Page 77 of Love Me

I work my way over to him, prepared to get stretched out before we hop in the ring to go a few rounds. Dallas turns to me, dropping his hands to his sides and giving me a goofy-ass grin that he wears when he’s about to stir some shit.

“About damn time, spunk rag. Thought I was gonna have to beat this bag to death instead of your face.” He jabs it with a firm punch, making it sway.

A laugh breaks through my shitty mood at my idiot brother. Dallas, Carter, and I aren’t as trained as Sawyer—who wanted to fight professionally—but Dallas and I are a good match. I’m bigger than him, but he’s quicker and carries a bit of a darker side that he unleashes in the ring. He and Sawyer have been battling it out this way since they were pre-teens and they both lean on it to work through their shit.

“You haven’t been here in a long-ass time, you’ll be lucky if you can get a hit in on me, dickhead,” I shoot back at him. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t even try to get the spunk rag bullshit to stick, time to pick a new nickname.”

“Not gonna happen. You gonna tell me how it went with Hannah?”

“She freaked and bolted. I’m gonna give her a day and then work toward fixing it. But she’s lost her damn mind if she thinks she’s going to push me away.”

He laughs and I shoot him a glare while stretching out my shoulders. “Something funny?”

“Once a Hayes is all in, he’s all fucking in and there’s no turning back, consequences be damned. If you’re in love withher, make sure she feels it. Hannah hasn’t ever had that before.”

“That’s my plan. I think she’s been so focused on proving to everyone that a man and woman can be platonic friends and just living her life, that she’s missed all the signs. We didn’t even have to change much for people to buy that we’re together. Nothing about what we were doing was fake.”

“She’s had blinders on. Are you prepared for her to not feel the same though?”

Am I? It’s one of a few fears weighing heavily on me, but then I think about how she looks at me when I walk into a room, how she melts into me when I tuck her in close, how easily we slipped into the sexual parts of a relationship. I’m her person. She’s just fighting it because she’s a stubborn ass sometimes.

“Short answer? No. I’m not prepared for that. But I know she could feel the same. She was heading in that direction before my big-ass mouth wrecked everything. Thanks for that, brother.”

“Anytime. You know I’ve got you. You’ll thank me later, I just know it. You ready?”

“Bring it, dickhead.”

After wrapping up my hands and wrists, I pull on my boxing gloves and climb under the ropes to join Dallas. I roll my shoulders to loosen up a little more, the tension and weight of the afternoon creeping down my spine as I get my head to focus. Shaking my hands at my sides, I crack my neck, bouncing on the balls of my feet, bracing myself for what’s to come. Dallas hasn’t fought in a bit, he could either be a sloppy, lazy mess, or need a serious fucking outlet right now and pick it up like no time has passed. Hard to tell if I just got into the ring with Mickey Mouse or Mike Tyson.

Instinctively, we both step forward, touching our gloves inthe center and nodding to each other, the world shut out around us—just me, him, and our fists—and then it’s go time.

We circle each other for a moment, feeling the other person out, but then like a dance we’ve done so many times before, we’re in it. Dallas’ first jab is aimed straight for my face, coming in hard and fast, his signature move that I’m always anticipating. My body reacts on autopilot, stepping out of the way to barely miss the contact. His movements are sharper than I expected, precise, letting me know it’s definitely not fucking Mickey Mouse in here with me right now.

Knowing I need to get the upper hand, I duck his next swing, my left hook ready and connecting with the hard muscle of his side. He stumbles for a split second, but I’ve known him too long and know I just woke up the bear. Dallas falls into a trance, fully in control of each of his movements, blocking several of my punches like he knows exactly what I’m going to do before I do it.

“C’mon, baby brother. This all you got?”

“You’re not as lazy as I thought you’d be. Or weak.”

I throw another left hook, his right hand blocking the punch and pissing me off. Fuck this. We go at it, and I let him think he’s got the upper hand, giving him a false sense of victory, and waiting for him to relax slightly. The pressure builds inside me, ready to unleash this pent-up bullshit festering inside me.

His next punch pulls back before it connects, but I see the move too late, my body reacting to dodge it and instead pushing me into a brutal hit to my ribs that momentarily stuns the piss out of me. My whole body shudders from the force of his blow, my breath whooshing from my lungs. I bite down hard on my mouthguard and hold back the wince that wants to break free.

“Ooo, that one must have hurt, spunk rag! Thought you were better than this. Looks like only one of us is out of practiceand it sure as shit isn’t me,” Dallas continues to taunt, exactly where I wanted him to be.

I don’t reply with words, instead, I push forward, crowding his space and holding him in a clinch before shoving him back hard enough that he staggers, throwing an immediate right uppercut to his chin. The noise reverberates through the small space, his head jerking back slightly before he recovers and cracks his neck side to side, a creepy-as-fuck grin spreading across his face. I don’t waste any more time, my punches raining down on him fast and heavy. Sweat coats our skin as we exchange jabs, uppercuts, and calculated combinations—neither of us ready to stop, fighting longer than we should be.

Our chests are heaving as we finally break apart. I revel in the ache of my muscles and skin, the burn in my arms as calmness and clarity wash over me. My dad put his four stupid-ass sons into these lessons for the majority of our lives for an outlet, but these fights don’t just release the pressure, they settle something within us and give us a way to speak to each other that only the four of us can understand.

Dallas swings his arm around my neck, and I rest my forehead against his. “You better?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Much. I got you. You’re gonna figure this out. You and Han are perfect for each other.”

“Yeah. I’ll make it work. It has to. Love you, dickhead.”

“Love you, spunk rag.”

---