Charles wanted to believe his son. Wanted to believe it could be as easy as Craig made it sound. Walk away, forget the girl, get back in line and he'd never hear the name Merlina Sanchez again.
But Charles Lesnar was no fool, he had been around too long to buy into fairy tales.
He had seen the pictures from Paris. The way Craig held her tight, possessive, not like someone passing time but someone staking a claim.
He'd watched the press conference, heard the rawness in his son's voice when he said her name, as if the cameras weren't even there.
He'd seen the videos from campus, glances too charged. And above all, he had seen the desperation in Craig's eyes, when he showed up here, unprepared, the same day that girl got expelled.
He's seen the desperation in his eyes, this very moment when he said he was going to walk away. It was all born from panic, frenzy and blind determination.
It was obvious that this wasn't some fleeting infatuation, and that was the problem.
