Chapter 8
8
[Judd]
A s we hold hands a little longer than a typical handshake, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my suit jacket which dangles over the back of the couch. The tingling sound is a reminder I set, and I twist my wrist to check the time on my watch.
“Shit.” I hate to do this, but I need to get going. “I’m so sorry, Genie. But I have to go. I have a fight tonight.”
While fighting is my deepest kept secret, the cat is out of the bag so to speak, with Genie. She saw me last week.
“You’re leaving for Knoxville now?”
Reluctantly, I release her hand and stand to retrieve my phone to shut off the reminder. I chuckle softly at Genie’s skepticism. “No. Being in Knoxville was a one off.”
I don’t typically travel for fights, but The Boxer’s management reached out and I figured, what the heck. Why not take my talent elsewhere? However, I’m not certain my family would agree that I have talent. Or understand the underlying desire to have the skills I have.
“I fight just outside of Charleston.” The city is one of the largest in West Virginia and roughly thirty minutes from Sterling Falls. Mack’s is much like The Boxer, with a pub as a front for the boxing ring in the back. Harvey Mack is a decent guy. He respects his boxers. Knows how to schmooze sponsors. Allows bets. Keeps the place clean.
And I’d never want to be on his bad side.
“Why do you fight?” Her tone is curiosity mingled with concern, and my answer is too complicated for the first night of our reunion.
“I just do.” The answer is a bit curt and a lot nonexplanatory.
Genie watches me as I slip my phone into my back pocket and then loosen my cuff buttons to roll up my shirt sleeves. With each fold of the starched material, her expressive eyes widen and then glitter brighter. At one point, she licks her lips and chews at the corner.
Does my fake fiancée appreciate the ink? Will she appreciate it even more when she understands the meaning behind most of it?
“I’m not judging you,” Genie finally states, pulling her eyes from my forearms, now exposed with my shirt sleeves rolled to my elbows. “I just want to understand.”
I want to tell her. I am certain I could trust her with my secret, but another day.
“Want me to take you back to your mom’s? Or get your car for you?” She’s still wearing that godawful dress. Her car and phone and a change of clothes are at her mom’s.
Genie lowers her head and sheepishly asks, “Would you mind if I hang here?” Maybe she isn’t ready to face her mother again. She swings her feet which don’t touch the footrest on the stool. The move is innocent looking, almost childlike, and reminds me of an eight-year-old girl sitting beside me when I was ten, reading books with adventure in them to me.
Genie was certainly adept at reading, and her reading to me was a highlight of each week that school year.
The year the reality of my mother’s death seemed to have a chokehold on my father and strangle the light out of his eyes. The year he no longer saw his children as a blessing with his late wife but a constant, painful reminder of her absence. An absence he resented and blamed on his children.
“I’d be honored if you stayed,” I admit, offering her a soft smile. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge or bar. I should be back around midnight.”
From her seat on the stool, Genie continues to watch me. The gleam in her eyes still exists but a haze wavers around that spark. A look I cannot recognize.
I should stay. But I have to go. “Want to come with me?” A rush runs up my center. Would she watch me fight? Would she cheer me on?
Genie looks away, pursing her lips. “I think I’ll pass.” Disapproval forms in that haze.
Disappointment fills me. It’d be nice to have someone ring side at a fight. Someone there to support me.
Glancing back at me, she says, “I respect your passion, Judd. But I also, respectfully, disagree with it.” Her brows pinch, asking me a question once more without speaking.
Why do I fight? The answer is so complex, and again, not something I want to discuss right now.
Plus, I’m running late.
Everything in me pulls me toward Genie. Wanting to kiss her temple. Reassure her somehow. But I hold back.
Instead, I nod once. “See you later then?” I’m the one needing reassurance now.
“I’ll be here.” Her feet kick again, and she offers a warmer smile before I leave.
Once on my Harley, I have time to reflect. Ten days doesn’t feel like enough time to get back in Genie’s good graces. To re-spark an old friendship. To re-kindle what I once hoped could be more.
However, I’ve been given a second chance. Somehow. Someway. And I’ve learned to fight. This pretendship, as Genie called it, is a match I could not, would not, lose. I’d already lost Genie once before.
I have ten days to prove myself. Ten days to date my fake fiancée.
I haven’t felt this fire inside me since I was eighteen years old. This desire to claim what I want. To believe in a future for the first time in a long time. A future that involved more than simply existing but living.
When I arrive at Mack’s, I’m primed for my match this evening. I’m looking forward to the battle. The adrenaline rush and the endorphin high. That moment my body turns into a machine. One I control.
My movements are practiced; my skills honed. Nothing feels like the swift release of a left hook or a right uppercut. The contact of glove to glove doesn’t spur me on as much as the mental challenge. The unknown of my opponent’s moves. The anticipation of it. The excitement rises from counteracting him. A war rages within me, and the win is always bittersweet.
But tonight, it’s not about bringing someone else down as much as pulling myself up.
Victory feels a little sweeter this evening.
Genie Webster is in my home, waiting for me. This time, I won’t disappoint her.