“It’s more than just the fight, Rafe. It’s everything. You’re in self-destruction mode, and I don’t want any part of it.”

“Shelby,” I say, and it comes out as a warning. If I ordered her to stop talking and tie me up like she did last night, would she obey?

“We need space, Rafe. I need time to think, and you just need to figure out what you want.”

“I want you,” I say, and even I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I mean of course I want her, but these are baseless words. I’m basically begging her to trust me to change, but we both know I’m not really going to. I will refuse help, resort to violence, and beg for forgiveness again and again.

“Then show me,” she cries, finally looking up at me, tears falling across her cheeks.

I have nothing left to say as she turns and walks out of my apartment. The emotion is heavy on my chest, and I know it would be easy to play the poor me card and even as I reach for my gym bag, I stop. I can’t punch my way out of this.

Shelby

Ezra is still in the shower when I get back to my apartment, and thank god for that. Because I can’t seem to stop crying. So I walk out to the patio, praying that Rafe doesn’t do the same thing. Living next door to each other and avoiding each other should be interesting, but we need this. I knew after watching him get in the ring with my brother that things with him would never be healthy. I could love him as hard as possible, and it wouldn’t be enough to fix what was broken. That part was up to him.

He had trauma to work through, trauma that festered for decades. I just prayed he would because the thought of him going back to the way things were, alone and angry, made my heart hurt. I meant what I said...we need a break, but if Rafe can’t do what needs to be done, then it will be forever, and these are the thoughts that keep the tears falling.

I realized as him and I had sex on the couch last night, him giving me the control that I loved him, and perhaps I always had. And I told myself that him letting me tie him up was a good sign, if only I had done it for the right reasons.

I did it to hurt him. And that broke me.

So he’s not the only one who needs to make some changes.

When I hear the bedroom door open, I turn and see Ezra coming out in some fresh clothes that he leaves in my apartment in case he sleeps over. I brace myself for this conversation because I suspect it will be even harder than the last one.

His face is still so sadly blank. Even as I walk inside and hand him a glass of water, he holds no emotion. It’s probably not going to stay that way.