Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Brooks
“I figured I’d find you here,” Hartley says.
My fists pepper the heavy bag, popping the leather and making the chains holding it from the ceiling clank.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Three punches—a jab, a cross, and a hook.
Predictable combination. Familiar sounds. Concentration required.
“Well, congratulations,” I say, wiping sweat off my brow with my uninjured forearm. “You found me.”
“Doesn’t this place open after school? It’s just noon.”
I turn back toward the bag. “What do you want?”
“I don’t really know.” He wanders through the darkened gym, keeping his eye on me. “I got a call from Gray, asking me to check on you.”
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“Are you supposed to be hitting the bag with a fucked shoulder and thread holding your forearm shut?” Hartley asks.
I start to rip his head off but thankfully catch myself just in time. Hart has nothing to do with this. Per usual, he’s taking time out of his day to help. Even if I don’t need it—not the kind they can give me, anyway.
“Those questions never crossed my mind,” I say, circling the bag.
“Huh. Seems like the first question I’d ask myself. But what do I know?”
“You know where I am, so you can leave now.”
He chuckles in a way only Hartley can. It’s kind of amused, kind of cocky, and kind of like if you push him too much, he might rip your throat out of your body.
“You wanna tell me why you’re being a fuck today?” Hartley asks, his tone making it clear. He’s done with my shit.
Well, guess what, Hartley—me fucking, too.
I toss a couple of jabs, smacking my glove off the bag. “Turns out that I’m one dumb motherfucker, Hart. Did you know that?”
“Yup.”
“Asshole,” I mumble, although I fight my first grin of the day.
I don’t want to talk about this. I want to forget it ever happened. I don’t want to know Drew Fucking Van, or his sister, or John Pelfry—none of it.
Life is so much easier when you don’t give a fuck.
“In the spirit of expediting this process that neither of us wants to be a part of, I’m going to tell you what I know, and we can work from there,” Hartley says.
“I know that you and Audrey have probably been a thing since you laid eyes on her. And I know you took her somewhere for a few days because Cathy raided my candy jar—for you.” He stares at me like he’s trying to prove a point.
I don’t give a shit about your points, Hart.
Save the energy. “And I also know that something happened that made you pivot your whole approach to Audrey, and you then told her to fuck off.”
I pull my last punch and step away from the bag. “I didn’t say that.” I level my gaze with his, hating that Audrey’s gone. Her pain, her tears, they’re all I’ve thought about. And now, she’s gone … because of me? Fuck. “I didn’t tell her to fuck off.”
“So, what’s going on? What happened? What’s the big mystery so I can solve it and get back to work?”
I slip off my gloves, irritation growing for my friend. He’s standing next to my drink and a bench, so I sit a few steps behind him and toss my gloves in my bag.
“Wanna hear something wild?” I ask, flipping my bottle open. “I don’t think I like fighting anymore.”
He whistles through his teeth. “You have my attention.”
Great. I got nothing else to say.
Everything in my life is one tangled web. It’s so complicated. While I’m usually pretty damn good at getting knots out of stuff, I can’t find the loose end to pull here. I don’t know where to start.
I stretch my legs in front of me, wondering if I should just go back to Vegas to get away from everything … or will that be a waste of energy?
“You really want to be involved in this?” I ask. “Last chance to back out.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be involved at all, actually. But I’m here, you’re here, and I have twenty minutes before my pizza at Piper’s is ready. So be my guest.”
I stand and grab my towel, drying my skin. But as the fabric dusts over the slice in my forearm held together with pink thread … I want to die.
“Fine,” I say, resolved to loop Hartley in on at least some of it. Not all the details are important, and I don’t want to spend an hour outlining every small thing. “You have to swear that what I’m about to tell you won’t go any farther. Not to Cathy, not to Gray—no one.”
He flinches before nodding. “Yeah. Okay. You got it.”
Then here we go …
“I’m infatuated with her,” I admit, the sound of the words coming out of my mouth echoing across the gym. “I think of her or something Audrey-adjacent at least once an hour. It’s not healthy.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Depends. I worry about her, I daydream about her, I crave her.” I dry my head with my towel and throw it onto my bag, too.
“But it’s infatuation at best. Right? You can’t fall in love with someone after knowing them for like two weeks.
Maybe I love her pussy, and that’s why I dream about it, but I can’t love her. ”
Hartley shrugs. “I don’t know if I agree with that but continue.”
There’s nowhere to go. That’s the end of the story.
I pack my shit, grateful for the few solitary minutes to try to sort through my thoughts in the gym. It didn’t help much, but it was better than listening to Otis scream for hot dogs.
But that’s not the real problem.
“Do you know Drew Van, the fighter?” I ask. “Came up about the same time as me.”
“I think so. Vaguely.”
“He’s one of the worst people I’ve ever met, and he hates me.” I lift a brow. “And he’s Audrey’s brother.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yup. Oh, shit is right. But that’s not that wild of a story. So, let’s make it a story where he gets to be on the commission for license reinstatements at the same time mine needs reinstatement.”
His jaw drops.
“And then let’s pretend, just between you and me, that he calls me one day and says he knows my license is being investigated for a bunch of shit that, between us, I didn’t do—that I’d bet a million bucks he’s behind—and if I ever talk to his sister again, he’ll yank my license.
And if I don’t, then he’ll make sure it’s approved. ”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No.” The sharpness of my tone could cut glass.
“So, what do I do, Hart? Do I tell him to fuck off and risk losing my license for good? And let’s say I don’t care about that, because I’m not sure that I do, is it worth the rift it’s going to cause between her and her family?
And who knows if I’d be good for her? I’m a fuckup.
We all know it.” I snort. “Hell, this is evidence of it.”
He shakes his head in disbelief as I continue to get riled up.
“Or, do I look at it as if I walk away from her, yeah, it fucking blows, but she keeps a good relationship with her family, and that’s important to her.
And I’m able to continue to support Mom and me.
Because if they take my license, what the hell am I doing with my life?
I can’t do shit but eat pussy, and that’s illegal to charge for. ”
He smacks his forehead, likely regretting answering Gray’s call.
“So, mystery solver, what in the name of fuckery do I do?”
He runs his hand down his face before he drops it back to his side. “You should have your own reality show because you can’t make this shit up.”
“I know.” I throw up my hands.
He motions for me to stop talking and takes a long breath. “All right. You’re not going to fight your whole life anyway, so let’s start with the most important element—the girl.”
“What about her?”
“Is she your girl?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
He mutters something I can’t hear, which is probably all for the better. “Were you thinking of being with her before all this other shit went down?”
“Yeah.” I smile sadly. “I’ve never looked at a woman and wondered if I could see myself settling down with her before Audrey. But I just started imagining her in situations in my life like it was a given. It’s still so weird.”
Hartley gives me a knowing grin that I promptly ignore.
“But, like, is it right to even try with a girl like her? Because what are the odds that I fuck her up? Hell, she’s crying today because of who? Me.”
“No, she’s crying because her brother is a manipulative motherfucker even though she doesn’t know it.”
Fair point. But it doesn’t change anything.
“Sounds like you chose the easy route, but I don’t blame you—”
“The fuck,” I say, pissed. “What do you mean I took the easy route? That was hard as fuck.”
He looks at me like I’m a goof. “There has to be a way for you to get what you want.”
What I want? I want to fight … I think. I want to help Doc finish her whimsy list. I want to hold her for more than just another night. I want to go on more fucking road trips with her and laugh about stupid things and buy her shit and promise her there are no monsters in the darkness.
And show her I’m not one, either.
“You’ll regret this. And, when you do, remember that someone hurt you. But that someone wasn’t me. What you see isn’t regret. It’s disappointment.”
That is a punch right to the … everywhere. A buckling knockout blow.
I want to … try for more with her. Why did I walk away?
Feeling like everything I want is out of my control makes me want to rage.
I know that isn’t the emotional response that will fix anything—it’ll just add to the destruction in the end.
That’s why I’m at Alfie’s and not on a quest to find Andrew Fucking Van.
But this helplessness with this situation is overwhelming.
How did someone like him, a semi-talented punk with more money than brains or talent, touch not just my professional life—because, in this world, that’s sadly understandable–but my personal life, too?
Why does he get to win?
“I want Doc, and I want her brother to stay out of it.” I grit my teeth. “And I want that asshole to be put in his place. That’d be a cherry on top.”
“Then make that happen.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder and then heads for the door. “I believe in ya, Brooksy.”
“Yeah, fuck you, Hart.”
“Better chance of me getting fucked than you by the sound of it.”
I launch a boxing glove at him, but it hits the door about an inch from his head as he pushes it open. His laughter is carried on a breeze back to me.
I start to clean up the gym so it’s ready for the afternoon classes, but Hartley’s words keep playing through my head. “Then make that happen.”
“There’s no way to make it happen.” My world slows down, almost to a full stop. “Woah, wait a minute …”
My phone dings from my bag, and I dig through it with a renewed energy I didn’t expect. I finally pull it out from my shorts pocket. Unknown Caller.
“Hello,” I say, shoving everything back into my bag.
“How does it feel to be the most hated man in Nashville?”
I flinch. “What? Who is this?”
“This is Audrey’s friend Gianna.”
“Oh, no,” I groan. This girl is a headache on a good day—and today is not a good day. “Can we do this later?”
“No, you fuckhead, we cannot. My best friend is on a plane right now to Boston—alone. Scared. Because—”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” I scrub the top of my head with my fingernails. “She’s not going until tomorrow.”
“No. She went today because she didn’t want to stay here another night, and she didn’t want to go home alone.”
“Why is she scared?” I ask, my stomach somersaulting. “That’s news to me.”
“Did she tell you about Lewis Lemon?” Who the fuck is Lewis Lemon? And what parent thought naming their son Lewis with that surname was a solid idea?
“No.”
“You surely know the cut on her thigh.”
“I know every line on her body.”
“I’m sure you do. Well, Lewis Lemon, a stockbroker from New York, who our girl went on a date with once, did that.” The fuck what? “And last night, while she was here, that motherfucker was texting her, insistent that he’d be seeing her this weekend. And she’s terrified. Of him.”
A swell of fury rises inside me, and a panic rolls through my veins. Fuck. I did that.
I fumbled her.
“It’s really not a big deal. I was on a date with a guy and had a piece of string dangling from my dress, so he used a pocketknife to remove it. Yeah. See? No big deal.”
No big deal. I just accepted that explanation, figured we could come back to it another time.
But there won’t be another time because Andrew Van said so? My brow wrinkles as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
No. I’ve beaten him in everything else in life. He’s not winning this battle.
I breathe in the scent of the gym, feel the ache in my shoulder, and the even bigger ache in my chest. I think about flying to Vegas, sitting down with Isaac, and hearing what he and Nick have to say.
I consider listening to Otis scream in his carrier when I eventually move back to Vegas, how the city doesn’t get dark, and how I miss touching real Tennessee grass, and answering the phone when Mom calls because she visited the cemetery alone and she’s sad.
And hearing Jasper’s stories of meeting up with old friends at Patsy’s, and the videos posted online from the festivals around town, and not being able to show up at Mom’s on a random Thursday because she made chicken noodle soup, and not going to church in the desert because Violet Crowder isn’t there to chase me out the door.
Things slow down inside my head. Helping Hartley fix fence posts in the sleet. Cathy packing me picnic baskets. Jasper eventually marrying Markie and me hoping I can arrange my schedule to stand next to him while she walks down the aisle.
Why didn’t I see this earlier?
It’s like watching a flipbook, and everything just snaps into place.
Hartley is right. There is a way to fix this. I look around the gym and laugh softly to myself. And it’s right in front of my face.
“Listen, Gianna, I appreciate your enthusiasm and passion for this, but I need to go.”
“I’m holding you responsible for anything that happens to her.”
I laugh. “As you should.”
“Oh.”
I end the call. She’s mad anyway. Then I sling my bag on my shoulder and dial Isaac.
“Hey,” I say when he answers. “We need to talk.”