Page 42 of Invisible String
Adrenaline rushes through me while I’m in the zone, my zone, my space. It’s been weeks since I’ve been here in Tahoe without throwing a punch. I missed the straight-up fighting in a ring and hitting the bag. As to why I’m here at a boxing gym in Tahoe. Last night, when Rainey’s mom asked if I would join them for dinner, I honestly wanted to decline. That’s not really my thing. Also, with what money? How would I sit and have dinner and not pay for them? What kind of man would I be? My parents taught me kindness at a young age. Well, I guess my father lost that part of him when she passed.
The face of hope Rainey gave me was one I couldn’t turn from. I found myself wanting to give her any type of happiness I could possibly give her. Then again, I did it seven years ago. A simple yes glinted in her pretty eyes. In order to pay for the dinner that I couldn’t afford, so I wouldn’t look like a completeloser, I pawned my mother’s wedding ring as a loan. I’ll get it back. I just need to make payments.
The guy I’m fighting staggers back when I surprise him with an uppercut. I need to release the pent-up frustration I’m feeling—the need to want her close, but then again, at arm’s length. The truth is, I’m not equipped to feel anything even close to love. What is love?
Rainey looks at me with what seems to be adoration and gentleness in her eyes. Her touch has made me lose the ability to breathe. But my soul couldn’t resist the pull toward her. It is a constant internal battle, and I’m unsure of what I truly want and need. After dinner, when her mom left, I made love to her. My lips painted her whole body, determined to memorize her beauty. The way she felt underneath, inside of me, she’s a dream I’ll soon wake up from.
I groan when my opponent strikes a blow, causing me to lose my balance. I regain it within seconds and corner him in. The bell rings, telling us our rounds are over. We fist bump and step out of the ring.
“You’re a badass,” the dude I fought says after removing his mouthpiece.
“I’ve been at it for a couple of years,” I admit.
This boxing gym has been around for a long time. My dad once trained here in his spare time from work. He never went pro or did any amateur fighting. The owner recognized me because I looked just like Hector Cano.
Unfortunately, I look like my father with my mom’s green eyes.
“His dad was a hell of a fighter, as well. Max here inherited the blood of a fighter,” Rico, the owner, tells the guy I sparred with.
Rico doesn’t know my dad turned into an abusive man. When my mom passed, he isolated himself. He moved us around until I got taken from him.
“I give credit to my trainer, Carlos. He’s a badass fighter with many belts. Carlos taught me everything I know.” That’s the truth. He saved me from losing myself. Carlos became my mentor and a father figure in my life.
Rico nods. “I met Carlos a couple of years ago. He had a big fight at one of the casinos in Vegas,” he recalls. “Carlos won the title.”
“He did. I was there. I was his cornerman,” I tell him while shoving my gear into my bag.
“How’s your pops doing?”
I came here to ask if I could borrow his gym to get some hits to relieve my spiked blood pressure because of a certain woman. Not to be questioned about my life.
“He’s doing great. Living the best life, a bottle at a time.”
Rico furrows his brows. “Damn. How were things after?—”
“Shitty,” I say. “I lived my life in the system.” Another truth. I’m only telling him this because I won’t allow him to give my father any credit formebeing a badass fighter. I am not trying to be conceited, but I’ll give the credit where it’s needed. Not to a man who used his fists to beat his son.
Rico idles, his eyes wild. “You… Fuck, Max. I’m sorry. If I had known, I would have had you live with us. I’ve known you since you were a small boy.” He swallows hard, guilt on his hard, stern face.
“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know. No one knew.”
“I tried calling your dad when your mom passed, but he never answered. I should’ve sought him out—and you too—just to see how things were going. Maybe then, he would’ve gotten the help he needed, and you could’ve lived with me. But I messed up, Max.”
This isn’t his fault. It’s Dad’s. He turned his back on me when I needed him most and blamed me for her death.
“Don’t sweat it, man. It’s all good.” I pat him on the shoulder. “I appreciate you letting me use your gym.”
“Anytime, Max. How long are you hanging around here, or are you staying?”
“Only a couple of weeks, probably until the end of July.”
His thumb runs down his chin. “I can give you a key to the place. Feel free to use it whenever you’d like.” He brings me in for a bro hug. “It’s good seeing you, Max. I’m sorry for all you’ve gone through. I truly am. You’re a good kid.”
“Thanks, Rico. I’ll come in when it’s open; there is no need for a key.” I look at the guy I sparred with. “Good fight, man. You’re a good boxer, so keep at it. I’m always up for a challenge, and you gave me just that.”
He gloats, his chest puffed out.
“And Max, let me know when your next fight is. I’ll drive down to see you.”
