He looks confused.
“Figured I’d just get a new one.” And I didn’t want the brutal reminder of Axelle not calling me or the temptation to contact her.
“Okay, I’ll make sure we get you one today. Now wake the fuck up and smile.” He holds his arms out wide. “This is the first day of the rest of your life, man. How the hell can you not be fucking stoked about that?”
I snag my glasses off the bedside table and yawn.
“Get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs.” Rex hops off the bed and crosses to the door. “Hope you got a good night’s sleep. Today is going to be brutal.”
He slams the door behind him, and I groan and drop my head into my hands.
The truth is I slept like shit.
After we hit McDonalds, Caleb brought us to what will be my home for the next year. From the outside, it looks like part office high-rise, part fishbowl. With card access, a gate was opened that led to underground parking and an elevator. It wasn’t until we were inside the elevator and Caleb slid the card into the “lift” as he called it, that I realized we were headed to the top.
A split-level penthouse.
If I weren’t so tired and half stupid from the whirlwind of the last couple days, it would’ve hit me then that little Killian McCreery was now residing in a penthouse in London, fighting for UFL USA. And even after a fitful night’s rest, dreams of Axelle’s beautiful belly swelling with new life growing inside it, her wrapping that sweet body around me and telling me that she loves me and our baby… Damn, I’m far from rested.
But I’m awake.
And it’s sinking in.
I cross toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and pull back the sheer white curtains—another thing I didn’t quite appreciate about this place when I got here. Everything is either white or black. The carpet of my modest-sized room is white and peppered with sleek black furniture and a white overstuffed chair. It’s like living on a chessboard with a kick-ass view.
Gray clouds break up across the skyline, and below is the bustling city of London. But that’s not all. There’s water.
Caleb explained last night that this part of town was called the Docklands, which makes sense. From what I can tell, it’s industrial with waterways and docks for large ships probably making pick-ups and deliveries. It’s fucking cool as shit.
I can hear Caleb and Rex laughing downstairs, where the main living space is complete with a state-of-the-art home theater, an open kitchen with fancy-ass appliances, and a dining room fit for royalty. The three bedrooms are upstairs, each with their own private bathrooms, which are bigger than my studio back in Vegas. That Jacuzzi tub will come in handy after those long training weeks.
I cross to my bag that I tossed at the foot of my bed when I stumbled to it last night. Grabbing some clothes, I allow myself to indulge in a fantasy. I pretend Axelle is here with me, I imagine her sky-blue eyes alight with excitement at living in such luxury. She’d giggle at seeing the bidet and the separate urinal in the marble-floored bathroom. My fingers tingle as I imagine sliding them into her hair, looking deep into her eyes until her humor fades as I promise her every luxury I can afford for the rest of her long and beautiful life.
My chest cramps violently at the realization that these things will never happen. She made her choice, and I thought I made mine when I stepped onto that plane, but it’s as if my heart needs the constant reminder. As if the last few beats of my love for her are refusing to simply die, but would rather suffer from a long drawn-out process that has me in knots.
I drag my body under the shower spray and close my eyes. “It’s over, Killian. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”
I shove all those feelings, all the hurt and the love, deep into the darkest corner of my soul and lock it there behind brick walls. I’ve made the choice to spend this year in London, working on my fighting career, and I intend to do just that.
No more pain and no regrets. No friendships and complications.
From here on out I’m a fighter.
That’s it.
Twenty-two
Axelle
By the time Monday rolls around, I’m ready to get the hell out of my mom and Blake’s house and back to my apartment. After confronting Clifford yesterday, Blake insisted I stay with them. I’m sure it was my crumbling into a sobbing mess in my mom’s lap that spoke to my instability. The more I cried, the more my mom cried, and between the two of us, we could’ve hydrated Nevada with our tears.
When we dried out, Blake made us dinner, and I fell asleep on the couch with my head in my mom’s lap. I don’t remember how I got into my bed, but I do remember Blake’s voice telling me everything would be okay, so my guess is he probably carried me there.