Page 47 of Sweet Oblivion

Steve, Cam, and Chuck all called me son, something my own father didn’t. That realization left me unsettled.

When the doors opened, Chuck led me into the large gym and slid boxing gloves over my hands. “Punch it out if you don’t want to talk any more.”

I eyed the gloves, then him. “Is that what you do?”

He stuck his tongue between his teeth and considered. “Yeah. I got more of your lesson about sex and love. I prefer to pound my muscles into submission than screw my way to oblivion.”

I tapped the gloves together and started hitting.

Definitely cathartic. Kendrick Lamar’s lyrics pounded through my mind as sweat began to slide from my temples, then popped out over my whole body. I grunted and slammed my fists harder. I segued from straight-up rap to Beyonce’s “Freedom,” feeling totally jacked on the adrenaline high of boxing.

“All right, now. You’re going to pay for that tomorrow.” Chuck eased me back from the bag, tugging the gloves from my throbbing hands.

I looked at the clock and realized forty minutes had passed.

“Ready to talk about it?” he asked.

“I like Aya,” I announced, stepping to the side.

“Shows you got taste.” Chuck nodded. He tugged off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves before he pulled on a pair of much larger gloves. He pounded at the punching bag, going harder than I thought possible.

Since he wasn’t looking at me, I said, “Everyone calls her mine, and I even told her that’s what I wanted, but I’ve seen what sex does to relationships. I don’t think my parents like each other, let alone love one another, and—”

A firm hand slid onto my shoulder. I turned. Cam stared at me, a solemn look on his face.

“And you’re worried about what that means for you and Aya,” he said. He glanced at Chuck, seeming to make sure the bigger man was okay.

I didn’t understand the bond between them, but I knew it was deep and important. Maybe like my connection with Cam…or with Steve.

“You guys and Steve are more like dads to me than my actual dad,” I muttered. “I mean, here you are, keeping an eye on me. You care what I’m thinking. My dad…” I swallowed, unsure how to voice my emotions about either of my parents.

Chuck quit swinging. He wasn’t even out of breath. “You got good instincts,” he said. He removed the gloves and grabbed his suitcoat. He walked over to the other side of the deserted space and grabbed a water from the fridge.

“You’re all wound up about Aya—what she means to you and what she should mean to you,” Cam said.

I continued staring at Chuck, but nodded.

“I met my wife when I was about your age.”

I looked over, eyes wide.

“She’s dead. Has been for a while.” Cam waved his hand. “Story for another day, but it’s part of why I don’t like talking about my past.”

I swallowed, digesting this new piece of information. “Fair enough.”

He smiled. “Chuck’s got his own story. One he prolly won’t share. But it’s why he’s the way he is. Steve, too, I’m sure. Our choices before inform our decisions now—for better or worse. For a while now, mine have been for the worse.”

I ingested his words, feeling their weight. “Can you come back from those decisions? Get on the right track?”

Cam scratched the side of his face, just above the dark scruff dusting his cheeks. I eyed it with a bit of envy. I shaved, sure, but I wasn’t close to growing an actual beard.

“I don’t rightly know. But I guess I should try, huh?”

Chuck came back and offered me a bottle of water. “Leaving the fan was a good start,” he said to Cam.

Cam raised his eyebrow, his lips quirked in a sardonic grin. “She can’t be worse than the crazy I lived through.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s better.”

---