A Fighting Chance (3 page)

Drew
also looked like she shouldn’t have been in a place like this, with her made-up face and pink manicure. But no matter how brutal things got, I never ever saw my girl cringe or hide her face at the sight of blood or the crack of a bone. She didn’t get scared unless I was in trouble in the ring. She spent her time studying the fighters, learning their weaknesses and habits, and she even kept a journal of their stats. The few times I coaxed her into betting, she walked out of here with more money than anyone else, including me. The guys at the edge of the ring always tried to make her feel like she didn’t belong up here with them, but Drew didn’t back down to anybody. Not in Perry’s barn, and not even her parents or her friends when they warned her about dating me. Not anybody. The day someone spray-painted a racial slur on her car, I was ready to dislocate some fucking shoulders, but she only flipped them off as they drove away, looked at the smear with her hands on her hips, and said, “Well, I guess I’ll have to get that paint job earlier than I hoped.”

We who did this—these fights—we knew why we
really signed up for the carnage. Yeah, it was a fun way to burn off steam and the money was good, but we really came here seeking validation of our strength. Hers was quieter, and maybe that’s why I respected it more. It might not have been physical, but she was still the most fearless person I knew.

“How much did you put on it
tonight?” I asked her.

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t bet on my
last
fight?”

She gripped my chin, holding me with a skeptical expression. “You said t
hat three, four fights ago. I’m tired of pretending I believe it. One day I’d like to bet on you following through with something that isn’t a punch.”

I sighed, frowning. “Is this about college again?” Drew was worse than my mom when it came to
my future
, worse than our hack of a senior counselor, too, probably. It was a secret to everyone but them that I had a B+ average, and I had come a long way since hovering in the low C range at the start of high school.

“You say it like I’m asking you to chop off a leg. What’s so hard about just taking a look at the applications?”

I pulled at the fringes of her cutoffs. “Last week it was brochures…now it’s applications.”

“Yes, six. Three on the East Coast. Three on the West Coast. You know, the
world
outside
of Glory. You remember it exists, right?” She took my hand and squeezed it against her thigh.

“Man…have you seen the place this packed before? This is a grand for me easily.” I changed the subject to
kill my annoyance. Of course I knew Glory wasn’t the center of the universe, I thanked God for that, but what was really out there for me? More ways to be kicked down and judged? Constantly being unsure of who I could trust with the story of my background, so I wouldn’t have to be reminded that I was the product of an affair? That my father saw me as little more than a pile he’d stepped in? Cruel as the people here were, there were no surprises in a place of barely four thousand. I knew to expect the Huck twins to shout shit at me when I walked by Murphy’s Bar, and that bible-thumping Sally Corbitt was always mysteriously out of my mom’s favorite orchids every time I went into her flower shop. And I could count on peace, even some respect, in the days after I won fights.

“It’s always this packed
,” Drew said, rolling her eyes.

“
You’re really going to stay mad at me before I go up there?” I asked, kissing her nose. “‘Cause I got something for you—”

“I don’t want your fight money,” she said with a curt tone and a sharp glare as she pulled away from me
. Then her face softened in that way only Drew’s could after she got all fiery. “Dammit. That was bitchy. Sorry.”

“Well…the gift fits, that’s for sure,” I teased as I reached into my
bag, and my heart kicked my ribs. I hoped she liked it.

“Hey! You jerk!” she said, playfully slapping my arm. I opened my hand and showed her the
personalized guitar pick I’d gotten for her a few days ago. Most of my winnings went to basic needs or helping my mom out, and what was left went to gas for driving to out-of-state fights. Drew’s parents were able to give her everything, including the guitar she was going to use the pick with, so I tried to give her things that were sentimental. Girls liked sentimental shit.

Her smile was bright with appreciation, and the nerves in my chest settled as I set
the pick in her palm. It was pink, her favorite color, and it had the image of a guitar in the middle with the word SPARK going across. She was my spark plug.

“Funny.” She beamed.
“Thank you. I love it.”

“There are a hundred of them in the pack. I know you like to have one for your necklace. It’s not much—”

“I don’t want
much
.” Her arms locked around my neck. “I’m gonna try to be a supportive girlfriend now.” She shoved an earphone ear bud into my ear, and Lil’ Jon and the Eastside Boyz blew in. Their music literally sounded like fighting, so it always got me pumped. “Make it quick tonight, okay? No showing off.”

Perry
announced that he was no longer accepting bets, and as the mob around him cleared, I held my breath and straightened my shoulders. Henry was there, graying black hair slicked back, wearing a suit too big to really be his, and his wedding ring was probably already in his back pocket. My father cast smiles at as many women as he could, while moving through the crowd.

He
had always been able to make people look, wonder, and care. He could keep younger guys riveted with stories from his time growing up in Glory, over beers at Murphy’s. And have high school girls blushing in whispered conversations after he offered them the cigarettes they couldn’t buy themselves. There was just this charismatic air about him. Mom never explained the details of their relationship to me. I always thought she was too embarrassed to admit that she had fallen for the mystique of Henry Chance, too.

Every day, from the moment my mother
told me he was my father I
wanted
to hate him more than I’d wanted to do anything else in my life, especially because it seemed like he worked so hard to
not
forge a connection with me. Drew always said that there was no difference between love and hate—you dedicated the same amount of energy to both—but hate filled you with venom as a consequence. Well, I’d rather be poisonous than what I really was.

When Henry and I made eye contact, the moment
he nodded and I nodded back, a feeling of relief washed over me. But as always, I got angry with myself for liking his acknowledgment. I didn’t love him
at all
but I couldn’t bring myself to hate him, either, as if there was a permanent seed of hope inside me that I still needed him to nurture. I had stepped into the ring two years ago because of him, seeking his attention in the same place he used to fight, and equally despising him for only doling it out here. And what was I because of this? A pathetic reject with daddy issues. Sigmund Freud would’ve had a fucking field day with this shit.

“Well
, isn’t that sweet. But I heard your old man still wishes you were just a stain on your mamma’s bed sheets. He wanted her to swallow!” Kerr Edwards yelled. He was standing right over Drew and me, leaning over the ropes. “You were supposed to be baby juice in her throat, weren’t you?”

“You son of a bitch!” Drew fired back, and I grabbed her arm before she hopped the spectator barrier
, so she settled for giving Kerr her middle finger.

Perry was signaling me from across the room
, so I said nothing to Kerr, deciding that my fists would be the best response. Perry’s son, Bucky, jumped into the center of the ring and put a bullhorn to his lips. He was my best friend, Perry’s youngest, and he was in our grade, too. His name was really Abraham, but everyone called him Bucky because of his teeth; although, he liked to say that he was named after Clyde Barrow’s brother.

“Showtime,
” I said to Drew.

“We g
o see your mom right after?” Drew asked and I nodded, though, still unsure. She cupped the back of my head and I pressed my mouth against hers hard. As our kiss got deeper, she jumped onto me and wrapped her legs around my waist. When my lips hit her neck, Drew shuddered out a soft noise. Damn. There wasn’t anything sexier than a girl moaning. No, it was hot as fuck when you were the one making her do it.

We were obnoxious with our PDA, and sometimes it was to spite all the
nosy fuckers in this town, but mostly I did it because I was absolutely fucking crazy about my girl. We made each other laugh, we talked, we argued (we had make-up sex), and we had a lot of fun together. The truth was, I couldn’t say she changed me or I changed for her. I figured sometimes you just connected with another person in a way that no one else had to understand. Hell, I wasn’t sure I did, either. Maybe it was just a feeling. Or a sixth sense. Or two teenagers who were way too “hot in the pants” for each other, like my grandma used to say. Either way, Drew Hallisay and I just…
were.

“Wanna disappear with me for fifteen minutes?” I whisper
ed.

“
Fifteen?
A bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” she teased.

“I guess there’s more than one show going on tonight,” Buc
ky yelled down to us. “Hey, Drew,” he added, lilting.

She tensed against me and grumbled something I didn’t understand.
“Hi…Bucky.”

“Think you can detach yourself from Jess
long enough for him to make me some money, Hallisay? I also think he’d like to breathe now.”

Drew roll
ed her eyes. “Think you can—”

“I’m ready, dude,” I sa
id, cutting off whatever insult she was about to hurl at him. She hated everything having to do with fighting and that included Bucky Webber. Thankfully, he was smart enough to walk back to the center of the ring. “Hey, can I take you somewhere tomorrow after school? Go for a drive, just the two of us?” I asked her.

Curiosity lit up in her eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want, baby. Radio up. Windows down. Just me and my girl.”

She glowed
with a smile that had a way of punching me in the chest a lot harder than any dude in the ring. “I’d love that. Maybe we could have a picnic somewhere. The weather’s supposed to be really nice.” She tapped her lips to mine. “Okay, go do your thing. Give him a taste of Glory, baby.”

“Always.”

She hugged me really tight, like she was afraid to lose me, and maybe she did lose me a little when I was up there. “I love you, Chance,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

“Love you back, Hallisay,” I said, and after I set her down
on her feet, I looked over to Bucky.

“Welcome to the main event of Tuesday Night Madness!” he said in
his best announcer voice. “The rules are simple! Our goddamn barn better still be standing after the fight, and only fighters are allowed in the ring during the fight. No throwing bottles,
Eddie Somerville
….or panties,
ladies
.” The crowd hooted; they always loved that part. “Okay, over here on my left, the opponent for the night, facing our hometown boy, here’s
Kerr ‘The Killer’ Edwards
!” Kerr pumped his fists in the air and laughed off the booing as he crossed the ring, flexing his muscles.

“And now…” Climbing up, I ducked between the ropes as the lights in Perry’s barn went low
, and the cheers rose up in the darkness. “The man who busted heads in Waco, knocked out teeth in Little Rock, the man who beat another man
so ugly
in Shreveport his wife divorced him, the one you just bet your
entire
paycheck on, Glory’s Own, Jesse Chance!” When the lights came back on, I kept my entrance subtle, only a raised glove, as I moved to the center to meet Kerr. His nostrils flared wide when we bumped knuckles and he could barely stand still. I smirked. Dudes always creamed themselves wanting to beat the champ.

“Keep it clean, gentlem
en,” Bucky warned. “No hitting below the belt, no kidney shots, and no head butting. Sound good? Okay! Let’s fight!” The bell dinged, and Kerr and I both took steps back, but he barreled toward me a second later, trying to trap me in a corner, just like Drew said he would. He came swinging at full strength, so I let him chase me around the ring, with a swift dodge of his punches here and there, and a lot of quick footwork. He tired himself out.

So
, I went to work.

I threw a rapid series of blows and disorienting knocks to his body. My finale was a hit to the gut, a hook to the chin
, and a jab square in the face.
Lights out, bitch.
Dazed, Kerr stumbled to the left and landed mouth on the canvas floor. Well, he got his taste of Glory.

He
was only still for a few seconds before he took a weak roll onto his back. Blood was snaking from his nostrils and one of his eyes was already swelling. I had expected much more from him. I knew they were still hungry out there, so I leaned down, lifted his head, and pummeled his face. He struggled a bit, but rage over my mom’s illness and the crowd’s encouragement suddenly consumed me. My punches became so forceful Kerr couldn’t resist anymore. He flailed then went limp, but the cheers around me grew with each hit until they reached a deafening roar.