Page 56 of Unbreakable Thread

Nobody moves. The bread smell is still there. The fluorescent open sign is still buzzing. “Mija.” Isabella’s voice is low and soft. Her hand rubs my back in a circular motion. She was trying to protect me from seeing this. “It could be nothing. You know the way the media is.”

“Hello?” a female voice calls out from the counter.

“I’ll get that.” Melissa’s soft voice drifts toward the register.

“And I’ll find the recycling,” Danny says.

What if it is something? I practically gave him the blessing to move on. But why her? And why so quick? My thoughts trail back to Carlos. Was he right?

Isabella’s gaze is on me like a worried mother. Words don’t come. I’m numb. I never thought he would do me dirty like this with the one woman who’s wanted him from the beginning.

“I called him twice last night when I woke from my nap. I was going to ask him to come to the house so we can talk.” I grip the metal table. “The calls were canceled.” Pain in my chest hits like a lightning strike. The thought of him having her in his bed makes me nauseated. My hand goes to my stomach.

“Mija, come, let’s go to the office so you can sit. Take deep breaths. You’re carrying a baby, and you don’t want to get sick.”

She’s right. I need to control myself.

She drags the chair toward me, its wheels protesting against the tile floor. My bottom hits the seat, and my head falls to the back of the chair as I take a deep breath. My gaze goes to the camera. I’m not sure if he still checks in on me… A pained laugh cracks inside me. Not anymore. If he’s watching, he’s probably seeing if I’ll run to him and beg for him back. I won’t, not if he’s touched her.

“I just…I find it hard to believe,” Isabella murmurs. She’s just as shocked as I am. “I don’t understand.”

Everything just became more complicated if he is with her. I don’t want her in my child’s life, and if he wants a chance for us to become a family, it won’t happen. I will not have a man be with me only because I’m carrying his baby. This is where I draw the line.

Chapter 17

Max

The sports network interview dragged on for two hours. They’d done their homework. I’ll give them that. They opened with the Ferraro fight—the fourth-round knockout, the crowd, what I was thinking when he hit the ropes. That part was easy. I could talk about the fight all day. Then they moved to Barreca. The callout. Whether I was ready. Whether the jump in competition was too much, too soon. I gave them what they wanted—confidence without arrogance, respect for the opponent, and focus on the work.

I’d warned Bob and Henry beforehand. My childhood was off-limits. That didn’t stop them. “Your rise has been unusually fast for someone with limited recorded fights before turning pro. Where were you getting your experience?”

There it was. They wanted to dig into something I wasn’t going to share.

“I grew up in foster care,” I told them, the practiced line to keep from giving more. I’ve kept my walls so high for years that I’m used to the rehearsed lines to keep people from prying. The lights were too bright. The chairs too comfortable in a way that made you want to slouch. I sat straight the whole time. Old habit. Don’t show them anything they can use. Then they asked about family. My shoulders settled into something deliberate. I looked at the camera. Then, at the interviewer. Then at the camera again. “My mother passed, and my father wasn’t in the picture.” Was all they got out of me.

I picked up my water. Took a sip. Put it down.

Next question.

Each time they angled for more, I redirected to my training regimen, my first amateur bout, anything but the memories I’ve spent years boxing away.

Carlos and I walk out of the building, our shoes hitting the hot pavement that reflects the blazing sun. “You look good, son.” He smiles, patting my shoulder. “You’re living your dream. It only seems like it was yesterday that you broke into my gym with your guns blazing, ready to take on the world. I knew in those moments you had potential. You have heart and respect the game.”

My dad taught me at a young age how to box, and I’ve never spoken about it to Carlos or anyone else. My dad was a hell of a boxer. I might have been too young to know, but his friends, like Rico, and others, have said he could have gone pro if he hadn’t stopped to raise a family. His priorities were always my mom and me. I only wish he’d kept those priorities when my mother passed. As young as I was, probably around four, my dad bought me my first pair of gloves. He’d taught me my stance. He said, “That’s it, Max.” He clapped his hands. “Look at you.” My chest puffed up with pride at my dad’s praise and the smile of a man so proud of his son. “You’re a natural. Always remember, a man who has heart and plays with heart will make it to the top. And you always respect the game. We use our fists to fight in the ring, not to bully or cause harm to others.” I had shoved all this in the back of my mind because he lost heart and respect; he used those fists on his son.

I laugh. “It was easy to break into.” The sound dies in my throat as I recognize the cherry red Mustang heading toward campus. I took it to a shop to have it repaired and repainted after Rainey backed it into a pole. I can’t help myself—I have to follow her. Our conversation the other day ended so abruptly when my phone rang, and the guilt’s been eating at me since. Without really thinking it through, I ease the truck into the left lane and keep her taillights in view.

“Where are you heading?” Carlos asks, pulling out his phone.

“Sol is in front of me.” I point. “I need to talk to her real quick.”

“Leave her, son. She asked for space, so give it to her.” Lately, Carlos’s advice has been shit.

I sigh and take a left turn, but from the rearview mirror, I can see her park, and of course, her angle is off. My lips turn into a slight smile. Damn, I miss her. Carlos had advised me to give her time. I thought she would come around by now. When I saw her, she seemed to be doing better without me. Even Leo has said she’s improving. Honestly, I’m happy for her. I just wish I didn’t feel like I was disappearing.

“Giving a woman too much space could be dangerous. After all, we had been apart for years,” I tell Carlos, driving up to his gym. I don’t park. I pull up to the doorway.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe this is a sign you two are not meant for one another.”