Whiplash: A Sports Romance (59 page)

He staggers his feet and looks down at mine. “Put your right foot forward and bend your knees a little — like mine.”

I do as he says, suddenly feeling very aware of the new, awkward movements. “This feels weird,” I chuckle.

“It will, at first,” he nods. His hands fall to my elbows and he lifts them higher so my fists block my cheeks. “Always protect your face. Keep your chin down.”

I look to the floor. “Like this?”

He brushes a hand beneath my face and raises my chin a few inches. “Like that,” he says. After a quick glance down my body, he nods. “Good. Now hit me.”

“Hit you?” I ask. “Like… in the face?”

He chuckles. “No, here.” He taps a hand against his strong chest.

“Are you sure?” I hesitate.

“Do it.”

I bite my lip, wincing at the idea of striking another person. He looks at me with expectant eyes and I force myself to jab forward. My wrist collapses against his thick pecks and falls back to my side.

“That was pitiful,” he jokes. “Come on! Straighten your wrist. This time, let your right foot slide forward while your left pushes off the floor.”

“Do what now?” I ask, looking down at my feet.

He smiles and steps behind me. “The power of the punch comes from your hip, not your arm,” he says. I feel his hands on my waist and he pivots me with a quick jerking motion. “Lean into it and snap it back. Don’t let your arm linger.” He returns to his spot in front of me. “Again.”

I look at his chest and take aim at him.

“Protect your face.”

I raise my hands higher and inhale a quick breath to calm my quaking nerves. My toes tingle in my shoes as I push against my left foot and lean forward into my right. I twist my body and throw a second punch. It connects with him, this time with a firmer smack.

“Again,” he says.

I jab, hitting him a little harder.

“Again.”

I pivot sharply, feeling more strength surge through the punch before it connects with his chest. I pause, my arm shaking.

“Snap it back. Again.”

I raise my fists and throw one last punch. It strikes him perfectly and I immediately fall back into a fighting position, ready to jab again.

“Good,” he finally says.

My breath rattles through my lungs. Power charges up my limbs. I let my hands drop to my sides, but I can’t stop the twitching in my fingers. “Thank you,” I breathe.

“Knowing how to throw a punch is an essential skill,” he shrugs. “Kind of like knowing how to change a tire or how to hard-boil an egg.”

“I don’t know how to do either of those things,” I chuckle.

“Well, now you know how to throw a punch.”

My lips twitch. “Can I do it again?” I ask.

He gestures to the punching bag. “Knock yourself out.”

I move in closer and stand in front of it. It feels so strange to roll my hands into fists with the intent to hit something, but it feels better than being on the receiving side of it. It almost feels like I’m learning how to use my hands for the first time. I hold them up in front of my face and lash out with one quick punch. My senses tingles throughout my body as the satisfying smack fills my ears.

“Claire,” Tobias says, “did Amy mention to you how she got those bruises?”

I drop my hands and look back at him. “She said she got them at the gym during a boxing lesson,” I shrug. “Why?”

“Just curious,” he mutters as he looks me up and down. His eyes once again lock on my lip. “You should keep practicing.”

I look at my pink knuckles, my heart racing. It’s a new sensation buzzing through my veins, an elixir of power and adrenaline. I honestly can’t say why it’s affecting me so much, but at the same time, I have a pretty good idea. I grip my wrist trying to steady myself, but I can’t seem to calm my nerves.

“Claire, you okay?” Tobias asks.

I look up at him, taking in his sharp, green eyes as they stare down at me with concern. “Yeah,” I say quickly. “Just a little revved up, I guess.” I swallow my spit down to wet my dry throat.

“I know how you feel,” he says. He takes my wrist and presses his fingertips into my skin, massaging the muscles within. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

“What do you usually do to wind down after a fight?” I ask.

Tobias flexes his jaw. His moving fingers pause on my skin before he lets me go completely. “Something I can’t do right now,” he whispers, staring into my eyes. He turns away and grabs his jacket off the motorbike. “You should get inside.”

I step closer to him, reacting to a driving, physical need to be near him. “Tobias…” I whisper.

He reaches for me and grips my shoulders. “Claire,” he says. “Go.”

I see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want me to leave. He wants me to stay with him. It’s how he’s always looked at me, ever since the moment we met just over a year ago.

Rick.

I pull away from Tobias and my heart lurches in my breasts. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I have to…”

I don’t say another word. I turn around and grip the barn door to pull it open. Everything inside of me hurts. Pangs of guilt and betrayal strike me down. I shake my head to ward off the confusion trapped inside of it.

Tobias is not Rick.

He’s Rick’s cousin. They’re nothing like each other. Rick is firm, but kind to me. He’s fun and free. Sure, he has a temper, but what man doesn’t? Everything he’s done has been because he loves me. He told me that himself. He’s my black-haired, blue-eyed, bad boy. I’m counting down the days until I see him again.

Tobias is nothing like him.

He’s just another good old boy from the country. Or rather, that’s who I thought he was at first. After tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. His bruises. His tattoos. All of it shows a very different picture than the one his father painted for me.

I stare out my bedroom window, hoping to catch another peak at him when he finally comes out of the barn, but sleep claims me before I can see him again.

Chapter 6

It’s Tradition

A knock strikes the front door and my eyes drift slowly to the clock on the wall. It’s six-thirty in the morning and I can barely even keep my eyes open. Who could possibly be at the door at six-thirty in the morning?

Charlie stands up from the kitchen table and sets his plate by the sink before wandering into the living room.

“Hi, Mr. Eastwood!”

My ears perk to hear Amy’s high-pitched voice carrying through the house.

“Good morning, Amy,” Charlie greets. “What brings you all the way out here so early?”

I lean back in my chair to get a better view of the front door. I can just barely see her in front of Charlie; tall, perfectly-styled blonde-hair, and long legs poking out of the bottom of her skirt. I’ve never quite understood how girls like her pull it off while making it look so easy.

“Well,” she grins and holds up a large, brown envelope, “my father got those documents you needed and his paralegal is out sick with rabies or whatever, so he asked me to deliver it for him on my way in to work today.”

Charlie takes the envelope. “Rabies?” he asks.

“Or mono or strep,” she shrugs. “One of those things.”

He steps back, leaving the door open. “I’ve got something for him, too, if you don’t mind delivering it for me.”

“No problem, Mr. Eastwood,” she says as she waltzes inside.

“Be right back.” Charlie turns around and walks up the stairs towards his room.

Amy’s big, blue eyes drift around the living room once before finally falling on me. “Oh, hey!” she squeaks and rushes into the kitchen. “How you doing, Claire?”

“I’m fine…” I mutter, pushing through a yawn.

“You are
not
a morning person, are you?” she asks as she sits down in Charlie’s chair across from me.

“Not really.” I get a better look at her and notice a fresh brush hovering above her cheekbone. “Another boxing accident?” I ask.

“Hmm? Oh—” She touches her pink cheek. “Yeah. Dodging is not my strongest suite. Do you mind?” she asks as she slides my plate closer to her. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she snatches a slice of my half-eaten toast off of it.

“Not at all,” I chuckle. “So, what documents are you delivering?”

Amy shrugs. “Something lawyer related. I didn’t ask.”

“Your dad is a lawyer?” She nods, chewing silently on my toast. “What kind of lawyer?”

“Malpractice.”

I tap my fingernail on the table and glance out the window. “Interesting…”

“If you say so,” she says, rolling her eyes. “So, are you coming tonight?”

I quickly shoot a look over my shoulder, searching for Charlie. “What’s tonight?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Amy takes the hint and lowers her own. “There’s a fight just outside Jefferson City. Didn’t Tobias tell you?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen him since the last one a week ago. I think he’s avoiding me…”

“Elimination round,” she says, shaking with excitement. “You
have
to be there. I’ll pick you up.”

I sit back and my mind shifts into its old habits. Plotting and planning. Coming up with fun, new ways of sneaking out of the house undetected and getting back without my mother or stepfather finding out. It’s a rush, to say the least, but a hard, cold feeling nestles into my gut. “I’m… not supposed to leave the farm,” I tell her.

Amy leans forward and her smile widens. “I knew you weren’t just here to
visit your uncle
.” She drops the rest of the uneaten toast back onto my plate as Charlie’s boots come bounding down the stairs.

“Here you go,” he says as he enters the kitchen.

Amy stands up and takes the stack of papers from him. “I’ll deliver them right away, Mr. Eastwood,” she says.

“Thank you, Amy. Oh—” He pauses and points to his face. “Are you all right?”

She laughs and brushes a hand through the air. “Just another little boxing mishap. No biggie.”

I stand up quickly. “I’ll walk you out, Amy.”

Charlie regards us with suspicion, but says nothing as I follow Amy outside onto the front porch.

I wait until we’re near her car, far from his ears, before speaking again. “I want to go tonight,” I tell her.

“Of course you do,” she says as she slides a pair of pink-rimmed sunglasses onto her nose. “Just get to the end of the driveway by nine-thirty and I’ll take care of the rest.”

I nod as she lowers herself into her shiny and clean sports car. “Thanks,” I tell her.

She presses her fingers against her lips and blows me a kiss before taking off down the driveway. I turn back to the house and my eyes are instantly drawn towards Tobias’ window.

It’s been several days since Tobias taught me how to punch, but the memory is still very vivid in my head. I haven’t seen him since. I hear him sometimes. I’ll hear the thumping of his feet upstairs while I’m in the kitchen or the roaring of his motorbike speeding down the driveway while I’m in the horse stables. Wherever I am, he’s not there. I’m beginning to think our paths haven’t crossed again on purpose. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Time to get to work, Claire!”

I jolt at the sound of Charlie’s stern voice on the porch. “All right, all right…” I call as I step back towards the house.

***

“So, are you like, a prisoner?”

I roll down the window and let the warm, summer breeze strike my cheeks. “Sometimes feels that way,” I tell Amy. “But technically not, I guess.”

She pushes down on the gas pedal and swerves into the left lane to pass a slow-moving pick-up truck. It shakes me to the side and my seatbelt digs into my chest. “Sorry,” she mutters unapologetically. “Well, I can honestly tell you that if getting sent to hang out with Charlie for the summer was your only punishment — for whatever it is you did — you got off pretty light.”