59. Theo Fairview
Alexa Play: Orange Juice by Noah Kahan
It was Sunday, which meant instead of training, Jerry and I were sitting in his office reviewing all the footage he’d filmed of me throughout the week to identify areas for improvement.
Usually, we indulged in shitty junk food as a reward for eating clean all week, which I was especially grateful for, considering I’d been eating mostly vegan since moving in with Cass.
Not that I minded the vegan food. I’d really gotten the hang of cooking without any animal products, and most of what I made tasted pretty fucking awesome if I did say so myself… But nothing beats a dirty burger that came out of the bag looking like it had personally offended the fry cook.
That being said, the last few weeks had been… amazing.
After my conversation with Cass, I’d felt something shift deep inside me. She’d been the first person I’d ever told, and though I’d been intentionally vague about it, just having someone understand in even a small way that there was a reason I was the way I was… felt… like a huge relief.
Samwell’s phantom memory had been strangely quiet, and I hadn’t had the urge to drink in days.
The silver Q-Tip Cass had given me was now a permanent fixture around my neck–except for when I was training, of course–but I hadn’t even really needed to use it.
It felt like I’d turned a huge corner, and I was hopeful for the first time in my life that I might actually be able to cling to this feeling of inner peace for longer than just a few weeks.
Cass’s therapist recommended someone for me to reach out to, and though I’d been wary about it at first, knowing that Cass regularly went to therapy made me feel like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
When I’d explained to Cass that I didn’t feel like I would be able to talk to a stranger about what happened to me when I could barely even talk to her about it, she’d given me a completely different perspective I hadn’t considered before.
“You don’t have to tell her your whole life story in the first session. You might not even vibe with this person at all. Treat finding the right therapist the same way you treat dating. You need to get to know them and build a relationship. It takes time, and you don’t need to rush into anything.”
I found it amusing that she’d used the dating comparison, considering I hadn’t dated Cass at all before straight-up marrying her, but considering our marriage was fake, I didn’t bother pointing that out.
The analogy worked, and I felt more comfortable about scheduling my first session for after my upcoming fight with the Russian.
I knew Cass wasn’t thrilled that I was still moving forward with this fight, but she’d kept her feelings on it to herself, for which I was grateful.
As good as things were, I wasn’t willing to back out of it now, especially after how shit the fight with DeLuca had gone.
More than ever, I felt like I needed to prove to the world that I wasn’t a complete fuck up, and I was still the baddest bitch in this fucked up league.
What I hadn’t been expecting was the resistance I’d been feeling from Jerry.
He’d seemed grumpier than usual during training lately, and it was especially clear today when we’d been locked in his office together for hours, and almost all my comments and questions about the following week’s training schedule were met with either grunts or one-word answers.
We’d just finished watching the last clip, and I slung my gym bag over my shoulder as I prepared to head out to the gun range.
“Cool, so we’ll pick up tomorrow with no-load shadowboxing?” I asked, once again trying to engage him in some form of conversation that didn’t result in a grunt or a shrug.
Jerry nodded, but barely looked at me as he settled heavily behind his desk to start working on my drill plan.
I bristled slightly, annoyed that he was clearly pissed with me about something.
It wasn’t really in my nature to push people to open up to me, but I couldn’t really afford to have my coach give me the silent treatment with a fight this big coming up. I needed him to help me make sure I was at the top of my game, and I couldn’t do that if he wouldn’t talk to me.
“Alright, old man. Fucking spill. Why’ve you been acting like you have a stiff pole up your ass these last few weeks?” I tried to make it sound like a joke, but even to me, I just sounded hurt.
I’d never say it out loud, but my relationship with Jerry was more to me than just a coach/trainee relationship.
I loved the old man. He was gruff and rough around the edges, but he clearly cared about me, and I cared about him. We’d been working together for years. It bothered me more than I cared to admit that he was icing me out.
Jerry glanced up at me finally, and his lips pursed. I stood there, waiting impatiently for him to say something. A part of me worried for a second that he was going to brush me off again, but after a long, tense moment, he finally spoke.
“Didn’t really appreciate being accused by yer girl of taking ya out to get shitfaced before that fight with DeLuca, kid.
Especially not considerin’ I’ve been sober for over ten years.
Not tah mention I would never put yer safety on the line like that.
Been weeks and ya still haven’t even said shit tuh me about it or apologized. ”
My eyebrows rose in surprise, and my heart sank to my stomach at his words.
With everything that had happened since that night, I’d almost forgotten Cass had reamed Jerry out for the drunken lie I’d apparently told her when I’d crawled back to the condo completely blackout.
“Jeeze, Jer…” I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly as I tried to come up with something to say that didn’t make me look like even more of a dickhead than I already was.
“I’m, uh–yeah, I’m really sorry about that. To be honest, I don’t even remember telling her that. I was… pretty wasted. And I didn’t know you were sober or whatever, man. My bad…”
He scowled at me, and I winced.
Shit. He was really mad at me.
“Ya never asked.”
“Uhm…” My face was burning, and even though Vox was probably going to show up at the arena any minute to pick me up for the range, I slipped my bag off my shoulder and settled back into one of the folding chairs in front of Jerry’s desk.
“Alright, I’m asking now. You wanna, I don’t know… talk about it or some shit?” I mumbled, trying to ignore the frantic feeling in my chest that was telling me to run as far away from this conversation as I possibly could.
Jerry reached into the pocket of his ratty track jacket and pulled out a thick gold coin. He put it on the table in front of him and jerked his head at it, telling me he wanted me to take it.
I picked up the coin and ran my thumb over the embossed ‘X’ on the front. Around the rim, it said ‘To thy own self be true’ with the word Recovery stamped under the X, which was clearly meant to be the Roman numeral for the number ten.
“Wow, Jer… congratulations?” I said hesitantly, feeling unsure of what the appropriate response was to someone handing you what was clearly an AA recovery coin.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes before leaning back in his chair and eyeing me warily.
“Why do you think I’m showin’ ya that, kid? Ya think I’m lookin’ for yer congratulations?”
My face flushed a deeper shade of red, and I found myself putting the coin back on his desk and shoving my hands in my pockets.
“I don’t know, Jer. I feel awkward as fuck right now.”
“Why? I’m not ashamed of it. So I had a problem. At least I admitted it and did somethin’ about it. Which is more than I can say for you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my mouth dropped open in surprise.
“What the fuck? I’m not an alcoholic, Jerry. I haven’t had a drink in weeks.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and the awkwardness I was feeling was quickly turning to defensiveness.
“Yeah. I didn’t think I was an alcoholic either, kid.
Told myself an alcoholic wouldn’t be able to get up and go to work every day.
An alcoholic wouldn’t be able to keep a job or maintain a healthy marriage.
Alcoholics beat their wives and kids. I wasn’t like that at all.
I loved the shit out of my family. Provided for ‘em. I was nothing like my daddy, who drank himself stupid and beat on me and my ma all the time… so the fact that I was putting back a fifth of bourbon every other day wasn’t a problem, right? ”
“I’m not drinking that much every day.”
“Ya stepped into that fucking ring wasted, Theodora!” he bellowed suddenly, and his cheeks grew red with fury. “Ya think someone who doesn’t have a problem would do some shit like that!?”
Shame twisted in my chest, and I found myself cowering in my seat before him. My eyes stung with the sudden and unexpected burn of tears, and I swallowed back a painful lump that seemed to be growing in my throat.
“Jerry–I–”
He held up a hand to stop me, and his own throat rolled as he swallowed nearly as hard as I had. I watched him as he tried to compose himself. After a long moment, he sighed, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his desk.
“This has been going on for as long as I’ve known ya, kid. I haven’t said anything up until this point because it’s never interfered with an actual fight. Sure, you missed a few planning sessions or showed up to training hungover, but what happened with DeLuca can’t be ignored.”
My blood turned to ice in my veins, and I clenched my hands into fists in my pockets.
What was he getting at?
“You have a problem, kid. I know ya don’t think you do, or ya think it’s justified because yer using booze to cope with some fucked up shit that happened to you that ya don’t want to talk about, which is fine.
I’m not gonna make yuh tell me nothin about that.
I’m just gonna tell ya that I was a lot like you when I was yer age.