I glance at the Plymouth that shakes out of the way. “Who’s that?”
“Nobody. You’ve got problems.”
“Not worried about Denny right now. I’ve got to talk to Haley.”
“That’s it,” she says. “Her uncle kicked her out last night and her family followed. I saw them packing up a car this morning. Her little sister said they’re leaving for California.”
I slam my hand into the concrete wall. Fuck.
Haley
I fold the blanket John gave me last night and leave it on the pillow in the corner of the gym. My grandfather canceled today’s sessions because of what happened last night and the gym is unusually quiet.
Jax grunts when I nudge him with my toe, and instead of waking up, he rolls over.
“Come on, Jax. John’s going to be back with my parents soon.”
With an even louder grunt, Jax sits up and the blanket falls away. After blinking repeatedly, he shrugs on a shirt. “Where’s Kaden?”
“Taking a shower.” I plop on the matt beside him and think about how many years the two of us have spent in this place together. When we were six, one of us used to hang on a bag while the other pushed it as a swing.
Jax is more than a cousin, more than a brother; he’s a part of me and I’m not sure how I can live life without him. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Fuck!” He slams his hand onto the mat, then rubs his eyes. “Just fuck.”
My uncle did what I asked. He threw me out and me alone. What I didn’t expect was my brother and cousin yanking me to my feet and Jax spitting into his father’s face. I left and they voluntarily left with me. When we arrived at John’s half-drowned and desperate for shelter, he reopened the gym and called my mom.
Mom and John had a long talk and the result is he’s giving us his car and we’re leaving for California—today.
“You didn’t have to leave with me.” Guilt consumes my stomach because my thoughtless comment to my uncle caused Jax to leave his home.
“Yeah, I did. I should have left a lot sooner. He’s toxic.” Jax presses his finger against his head. “He worms his way in, past your skin, past your muscles and into your soul. Once he’s in, he continues, eating you until you’re dust. I’m already half-dust, Haley, and I’m tired of trying to hold together what’s left.”
I lay my hand over his. “I love you.”
He lowers his head and grabs on to his hair, causing his knuckles to go white. “I’m gonna fucking miss you.”
Jax jumps up and slams his fist into a bag as he takes off for the showers. My mouth turns down and I rap my head against the wall. Jax and Kaden are staying. I don’t know who I am without them.
The door to the gym opens and my grandfather walks in. He starts for his office, but one glance at me and he changes directions. Air rushes out of my mouth with such force that my hair moves. I escaped questions last night. My luck, like always, has run out.
John’s slow as he slides down to sit next to me and he does something very un-John-like: he pats my knee. “Stay.”
“The camper’s barely big enough for you and one of the boys. I have no idea how you’re going to squeeze Jax and Kaden in it.” As much as it will kill my mother, Kaden won’t come. His life is here—with the gym. I don’t know where I belong anymore.
“We’ll figure it out. There’s the bed, two bunks and the floor once I clean it up. I’m not sure Jax would be comfortable on a mattress after all this time.”
I check to see if he’s teasing, but he’s not. “Why is my uncle scared of you?”
“I saw him grab Jax by the arm once when he was a toddler when we were at your old house.” John grasps his biceps. “Left a huge mark on his arm. I said nothing to him then, but paid him a little visit later that night.”
It’s not surprising he and my uncle had a chat. John’s an advocate of keeping fights in the gym. “What did you say? I can’t imagine one word I could have said that would have changed him.”
John scratches the stubble on his chin. “I beat the shit out of him.”
I choke on my own spit. “You what?”
“Beat the shit out of him. I then told him if he lifted a finger to any of his kids again, I’d call the police and let them watch us as I beat the shit out of him again and then they could arrest us both.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. But I could never stop him with the words.”
“Jax is a good guy because of you,” I say.
“Your cousin doesn’t have much and it’s going to kill him when you go.”
“I can’t stay.”
“I hoped by training West you’d find your fight again.”
“My fight’s gone.”
“You’re too young for that, Haley. Take a look at your father. Is that what you want to be? We could blame what happened with Matt, but you still had some fight in you then. When you lied about what happened with Conner to save Jax and Kaden, I thought maybe you were on the right track.”
I turn my head as the deep, dark secret I fought to protect rolls off his tongue. “How did you know?”
“Jax and Kaden knew the moment you came home with no meds you were jumped and they knew Conner was the one to do it. Besides, they also knew you could kick Conner’s ass.”
I chuckle, though I don’t know why. Matt never flinched from the assumption that West was strong enough to take on Conner, but I wasn’t. I trained Matt. I dated him. You’d think he would have known.
John continues, “I told Jax and Kaden to let you fight your own fights. With Matt, Conner and your uncle—with whoever. Unless you asked for help. I thought if you had to fight in some area in your life, it would prove to you how strong you really are or at least teach you how to rely on us. Even if we wanted, we couldn’t help unless you let us.”
I think of meeting West, arguing with him, teaching him to fight. “It almost worked.”
“It doesn’t have to be almost. Stay, Haley. You’ve always had the heart. You just need to start leading with that instead of your head.”
I snort. Here I’ve been trying to convince West differently. The memory causes a slice of pain. God, I’ve lost the guy I loved. I loved him. I loved him so much and he walked away the moment his father snapped his fingers. He couldn’t have loved me back.
“Mom needs me.” And until last night, I’ve been able to pretend the truth hasn’t existed. “Dad’s a mess.”
“You’re eighteen. There comes a point in time when you need to start making your own decisions about your life. You can’t control your father and you can’t help your mother. They’ll either make it or they won’t.”
“What about Maggie?”
“I raised your mother. She’ll take care of Maggie and, trust me, your great-aunt will keep Maggie in line, too. The old bat is too mean to die.”
John scratches his forehead and I’ve never seen such an unsure gesture from him.
“What?” I hope it’s not bad. I’m already free-falling and I don’t feel like hitting a few rocks on the way down.
“When you get to California, you should talk to someone.”
“Talk?”
“Yeah.” His hand waves in the air. “A professional—like that Mrs. Collins.”
Uh...no. “I don’t need—”
“You do,” he cuts me off. “Something happened to you and as hard as I tried I couldn’t fix it. If you have to go, go, but don’t continue to live a half life.”
Mom sticks her head in the gym. “Can you lend a hand, Dad?”
John stands and Mom smiles at me. It’s not a reassuring smile. It’s the type that says she wishes she could reassure me. “Get your brother and cousin. I want to say our goodbyes and get on the road.”
I nod. That describes my life—nothing
but goodbyes.
West
With Abby riding shotgun, I weave through the streets of the industrial park at sixty miles per hour and slam on the brakes when we reach the last warehouse. I throw the car into Park and I’m out the door with the keys still in the ignition.
John steps out of his camper. “Heard you broke my granddaughter’s heart.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone. She left with her mother and father for California a half hour ago.”
He’s talking, but my back is already turned toward him. I slam the door to my car and the tires squeal as I back out and floor the gas.
Abby grabs on to the console. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going after Haley.”
“That was a stop sign. What the hell? Slow down. Slow down! West, fucking stop!”
I slam my brakes and we both lunge forward at the red stoplight.
“We’ve got to catch up. I’ve got to give her the option. I shouldn’t have tried to control her life.”
“Did you notice Kaden standing in the entrance of the gym?”
I blink. “No. Do you think John lied? Do you think she’s still there?”
Abby reaches over and shifts the car into Park. “She’s gone, West. Haley’s made her choice.”
Haley
It’s our second day on the road and we’re taking it slow to California because John’s car constantly threatens to spontaneously combust. Out of the four of us, only Maggie is excited about the move with the promises of beaches and waves and all the chicken nuggets she can eat.
I wish I could be excited about chicken nuggets. I wish I could be excited over anything.
To give the car time to rest after pushing it two hundred miles, we’ve stopped off in the middle of nowhere Missouri to let Maggie climb on the largest bale of hay known to man. She giggles in the distance and I roam the inside/outside flea market associated with the gas station.
My father sits on the curb and absently watches Maggie and the farmland. It’s a strange, numbing sensation each time I see him—as if he died two days ago and I’m at the funeral home staring at the empty shell of a body.
On the corner of the sidewalk, a dealer hangs a punching bag from the ceiling of the sidewalk overhang. My fingers whisper against the vinyl and the man notices. “Got it this morning. Do you have a brother or boyfriend who might be interested?”
I pivot on the ball of my heel and throw a back kick followed by an elbow to the “gut.” The wooden ceiling trembles as the bag swings. I catch it with both of my hands and smirk at the seller. “No, I don’t.”
Instead of frowning, like I expect, he flashes a half-tooth grin. “You’re good.”
“Thanks.” The pride inside breaks through the numbness.
“My grandson watches that MMA. He was telling me a few weeks ago that he saw two women fight and I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t that MMA though. It was something else.”
“Muay Thai?”
“That’s it. Do you fight?”
“I used to.”
The old man eases down into a worn lawn chair that creaks under his frail body. His skin has the consistency of leather—too many days spent in the sun. “Shame on the used to.”
Right. A shame.
“Why did you stop?”
The question catches me off guard and because I don’t know him and don’t owe him an explanation I wander away and end up at the bumper of the car next to Mom. She shouts encouragement to Maggie as my sister struggles to the top.
“She doesn’t think she can do it,” says Mom.
I smile, remembering how she almost beat me a few months ago on the monkey bars. “Maggie can do it. She has a ton of upper-body strength.”
Maggie’s arms visibly shake, but she’s almost there. Thinking how awesome it will feel within me to see that victorious smile on her face when she reaches the top, I silently will her to dig deep and find that last oomph of energy. One of us needs to accomplish a goal.
Right as Maggie almost reaches the top of the bale of hay, she lowers her head. I step toward her. No. She’s almost there. “Keep going, Maggie!”
“I can’t,” she yells.
She can. She has to. One of us has to. I take off for the field, running over the damp ground, watching as she clutches her fingers into the hay. “You’re almost there. Just keep going!”
I reach the bale. Her sneakers dangle near my head. I could place my hand near her foot and nudge her up, but this overwhelming urge inside me says that if Maggie’s going to be proud, she needs to do it on her own. She needs to know she’s capable.
“Catch me,” Maggie calls.
“No!” I shout and hate how hard it came out, but she needs to listen. “You’re almost there. Dig your feet in, push up off with your legs, then pull yourself up.”
“Haley—”
“Do it, Mags.”
She mutters something that I’m sure is an insult in my direction, then kicks at the hay until she discovers a foothold, then struggles up the rest of the way. The sun distorts my vision of Maggie and I step back, shielding my eyes, but the moment I make her out standing on the top with her arms in the air I laugh. Clapping. Shouting.
She did it... She did it, and then the tears form.
I bend over slightly as if I’d been punched in the gut. She did it. My sister pushed forward and she did it. I circle, searching for my mom, when I spot the punching bag. Why did I stop fighting? Why did I walk away from the one thing that brought me joy?
My uncle comes to mind as do names like Matt and Conner and Kaden and Jax, but then it all gets lost in a tangled web because in the end, what did any of them have to do with me and my ability to fight?
“I don’t know,” I mumble to myself.
“Don’t know what?” my mother asks as she joins us by the bale. My mother is smiling. Really smiling. Enjoying Maggie’s brief taste of victory.
“I stopped fighting,” I whisper and my mother’s smile falters as she tilts her head to understand my words.
Like it’s calling me home, I stumble to the bag hanging from the roof. The old man is gone and, from behind me, I can feel my mother’s and father’s stares. My sister still giggles in the distance from her success.
My thumb caresses the bag like I’m greeting a long-lost friend. For three rounds of three minutes, I used to be granted the gift of focusing on one thing and it was the one thing that brought me a sense of pride and a sense of satisfaction...a sense of self.
I’ve spent my entire life idolizing my father. He’s been this god on top of a mountain that I’ve always tried to climb in order to be part of his glory. But my father’s not a god; he’s a man and man, if anything, is fallible.
My father stopped moving forward and in my effort to drag him along, I also lost my way. Forget about everyone else and their issues and their expectations.... If I clear my mind and look deep inside me, I know who I am. I know what I’m capable of.
With a surge of power, I pull up my guard and tap out a combination: two jabs, a cross and a low kick. The moment my shin connects with the bag, I close my eyes as a feeling of home washes over me. The bag flies high in the air and this time I let it swing as the smile pulls on my face. “I’m still a fighter.”
West
Two days and life has returned to normal. I attend the best school, I have the best opportunities, the richest friends, reopened credit card accounts, a swank home and all the food I can eat. It’s what my parents want as my normal, but I have never felt more like a person living in a foreign land than I do now.
It’s Friday and if I’m back to normal that means family dinner night. I’ve avoided my parents and they’ve given me my space. Tonight, for some reason, feels inevitable.
I h
it the last step of the stairs and the doorbell rings. I open it and discover Rachel’s boyfriend, Isaiah, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets. The guy hasn’t changed: shaved head, earrings and tattoos cover his arms.
“Little early, aren’t you?” I take it back; he has changed, and that burn on his arm from when he saved Rachel from the accident proves it. Rachel said she saved him. He saved her. Guess they saved each other.
“Nope.” Isaiah shows every day, but he typically waits until after dinner on Friday.
“He’s coming for dinner.” Rachel’s wheels hum against the floor as she exits the newly created workout room. In a fresh pair of jeans and sweater, she whips around the open front door with a huge I’m-going-to-see-the-guy-I-love grin. “Hi!”
The don’t-fuck-with-me guy sure as hell gives her the same grin back. “Hi.”
I nod my head for Isaiah to enter and I close the door behind us. “Do Mom and Dad know about this?”
A glint strikes her eyes. “No, but you’re going to help me, right?”
Isaiah folds his arms over his chest and the glare says he doesn’t have Rachel’s faith in me. Which he shouldn’t. I’ve done nothing but give him shit since he’s been around my sister. I extend my hand to him. “I can’t promise it’ll be pretty. In fact, I can guarantee it’ll be the equivalent of wearing a sweater in hell.”
Isaiah assesses my outstretched arm, then meets my eyes before accepting my hand. “Didn’t expect anything different.”
“See,” Rachel says behind me as I head to the dining room. “He’s changed.”
I chuckle to myself. That’s right. I have.
My heart stops. Have I?
I spin and Isaiah grabs Rachel’s chair to stop her from running into me. In a second, I’m on my knees in front of her. “Do you think I’m different than who I used to be?”
“What?”
“Am I the same person? Do you think I’m different?”
“No. Yes. Wait. You aren’t the same person. I mean, you are, but you’re different. None of this sounds right.”