Page 24 of The Love You Fight For
Then, I rest my forehead on my steering wheel and breathe. Ireplay Lennon’s voice readingPersuasionin my mind. I spell my name on my leg with my finger—S-a-m-S-a-m-S-a-m—over and over. I imagine the look on my father’s face when he reaps what he’s been sowing his whole life.
I tell myself that I can do this. Over and over and over.
I can do this. I can. I am strong enough. I am clever enough. I amgoodenough.
I repeat it until my mind clears, my chest no longer aches, and my eyes are dry.
I bring my head off the steering wheel and flip down my visor. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I use my fingers to clean up the places where my watery eyes smudged my mascara. I take my red lipstick out of my handbag and reapply a fresh coat to my lips.
Then I reach into my glove compartment and pull out my second cell phone. I power it on and send a single text to the only number in the contacts.
Me
SOS.
SEVEN
“I’ve gottwo hours before I have to be at the bar.”
I strip off my grease-stained, standard-issue Franklin Auto Body work shirt, followed by my equally grease-stained white undershirt, and drop them both in a pile beside the boxing ring. My mood has been on a downward spiral since this morning. I need to blow off steam before my bar shift, or it’s sure to be a fucking terrible night.
“Then we better get busy.” Macon tosses a pair of boxing gloves at my feet. “You got shorts or anything? Going to be uncomfortable as hell to get your ass beat in those jeans.”
“Who says you’re going to beat my ass, Davis?”
“Always do, Casper.”
He smirks as he pulls on his boxing gloves, and I shake my head. He’s full of shit. Our record is about tied, and last time we boxed, I won.
I kick off my shoes, then take off my socks. I don’t answer his question about my jeans. I didn’t bring athletic shorts with me this morning. I didn’t think I’d need them. It’s just added to my irritation, and though I know I could borrow some from Macon’s apartment upstairs, I figure I’ll deal with the discomfort. Consider it self-punishment for being a fucking dumbass today.
I follow Macon into the ring and face him. I usually wear amouthguard and headgear anytime I’m in the ring with him, but I didn’t grab them today. The way he sizes me up tells me he’s already suspicious.
“Don’t pull any punches today.”
He arches a brow. “When do I ever?”
I arch a brow right back. “Every time you’re in a shitty mood.”
Macon is a former Marine and was a trained instructor in the Marine Corps Martial Arts program. I’m not stupid. I know he could do serious damage, even with his leg injury. I leave our sparring matches with some bruises, aches, and pains, but it’s probably a far cry from what he’s capable of, especially on days when he’s pissed or anxious, or battling one of his many mental demons and craving a fix. He’s been sober for years now, but I know every day is a battle.
Macon narrows his eyes at me, surveying my face. I know the moment he notices the tightness there. The frustration. The pain. His concern is evident, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just nods once, then pounds his gloves together.
“Two hours.” He smirks. “Hit me, fucker.”
“Fuck, dude.”Macon huffs out a laugh as he prods at his swollen eye. “Lennon is going to fucking kill you.”
I chuckle, but it’s weak.
“I’ll apologize to her for ruining her soulmate’s face,” I tell him.
I use my tongue to inspect my split lip. It’s swollen and tastes like blood, and I can already tell a bruise is forming on my cheek, but Macon looks worse. I hear plastic rustling and look over my shoulder to see him opening a pack of red licorice. He pulls out a piece and pops it between his lips, and I take note of the way his fingers hold it as if it were a cigarette. Or a joint.
“For giving me shit about pulling punches, you sure proved you’ve been leavin’ a lot in the tank during our sessions.” He grins. “You’ve never busted me up so thoroughly.”
“You’re fucked in the head for enjoying it,” I joke, and he snorts but doesn’t argue.
“So what did it?” he asks finally. “Did you hear from Sable or something?”
