Chapter 43
forty-three
PRESENT DAY
brANDON
Pulse Fitness is almost empty thanks to the late hour.
The only sounds are the hum of overhead lights and the rustle of turning pages from the yawning front desk employee.
For what feels like the fiftieth time in the last three weeks, I can’t sleep.
Worry and regret gnaw at me like rats the second my head hits my pillow.
I yank off my leather jacket as I check out a set of boxing gloves. The employee offers me a set of velcro ones that aren’t half as nice as the ones I left home, but I don’t care. I shove my hands into them as I make my way to the boxing room, tightening the velcro straps.
I could kill Chaz for breaking my mom’s heart. And I will, if this breakup ends up like any of the other ones before Mom committed to staying sober. I still don’t know what happened between them, but I know my mother is gutted.
She won’t talk to me. Won’t talk to Heidi, even. And if I’ve learned anything, it is that isolation goes hand-in-hand with alcoholism. She needs us.
But I can’t make her open up, and it’s like I’m losing her all over again.
I shove open the door to the boxing gym, then stop.
My midnight sanctuary is abandoned, save for one sweaty, very angry girl.
Kate rains down punches on one of the smaller free-standing punching bags, but it’s in the middle of the ring. I don’t know why she’s not using the hanging ones or if she hauled the standing bag into the ring herself.
I watch her practiced movements, and I’m surprised by the tenacity in each blow.
I see the technique she’s obviously been practicing.
Sweat courses over her body, bare stomach slicked between her black sports bra and matching shorts.
She swipes an escaped strand from her ponytail and catches sight of me.
Her chest heaves, but the rest of her is frozen in time.
Her mouth finally opens, but I cut her off.
“Not here to talk, Kate,” I say. “Just here to box.”
Her lips draw tight, but she nods. Her eyes are shiny even from here, glistening with an emotional depth I can’t quite read.
“Do you…” She bites her lip. “Need the ring? Want me to leave? Want a partner to spar with?”
Is she serious?
“I’m not here to fight you, Kate,” I hedge. “And you can have the ring.”
She nods and awkwardly turns back to the free-standing punching bag.
I try to ignore the sounds of her small punches behind me as I make my way to the hanging bags.
I time my blows with my breathing, trying to get lost in the movement. But even after a few minutes, my peripheral vision catches sight again of Kate. Her punches have grown sloppy, her shoulders shaking with emotion. The anger festering in my belly subsides a bit.
Sure, she wasn’t in love with me in Marisol Bay, but I can’t force that any more than I can make my mom rely on me instead of alcohol.
In the last three weeks, Kate’s made no move to reach out.
Granted, neither have I, but losing Kate and being scared over my mom is like reliving a haunting repetition of the past six years.
I almost feel stupid for expecting anything else, anything better, in my life.
And as much as I wish Kate and I could stay friends, I’m always gonna want more—want her.
Kate’s shoulders begin to shake harder, and I straighten. Regardless of everything, I will never not have a soft spot for Kate, and I hate to see her so upset.
I stride over knowing it’s a bad idea, but I’m too tied up in knots to care. I swing myself through the ropes, and she wipes an embarrassed hand beneath her eyes.
I haven’t the faintest clue of what to say.
“Your form is sloppy,” I point out.
Yeah. That definitely wasn’t the right thing to say.
She gives me a look like, Seriously? That’s what’s on your mind right now?
I sigh. “I’ll spar, but you’ve gotta tighten up.”
She hesitates, then nods.
I heave the free-standing bag to the corner of the ring.
She drops into her fighting stance, and I can tell by the way she’s tightening her core that she’s following my advice. I hold my gloves up like I usually do with the pads, but she pushes one down and away from my face.
“No. Fight me,” she says. “I want to work on blocking.”
I drop my arms. “I’m not gonna punch you, Kate.”
She advances with a few of her own strikes, forcing my gloves back up to protect my face.
“Fight me. You know you want to,” she pants.
I swallow the frustrated growl climbing my throat.
Her second and third punches are stronger, but I block them easily. She aims a flurry, forcing me to react, to dodge, to weave. My mind grows quiet. She throws an uppercut with her right, which I deflect, but I only just miss the sneaking left hook she aims toward my ribcage.
And I’m grateful for the forced reprieve. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight any more than I suspect she does. So we fill the gym with heavy breathing and the sound of leather on leather.
After what feels like hours, I break the silence with a single word.
“Better.”
She watches me, limbs heavy, but has yet to speak. Yet to break this tension building like fire between us.
I skate my eyes over her, and that indiscernible emotion has returned to her expression. It’s like she wants to say something, but can’t.
Or won’t.
That thought makes anger churn hot in my belly again. Because even though she’s here, she’s still not allowing herself to be vulnerable. Then again, why would she? I’m the one that left her on the beach. I’m the one her parents hate. The one not worthy enough for her to love.
Without another word, I swing myself under the ropes and drop to the floor. I’m halfway across the room when she finally disrupts the silence.
“Are you done?”
Those three words are laced with so many things.
A question. A challenge. A fear.
I let out a hard laugh and turn back.
“Done? I don’t think I’ll ever be done, and you know it. But I deserve better, Kate. I deserve someone who can be open with me. Someone who will love me.”
She bites her lip, again restraining her words.
“What do you want from me, Kate?” I ask tiredly, tossing my gloves onto the bench. “You wanted to spar, and I did. You wanted a fake boyfriend to get your parents off your back, and I showed up.” I’m getting heated now, my chest rising and falling.
But she stays mute. Annoyingly, frustratingly, purposefully mute.
And now I’m pissed.
I stride back toward the ring, swinging a leg and hoisting myself up. I don’t stop until I’m close enough to count the caramel flecks in her wide eyes.
Her face is tight, expression filled with that damn indiscernible emotion.
“I’d ask again what you want from me,” I whisper, “but I don’t think you even know yourself.”
The tension in this sleeping gym is pulled taut like the ropes surrounding us, and I fear they could snap. That I could snap.
She visibly swallows before a hoarse whisper edges out.
“You’re wrong.”
A glove flies toward my face, but I catch her sloppy punch with my ungloved hand and push it away. She tries again, but I block it with a forearm.
“Fight me,” she strains against my hold. “You know you want to. It’s the only way I can help.”
She must be tired since she’s making no sense.
Enough of this.
In one deft movement, I sweep an ankle, sending her careening backward. I slip one arm around her back, the other cradling her neck as I lower her to the mat. I pin her arms beneath my thighs as I box her in with braced arms.
“Why won’t you fight, dammit?” She manages enough leverage to slap the mat in frustration. “You need to. I know you do.”
“Oh, love,” I whisper, “I’ve been fighting for you this whole damn time. But I needed you to fight for me, too.”
I swing myself through the ropes and drop to the floor without looking back.
KATE
I slap the mat again and sit up. Anger rises in my chest like a phoenix, hot and on fire. I had been fighting for him that night. Fought my parents about him. Begged him to stay, to not leave me on that beach because of those three little words I couldn’t say.
I’ll be damned if I go another six years carrying the regret of not telling him everything he didn’t hear.
“You didn’t hear everything that night,” I pant.
Brandon stalls a few paces away, then reluctantly turns back. “Hear what?”
“Outside that study. When you were eavesdropping. You didn’t hear.”
I’m close enough to see recognition flash in his eyes.
“Julia.” He curses, scrubbing a hand down his bristled jaw. “And I heard more than enough of your parents ripping me to shreds before you agreed with them.”
I shake my head, clambering to my feet on exhausted legs. I sling my forearms across the top rope of the boxing ring.
“You didn’t hear the rest of what I said,” I say, cursing the tears building behind my eyes. “You didn’t hear me give up my inheritance. You didn’t hear me say goodbye to my parents. You didn’t hear that I chose you.”
Tears burn hot down my cheeks, but Brandon has turned to stone.
“You…” he croaks.
“Yeah.” I swing myself down through the ropes. “I told them that I didn’t want any of it. That I only wanted their acceptance. That I was going to choose you over them every day and twice on Sunday.”
He blinks as though he can’t quite understand me.
“Then why…” His throat works hard in a swallow. “Why couldn’t you tell me you loved me on that beach?”
“I made a mistake. I was scared. You looked like you were going to leave me if I didn’t, and I froze.” A sad cry escapes me. “And you did. You left me, Brandon.”
“Another mistake,” he whispers.
I swallow, swiping the emotion from my eyes with the back of my forearm. “I don’t know where to go from here. Or what you even want. And I know there’s a lot going on with your mom—”
Brandon curses Julia’s name again.
“But I just want you to know I’m going to support you,” I say. “I care about you, Brandon. I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”
He shoves a tired hand through his hair. “Kate, I—”
A vibrating ringtone chimes from the pocket of his leather jacket lying on the bench. He fishes it out, frowning at the late hour before answering it.
“Hello? Yeah, this is Brandon.” I watch the blood drain from his face as whoever it is speaks in muffled tones. “What? She… She couldn’t. She wasn’t…” Terror seizes his expression. “Where is she?”
Alarm skirts up my spine as he listens, but he doesn’t respond before shutting down the call.
Agony laces his tone so palpably, goosebumps raise on my neck.
“My mom’s been in another car accident.”