Track 19
JAKE
I RUN THE full mile to the boxing gym before work.
The cool steel door swings open, a thick haze of sweat-soaked leather and bleach greeting my nostrils and landing in the back of my throat.
Light shines in through the only window above, highlighting the chalk cloud and dust particles floating through the air.
The satisfying thud of gloves against heavy bags fills my ears.
The steady rhythm of ropes slapping against the floor, the pattering of speed bags off in the corner—its practically lyrical in my mind, and it fills my veins with instant adrenaline.
Eminem’s “Till I Collapse” blares loudly from the speakers above. I drop my bag in front of my station and look around the room as I begin to tape my hands.
The gym is nearly full today. A few men surround the ring, encouraging the two fighting in the center, trainers on either end.
The rubber soles of their shoes squeak against the mat in time with their movements, adding a harmony to the surroundings.
One cracks the other with a perfect right hook.
I inhale deeply, expanding my lungs to their furthest point before releasing my breath and getting into position.
I start out smooth, sending a few jabs to the top center of the bag as I build momentum.
I bounce lightly on the balls of my feet, setting a rhythm and creating a flow.
Once established, I send a cross punch to the same imaginary target on the heavy bag.
First one. Then two. Followed by a hook. And then another.
Jab. Cross. Jab. Hook. Repeat.
Faster and faster with every switch.
I stick with my four-point combination for seven minutes straight, moving around the bag and dipping between pretend blows.
I take a thirty second break before I follow the stretch with a harder ten-minute cycle, forcing all my thoughts, all my energy out through my fists as they slam against the beaten leather.
These blows used to be punishment. Revenge.
A pathetic attempt to beat the humiliation out of myself—the humiliation of watching a girl choose someone else, of watching myself do nothing but walk away.
I used to replay that moment like a loop I couldn’t escape, every strike a reminder of the man I wasn’t.
Of the weakness I so shamefully displayed.
Now each hit lands differently than before. They’re solid. Clean. Free.
Purpose has replaced anger. Where rage once sat in my chest, there’s now direction, something steady enough to slow my breath and anchor my hands. Meeting Alana didn’t just change me; it rerouted the entire fight. It showed me the truth I was never able to see.
I never fought before—not because I was weak, not because I was afraid—but because I never cared enough to.
Nothing ever reached deep enough to wake the violence in my blood or demand more from me than survival.
I moved through life day in, day out. Untouched, unmoved, keeping everything at arm’s length because it cost nothing to lose what I never wanted.
But her…
She rewired something fundamental. My mind, my blood, the very air in my lungs burns for her in a way it never has for another soul.
Loving her is both a wound and a cure, a slow ache and a violent relief.
It wrecks me and puts me back together in the same breath.
It consumes me until there’s nothing left that isn’t hers.
She says she’s going down, and I might believe her. But I won’t let go.
I’ll chain myself to her and drown beside her if that’s what it takes.
I want her. More than that, I need her. All of her. In every way possible. Complicated. Broken. Messy. I want all of it. Forever. And I’m damn sure as fuck going to prove it.
By the end of my second leg, my hair is dripping with sweat, and my veins pop on my arms from the exertion. I drop them down, letting them fall beside me, exhausted. When my phone rings, I can barely hold it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, man, it's Brian.”
“Brian?” I pull the phone away from my ear, noting a 206 area code labeled Seattle. “What number is this?”
“I’m at the office. Listen, I just heard from my girl, Celise, in HR.
Turns out Stanley’s letter of rec bumped you to the top of the list. They’re looking at calling you up next week for an in-person interview.
And I’m telling you, dude, if they like you, you’re in.
They’ll want you to start immediately. Like on the spot. ”
My heart is still drumming in my chest from my workout, but I don’t miss the sinking feeling that hits my stomach as he continues. “I wanted to give you the heads up, so you can make travel plans or whatever.”
He rattles off a few more pieces of information, but it all jumbles together. My head starts to spin trying to place all the details at once.
“Wait, how’d they get that letter? Stanley just gave it to me yesterday.
” Before I left class, Professor Stanley stopped and handed me an envelope.
He said something about being impressed with my work and referred to me as a revenant, but my head was already out the door, chasing Alana down the street, so I barely heard him.
I haven’t read the letter yet, nor have I made a decision on whether I should send it out or not.
In fact, I’ve all but forgotten about it until this very moment.
“Yeah, that was the original, but he sent a copy here like a week ago. I gave him my email the weekend I was down there. I told you, man. I put in a good word for you.”
I know I should be grateful. I’m sure there’s a version of me, buried somewhere deep, that probably is.
Brian’s been nothing but a good friend. He held me together when I was a drunken mess, helped me find a place when I needed an out.
He didn’t call me a fucking loser like I deserved when I walked away from the internship that was supposed to launch my career.
And now he’s making sure I still get a shot. A real one.
It’s a good opportunity. And it’s probably my last chance.
But there’s only one thing on my mind right now, one thing that outweighs everything else.
Alana.
“Jake, you good, man?”
I realize I’ve been quieter than I should be, considering the news he just shared. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just…surprised.”
“Yeah, me, too. They work quickly here, but I don’t know, not this fast. They must have really liked what they saw on paper with you.”
“Yeah…” I drag my palm down my mouth, completely lost for words. “Hey, I’m at the gym right now, so let me call you back.”
“All good, dude. Just let me know what happens.”
“Definitely,” I say before I hang up. “And thank you,” I add quickly.
“You’re my brother, man. No need to thank me.”
A hint of a smile pulls at my lips briefly, my heart warmed by the sentiment.
You too, Bri. You fucking, too.
The call ends, and I drop my phone onto my bag. I lean against the wall with my head to the sky and my eyes closed tight.
Everything I’ve worked for is at my fingertips once again, and this time, with the help of a friend I know I’ll let down if I don’t pull through.
But the timing of it couldn’t be any fucking worse.
ALANA
We arrive at Donn’s around 10 p.m., thanks to Derek being a night owl and his reckless use of time.
He literally spent forty minutes in the shower, followed by almost an hour of getting dressed and doing his hair, blow dryer and all.
His prized getup? A pair of somewhat-fitted jeans, a tight V-neck shirt under a denim jacket, some work boots, and a pinky ring he swears makes him look distinguished.
“It’s like the Monopoly Man’s monocle. It gives character,” he says, spinning the gold ring around his finger.
I roll my eyes. “The Monopoly Man doesn’t have a monocle,” I sigh.
“What?” Derek’s face twists. “The little guy holding the money bag and the top hat? Yes, he does.”
“No, he doesn’t. It’s a well-known Mandela effect. He’s never had a monocle. The brain just added it in there because it fit well.”
“A what?”
I straighten in my seat with another heave of my shoulders. “Forget it.”
A smiley waitress with a high blonde ponytail arrives with our drinks and an order of mozzarella sticks at our high-top table.
Derek shoots her a flashy grin, his emerald eyes twinkling with interest. The girl blushes, biting her lip as she smiles back, turning away sheepishly.
Derek eyes her ass on her walk away from us.
“You’re a pig,” I say with disgust, folding my arms across my chest.
“I’m a man. All men do it.” He dips a mozzarella stick into the marinara before gobbling it whole.
“That’s just an excuse boys make so they can remain pigs.”
“Well, in that case, oink, oink.” His grin is devious, and the sight of it makes my stomach churn. “Oh, what’s with the sour puss, princess? You jealous I’m checking girls out while I’m with you? She’s just cute, alright, don’t take it personal.”
“What! That’s disgusting. I would never—” I take a cleansing breath. “You know what, I don’t need to explain myself.” I hop off my stool. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
“Yeah,” he says through a mouth full of fried cheese and red sauce. “Call your friends while you're there. Tell them to hurry up. I’m not sitting here all night.”
I roll my eyes again as I turn away. “As if you have anything better to do,” I mutter under my breath.
On my walk to the bathroom, I scan the bar for Jake for the very first time.
I didn’t want to look earlier in the off-chance Derek followed my line of sight.
It’s not like he’s on to me or anything, but I just don’t want Jake involved more than he already is.
I don’t want Derek to see him, learn who he is, or know anything about him.
Considering I can't help the way my cheeks flush with heat every time I look at the man, I figured it was better if I didn’t look at all.