Jay Walking (15 page)

"If you listened to me and told Daniel to get lost, none of this would be happening," my dad butts in at the most inopportune time.
 

"Honey, this would've happened regardless. Please don't blame our daughter. James has a father and if his father wants to know him, who are we to stop him?"

"I am!" My dad jumps from his chair and rises up as though he's a protester taking a stand. "James is my grandson and
I'm
the one who's been a part of his life since he was born. Daniel's a jerk and doesn't deserve any part."

He loves James so much. I never expected the kind of affection my dad holds for him. In all my years, I can count on one hand how many times my dad hugged me. I don't doubt he loves me; I think it's just different. His relationship with James is unique.

"I know as well as you do that's the case," Ron says. "However unfortunate the situation may be, Daniel is, in fact James' father, which in turn gives him a right in the eyes of the law to be his parent. You can argue all you want, and be upset, but doing so doesn't change the truth."

My dad slumps down in his chair and wipes his eye. I love how much my father cares for James, but I think talking with Ron proves I need to accept I can't deny him his father any longer.

"Dad, you'll always be James' grandpa. Nothing in the world ever changes that. But, can you imagine your whole life not knowing who I am?" He lifts his head and meets me with scared eyes. "That's exactly what I'm doing to James."

My dad stares at me with such defeat I'm aching inside. But I know, and so does he, not fighting this and coming to an agreement with Daniel is the best thing for everybody involved. I don't want to lose James, and from what Ron is saying, I won't. At worst, Daniel and I will share custody. I don't want that - and neither do my parents - but it's a viable option we all can learn to live with.
 

"Fine." He stands and struts to the door. "For the record, I still think this is your fault." He opens the door and walks out, leaving me with a truth I've always known.

I used to make fun of my friend Ally for how much she frequented the gym. I think one time I referred to the place as her second home. Now I think I understand. Immediately after meeting with the lawyer, I need time away. My mom, understanding as she is, agrees to keep an eye on James while I head to the gym. I want to try something new. A walk won't suffice. I need to get mad. I go to the rec department, race into the workout area, and dart straight for the punching bag. And I punch. Hard. So hard, in fact, my knuckles hurt.

I don't care. I keep pounding, throwing all my energy into each punch, fighting back the urge to cry as I do so. Between my anger and frustration with Daniel, the way my father is treating me, my breakup with Jay, and the pain darting through my hand, I can't make heads or tails of the origin of the tears. My arms fall to the sides when I stop.

"You okay?" A handsome man approaches me. He wipes his forehead with a taped up hand while grabbing onto the punching bag with the other.

"Yeah, are you?" I point to his knuckles.

"This?" He holds his hands up. "This is the right way to do it." He shoves his hand in front of me. "Clint Barten."

I shake his hand, my mouth open. The name sounds oddly familiar. "Um, isn't that Hawkeye's real name?"
 

"Impressive. Not many people know the names of superheroes beyond Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, and Peter Parker."

"Well, my dad kept quite the collection of comic books." I remember sneaking off to read them when I was younger.

His ocean blue eyes pull me in, and his thin, pink lips keep my attention. "Sounds like a good man. It's actually Barten, with an "e." Hawkeye's is with an "o." Don't know what my parents were thinking."

"Apparently they weren't." I clasp my hand over my mouth. "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. It slipped out. Normally I don't say things like that." Boy, I need to get control of my thoughts. Thinking before speaking shouldn't be so difficult.

"No problem. I'm surprised I don't get more remarks like that."

Whew. He's a nice guy. "Your childhood must have been brutal."

"At first." He shrugs, then shows me his bandaged hands again. "Then I learned to defend myself."

I swallow, hard, realizing he probably gets into his share of fights. Based on his appearance, I don't doubt he wins, too. He's tall and broad with muscles that go on forever, and he flexes them as he clearly caught me sneaking a peek.
 

"Do you want me to show you how to use this thing the right way?"

Do I? I didn't realize boxing required specific direction. My body is filled with energy I can't contain. All my anger is searching for an escape. Can't I just punch? Of course, I'm pretty sure Clint knows better than me, and if I do this the correct way, I may burn off more steam.

"Definitely."

"Okay, first, let's get some gloves on your hands."

He finds me a pair of black leather gloves with holes to let my fingers through. "I feel kind of like a real boxer now."

"Well, you're not even close, but it's a start, I guess. At least you've got the image going for you."

"So I'm ready to scare some people off with my stance if they try to mess with me?" I crouch down and ball my hands in a fist. Clint laughs. In fact, he laughs so hard he needs to hold onto a nearby elliptical machine. I stand back up and take off the gloves. "Forget it."

"No, no. I'm sorry ... and you never told me your name."

"Chelsea, but I shouldn't even tell you that because I'm leaving."

"Oh, stop now." He slaps my arms with the gloves. "I'm only having fun. Put these back on and let's go."

Am I being a prude? I don't lack a sense of humor, but I don't like being kicked when I'm down, either. Who does? But, I
really
enjoyed punching the bag. Clint appears to be an expert, so why not let him teach me. With a half smile on my face, I reach my hands out for the gloves. "Fine. But be nice."

Clint winks. He's enjoying this entirely too much. "Okay, the first thing you need to do is loosen up."
 

He starts rubbing my shoulders and I pull away. I just met this guy. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, but you should relax."

"Well, I can't speak for you, but I find it hard to relax with a stranger touching me."

He lifts his hands up in surrender. "Fair enough. Okay, when you punch, you want to punch straight at the bag, right? You want to imagine someone you hate-"

"Daniel."

"What?"

"That's who I imagine. Daniel."

"Okay, you want to picture Daniel and punch as hard as you can, right?" I don't answer so he continues. "That's
not
what you want to do. You want to hit so your punch comes back at you, but then don't stop and work a combination, develop a flow, almost like you're dancing to a choreographed routine. The worst thing you can do is stop moving your feet and your hands. Go with it. Flow." He begins punching the bag, moving like a dancer, and looks like a pro. "Don't plant your feet, okay? Now you try."

Clint takes a step back and waits as I stand in front of the bag, placing Daniel's face on it. I'm not one to get violent. I tend to move into the background during arguments, hoping not to get noticed or let the other person take control and possibly even win. Confrontation makes me nervous. But here, I can let go. I can be safe and no one actually gets hurt. Well, except maybe me if I don't do this right.

I go in to punch the bag and Clint reminds me not to push through, but snap it and let it come back toward me. I do, and the next thing I know, I'm holding my hands over my face, my fingers covered in blood.

•••

"Chelsea! Are you okay?" Clint rushes to one side of the room and then sprints back with a towel. "Did you really just do that?"

I sit down on a workout bench, holding the towel on my lip, trying to stop the bleeding. My first attempt at hitting the punching bag with grace like Clint did turned out to be an epic failure. He stands in front of me, waiting for me to respond. His stare full of concern does only one thing to me, it makes me laugh.

I start slow, a few chuckles, until finally I burst into complete hysterics, unable to control myself. The harder I laugh, the more my sides ache. "I punched myself. In the face." I say between laughs. "I actually punched myself in the face. And I'm bleeding."

Clint joins me in my laughter, and I don't care. What happened is honestly funny. Although I'm probably going to end up with a fat lip, and my parents will think I'm crazy, if they believe me, when I explain. Better I hurt myself, though, I guess, than anyone else.

"Are you okay, Chelsea?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." I touch the towel to my mouth again and dab it a few times. Once the bleeding calms, I suck in the lower lip. "Let's try this again."

"Wait. You want to keep going?" He seems surprised.

"Why not?" Any time I've seen a boxing match on TV, they've all ended up bloody messes. What's one fat lip?

"Besides the fact that you're bleeding from your mouth?"

I don't offer a reply, only stare at him while trying to maintain a straight face. I came to punch the shit out of Daniel, and dammit, I plan on doing it. Without direction from Clint, I get up and begin punching the bag, this time both pissed at Daniel and also at myself for allowing such an idiotic thing as hitting my own face happen. I find my footing, and Clint cheers me on in the background.

"You're doing great, Chelsea. I think you're getting the hang of this."

"You're damn right I am." I punch the bag. Upper cut. Jab. Cross. Jab. Jab. Upper cut. I slam my fists into that bag until I can't move my arms anymore. Once finished, I wipe my sweaty forehead with my arm. "Wow. That felt amazing."

"You
did
amazing!" Clint says. "I teach a class here, and you caught on faster than most my students. Some aren't even doing as well as you by their last session."

This praise creates a warmth inside me I haven't recognized in awhile. After such a defeat at the lawyer's office, I need this. I can barely catch my breath, but I'm proud of myself. I feel like I just received my final grades in high school and aced every class.

I turn around to thank him, and Jay is standing behind him, watching me, and I can tell from his face he's not sure what to think.

"Um, Jay," I say, walking right past Clint. "Hi."

He pinches his lips together, not greeting me back. Silence dances between us as he presses a few buttons on the treadmill and starts a brisk walk.

"I came here to blow off some steam." Is he upset to see me? Or that I'm with Clint? He's definitely hot, but he's not Jay. "I just came from my lawyer's office."

"Good for you," he replies coldly.

His response knocks down the pride growing inside me moments before. "Look, I'm sorry I lied about my ex. I know now I should have been honest with you from the beginning." He's not making eye contact and keeps trekking away on the treadmill. "I care about you, Jay. Things are messed up, but we can make this work." He looks past me toward Clint. "I wish I could do something to make this better."

He stops the treadmill and slams his hand on the electronic board. "Dammit, Chelsea. Now isn't a great time. I'm dealing with my own stuff. My partner is screwing me over."

"Oh." I say as I take a step back. He always seemed distant about his practice and his partner. I should have talked to him more about it. He showed so much interest in my life, I never asked him enough about his. "I'm sorry, Jay. Is there anything I can do?"

He swings his towel onto his shoulder. "Yeah. You can leave me alone."

Things in my life are messed up.
Really
messed up. My dad doesn't want to talk to me because of the custody battle, my mom walks on eggshells around me if Dad's nearby because she doesn't want him not speaking to her, either. To top things off, it's painfully obvious I lost Jay before things even heated up, and this is
all
entirely my fault.

Since things plain old suck, the only way I can think to make things better is to allow a meeting between Daniel and James, with me present. If he's going to be around, I want to observe how they interact and get a sense of James' comfort level with him.
 

A little over a week after the consultation with the lawyer, I tell my parents I'm taking James to the playground. I'm not lying; we truly
are
going, which is also his favorite place in the world. The only small thing I omit is Daniel will be present. I pack up a bag for us, including a small lunch, and say goodbye to my mom before I go. My dad left early to visit some of his buildings, no doubt in an effort to avoid me. I text Daniel we'll meet and see how things go. I don't plan on being at the park for too short a time, but not the entire day, either.
 
I only want to evaluate the two together to measure my comfort level and if he and James get along well. My goal is to come to some sort of agreement without having things get ugly.

We arrive, and Daniel is already waiting on a bench across from the swings. He doesn't see us approaching because he's on his phone. I didn't practice anything to tell James about his dad. Should I even introduce him as his dad? Will he even understand what I mean when I refer to Daniel that way?

He stands as soon as we reach the bench. "Hi, um, hello, good morning." He's dressed up somewhat today. This is the Daniel I'm used to seeing. His brown hair is full and styled, gently feathered on the side, and his beard is non-existent except for the small sideburn that sneaks in. Never a jeans or shorts kind of guy, even in the warm weather today he wears dress slacks, and a cyan polo shirt, which brings out his eyes.

"Don't be nervous," I tell him. I'm holding James tightly in my arms. "James, this is mommy's friend, Daniel."

"I'm your -"

"Not yet." I can't believe he tries to jump in so quickly with the terminology. "Let him familiarize himself with you first."

He nods and I'm relieved he not only understands, but agrees. I set James down on the ground. "Wanna swing? Daniel can push you." He stares at me for approval. "It's okay, buddy, Daniel can work a swing. You'll be fine."