Garnet Flats (The Edens)
Garnet Flats: Part 2 – Chapter 4

Sweat dripped down my face as I hauled the last ceiling tile outside the gym, tossing it into the dumpster I’d rented last week. The cold air was a welcome break from the heat inside.

Every muscle in my body was on fire. Jasper wouldn’t have to worry about me missing training sessions or cardio. Renovating this building was some of the hardest physical work I’d done in years.

I took a moment to cool down, my body steaming as my chest heaved. But long breaks weren’t an option, so I headed back, surveying my progress. Luckily, this cleanup had only required energy. I hadn’t run into any major structural issues that would require construction.

In the past week, the gym had become, well . . . a gym. Or the makings of one.

The cement floors hadn’t been in bad shape after I’d spent hours on my hands and knees, scrubbing away the dust and grime. Whoever had owned this place before me had put mats down with some sort of tape. Idiot. Getting the adhesive off had taken hours.

The drop ceiling had made the space feel cramped, probably part of why that dumbass previous owner hadn’t been able to keep members, so I’d ripped out the tiles and the hanging grid. Now it had an industrial vibe, with the air ducts exposed. The electrical wires I’d hide with some coverings I’d bought yesterday. Then I’d start on paint. Two five-gallon buckets were in a corner next to my ladder, rollers and brushes.

Most of the tools I’d bought had been from the Quincy hardware store. If I was going to live here, I wanted to support the local businesses. But there were some specialty items that they didn’t keep in stock, so in addition to busting my ass here, I’d spent a glut of hours behind the wheel of my truck, driving to Missoula to hit up Home Depot.

The four-hour round trip didn’t exactly fit in my timeline, but I hadn’t had much choice. So I’d hit the road by five in the morning, and when their doors had opened at seven, I’d been their first customer.

The added time in my truck hadn’t been all bad. The drive had given me time to think. So had my long hours working here.

It had been a week since I’d gone to Talia’s house with Mexican food and wine. A week since she’d yelled and slammed the door in my face.

A week since I’d seen just how much pain I’d caused her.

I didn’t want to back off, it wasn’t my style, but she needed time. So I’d given her time.

Christmas had come and gone. It had been a damn lonely day, so instead of dwelling on my current situation, I’d spent my holiday finishing the apartment. Making it a home.

I’d stripped the carpet from the bedroom and living area. Then I’d scoured the cement subfloor. I’d had to use a razor to scrape up all of the glue. My first trip to Missoula had been for stain-blocking primer and laminate flooring. After the bare space had been prepped, I’d hauled in the furniture. Alone.

My palms had blisters from the paint roller. My neck had a permanent kink from working on the ceilings. My lower back was screaming at me from too many hours on my hands and knees.

This project was part of my penance.

For Talia, I’d bear every ache and pain.

It didn’t help my body that I’d been sleeping on my new couch since leaving the hotel before Christmas. The bedding was still in its packaging. The mattress was wrapped in plastic and the frame needed to be assembled. It was on the list, just closer to the bottom than the top.

The replacement washer and dryer, along with a new fridge, wouldn’t be here until Friday, so until they arrived, I was living out of my suitcase and thriving on takeout. Besides, I’d have to get used to sleeping on the couch. My back would too.

Pain was just another part of my atonement. Everything was at stake. My life. My future.

Talia.

Would she ever hear me out? Would she forgive me when she learned the truth? Or was it too late?

Fear had been keeping me up at night. Pushing me to keep going. Fear that I’d lost her seven years ago and there was no winning her back.

Seven years was a long time.

What if we’d changed too much?

That familiar panic crept into my mind, making my insides churn. I clenched my fists and shoved the worry aside. I wasn’t going to lose her. Not again. I wouldn’t lose, period.

I was Foster Madden, the Iron Fist, middleweight champion of the world.

That title, something I’d worked for my entire life, was a motherfucking joke. I’d give it up in a heartbeat to go back in time. To make better decisions.

Except I couldn’t quit. Not yet. This fight in March was the last on my contract with the UFC. My agent was in talks to get me another two-fight contract but should that even be my next move?

A lot depended on this move to Montana.

Besides, my body paid the bills. I’d throw a few more punches and kicks to make sure that when it did come time to retire, I’d be financially secure.

I strode into the apartment, heading for the sink in the kitchen to wash my hands. Once they were dry, I reached into the camping cooler I’d bought last week and fished out a sports drink, gulping until the bottle was empty.

Then, like I had in the gym, I surveyed the mostly empty space. Across from the couch was a TV on a stand. I hadn’t even bothered plugging it in. The wireless wasn’t set up yet—another item on my list. The coffee table was cluttered with more empty drink bottles and protein bar wrappers.

If I didn’t get this kitchen set up soon so I could cook myself some decent meals, and if I kept working this hard, I’d cut too much weight before March. Whatever. I’d worry about the scale another day.

I took out another bottle of Gatorade and a chocolate chip granola bar from a grocery stack, then walked out to the gym, heat blasting me in a wave. The drafty window had been sealed, but the furnace seemed to be chugging as hard as ever. Maybe it was just me, my body producing this heat, but I went to the thermostat and turned it down five degrees. Again.

The damn thing was probably broken. Another item to be fixed. Another day.

I shoved almost the entire granola bar in my mouth, chewing as I pointed at that ugly orange wall. “You and me. Today, we’re gonna dance.”

I ate the rest of my bar, wadding up the wrapper and shoving it in an open trash bag, then I set my drink on the floor and went for the paint.

Cloud gray wasn’t exactly original for a wall color but it would brighten up the space from the current shade and be easy to keep clean. At some point, maybe I’d hang up photos and the American flag. I’d buy some racks for equipment storage. But my championship belts would be staying in a box.

When it came to a gym, there weren’t a lot of options for style. Boxing rings and exercise equipment all looked the same. Heavy bags and mats only came in so many colors. But I’d do my best to differentiate this space from Angel’s in Vegas. Starting with the trophy wall. That, I’d do without.

Maybe if I’d been less concerned with those trophies, with the money they represented, I wouldn’t have gotten so fucking greedy.

Why hadn’t I just stayed poor? At least without the money, I would have been my own man.

Guilt had been tormenting me for seven damn years and its claws were as sharp as ever.

I’d just picked up a gallon of Kilz, ready to prime the orange wall, when the door opened at my back. There was only one person who knew about me and this gym, so I spun around, my heart leaping.

Except it wasn’t Talia walking through the door. It was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair.

“Can I help you?” I asked, setting the paint down and crossing the room.

He nodded. “You can sell me this building and leave Quincy.”

Huh? “Say that again?” Too few calories, too much exercise and too little sleep. I had to have heard that wrong.

“You can help me by getting the hell out of my town.”

Damn. Guess I had heard him right. I took a step forward, ready to toss this guy out on his ass, but then I locked my eyes with his brilliant blue ones.

Talia’s blue.

We’d never met in person but I’d seen photos of her father. It took me a moment to match old pictures to the man standing before me.

“Harrison Eden.” I closed the distance between us and extended a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, sir.”

He stared at my hand, eyebrows arched. Talia must have learned that look from her father.

I dropped my hand to my side. “Appreciate you stopping by today. Appreciate you standing up for Talia. But I’m not leaving Quincy.”

Harrison’s jaw ticked. “Even if my daughter doesn’t want you here?”

“Talia and I have a lot to talk about.”

“Like how you broke her heart? I was there. After. I went down to Vegas to help her move. You crushed her. She’s not the type who will forget.”

“No, she isn’t. But I’ve loved her since I was twenty-three years old.” There was no point in mincing words. I was moving my entire life to Montana for Talia, and her dad might as well know why.

“Love?” He scoffed. “You had a funny way of showing it. Where I come from, what you did to her wasn’t love.”

“No offense, Harrison, but you don’t know a damn thing about me or the past.”

“Then enlighten me.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. He was older but the man was built.

“Talia hears it first. If she decides to share, that’s her choice. Until then, you’re going to have to deal with me in your town.”

“She has a good life here. You’ll ruin it.”

“A good life? She’s alone.” Two nights in a row I’d gone to her place and found her alone. No husband. No fiancé. No boyfriend.

“She has her family.”

I shook my head. “That’s not the same.”

Having parents, brothers, sisters was not the same as having a partner in life. A confidant. A friend. My biggest regret was that the person who’d been my partner for so long was Vivienne. It should have been Talia.

“Talia has a demanding career,” Harrison said. “She’ll settle down when she’s ready.”

Excuses. We both knew he was making excuses.

“I know I hurt her.” I held up my hands, then stole Talia’s words from last week. “Sorry isn’t enough. But I’ll say it. Over and over and over. Until she knows I mean it.”

Harrison studied my face, like he was searching for a lie. But I’d lied enough for two lifetimes. All he’d find here were truths.

Without another word, he turned and walked out the door.

I waited until his car door slammed and the sound of his engine disappeared before striding into the apartment and sweeping up my keys from the counter.

The orange wall would have to wait.

Harrison’s visit had been to run me out of town. But Talia must not have told him about my stubborn streak.

I’d given her a week. Time was up.

The drive into town took ten minutes. Other than Harrison’s taillights in the distance, I didn’t see another vehicle. Another reason the gym had probably failed. It was too far off the beaten path.

I’d spent my adult life in gyms and fitness centers. The best were those that you couldn’t ignore. The ones you drove past daily on your way to buy a high-calorie latte or McDonald’s meal deal.

The road followed the curve of the Clark Fork River. The sun was shining overhead, glinting off the water and the snow-covered banks on each side. My commute to Quincy was a hell of a lot more scenic than being stuck in Vegas traffic.

Harrison reached the stop sign ahead and took a right at the intersection, heading down Main Street. I turned left, falling into a short line of cars that were all going to the opposite end of town.

Toward the hospital.

I parked in the visitors’ lot. Talia’s Jeep sat in a section reserved for staff. She’d had a similar model Jeep in Vegas, one I hadn’t been surprised to see drive up the other night when I’d been waiting at her house.

Maybe we hadn’t changed that much after all.

I hurried inside, checking the time on the clock above the receptionist’s counter. “Hi.”

“H-hi.” The young woman did a double take, her face flushing as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

I was a hot mess at the moment, but I wasn’t too proud to use the way this T-shirt clung to my chest and arms if that would earn me Talia’s whereabouts. “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a doctor. Talia Eden? She’s an old friend and I was just passing through town, so I wanted to surprise her and say hello.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” She sat a little straighter in her chair. “I saw her come through just a few minutes ago. I think she was heading to the cafeteria for lunch.”

“You’re a sweetheart.” I pointed toward the hallway. “This way?”

“Straight down the hallway and it will be on your left. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” I winked, then strode from the desk, brushing off the front of my shirt. Then I lifted an arm, taking a whiff of my armpit. “Ah, damn.”

Should have showered first. I hadn’t thought about impressing a woman in, well . . . years.

The sound of forks and chatter greeted me as I stepped into the cafeteria. To my left was an open kitchen with a grill and fryer. Beneath a heat lamp, there were a handful of paper boats filled with chicken tenders and steak fries. To my right loomed a soda machine and racks of chips. Behind the glass door of a cooler were a variety of premade sandwiches, yogurts and fruit cups.

“I’ll take one of those,” I told the cook in the kitchen, nodding to the chicken tenders.

“Ranch or ketchup?”

“Ketchup.” Talia had always been partial to ranch. “Thanks.”

I took my food, snagging a bottle of water from a drink fridge, then went to the clerk at the register. His head was covered in a blue hair net nearly the same shade as his scrubs. I dug out my wallet from a pocket, paid for my meal, then passed him for the tables in the small, adjacent dining area.

Talia was sitting alone at a table. She was in her blue scrubs with a white lab coat over the top. In one hand, she held a fry. In the other, a chicken tender.

I chuckled. Never in my life had I met a woman who ate like Talia. She inhaled her food. She chewed with fury and didn’t spend her meals chatting. When she sat down at her plate, it was to consume. Fast.

There were two chairs at her table, so I claimed the empty seat, popping open the top to the plastic cup with my ketchup inside.

Talia’s eyes widened. Her mouth stopped moving. She sat straighter, chewing a few more times before she swallowed. Then she dropped the fry and chicken strip into her own paper boat. “This has to stop.”

“It will. After you listen to me.” I dunked one of my own fries in ketchup, shoving it into my mouth.

“This is my place of work. I’m not talking to you here.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to let me inside tonight when I come over with dinner.”

Her nostrils flared and she splayed her hands on the table. “No.”

“Six o’clock?”

“Foster.”

God, I loved hearing her say my name. Even when she was pissed. “Actually, we’d better make it six thirty. I’ve got some painting to do. Might take me the rest of the afternoon.”

“I remember your hearing used to be a lot better.”

I smirked and ate another fry. “Still like pizza?”

“Grr.” She snarled and shoved to her feet so hard that the chair behind her nearly toppled over. Talia caught it, then swept up her food. “You stubborn ass. If you show up at my door, plan to freeze because I’m not letting you inside.”

“Then come to the gym.”

“Why?” Her voice was too loud. She realized it and glanced around, grimacing a bit when a table of nurses gave her a strange look. “Why do you want to talk so badly? Nothing you can say will change the past.”

“I can’t change it. But I’d like to explain.”

“Then what? Let’s say I come to dinner. Then what?”

“Then . . . if you still want me to leave Quincy, I’ll leave.”

Talia studied my face for a few long moments, a lot like how her father had earlier. Assessing. Dissecting. Searching for the lie. “You’ll leave if I ask you to leave.”

“I will leave.” If after we talked, if me living in Quincy would cause her too much pain, then I’d go.

Moving again wasn’t the plan. But I’d figure it out. After tonight, if I truly felt like we were over and there was no chance, I’d walk away.

“Fine. Six thirty.” She spun, her ponytail whipping through the air.

I popped another fry in my mouth.

And grinned at the beautiful woman storming out of the cafeteria.

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