Garnet Flats (The Edens)

“W-what?” I shook my head. “You threw a fight? When? Which fight?”

I’d gone to every one of his fights and he’d lost twice. Both times, it had been by decision and so close a call it could have gone either way. Foster had taken a beating but delivered the same. He hadn’t held back. No one could have watched either fight and said he’d let the other guy win.

Foster gave everything he had when he was in the ring. Always.

“It wasn’t a fight you watched. About six months before we, um . . .” He swallowed hard.

“Before we broke up.”

“Yeah. One of the guys at the gym approached me about an underground fight.” Foster cringed at the admission.

“No.” Oh my God, no. “You didn’t.”

Even as someone who hadn’t been rooted in the fighting world, I knew that underground fights were nothing but trouble. It hadn’t happened often, but every now and then, I’d heard a whisper at Arlo’s gym about an underground fighting ring. Mostly the chatter had happened after a fighter had been badly hurt.

I’d asked Vivienne about it once. She’d told me those fights were dangerous, but the guys did them for the money.

Not only was it illegal—if caught, the participants could be arrested for assault—but they risked their standing with the UFC. For Foster to have done this, he’d put his career in jeopardy. And his life. The rules in illegal fights were . . . flexible.

Vivienne had told me that one of the guys in the gym had gone to an underground fight and his opponent had done an eye gouge. The man had lost his eye.

“I’m not proud.” His voice was hoarse, rough from the scrape of brutal honesty. “It was, without a doubt, the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Foster wore a stoic expression most of the time. He faced the world with his shoulders squared and his guard at the ready. But when he dropped his hands, when he gave you his vulnerabilities, you were in. All the way in.

“You did it for the money,” I said.

“I did it for the money.”

“Because you thought I needed it?” I flew off the couch, rage brewing in my chest. All that pain, all the tears and anguish, because he’d thought I’d needed money? “Stand up. I need to punch you again.”

Foster obeyed immediately.

“That is insulting,” I spat. But when I met his gaze, clouded with humiliation, my anger fizzled.

He would let me punch him, over and over and over again. But it wouldn’t make me feel better. It wouldn’t fill the hole in my heart.

“I needed you. Not money.”

“Took me losing you to figure that out.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to cry. Not tonight. “How did Arlo get involved?”

“Arlo had always been involved.” Foster sighed, sinking back into his seat. He waited to continue until I was seated too, my hands tucked beneath my knees to keep them from fidgeting. “The first fight I agreed to was small. Not a huge payout, a thousand bucks, but more than I’d make at the gym working all day. And a decent supplement to what I was winning with the UFC fights they were giving me at the time.”

He’d been a new and upcoming talent, but he’d needed fighting experience for the UFC to give him higher-paying matches. He’d been putting in his time with the league, and to pay his bills, Foster had worked as an instructor at Angel’s. Those days, Foster had been in one of two places. At the gym, or with me.

Except that wasn’t really true, was it? Because he’d also been sneaking off to these illegal fights.

Cockfighting. That’s what Vivienne had called it.

“The second fight was bigger,” he said. “Better payout. I figured I’d do it, maybe two more, and walk away. The fight was at this warehouse and they’d set up a makeshift locker room. I was sitting on a table, waiting for my turn and taping my hands, when the door opened. And in walked Arlo. I thought he’d heard about it and was coming to bust my ass, haul me out of there. But he just smiled. Said it was about time I decided to make some cash.”

“What?” I blinked. “He knew.”

Arlo had always seemed so righteous. So rule abiding. He’d rail at fighters when they took cheap shots during sparring matches. And when I’d asked Vivienne about those underground fights, she’d told me her father hated them.

He’d been a kind guy, a beast of a man, with a belly laugh. How many, including me, had he deceived with his easy smile?

“Oh, Arlo knew.” Foster scoffed. “He was very experienced in that world. Knew all the organizers. Knew the fighters. Knew how to place his bets and walk away with a pile of cash.”

“But, the gym? If he got caught—”

“He would have been cut out from the league. So would all of his fighters. That’s why he never invited any of us to the underground fights. We found our way there without him. And once we entered that world, we weren’t allowed at Angel’s. He didn’t want to risk having a fighter get busted and leak it back to the gym. Hell, none of the guys from the gym ever knew he was involved or making money off them. Arlo would stay hidden in the wings, watching and betting. The next time that fighter showed up at Angel’s, Arlo would ban them.”

“But not you.”

“I was the exception.”

“Why?”

Foster shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because we were close. Maybe because he believed I’d eventually make it to the top of the UFC. The underground fights made money, but nothing like my contract now.”

Millions. He had to be making millions from his fights and sponsorship deals.

“And Arlo wanted a piece of it,” I said.

Foster nodded. “He wanted that glory. To call himself Foster Madden’s mentor.”

“Not just a mentor. You married his daughter.”

“Divorced his daughter.”

“When?”

“When did Vivienne and I get divorced?” He waited for my nod. “Exactly three weeks after Arlo died.”

Which meant they’d had to have filed for divorce right after Arlo’s death. Apparently in the past seven years, their marriage had crumbled. How much of a role had Vivienne played in this scheme?

“So Arlo was blackmailing you this whole time?” I asked.

“He never let me forget my mistake. The day that motherfucker died, I celebrated with cake and my favorite vodka.”

“What about the fight? The one you threw?”

Foster dragged a hand over his beard. “It’s the only fight I’ve intentionally lost. Seven years and not a day goes by I don’t feel sick over it.”

For fifty thousand dollars. It wasn’t a small amount but it seemed a low price for his morals.

“If I had just waited—” He shook his head. “If I had just stayed on the path, I would have made that in spades. But damn it, I was young and Arlo pitched it at exactly the right time. You were starting to plan your move, and he planted these seeds of doubt. How hard it would be to be apart. How you’d make new friends. Meet other men. How many plane tickets a decent payout would buy to visit you in Seattle.”

I’d feared most of the same, leaving Foster behind, worrying that too much distance would create a rift between us. Worrying that we’d grow apart.

“Please don’t take that as me putting any of the blame on you going to school,” he said. “Arlo played on my greatest weakness.”

Me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“Like I said. I’m not proud.”

He’d kept these fights a secret. For six months. Nearly half the time we’d been together.

I closed my eyes, letting it all sink in. Replaying moments in a new light. “There were nights when you’d come to my place after the gym with cuts. That one time your ribs were all bruised. You told me it was from sparring. But it wasn’t, was it?”

“No.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry.”

So many apologies. They were getting heavy.

“I’d been picking up underground fights about once a month,” Foster said. “Making a grand, maybe two, on each. You’d just brought boxes to the apartment to start packing. That’s when Arlo approached me. He said there was a bigger payday. Fifty grand for a single fight. That was over three times as much as I could make in my tier with the UFC. Add that to what I’d already made, it would have been the last one. But for me to get that fifty, it wasn’t with a win. The organizer of the fight was bringing a contender and if I won—”

“The organizer would lose more than if he paid you fifty on the side.”

“Yeah. So I fought the bastard hard. I gave it all I had until the last round when I feigned fatigue and let him pummel me against the ropes. Then took a hook to the temple and woke up to a nightmare.”

I gulped, a shiver rolling down my spine at the idea of him getting knocked out. “And where was I during this?”

“With Vivienne. I knew I wouldn’t be able to face you afterward, so I asked her to plan a girls’ night.”

I remembered that girls’ night. He’d been invited to a bachelor party and knew it would be late, so he’d crash at his place afterward. Another lie. But I’d believed him. I hadn’t feared he’d cheat. I hadn’t thrown a fit that he’d be going to a strip club. I’d trusted him entirely, enough to believe that he’d actually been out with friends.

Instead, he’d been dealing with a concussion.

My pulse raced, my stomach twisting into a knot. It was hard to hear the truth. To know I’d been naive in my trust. To realize I’d been duped. I stood from the couch, unable to keep still when I felt like crying or screaming or crawling out of my own skin.

“Why would Arlo need to blackmail you?” I asked. “You threw his fight. Was he trying to get more money?”

“He was trying to get me to stay. After that fight, I told him I was done. With all of it. Even the UFC. I felt so dirty and cheap, I didn’t want to fight again. So I told Arlo I was quitting and moving to Seattle.”

“You were going to move with me?”

“Well, yeah.” He spoke like he was stating the obvious. “I told you we’d figure it out. I wasn’t sure of the timing, but I was always coming to Seattle. Did you really think I’d be able to stay away from you that long?”

Yes. No. Maybe. “It was a topic we both avoided too often.”

“I didn’t like talking about us being apart.” He sighed, rubbing his beard again. Was that his nervous habit now? Or just something he did while he was thinking of what to say? “Arlo didn’t want me to leave. For the obvious reason.”

“Money.”

“For every penny I made, he took a cut. That fight I threw? He didn’t make a cent that night. Because the whole point was for him to trap me. From that point on, every time I got paid, he’d have his hand out. Sponsorships and endorsements, I’d give him a cut. Whatever he wanted, he took because he had the information to tank my career.”

“You had information on him too, though.”

“That he bet at the fights? Yeah. I could have fucked him over. But people don’t talk about those fights for a reason. That’s a good way to get beaten to death.”

I flinched. “They would have killed you?”

“Worse. They might have come after you. Arlo knew you were important. When I told him I was out, he didn’t argue. He just calmly told me to reconsider. He talked about how dangerous it could be in Seattle for a woman. How there was never any guarantee people were safe.”

“He threatened me?” That son of a bitch.

“I don’t know what he would have done but I wasn’t taking that risk. Not where you were concerned. So I stayed. I played Arlo’s game.”

“Until he died.”

“Until he died,” he repeated.

“What about the other fighters? Aren’t you worried someone will come forward? Take Arlo’s place and blackmail you for money?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Like I said, people stay tight-lipped. Most fighters are tied up with families you don’t betray. And I didn’t use my real name. I was only a part of it for a short time. Just a handful of fights. That fight I threw was my last. There are no pictures. No cameras allowed. If someone was going to blackmail me besides Arlo, they would have come forward by now.”

Foster sounded so sure. Maybe my doubts were because I’d just learned all of this, but it seemed like the type of skeleton that never left your closet.

“I’m sorry, Tally.” He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. With a regret so deep it was like staring into a black hole. “I’m so fucking sorry. I made the wrong choice. If I could go back, do it all differently, I would. Please know that.”

More brutal honesty. My heart felt like it had been turned inside out, then outside in. My head was a scrambled mess. I walked to the window, staring out into the dark night. What to feel? What to think? “You should have told me the truth.”

“I didn’t want you mixed up in it.”

“Don’t.” I whirled away from the glass. “Don’t you fucking dare. Did you really think so little of my ability to handle the truth? What if someone had come after me in Seattle? I would have had no idea. You made me a part of that blackmail and left me in the dark. You were a coward. Do not say you were protecting me.”

Foster shot off the couch. “You really think I wanted you mixed up with that trash? Of course I was protecting you from it, Talia. I would protect you from anything that could cause you pain.”

“Except yourself.”

He recoiled, his body tensing like I’d slapped him.

“Fuck.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“You’re right. The only person who ended up hurting you was me. But I was scared. When I say it was dangerous, I’m not downplaying that. These aren’t men who obey society’s rules. If you cross them, they take their revenge to the extreme. You think I would have been able to live with myself if someone had come after you? Hit you? Raped—” He shook his head. “I can’t even think about that.”

I shuddered, not wanting to think about it either. “And Vivienne? Was she safe because she was Arlo’s daughter?”

Foster scoffed. “She didn’t even realize she’d been swimming with sharks her entire life.”

“Is that why you married her? Because of Arlo?”

He hung his head, giving me a barely there nod. “Yeah.”

“And Vivienne went along with it?”

Had she always loved him in secret? Had she just been waiting for us to break up before making her move? Had she even been my friend? Or had it always been about Foster?

While Foster had broken my heart, having my best friend stomp on the shattered pieces had turned it into dust. Her betrayal was something I’d never forget.

And she’d won. I hated her for winning. For being able to call herself his wife.

Foster raked a hand through his hair. “She . . . it’s complicated.”

I was really starting to hate that phrase, even though I’d been the one to use it first.

“Arlo wanted us together,” he said. “The marriage was his idea.”

“Oh, and I’m sure she put up a fight,” I deadpanned. Vivienne would have gone along with it because she’d gotten Foster. Maybe she’d been after the money too.

“She didn’t want our marriage either.”

“Right.” I scoffed. “And I’m sure she put up a hell of a fight on the way to the altar.”

“She feels awful about what happened.”

Vivienne felt so awful that she’d married him anyway. She’d slept with him anyway. She’d worn his ring anyway. She’d taken his name anyway. Yeah, she must feel awful.

Why was he defending her? Why was he so loyal to her? Didn’t most people break ties with their ex?

Did they talk about me during their phone calls? Had he told her how I’d fucked him at the gym on Saturday?

My frame tensed, my hands fisting. My feelings for Foster were a jumbled mess, but when it came to Vivienne, one emotion rang clear.

Fury.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“There’s more to talk—”

“Good night.” With that, I walked through the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom.

And left Foster to show himself out.