Chapter 1 #2
I park at Harvest Valley Church and breathe out a deep sigh. My thoughts ring with alarm in my head: I made it in one piece, and now I’ve got to go inside if I want a hot meal.
You can do this, Bash. You did it last week, and the past few weeks before that. This time will be no different.
This isn’t the first church I’ve stepped foot inside.
In fact, the one my family attends in Australia is the only place I felt more judged than I did at home.
It was a constant hub of rude comments and passive-aggressive implications endlessly hurled my way.
It started when I began smoking cigarettes at eighteen and only became worse when I got my first tattoo shortly after.
Any friends I had were no longer allowed to speak to me, so I learned how to be content without them.
But still. It feels as if I’ve never been allowed to be myself without apology. So, after wrestling with my decision, a lot of praying, and hoping God wouldn’t be disappointed in me, I decided not to step foot in a place like that again.
I get out of the car and roll the sleeves of my designer button-up. I glance at the bare spot on my wrist where my Rolex used to live before I pawned it a few weeks after Mum and Dad decided I needed a lesson in obedience. Checking the invisible time is just muscle memory now.
Did I get anywhere near what it was worth?
Of course not. But it’s been enough to help keep bread and peanut butter in the pantry, along with a sad ration of gas here and there.
Plus, the phone bill I can’t afford to lose, and cigarettes—my most loyal, toxic companion.
They’re currently burning through my remaining funds faster than I can.
I drag a hand through my professionally-cut blond hair, which has grown just shaggy enough to look like that 90’s curtain hair men used to have.
It’s been two months since I was exiled to small-town Maine, and I’m finally starting to look like someone who belongs here—lived-in, broke, and unbothered.
“Bash, my man!”
I turn my gaze toward Logan, the saving grace himself.
He’s already propped against his truck like he’s in a car commercial—tall, effortlessly cool, and somehow making a hoodie and joggers look like designer couture.
Not only does the guy have smooth dark skin that looks moisturized by divine intervention, but also a face so absurdly symmetrical it offends me on a spiritual level.
If I didn’t like him so much, I’d start a petition to have him removed from public spaces for the safety of everyone’s self-esteem.
It’s become a routine of ours to meet in the parking lot before breakfast. I arrive, sulk about my life, and try not to overthink everything. Logan interrupts my sulking.
“I’m starving,” I tell him by way of greeting.
He chuckles, shoving his fists into the pockets of his joggers. “Chill, my dude. There will be plenty to eat.” Logan flashes a smile that reveals his nice teeth, made whiter by the contrast of his dark skin.
The two of us walk into the building together. My stomach growls louder with each step I take, and when the scent of sausage and crispy bacon hits the air, I nearly collapse. See, Bash? It’s not completely hopeless. God will provide for you if you keep having faith. Don’t give up just yet.
The familiar sea of faces smiles at us. People I’m still struggling to remember nod at me, and I return the gesture.
Logan and I get in line. As usual, the back of the room is cramped with tables and chairs. A long, buffet style table holding all the food is perched near the large window at the entrance. When it’s our turn, I take a plate with shaky hands, willing my knees not to buckle.
“So, what’s new with you?” Logan asks, spooning some blueberries onto his plate.
“Besides the obvious?” I laugh without humor. “My car wants me to check the engine. No idea why yet.”
Logan shrugs one shoulder. “I can take a look at it if you want.”
My spine straightens. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Sure, no problem. I can help you Sunday morning after church, if you come.”
I nod. “Thanks, mate.”
As I add potatoes to my plate of waffles, I realize what I just agreed to.
Even though I have nothing but gratitude toward Logan, I know it’s only a matter of time before he and the rest of the members of Harvest Valley show their true colors.
The moment they get to know me and see my flaws, they’re going to shun me like my last church did.
Coming to Tuesday brunch for the food was a stretch to begin with. But now Sundays too? I’m not prepared. Besides, Sunday morning is a time I typically spend training—Rocky style, since I can no longer afford a gym membership or the fuel to get to the nearest one out of town.
I try not to mope.
I’m going to have to come, for the good of my vehicle.
I follow Logan to a table and proceed to eat in silence, partly because I’m ravenous, and also because I’m still trying to work out my new training schedule for the week. Logan inhales his food, and when his stomach appears to be nice and full, he pats it like a well-behaved pet.
Someone approaches the table, and I recognize him from all the previous meals I’ve attended. “Hey, Steve,” I say.
“Hi, Bash.” Steve reaches out to shake my hand.
I can’t help but notice the way it slightly shakes, and how Steve swallows hard, like he’s afraid of me or something.
Unfortunately, this is something I’ve gotten used to since I started training seriously.
Logan is one of the few friends I’ve made who doesn’t seem at all intimidated by me, and it’s part of the reason I like him so much.
Logan nods at Steve. “Bash will be joining us in his first ever church service this Sunday.”
Steve looks so excited, it makes my stomach sink. “Awesome,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”
He walks away, leaving me to contemplate how I ended up here.
“This is great, man.” Logan rubs his hands together like he’s about to dig in for supper, though he just stuffed his face full of French toast and eggs. “I knew you’d join me eventually.”
“Don’t get too used to it.” Staring off at the table of men next to us, I watch Jason clap Bob on the shoulder, all smiles to be here. “This is a one-time thing. And besides,” I add with a grin, “you know I’m only here for the food.”
Logan laughs. “Well, there won’t be much more than donuts and coffee on Sunday. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“It’s fine, mate.”
He relaxes in his chair. We’re the only two seated at this particular table, which is probably for the best. The last thing I want to do is get involved here.
Network. Make friends. By some unspoken rule, Logan and I always sit apart from everyone else, but that hasn’t stopped them from occasionally coming to me.
Introducing themselves. Getting to know me, or trying, at least. It’s to be expected after all.
This men’s breakfast group meets every Tuesday.
Things are bound to get more personal eventually.
I just need to get out before that happens.
“You know,” says Logan, “I think your parents cutting you off was God’s way of leading you here.”
“Well, if there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s that He got me away from my parents,” I mutter.
His brows narrow as he meets my gaze. “You’ve never told me why they cut you off, you know.”
I smirk at the table. I don’t like people rummaging around in my personal business, so normally I’d tell him to mind his own, but Logan means well.
“In July, I debuted with my fight promotion, Munera, against the very explicit wishes of my parents. Then I told them I was done working for them. Doesn’t get much worse than that to members of high society. ”
I try not to get angry as I think back to the last night I worked an auction with them in Portland, the same night my fight showed on TV.
I remember my parents, in a rage I’ve never known they were capable of.
Them draining all my accounts and leaving me to rot in our Meadow Hills lake house.
“When you ignore our rules, you don’t get to spend our money, Sebastian,” my mother spat.
“You’re twenty-five years old. You’ll just have to make do with your fight money now, since this new whim is so important to you. ”
“Fight money?” I laughed. “What fight money? I don’t have any sponsors yet. This was my first professional match and my next one is four months away. I’ll maybe get two grand. Calm down, Mother.”
Calm down was probably the worst thing I could have said to her.
The rest seemed to happen so fast—Ingrid, refusing to go back home with our parents.
Them promising she wouldn’t get any more money from them if she stayed with me.
I must have done something right as her big brother, because when she had to choose between money and me, she picked me. And two months later, she’s still here.
And if their dozens of phone calls lately are any indicator, my parents definitely expected us to both come crawling back by now. But the thing is…I don’t care about their money. I’ve always wanted to be free and on my own. I just wish things hadn’t played out the way they did.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Logan says, breaking me out of my trance.
I shrug. “It’s nothing more than a manipulation tactic. They want me to come back home, so they’re punishing me by cutting off my access to money. They think I’ll come running back to them any day now.”
“That’s messed up.” Logan rubs the back of his neck and frowns. “Will you, though? Go running back to them?”
“No. They’ll only let me come home if I give up fighting because they want to keep training me to take over the family business. And there’s no way I’m doing that. Besides, I don’t want to go back.”
“Have you heard from your parents since all this happened?” Logan asks.
“Oh, yeah.” I lean back in my chair. “Mum calls about once a week to remind me I’ve made a terrible mistake and to convince me I should come home. She mentions how badly I need her and Dad’s money every time.”
He nods, frowning like he’s processing my words. And I admit it’s a lot to process for me, too. I still can’t decide if my parents are against me fighting because they think I’d be better off running their business someday, or if they simply have no faith in my fighting abilities.
No faith in me.
To them, I’m nothing but an embarrassment.
“Logan! Bash!” The youth pastor approaches us, sauntering over from across the breakfast hall. He has long, dark hair in dreadlocks and a wide smile I can’t seem to hate, much as I try. “Glad to see you here.”
“What’s good, Hayden?” Logan grins at him. “Guess who will be back here Sunday morning, bright and early?” He elbows my side. I want to kick him.
Hayden’s eyes widen. His grin transforms into a laugh. “No way! Bash, that’s awesome. I’ll save you a seat next to me.”
“No,” I cut in. “No, really, you don’t have to do that.
” This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.
I refuse to start getting finagled into this lot’s inner circle.
To become part of this small town’s community without my permission.
But as much as I’d like to get out of coming back on Sunday, I can’t help but feel obligated to attend in exchange for Logan taking a look at my car.
“Nonsense.” Hayden slips his hands into the pockets of his baggy cargo pants. “See you Sunday!”
“Yeah.” I nod, hoping he’ll mistake my grimace for a smile. “Yeah, I guess you will.”
I mingle for a bit longer before telling Logan, “It’s time for me to go, mate.”
He nods, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “Thanks for coming, man.”
I don’t linger another moment. I make for the exit, practically sprinting in the car park for my Camaro.
And barrel headfirst into someone carrying a cooking pot.
Before I can process what’s happened, the contents of the pot splash over her shirt and face, soaking her.
I swear loudly. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
The woman blinks in surprise several times and sets the pot on the ground. She stares down at her ruined white T-shirt for a moment before glancing up at me.
My breath catches in my throat as I take in her face, deep bronze and heart-shaped, framed by her hair, which looks like a jet-black curtain of ink spilling around her.
Her eyes are a vivid green that do funny things to my body.
A few noodles from the—soup, is it?—stick to one side of her hair, yet she still might very well be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“It’s no problem,” she says.
No problem? She can’t mean that. I don’t answer immediately, still struck by her excruciating attractiveness. I clear my throat. “I find that hard to believe. Look what I’ve done to you.” I pluck the noodle off the end of her hair and show it to her.
She giggles. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ve wasted your dinner.”
“It’s not mine.” She bites her lip, making blood rush through my body. “It was for the soup kitchen.”
I frown. “Oh.” Nice. You really are a winner, Bash.
But she offers me a lopsided grin. “Thankfully, they’ve already eaten. These were just the leftovers.”
“Still,” I say. Her gaze locks onto mine, drawing me in, so I take a step closer.
“At least let me take you out to make it up to you.” My own words give me pause.
What am I thinking? I don’t do relationships, and I don’t have much right now, but I’d gladly spend what little cash I have left from my watch on her.
“No, don’t worry about it.” She shakes her head, but that smile still lights up her face. It’s the kind of smile that makes me feel happy just from looking at it. Infectious.
She picks up the pot and regards me once more, tilting her head sideways and squinting through thick lashes. “Bye.”
I reach out a hand toward her involuntarily. “I?—”
But she’s already gone, halfway across the car park toward a white sedan. And I’m left staring after her, wondering who on earth she is, and why I suddenly feel the need to find out.