Page 62 of At Her Pleasure
“No. And yes.” Cyn scowled. “What the fuck does it matter?”
“Watch your tone with me. And tilt your head back.”
Cyn made a face, but complied. As she gazed at the ceiling, Ros’s hand was on hers, holding pressure against her nose. “If he matters, and he’s done something to bug you, don’t shut him down. Work through it with him.”
Cyn made a noncommittal noise, but when the bleeding stopped, she exited the ring and sat down on the edge of it, tossing the tissues in a nearby waste can. Hell, the whole top of her face hurt, and the throb was starting to circle her head like a noisy carousel ride.
“He’s not going to be here long. It doesn’t matter.”
Ros propped her hips next to her and crossed her arms. She tapped her manicured fingers against the inside of her elbow. “Yeah. Because something that happens over the course of a few days can’t haunt you, crawl in your gut and get infected for the rest of your life.”
Ros didn’t know Cyn and Mick’s history, but her aim was as irritatingly spot-on as always. “Where are you going with that?” Cyn retorted anyway.
“I don’t have to go anywhere with it. You’ve heard me. But this is a different matter.” Ros looked toward the locker room where Matt had disappeared. “Sometimes, Cyn, when you’re working through your own shit, you don’t look beyond it to understand where other people are, why they are the way they are, why they take the positions they do. You want to be respected, but respect is a two-way street.”
Cyn frowned. “I work to earn respect.”
“Yes, you do. But you also never leave the ring. And most of the things worth fighting for live outside it.” Ros’s gaze softened a fraction. “Your rage never goes away. You’re successful, loved, respected. So why are you still fighting like you think none of those things are safe, that they’ll disappear tomorrow?”
Cyn tensed, but Ros shook her head. “I’m not asking for the answer, and I never will. We’re here if you ever want to let us in. But you’ve grown up a lot these past few years, and I expect you know the answer to the question.”
Ros dabbed at Cyn’s nose with a clean tissue. “A little smear left there. I got it.”
As Cyn blinked, Ros balled up the tissue and tossed it. “Abby says schizophrenia can make a familiar face look like a monster. The worst part of an already awful illness is something in her head is determined to isolate her, pull her away from us. Your temper, your past, can do that, too.”
Pained surprise swept through Cyn. Ros’s neutral gaze shifted to rebuke. “The way Matt reacted to Howard wasn’t just gallantry. Yes, you owe him an apology. He’s your friend as much as he is mine.”
Ros rose. “Think about that. Think about all of it. Including Mick.”
* * *
Cyn had little patience for self-analysis, and definitely not if it persisted beyond the length of a coffee break. If the answer wasn’t evident, she’d set it aside and work it out in her subconscious. Usually, the answer would come to her.
Which she guessed was what she was doing now. She sat on the curb outside the gym. The street didn’t get many pedestrians, because a law office and a papered-over storefront rented out for a co-op art studio were the only other businesses. The intersecting street at the southern end was a popular thoroughfare, though, so she gazed in that direction, watching clumps of tourists, brisk locals, and slow-moving vehicle traffic. A distant clopping heralded the passing of a carriage, pulled by a dapple-gray horse.
She’d heard what Ros said, but the first thing she did when she sat down was review the fight in her head, all the ways she could have fought smarter.
While that evaluation would help her face her next opponent, she knew that wouldn’t be Matt. Now her thoughts moved to what she knew of him, every conversation, the relationships he had with her, Ros and the rest of the team. She also thought of what she’d seen at the club when he was there with Savannah or his team.
Much as she hated to admit it, Ros was right. Once she set her own shit aside, it was clear as a stop sign why what she had done was wrong. Well, fuck.
She held the ice pack Grizzly had given her against her nose. Since she’d found the answer Ros had pointed her toward, she left it alone and turned her mind to Mick. Not what he’d done to piss her off, but how much she’d liked sharing dinner with him. Watching him laugh, leaning against him, being with him as a couple, just like Skye with Tiger, Lawrence with Ros. Neil with Abby.
Hell, maybe Matt had hit her harder than she thought, if she was having gushy thoughts. She wasn’t the kind of woman who required a plus-one.
But life was more than requirements. Did she require Ros and the others? Maybe so, for some things. Things that are worth the fight usually live outside the ring.
Abby talked about seeing monsters conjured in her head. Cyn had seen the real thing, and she couldn’t forget.
Because one of them was in her own mirror.
Ten years, and she still carried around the uneasy feeling that nothing meant anything. To a lot of people, life’s impermanence was what gave meaning to the things that mattered. A lot of people were fucked up.
This wasn’t helping. She needed to go. She’d send Matt a message to find out what he wanted.
Too late. Cyn opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d shut as Matt took a seat on the curb next to her. Gingerly. He, too, had an ice pack, which he was holding against his side, under his T-shirt. He’d put on jeans, and they looked almost as good on him as his suits.
“I notice Grizzly didn’t check to see if your ribs were cracked.”