent. You can’t fix this, Natalie. You are not a marriage counselor. Not a detective. Not my wife. For the sake of my marriage, stay out of my personal life.”
She swallows. A crystal clear expression is written all over her face. It looks a lot like what I’m feeling.
Remorse and guilt and hurt.
“Oh, no, Mason, Eden left you, didn’t she? Is that why you are here? Why you're trying to hurt yourself? Is this why you're angry with me? She thinks there’s more happening between us, doesn’t she? She’ll come back, Mason. She will. Give her time to come around. You two are unbreakable. I’m sorry. I truly am.” She blinks, swallows hard — tone full of sincerity, and delusional as hell if she thinks my wife will ever come around.
Christ, I need something to freeze my brain. A numbness to creep in and shut it down.
I squeeze my eyes closed. Eden’s wounded face is peeling layers off my flesh. All I can do is breathe around the pain of what I’ve done smashing my chest. It feels like someone is swinging a sledgehammer into it, and they won’t stop.