Chapter
Twelve
Soren
Sweat trickled down my brow as I darted left to miss the swift right jab Lane threw. It was almost nine and Jonah’s gym was nearly empty except for Jonah, who was pumping iron outside the boxing ring.
“You’re moving slow, Roberts,” Lane tossed out, working to throw me off my game, but he wasn’t wrong. Ever since my conversation with Sawyer yesterday, everything felt unbearably heavy. Like I was buried in sand and couldn’t move at my typical pace. How could anyone have survived her childhood?
I had heard stories of childhood abuse, like everyone had, but nothing as heartbreaking as when it happened to someone I now knew. Her story . . . at least the pieces she shared, were similar to something you’d hear about on the nightly news. I had this insane urge to protect her, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from everything. Her light was too special to be broken. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I’d never had similar thoughts for a woman I barely knew. Lane’s fist connected with my left cheek. My head snapped back, and Lane dropped his fighter stance as Jonah stopped and watched.
“Man, what is up? This doesn’t seem like a good fight because something obviously has you distracted,” Jonah remarked in his deep voice.
Jonah’s dark eyes were concerned, and I grabbed a towel to swipe over my face. How did I explain Sawyer without sharing her personal story? Lane squirted a stream of water into his mouth as he toweled off his sweat.
“Yeah, man. You called us here to spar, but honestly, you’ve been fighting like a rookie since you stepped into the ring. What gives?” Lane remarked, his green eyes shifting to Jonah with a knowing look. This was the problem with having lifelong friends. I couldn’t keep anything from them, even the things I wanted to.
“I wanted to punch something. I needed to blow off some steam,” I disclosed. Jonah quirked a black brow.
“Sure, man, but you’re distracted. I don't feel right beating up on you.” Lane smirked. “Besides, it looks like you’ve already been beat up with that busted lip.” He gestured to my lip.
“You wish,” I shot as I grabbed my water bottle and took a swig. There wasn’t any point in continuing; I took off the wrap on my hands.
“We’re not leaving till you talk,” Lane threatened.
I walked to an empty weight bench as Lane climbed out of the ring after me. I raked my hand through my wet hair. Where did I even begin?
“Remember Sawyer from the search the other day?”
Both of the guys wore shocked expressions as they glanced at each other. It had been at least eight years since I’d brought up a woman to them.
“Uh yeah, man. She’s not the kind of girl you forget,” Lane, the constant flirt, broadcasted.
I briefly wished I would have connected my fist to his pretty boy face a few more times while boxing.
“She used to live here,” I explained.
“There’s no way, man. I wouldn’t forget her,” Lane scoffed. I clearly should have let my fist connect more with his face.
“Really? I don’t remember her.” Jonah ran his thumb under his bottom lip in thought. His tattoo sleeve was on full display in his cut t-shirt.
“She’s six or seven years younger than us; I doubt we ever would have crossed paths, but she knew Abel.” At that, Lane’s knee, which he’d been absentmindedly bouncing, stopped. The air was sucked from the room.
“What?” Jonah wheezed out.
Abel wasn’t only my little brother. He was a little brother to all of us. We all lost someone that day, and the gut reaction of loss would never leave. You couldn’t fill the space of Abel in our lives, because no person or thing could occupy the space where his light used to be. His memory resembled a prism of light. It couldn’t be captured or contained because every recollection we had, he was a part of that too. His light made me think of Sawyer. Something told me I’d do whatever I could to stay in the warmth of her light, too.
“Yeah, she was only here for a semester, I think, but Abel gave her our grandpa’s military tags.”
“My man laying claim even as a young grasshopper.” Lane gave a watery laugh. He used humor to cover the things he kept buried. George would have a field day with him.
“Did she know who you were?” Jonah asked. I spent the next ten minutes explaining my day yesterday, hopefully without sharing too much. The abuse Sawyer suffered was her own story and not mine to tell.
“Why’d she leave?” Lane asked.
“She went to live in another foster home,” I answered.
“Man,” Lane drew out.
“I think that might have been for the better,” I hedged, as I took another sip from my water bottle.
“Now that I think about it, something does seem slightly familiar about her,” Lane considered, then continued, “You gonna ask her out?”
Lane, ever the flirt.
“I told her I wanted to get to know her as a friend.”
That brought a hyena laugh from Lane, and even Jonah’s mouth tugged into a smile. I was sure to get razzed for that.
“My dude. Let me give you some tips for the ladies.” Lane threw an arm over my shoulders, leaning in as if he was going to share a secret. I shrugged his sweaty arm off and grabbed my wraps, water bottle, and towel.
“I don’t need your pretty playboy tips. It’s been awhile, but I know women. I’m not sure Sawyer is looking for anything, and I’m not sure I am either. Who knows? She might already have someone,” I stated, even though I knew it wasn’t true according to her friend Talia.
“You think I’m pretty?” Lane batted his eyelashes, his hand under his chin as if he was trying to show his best angles. Jonah and I rolled our eyes, familiar with his antics.
“But you’re interested?” Lane asked, bobbing his head, mirroring a doggy on a dashboard.
“I’m not not interested, I don’t know. She seems . . . ”
“Beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. Sexy as hell,” Lane quipped. Jackass. Jonah rolled his eyes again.
“Hey! Keep your slimy eyeballs off her.” I tossed my sweaty towel in the bucket.
“No worries, Roberts. I won’t steal your girl,” Lane boasted.
“She’s not my girl.” Even though I could get used to the way that sounded. My girl.
“She most definitely is your girl. She just doesn’t know it yet.” Lane howled in laughter at his own joke. “Let me know when you need my wooing skills. They’re available for the low, low price of $19.99 a month, but if you act now, I’ll plan a date that’ll sweep her off her feet.” Lane used his best infomercial voice. His utter insanity shined brightly. He was a lunatic sometimes.
I looked at Jonah and he shook his head.
“Dude. If you have such amazing wooing skills, then why’re you still single?” I laughed.
“Why settle for one when you can have some variety?” Lane’s eyebrows bounced as his arms slung wide. I scoffed because I knew all about variety, and the high cost of it all.
“Jokes aside. She seems like a girl worth getting to know,” Jonah affirmed in his quiet way. Without a doubt, she was.
“I’m out. I’ve gotta fly to Atlanta tomorrow for some meetings, but I’ll be back Tuesday if you guys want to fight?” Lane said, glancing down at his phone.
Lane had retired from the MLB last year but was still involved in numerous business pursuits, especially his organization that provided a safe space for kids after school. There were only a handful of people in the world that knew how many things he funded. All jokes aside, Lane was one of the best people I knew. He was straightforward with his hookups, but I couldn’t live that life anymore. I’d been burned too badly, and now, I wanted more than something casual. It wasn’t enough. Lane grabbed his gear and headed out, tossing out a quick, “Call if you need anything.”
Jonah was the quietest of our trio. He intimidated most people he met, but underneath the tattoos, muscles, beast size stature, and pensive assessing focus, he had a heart of gold. The dude had a library with a rolling ladder and everything. The classic example of why it was never okay to judge a book by its cover.
“What are you going to do?” His deep, even voice asked. His muscled arms crossed over his chest.
“I don’t know, man.” I ran my hand through my hair. “This might sound crazy, but it’s like I feel this pull . . . I have to get to know her better, but I’ve screwed around so much before, and I don’t want to treat her like that. I can’t play games with her.” Jonah was my go-to when I needed sound advice.
“Then don’t,” he simply replied.
A puff of air blew past my lips.
“Okay. Well, thanks for nothing,” I drew out.
“No. It’s that simple, Sor. If you want something different, you have to do something different.”
His dark eyes watched me closely. He was right. If I wanted something different from the chaos I had before, I’d have to do something different. I’d have to be different. The thing was that I was different. I wasn’t the reckless, grieving brother anymore that used alcohol and sex to try to fill a void. A void that only increased in size regardless of how often I had tried to fill it.
“Since high school, I’ve never not had the end goal of getting some, but with her it’s different.” I studied the large American flag on the gym wall. “Man. I don’t know. She’s different. I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship, but something tells me I’d be a fool to let her get away.”
“Take the time to get to know her,” Jonah advised.
For a man who rarely talked about his own dating life, Jonah had a point. All I had to do was get to know her and simply see how it went. The question was whether I had the ability to date like that without screwing things up. After all, I had a track record of ruining the things I loved.