Tough Enough

“He’s gone. Long gone.” Before she can ask more questions or fumble through platitudes, I slap my hands together. “All done,” I tell her, setting the full salad bowls aside and pouring each of us a glass of red wine. I come around the bar and push one stem into Katie’s fingers as I take the platter of seasoned meat. “Come on. Let’s go grill.”

Each day that has passed this week has brought on a new sense of urgency to enjoy every second that I can with Katie. Things in Enchantment are different. This place seems separated from reality, like the real world is on a parallel plane. Real, but not here. Somewhere else. Somewhere that can’t touch us, can’t touch what we have together. I feel like once I leave here, I can never come back. Like I will have lost Katie and whatever this is between us.

We live such different lives normally. That they intersected at all is a miracle, so what could be next? I don’t know if Katie could survive in my regular life.

That’s how I’ve come to identify my existence. Before, during and after. Past, present, future. The life I’ve led up until Enchantment, the life I lead here, and the life I’ll continue to lead once I leave it. Is there a way to take the now with me? To make it a part of tomorrow? Or is it impossible for the two to ever peacefully coexist?

My phone bleeps with an incoming text. I glance at Katie, sitting on one of the poolside chairs with her feet tucked up under her. There’s a serene look on her face. I love seeing it there.

She smiles at me as she sips her wine. I hold her gaze for a few seconds before she turns her attention to the waterfall that cascades down a rocky landscape before splashing delicately into the pool. I wonder what she’s thinking. I wonder if she wonders what I’m thinking. Or if she knows.

I check my phone when it makes a second alert. It’s my agent, reminding me of the arrangements his assistant made for my flight back to New York. I have a fight in three days. It was postponed until taping for this show was complete. Both for filming and aesthetic purposes, obviously. I knew it was coming, but in a way it almost feels like it signals the end.

But I don’t want this to end.

I turn the grill flame to low and close the lid to allow the steaks to finish up. I walk to Katie and squat down in front of her, taking her free hand in mine.

“Thursday is my last day of taping.” The statement hangs in the air. Like a cloud of inevitability.

Katie nods once, her face expressionless as she eyes me.

I figured she knew. She gets set notes, too.

“I’ve got a fight on Sunday. Kurt and I will be flying out Thursday night. The match is in New York. Come with me.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes search mine. I don’t know what she’s looking for, what she’s thinking, and she doesn’t say anything that might clue me in.

“New York is . . .” She trails off. Even if I couldn’t sense the hesitation in her words, I could detect it in her body language. She’s shrinking away from me. It’s almost imperceptible, but I can see her pressing her back into the cushion.

I’m as honest as I can be. It’s the only way I know to fight her hang-ups. “I’m not ready for this to be over yet. I want you with me.”

Just as I nearly missed her pulling away, I could’ve missed her relaxing back toward me if I hadn’t been paying attention. But I was. When it comes to Katie, I’m always paying attention.

“And then what? I’d have to be back here to work on Monday.”

“I know. I’ll make sure you’re here.”

I can see the indecision in her eyes, but I can also see that she, too, is eager to prolong our . . . whatever this is.

Finally, she nods her agreement. “Okay. I’ll come.”

I smile and lean forward to kiss her. When she weaves her fingers into my hair and slides her tongue along mine, I consider abandoning supper in favor of hauling her tasty little ass off to my bedroom. But then she pulls away, breathless.

“I’ll never get used to that,” she states, winded.

I wink at her. “I don’t want you to.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Katie

Thursday

I wake conflicted. Part of me is ecstatic to be going to New York with Rogan. It feels like we haven’t had enough time together, like this is coming to an end too soon. I’m glad he feels that way, too. And I’m glad I could get the time off to go with him.

Right now, I refuse to even think about what comes after Sunday. It makes my chest tight just to consider it. If I weren’t such a coward, I’d probably admit to myself that I’ve fallen in love with him, fallen in love with a man who lives life in a way that scares the crap out of me. He never backs down. He seizes every day. He lives life to the fullest. He’s everything I’m not. But he makes me want to be more, makes me want to do more, risk more.

Another part of me, however, is terrified to return to New York. I haven’t been back there since Calvin. Since my parents died, since my life was burned away. My last memories of the city are of painful months in the hospital, recovering, and equally painful months afterward, trying to pick up the pieces of a life that had been reduced to ash.

But I’m going.

For Rogan.

For Rogan, I’m jumping into the fray when I’ve spent the last five years avoiding it. For Rogan, I’m going public with my relationship to a star when I’ve purposely perfected the art of hiding in plain sight. For Rogan, I’m attending a brutal fight when I still have nightmares of what it feels like to be pummeled with angry fists.

If I’m ever going to learn to fight to live, not just to survive, it has to start here. I don’t know why, but instinctively I’m absolutely certain that this is crucial. That he is crucial.

Rogan.

Each morning, I’ve awakened to the feel of his body pressed to mine. Each morning, he’s been waiting for me when I get to work. Each morning, he’s watched me as I put on his makeup.

After that, the hours of each day have marched on like a thousand soldiers with feet of lead. Until he comes for me and we fall into a world consisting only of us. The world where there are no scars, no boundaries, no past and no people. There’s just Rogan and me and the fire that burns between us.

And today is the very last day of it all.

Thursday.

Normally this day of the week is of no consequence to me. The only difference is that it’s near the end of the week when I won’t have to work for two days and I get to watch The Walking Dead in thirty-six more hours. Those are the landmarks of my life.

But this Thursday is different. This Thursday marks the last day I’ll put makeup on Rogan, the last Thursday I’ll wake up in his arms, the last Thursday that I feel a million other things that I don’t want to examine too closely—love; acceptance; to be wanted, cherished, protected.

So it’s with a reverence that I will go about every moment of my short-lived new routine. The next time Thursday rolls around, it won’t feel like this. And Rogan will be gone.

“Wha’cha thinkin’ about?” Rogan asks, curling around me like a hot octopus and pressing his lips to the curve of my neck. “New York?”

He thinks I’m excited. Or nervous. Both of which are true. And I’ll let him think that’s all that I’m feeling.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Don’t be nervous. Kurt will be there, too. With his calming influence.” His derisive snort makes me smile. A watery smile, but still . . .

I feel him start to roll out of bed to go and tend to his brother, as he’s done every morning. Only this time I reach for him.