Page 144 of Heal Me, Love Me

When I stepped inside, I found Mason, Enzo, and Derek lounging in the living room, beers in hand, with pizza boxes covering every inch of the coffee table.

Mason looked up first. “Oh shit.”

I frowned. “What?”

“We didn’t think you’d be home this early,” he explained.

That was when I noticed the television and Atlantic Combat’s streaming page filling the screen.

Enzo looked vaguely guilty, while Derek suddenly appeared very interested in his beer.

Mason seemed to be the only one willing to say anything out loud. “We’re getting ready to watch Rowan’s fight.” He pointed at the TV. “Obviously.”

“I gathered that, but thanks for clarifying,” I replied dryly.

“You’re welcome.” He grinned, and Enzo kicked him. “What?”

Enzo shook his head. “Maybe try showing some tact.”

Mason shot him a glare. “I have tact.”

“You absolutely do not,” Enzo teased, and Mason looked offended.

Derek ignored both of them and glanced at me. “We can turn it off if you want.”

A month ago, I probably would’ve taken him up on the offer, but now things weren’t quite that raw. I still hurt—every single day—but I didn’t feel the need to avoid anything related to Rowan.

I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Three sets of eyes fell on me, and I shrugged. “I’ll watch it with you.”

“You will?” Mason asked.

“Of course. It’s not like I hate him or anything. Besides, I still want good things to happen for him.”

The words were true. Just because Rowan and I weren’t together anymore didn’t mean I suddenly wanted him to fail. If anything, I wanted the opposite. I wanted every gamble he took to pay off. I wanted Atlantic Combat to be everything he’d hoped it would be. I wanted him to be happy, because if he wasn’t, the pain we’d endured hadn’t been worth it.

Mason nodded toward the kitchen. “Cool. Then grab a beer and a plate for some pizza.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Seriously?”

“What?” he balked.

“You know exactly what.”

Mason glanced at the pizza, then back at me. “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah. Right.” I chuckled and headed into the kitchen.

I was a month into camp and living on grilled chicken, sweet potatoes, and vegetables. Even Enzo was getting to enjoy pizza because his next fight wasn’t until later in the summer, which meant he still had another couple of weeks before his own camp started.

Life wasn’t fair.

Once I heated my food in the microwave, I returned to the living room with my meal-prep container and dropped onto the couch.

Mason took one look at my food and shook his head. “That’s just sad.”

“You’ve been through this before,” I pointed out.

“True, I just feel bad that you’re suffering alone.”