She throws me a glare over her shoulder, but I know she likes it.
I rummage through her fridge. She still doesn’t really have anything but at least she has some cheese, ham and eggs. Omelets are simple enough.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s out of the shower looking like fucking heaven. Of course, she always does.
I plate up the food. “Not the prettiest,” I admit. “But I guarantee they taste good.”
“They look great,” she says with a smile.
It doesn’t miss my attention how slowly she’s moving. How she winces getting on the stool. I want to ask her what the fuck is going on, but I want her to volunteer more. I want her to tell me without me having to ask.
We eat in silence. She picks at hers more than she eats. Finally, I can’t take anymore. My need to know outweighs my need for her to open up.
“What’s going on, Tori?”
She looks up at me with tired, exhausted eyes. Which is her excuse. She’s just tired. She really is going to make me just ask.
“Tori, the bruises. What are they from?”
“I took a fight last night,” she tells me with a shrug.
“Why? I mean I don’t care that if that’s what you want to do but why now? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was last minute,” she explains but something feels off. No. Not off. She’s lying. “The payout was too good to pass up.”
“You need money?” I ask casually while taking a drink of my coffee. I already know the answer. She doesn’t need the money. She’s not going to be rich any time soon, but Tori manages just fine.
“It doesn’t hurt to have extra here and there.” She stands with her plate, taking it to the sink. She scrapes the rest of her food down the drain and rinses the plate. Tension is practically radiating off of her. Nervous tension that is settled in her shoulders.
She leaves the kitchen without looking back at me. Not even a minute later she’s coming back out with her gym bag and keys in tow. With a kiss on the cheek, she’s out the door.
Not a word uttered. No more discussion. Nothing.
A sinking feeling in my gut tells me whatever is going on isn’t good. It also tells me that she has no plans whatsoever of telling me about any of it. It leaves me wondering where that leaves us.
Tori
I walk into the tattoo shop feeling like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck. I wasn’t lying to Zane about the fight. It was last minute but since I haven’t been in a match in years, I thought it was necessary considering I have no idea what James and Romano have in store for me.
I am glad I’ve kept in shape over the years, but the fight last night showed me that I have a lot of training to do. Two more weeks before this fight they have scheduled that I’m not sure I can be ready for. How could I be? Most fights take months of training and prep. Not to mention studying your opponent and their fighting style. Deciphering their weaknesses.
I sit down at my station with a groan. Everything fucking hurts. The bedroom events with Zane didn’t help, but there is no way I was missing out on that. It was totally worth the extra pain.
Except, Zane is asking questions I can’t answer. I can’t explain to him why I am fighting again all of a sudden. He won’t understand, and he damn fucking sure won’t like it. I also have a feeling he’d try to do something about it. He’s never volunteered, and I’ve never asked, but I get the very distinct feeling that Zane is involved in things with Rory and Jax that are very – I don’t even know. The word that keeps popping into my mind is totally ridiculous.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about him. He’s not going to leave this alone, and I can’t have him digging. The thought of breaking things off so he won’t meddle makes me sick. The thought of doing anything that would push him away makes me sick but it's already happening isn't it?
“You look like shit,” Stitch tells me from his station.
“Yeah, well, you don’t look like rainbows and sunshine yourself, asshole,” I snark.
He gives me a sideways grin rubbing the back of his tattooed neck. “Yeah, I had a long night. Still nursing a hangover.”
“Well, I’m not hungover,” I tell him as I lean my head back against my chair.
“You don’t look hungover, Tori. You look like you’ve had the shit beat out of you. Thought you said that fight would be a piece of cake.”
“It was a piece of cake. I won. So, don’t you dare think of calling Dane or Maddox and telling them otherwise.”
