Take Me On (30 page)

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 hit 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.”

I stand. “I’ve got to go.”

“Whoa.” Rachel snatches my hand. “I know you’ve been avoiding Mom and Dad, but dinner won’t be that bad. It’s sort of why I invited Isaiah tonight. There’s no way they’d go into the biological stuff with him there.”

He grunts. “Thanks.”

She waves him off. “It’s a kill two birds with one stone thing. It’ll be so awkward we’ll inhale our food and run.”

“Again. Thanks,” he says.

“I’ve got to take the fight,” I tell her.

“West...” It’s like she’s preparing me for impending news of death. “Haley’s gone.”

“Yeah, she is, but she’s still worth fighting for. When I was jumped, Haley came back and fought for me. She changed me, for the better, and now it’s time to fight for her.”

“What about the scholarship? Dad said he’ll find her in California and make sure she gets it. If you fight, she’ll lose the money.”

A heaviness consumes me and the urge is to fix Haley’s problems and control her destiny, but it’s time I start controlling mine. “I’ve got to do this.”

Her forehead crinkles and I hate I’m causing her pain. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Just this house, not you. Never you. I’ll be around so damn much you’ll be sick of me, but I need to do this. It’s time I start acting like a man.”

Rachel opens her arms for a hug. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek. “We’ll get you back in that garage, okay?” And after fixing the door at Denny’s bar, I came up with an idea of how to do it. Mom will hate it. Rachel will love it.

I ignore her puzzled expression as I rise and suck in a pride-eating breath. “I’m going to need a place to crash. If I’m taking this fight, I can’t live here.”

This time Isaiah extends his hand first. “Bed’s mine, but you can have the couch. Just leave some cash occasionally on the table upstairs and my foster parents won’t care.”

“Deal.”

* * *

Isaiah didn’t have dinner with my parents. Instead he drove me to his foster parents’ house as I used his cell to text my parents to inform them where I was, what I was doing and to remind them I’m eighteen. In a separate text to Dad I told him where he could shove the scholarship.

Determined to do this on my own, I packed some clothes and then left—everything: my phone, my car, my belongings. But this time I’m accepting help from some friends.

Outside the bar, Abby tosses me a prepaid cell and I hand her thirty dollars. “You’ve got fifty minutes. Don’t use them all at once.”

It’s the cheapest damn phone I’ve ever seen. “Are you sure it works?”

Abby tilts her head to the left. “Ha.” Then to the right. “Ha. To get to the gym, take the forty-two bus. It’ll go straight there.”

A red Honda Civic pulls up and Abby nods her chin at the driver. “Here’s my ride.”

“Hey, Abby.”

She glances over her shoulder.

“How’d you know about my mom and Denny?”

That wicked smile crosses her lips. “That’s a story from a whole other book that you aren’t old enough to read yet. When you’re out of diapers, maybe I’ll tell it to you someday.”

Why would I expect any other answer? “Thanks, Abby.”

“Watch it, Young. People may think that we’re friends or something. By the way, welcome home.” Abby slides into the car and it takes off down the street.

I lean against the sidewalk railing and survey the strip mall. Farther down people lug piles of clothes into the Laundromat; they carry bags out of the dollar and grocery stores. Months ago, this was my foreign. Today, it’s where I belong.

Damn, who would have guessed it—this is my home.

The feeling grows stronger when I walk into the bar and my feet stick to the floor. Farther down, Denny wipes down a table.

“Heard you were looking for someone to fix things,” I say. “Is the job still open?”

Denny freezes, then returns to the stubborn spot in front of him. He tries to hide it, but I catch the smile on his face. “Yeah. Job’s still open.”

Haley

Water beats against the tub as Dad starts the shower. Lying on the bed on her stomach with her feet in the air, Maggie wallows in chicken nugget and Nickelodeon heaven. I peek past the heavy motel curtains and spot Mom sitting on the curb looking at the flashing Motel 6 neon sign.

The door clicks as I open it and Mom’s shoulders relax when she sees it’s me. She scoots over and creates a space. Even though the very tip of the western sky bleeds pink and stars twinkle directly overhead, the concrete still radiates the day’s heat.

“Kansas is flat,” I announce. For months my mother’s been a specter disappearing and reappearing in my life and I miss having a mom.

“Yes, it is.” Mom reaches over and entwines her fingers with mine. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep everything from unraveling.”

“I was going to apologize for the same thing.”

The way she sighs cuts deep into my bone marrow. “Keeping this family together was never your job. It was your father’s and mine.”

“Are you mad at Kaden for staying?” I shuffle my feet against the loose concrete, anxious for the answer. Decisions shouldn’t be this agonizing and I envy that Kaden was able to easily make his. If I leave and return to the gym, I’m letting down my mom, my father and Maggie. If I stay, I’m letting myself down. I’m a fighter and I belong in that gym.

“No,” she says and stares out into the horizon. “Sad, yes, but not mad.”

Crap. Sort of the answer I desired, yet not. Then again, maybe I’m supposed to stay away from Kentucky. So many things went wrong there: Matt, Conner...West. I close my eyes with the ache.

“You okay, honey?”

I open my eyes to see Mom worrying at me like she did when I was sick as a child. “I miss West.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “Broken hearts mend. You got through Matt—you’ll get through this.”

West hurts, but not in the way it hurt when I left Matt. Losing West causes my heart to break; my soul feels empty—hollow. With Matt, my bones ached, my body throbbed and my self-worth was burned to a crisp. If I had more time with West, if I had given my heart faster to him, would it have made a difference? Would he have chosen me?

I’ll never know. I permitted Matt’s memory to haunt me and the scary part is he’s still an unseen phantom stalking my every move, infesting my decisions. “Matt and I didn’t end well.”

I said this before...to John, but I couldn’t say more than that. My throat tightens and I pull at the collar of my shirt.

Mom angles her body and for the first time in over a year, I have her full, undivided attention. “What do you mean, didn’t end well?”

Say it, Haley. Say it.
My mouth opens and consonants stick in my throat. The only sound that falls past my lips is a sick strangling click.

Mom pushes my hair over my shoulder. “Talk to me, Haley, but you have to breathe, too. Come on, honey.”

I do what she says and welcome each clean intake. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me. Why can’t I say it? Why can’t I admit it? Through another breath of air, I rush out, “It was bad.”

“All right,” she says as if I admitted something huge and I guess it was huge, but it wasn’t the full truth. “All right. It’s okay.”

Mom kisses my temple, wraps both of her arms around me and pulls my head onto her shoulder. That’s when I realize I’m shaking. Not just me—the entire world. Then it blurs. “He hurt me.”

He hit me. I crave to say it. The words beg for freedom, but there’s a whisper of guilt—a whisper that I’m stupid and that if I say more, then the entire world will see my shame...that they will judge and crucify me.

I was stupid. I fell for the wrong guy. He hurt me and I paid. He hurt me and I broke. He hurt me and the rest of the world will forever condemn.

“It’s okay,” Mom says again as she rocks the two of us. “We’re going to be okay.”