Southpaw (9 page)

It’s raining.

Suddenly, Piper and
Olivia stop spinning and their hands drop to their own waists as they look
toward the road. My eyes follow their gaze to see three figures walking toward
us. Their outlines are thick and stocky. They’re advancing toward us with determination.

“Get back,” I direct as
I grab the backs of the girls’ shirts. Olivia and Piper stumble back with my
pull. “Under the awning.”

The guys are about
thirty feet away now as they cross the second half of the street. The glow of
the bar outlines their faces to the point of recognition, at least the one in
the middle. There’s no doubt in my mind.

Jax ‘No Crier’ Beyer.

It only takes a split
second for me to make the call. “You okay to drive?”

Piper nods her head.

“Take Olivia home,
now.”

“But Kelly,” Olivia
sputters, her eyes searching mine. “Don’t - ”

“GO
NOW!” I yell, waving my hand. Olivia takes one last look at me before Piper
grabs her hand and drags her out of the protection of the awning. They’re
running down the sidewalk in the rain and turning the corner before Beyer and
his crew hit the curb. I clench my fists and wait for them to come.

It’s the moment of calm
before the fight I’ve reveled in since I can remember. There’s something about
this feeling, a moment of weightlessness that overcomes me. I’m still inside in
my head, clear and sure of myself as they draw closer. The peacefulness kills
any doubts or hesitation. It prepares me for what I am about to do. I feel
alive.

I used to love this
feeling.

But standing out here
in the rain, I think about the loss I’ve endured because of this feeling. The
hate spills through me like a gaping wound. I hate myself for feeling this way.
I hate my dad for killing someone. I hate the universe for taking my mom away.
I hate Beyer for coming back for me.

He steps onto the
sidewalk first and his henchmen follow. I search their faces but don’t
recognize them. They’re wearing mechanic’s shirts with names sketched above
their pockets, but I don’t bother to read them. They’re Henchman 1 and Henchman
2 as far as I’m concerned, both with chests as broad as mine but with
protruding bellies. They’re the type of guys who aren’t real fighters but have
spent too much time in the wrong neighborhood. They’ll be slow, but if they
connect, they’ll do some damage. And I know what Beyer will do. He’ll come in
hot with a jab and right hook, just like he did over and over with Frank. It’s
a move he’s comfortable with. A move that works in
most cases
. It’s not
one of those situations tonight.

“Kelly Black,” Beyer
says, stopping just inches from my face. His henchmen stand on either side of
him. The smell of diesel and grease sticks in the air.

“Jax Beyer. What can I
help you with?”

“I have a score to
settle,” Beyer rasps as he leans forward, our noses almost touching. Water
drips down his pitted face. “I don’t let little fucks like you get away with
cheap shots.”

My resolve hardens as I
think of the blood spewing down Frank’s nose. “You mean like the shot you gave
Frank last Friday?”

A low growl emerges
from his throat, and I can sense it isn’t going to be a long conversation with
Beyer. Henchman 1 and Henchman 2 roll their shoulders. I want nothing more than
to unleash on these assholes, but all I can see in my mind is my dad landing
the blow on Grant Thomas. The blood from the guy’s head drifts down the curb
just like rain.

“Let’s settle this in
the ring. Next Tuesday,” I say. “A rematch.”

“Fuck that,” Henchman 1
grumbles as he clenches his fists.

“Yeah, fuck that,”
Beyer adds. “Right here. Right now.”

Beyer’s not giving me a
choice so I clench my fists and prepare for what I don’t want to do when a
woman’s laughter rips through the air. Beyer and I don’t flinch.

“Whoa.” A guy’s voice
says. The woman then gasps.

Henchman 1 and 2 drop
their clenched fists, and Beyer finally breaks the gaze.

A bald guy about my
size wearing a fitted shirt appears next to me and says, “What’s going on
here?”

“Let it go, Hudson,”
another voice says. I look over to see another guy with dark hair and a six
foot frame that’s lean but fit. He’d probably throw a punch if he
had
to, but he’s not going to do much damage. A blonde woman huddles next to him.

“Doesn’t look like a
fair fight,” Hudson says to me before turning to face Beyer. “Although, now it
seems like the odds might be in our favor.”

I don’t know if this
guy has ever fought a day in his life, but he’s got big balls and a neck that
rivals mine so I figure I’m in a good position to make Beyer back down.

“We were just talking
about settling this in the ring,” I say, trying to control the anger in my
voice. “Next week’s good, right Beyer?”

He gives me a long, hard
stare. His eyes glint and his jaw tightens, and I think for a second that he’s
going to throw a right hook, but he finally mutters, “Yeah, you little fuck.”
He takes a step back toward the curb. “Next Tuesday. You make sure Mick knows.”

“I will.” I’ll have no
greater pleasure than knocking Beyer out again. One last time.

Beyer walks away and
his henchmen follow. They jog across the street and disappear down the block.

“That’s right. Get the
fuck out of here!” Hudson yells next to me. I turn to see a broad smile wiped
across his smooth, unblemished face. I realize this guy has never fought a day
in his life.

“Come on, man,” the
other guy says.

“You’ve never fought
before, have you?” I ask Hudson.

“Nah,” he says, flexing
his biceps. His fitted shirt emphasizes the mass. It’s impressive. “But I
would.”

“Thanks, man.” I let
out a low laugh as I clap his shoulder. My hand hits him harder than I want it
to. The fight is still coursing through my body.

“Glad I could help,”
Hudson says, tensing his arm.

“We should get going,”
the woman says as she snakes her hand through the other guy’s arm and moves
toward the edge of the awning. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Well, thanks again,” I
call as all three of them edge down the sidewalk into the rain. I turn to go
the other way, contemplating how I am going to release this anger that’s
flooding my body, when I hear Hudson’s voice.

“Man, you should have
stepped up, Cash. That was our chance.”

My head twitches at the
name. Cash. It takes me a second to realize the guy with the dark hair is
Piper’s Cash. Cash Rowland. I turn to hear car doors slam shut and to see brake
lights illuminate a bright red. Before I can chase after them, the car is
already pulling out and disappearing down the street.

Fate is a bitch.

***

I jump into my car and rev the engine
before I peel out of the parking space, white knuckling the wheel. I flip on my
headlights and wipers as I take a fast right, headed toward the only place I
can think of. The wipers work in overdrive, but the visibility is shit as the
rain comes down in huge torrents. I lean forward, pressing my face closer to
the windshield. My destination is less than ten minutes away now.

The weight of my phone
is heavy in my pocket, beckoning me to call Olivia. It’s wedged in my jeans,
but I manage to pull it out. I wipe it on the passenger seat, trying to get rid
of the excess moisture before I slide through the screens with one hand on the
wheel.

“Kelly?” Her voice is
laced with relief. “Oh God, Kelly, are you okay? Please tell me - ”

“Baby, I’m fine.” I
accelerate through a green light. I’m nearing the edge of campus now, leaving
Beyer and his henchmen far behind as I head west. “Are you okay? Did you make
it back to your place okay?”

“We’re fine,” she
replies. Her voice distances as she says to Piper, “He’s fine. Totally fine.”
She comes back to me. “What happened? Did you fight him? Is Beyer and his posse
okay? We called the police.”

“I didn’t fight him,
but I promised him a rematch next Tuesday. It’ll be my last fight, Olivia. You
have to believe me.”

“I do,” she whispers.

“Keep Piper with you
for a bit longer. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m driving. I just
need to take care of something real quick. I promise. I’ll be there in thirty
minutes.”

“Kelly?”

“I promise.” I hang up
the phone and throw it on the seat. I can’t see Olivia until I get this out of
my system. I can’t let her see the anger that courses through my veins. I
decelerate as I near the building, taking a left into the parking lot of Rocco’s
Gym. My headlights shine on the dark brick building. The Tuesday night crew is
long gone, but the entry key is dangling on my keychain, thanks to Frank.

What I don’t expect to
see is another car in the parking lot. My headlights cast a glare on the car as
Olivia climbs out of the passenger side door. She shuts the door and then holds
her arms out, palms facing up just like Piper did back at Nitty Gritty. I pull
next to Piper’s car and climb out. Olivia crashes into my arms, and I hold her,
running my hand through her wet hair.

Piper’s passenger side
window glides down. I reluctantly let Olivia go and bend toward the window,
peering at a soaked Piper behind the wheel. “You sure you’re okay?” Piper asks,
leaning across the seat.

“I’m okay. You sure
you’re okay?” I ask, holding the edge of the window.

She shrugs her
shoulders. “Okay enough to drive home and eat a carton of mint chocolate chip
ice cream.”

“I ate the last of it
yesterday.”

“You dick. I need a new
roommate.” She slams the passenger seat with her hand. “I wish you were closer
so I could hit you.”

I stick my head through
the window and lower my shoulder so most of my upper body is across the
passenger seat. She punches my shoulder and says, “There. I feel better now.”
Then she puts her hands back on the wheel and exhales. “I’ll see you at home.”

“See you at home.” I
pull my hands back from the glass, letting her close the window. She backs her
car out of the stall, her lights shining on Olivia and me. Olivia’s face glows
in the light, the rain dripping off her face. The light shifts, leaving
Olivia’s face in the dark as Piper gives a honk and drives past us.

I grab Olivia’s
outstretched hand and pull her to the building, sliding the key into the back
door. I run my hand along the wall for the lights until I catch the switch. The
back room glows, a dull light casting shadows on the rows of equipment and
extra bags. Olivia’s already moving toward the bin of gloves and mitts before I
can say anything. We’re silent as she pulls out two mitts, and I pull out
matching gloves. Our eyes meet, but we still don’t exchange any words.

We leave footprints on
the concrete as we walk through the door and into the hallway. I turn the
lights on as we go, highlighting the single path we’re taking to the place we
both know I need. The red door opens, and I switch on the lights to the main gym.
The platform glows white, calling me as we near the ring. I tuck my gloves under
my armpit and lift the rope. Olivia climbs through and slides her hands into
the mitts. I pull my soaked shirt over my head and turn to throw the heavy cotton on
the side of the ring. It lands with a thud. Olivia's eyes are steady on my back. She studies the lines of my Celtic tattoo - the same
tattoo she asked about on Lake Wingra.

“You’re not your
father,” she whispers as she puts up the mitts and staggers her feet, planting
them against the platform. Water drips from her tank top and jean shorts,
leaving wet marks on the mat. “I’m ready.”

I exhale and hold my
gloves tight to my body in front of my face, not punching. My body is unyielding,
aching as I think about the possibility of hitting the mitts. But I don’t want
to hit her. I don’t want to make her feel my pain.

“Go,” she says, shaking
the mitts in the air. “Do it.”

“I can’t.” I hang my gloves
by my thighs. “I can’t do this with you.”

“Yes, you will.” Her
voice is hard and steady as she hits me in the chest with her mitt. “COME ON,
KELLY. DO IT.”

She raises the mitts
back to her own body, and I obey, raising my gloves to my face. I feel the
pound of my heart against my chest as I finally extend my arm and connect with
her mitt. The slap of the vinyl resounds in a dull thud. I pull back my glove
to my face, feeling the burn of my body beg for more. I jab again. And then
again. Then I jab-cross. The hits are still light, the sound of the vinyl
barely whispering between us.

“HARDER,” she demands,
strengthening her stance.

I land a left jab,
giving more force behind my punch. Olivia’s mitt only flinches back a little.
My eyes search Olivia, assessing how much she can handle.

“HARDER!”

Then I release,
springing my gloves into the mitts, watching as Olivia’s body absorbs the hits
as much as she can. She’s pushing back, letting me unleash a series of jabs and
crosses into her. I’m at fifty percent now, exploding my gloves into her mitts
with rapid succession. The weight of my rage melts off my body with each hit.

“That’s it, Kelly.
HARDER!”

Adrenaline rushes
through my body as I extend forward, knowing that I can’t go a hundred percent
with Olivia, but I’m almost there when I hit the mitt with such force that she
stumbles back.

“Shit,” I mumble,
unstrapping my glove. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Olivia.”

“No,” she laughs,
planting her feet again. Her hair is plastered against the side of her face and
her shoulders. “Do it again.”

“I can’t.” I unstrap
the other glove and let them both fall to the ground. I step toward her,
closing the gap between us until we’re just inches apart. “I can’t.”

“You better,” she
breathes as I grab her mitts and slide them off her hands. They drop to the
platform with a quiet thump. She runs her hands across my chest, tracing the
tattoo with her index finger. “Don’t ever think that you are your father.
You’re not him.”