“Seriously?” Cass asks. “That’s great, Xavier! Why didn’t you tell me about this last night?”
“Maybe I did, and you just don’t remember our conversation.” My words are terse, not because I’m mad at her for having a few drinks, but because she doesn’t remember kissing me. How is that possible when I can’t seem to stop thinking about it; how fucking hot it was; how natural it felt when it should’ve been awkward and strange since we’ve never done it before.
“I would’ve remembered our conversation! I wasn’t that drunk,” she huffs, blowing the loose pieces of her hair that fell from her ponytail around her face.
“You were pretty drunk,” I assure her. Unable to help myself, I ask, “Do you remember telling me how good I smell?”
“I did not!” she gasps, her cheeks rosy red, just like I predicted. If she’s that embarrassed about a slip of her tongue, then I wonder what she would think if I told her she slipped me her tongue…
“You did too. Something about my deodorant mixing with my pheromones.”
“Oh my god,” Cass whispers when she covers her face with both hands. “I’m never drinking around you again.”
That’s a shame since I was kind of hoping for more kissing, even though I shouldn’t, especially when she’s not sober. But sober Cass would never admit to wanting me.
“You were pretty funny until you passed out and I had to carry you to bed.”
“Anyway!” she exclaims when she lowers her hands from her face and shakes her head like that makes the topic disappear. “Back to you and fighting. So you’re going to go for it, right?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“What is there to decide?” she exclaims. “You want to give fighting a try, so there’s no reason to keep wasting time. What did your parents say? They’re all for it I bet.”
“I haven’t told them yet,” I reply. “Not until I know for sure. I need time to think…”
“Oh, no, Xavier,” Cass says. “Not this again.”
“Not what again?” I ask.
“You still can’t make your own decisions, can you?”
“I make decisions all the time,” I huff.
“Not major ones. Nope, you always sit back and wait and wait until your options are limited or someone makes the decision for you.”
“What are you talking about, Cass?”
“College. How did you decide on Stanford our senior year?” she questions.
“They offered the best scholarship.”
“Yeah, they did,” she agrees. “And it’s not like your parents didn’t have the money to send you anywhere in the world you wanted to go, but you decided to go to the school that made it the easiest for you.”
“Stanford is tough to get into. I made a great decision,” I argue.
“Sure, it’s one of many great colleges, but it was on the other side of the country.”
“What’s your point here?” I ask.
“Where did you go to law school?” Cass says. “Stanford again because you were already there!”
“I was and I got accepted. It’s a top school,” I point out.
“And then there was Camilla…” she starts.
Blowing out a heavy exhale, I say, “What about her?”
“She picked out her own engagement ring!” Cass yells so loudly that several birds take flight from the trees around us.
“Lots of women pick out their own rings. It’s easier than getting one she would hate.”
Straddling the log to turn and face me, she says, “Xavier, she choose the ring she wanted you to buy her, put it on her finger, and declared that you two were going to get married! You never actually proposed.”
“We…talked about it first and agreed it was what we both wanted,” I say.
“She planned a wedding and told you when and where to show up and what to wear.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I can’t with that last statement. “Okay, so I didn’t want to plan the wedding. It was easier for Camilla to pick out the flowers and shit she liked.”
“What she liked, yes. But what about what you like?” Cass asks me.
“I just wanted to marry her. I didn’t care about the details.”
“Did you want to marry her, or did you just go along with what Camilla wanted?”
“I know you don’t like her, and she was a bitch to you, but she wasn’t all bad.”
“Then why aren’t you two still married?” Cass asks.
“It’s complicated,” I blurt out as I get to my feet, needing an outlet for the anger just thinking about how badly she hurt me.
“You can talk to me, Xavier,” Cass says as I pace through the leaves with both of my fists clenched with the urge to hit something. It’s not a new sensation but one I’ve dealt with my entire life, suppressing the rage deep inside of me that craves physical violence as a way to eliminate the pain.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I reply. “I loved her and meant it when I said I was in our marriage for life.”
“I know you did. I’m so sorry your marriage didn’t work out, Xavier.”
“I feel like the biggest fool for not seeing it sooner,” I tell her. “My head is all fucked up, and I don’t know what to do with all of this-this…”
“This what?” Cass asks.
“Self-doubt. I’ve never been insecure before, you know? Like it’s my fault our marriage fell apart.”
“Xavier, I’m sure it wasn’t you. It was her.”
“What if it was both of us?” I ask.
“I-I honestly don’t know,” she replies. “Have you…talked to her?”
“No,” I answer with a shake of my head. “I haven’t spoken to her in months after I moved my things out.”
“Where have you been staying?”
“At the gym on a cot.”
“You’re too big for a cot,” she says.
“No shit,” I grumble. “But I just couldn’t go back to our apartment and didn’t know where else to go. A hotel room for more than a few nights would’ve been outrageous.”
“Yeah,” Cass agrees. “At least now you can move back home to train. You can
