He makes a sound in his throat. “Wouldn’t say changed mind about everything. But I want to make compromise.” As if he can’t help it anymore, he drops the hammer and approaches, tilting up my chin to study my face. “You are not so sad anymore, please?”
“No. I’m not so sad.”
“Then why do you have tears, Whitney?”
“Because you’re building me a stage.” I sniff. “In your backyard.”
“Our backyard.” Looking anxious, he brushes away the moisture with his thumbs. “These are happy tears?”
“Yes.”
He swallows, his heart in his eyes. “I build it because I love you.”
My knees turn to rubber. “I love you, too,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss his heart.
This man, he seems almost shy over my admission. He ducks his head and cuts a glance sideways, his mouth wrestling with a smile. “You will make me too happy, Whitney.” His voice shakes ever so slightly. “I will have no edge left to fight with.”
Now I’m wrestling with a smile. “What compromise did you want to make?”
He blows out a breath, still appearing awed by me saying I love him. “I was wrong to doubt you before, kotik. When you told me you did not go willingly in the club, I should have believed you without question. What you have gone through for all these years…” He stops to shake his head, his mouth turned down at the corners. “Never again. Never.”
“I know,” I murmur, running my fingers up and down his chest. “I’m safe now.”
“Very safe. But I want to prove that I trust you…the way you have trusted me, coming here and letting me keep you, even when I am very rough and sometimes yell. So…” He looks green. “When you must…kiss a boy…during the acting, I would like to have little talk with him beforehand. Hands will stay at sides. Lips will be dry and closed. If I see his tongue, I will rip it out—”
“Maxim.”
His voice is ragged, eyes pinched shut. “I will not budge on this.”
“Maxim, there are parts without kissing. Good ones.” I wait until he peeks an eye open warily. “I will audition for those. Only those. Maybe I’ll even write my own. Okay?”
All at once, the tension seems to rush from his body and he drops to his knees in front of me, wrapping his rugged arms around my middle, burying his face in my stomach. “Thank you, Whitney. I would have been miserable.”
“I know.”
His voice is muffled by my stomach. “You will only kiss me, da?”
“Only you. You’re the only man I ever want to kiss.” I thread my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, trailing them over his tattooed shoulders, smiling at the way he leans into my touch like he’s been starved for it. “Maybe I’ll write a play about an MMA fighter who falls in love with an actress who pretends her car is broken down…”
He smiles up at me. “It sounds familiar. But it will be very long play, kotik.”
“Why is that?”
Maxim stands and throws me up into his arms, carrying me toward the house—and no doubt, to bed. “Because there is no end.”
Epilogue
Maxim
Three years later
Where is my wife?
I bash my gloved hands against my head and continue circling my opponent.
I’m far more taunted by the empty front row seat than I am by this bastard.
She had dress rehearsal tonight for her one woman show, The Fighter’s Prize, which she has spent the last few years writing, while taking roles in various plays. After the night we met and she pretended to be stranded, I always knew my Whitney was an incredible actress, but when I saw her on stage, she made me feel very funny in my chest. More funny than usual.
When she laughed up there, I smiled.
When she yelled, I wanted to yell as well.
When she cried, I wanted to cry.
I also want to shout at people who look at their cell phones while she is on stage. Can they not see what a treasure is in their midst?
Okay, so once or twice, I did crush a cell phone under my foot.
I had to start waiting outside for the play to finish.
But I managed to keep my control on a leash after that and now watching Whitney on stage is my favorite thing to do. Especially since she does not kiss boys. That would not have gone over well at all, no matter what compromises were made.
She is mine.
My wife, my best friend, my preoccupation.
My world.
I am hers, too, so she really should be sitting in the reserved seat.
I look questioningly at Scout, who sits directly to the right of the open seat. Then at Scout’s husband, who merely shrugs and makes a wrist flicking gesture at me to keep fighting. I make a disgusted face at him around my mouthpiece. I can’t believe this man has become my friend. He is mostly insufferable, but I keep him around because he brings the sister and the sister makes the wife smile. And I live for her smile.
He also brings good cigars.
Finally, I see my wife trotting down the aisle and I almost get my head knocked off while shouting at her to slow down. Is she crazy to run in heels when she is six months pregnant with our second son?
Whitney falls into her chair and winks at me—and just like that, I am focused.
The world has twisted into place and I am ready for anything. My wife is here.
God she looks very pretty.
Is that a new dress?
Seemingly in answer to my question, she lifts the hem slightly and crosses her legs. Slowly. And I see she is not wearing any panties.
My opponent is on the mat within seconds and I am roaring to be let out of the octagon. As soon as I’m free, I jump down and find my wife, carrying her up the aisle at a fast clip to the roaring of the crowd.
“We make a good team,” she laughs, leaning her cheek against my shoulder. “You bring the muscle. I bring the motivation.”
My own laughter booms out, cutting through the cheers, and I wonder—not for the first time—if I was truly happy a single day before I met her. If I even knew happiness like this could exist. No. I don’t think so. To me, Whitney is happiness. They are one and the same. “If a moment with you is on the line, I will always win, Whitney. I love you.”
She kisses me on the mouth and the cheers turn deafening. “I love you, too, Maxim.”
THE END