by Kate Stewart
Lance: It’s me you’re missing.
Harper: Every single day.
Lance: Wait for me.
Harper: Neither of us can make those promises.
Lance: I can.
Harper: Please don’t.
Hurt flares up when I think of how easily she left me standing there with my chest slashed. Even if there were tears, I’ll never understand how she could just drive away. We meant more than that. At least to me.
Lance: I guess you’ve already chosen.
Harper: I love you.
Lance: Maybe I don’t believe you.
Harper: You don’t mean that.
Harper: Lance?
Harper: Lance, please talk to me.
Lance: Take care, Harper.
The next day I spend twenty minutes coming up with an apology only to send it and have it bounce back. She blocked me. Not out of spite, but to give us a clean break. She’s unwilling to commit to me, and I can’t have it any other way. I’ll go crazy seeking it from her, and she knows it. She knows this is the only way. She always told me her dreams would come before any man, I should have believed her. I just never thought she’d discard me for them so easily.
Anger like I’ve never known boils through my veins. Another raw deal. Another punch life has decided to throw to break me down.
Regret eats me alive as I think of all I should’ve said, could’ve given her.
I could have loved her so much better, given her so much more if she’d given me a chance.
She’s already blocking me out of her life. It’s only been weeks, and I’m already a part of her past. I know she thinks this is the best decision for both of us, for now. But the tie she’s so boldly cut already feels like a molecular change in my makeup. It’s a change I don’t want, can’t stand to deal with. I feel like I’ve been ripped in half by loyalty and ambition.
Loyalty won on my part, and our mutual ambition just severed us. But the decision was made for me and for that I can’t forgive her.
But she would never let me choose. She would never make me.
I should be grateful. Instead, I’m pissed.
Sentence passed. I’m serving day one. My conviction in knowing I never truly got to fight.
My bedroom is now a tomb.
I have no way to go after her, not the means or the way. There are no magic words to change her mind. All I have left is this vessel I dwell in to turn things around, to change my fate, to save myself.
The problem is that it feels like she took the biggest part of it. I no longer feel the beat in my chest, the strength in my veins, nor the will to fight.
This test she left me, I fear I won’t pass. But I’ve got to believe her.
I’ve got to make our sacrifice worthy of the cost.
But first I have to inhale, exhale, remember my own dream and I have no idea what it is at this point.
I lace my sneakers and stalk out into the wind scattered rain, and I run. I run five miles until I feel the blood pounding at my temple, another five miles until my inhales are painful, and the breaths scrape my insides in search for the beat. I run another five until I convince myself I’m still breathing, that pound in my chest is a heartbeat, that I can still bleed. And so, I run. I run until I bleed out.
Lance
6 months later…
“Hey, man.” I approach my roommate, who sits deflated on a barstool. “What are you doing here?”
Theo looks like hell, his eyes moving over me in assessment before he scours the outdated shit shack I’ve been frequenting since Harper left and the season ended. The hole in the wall reminds me of a bar back home where I sip much-needed whiskey after backbreaking days.
“What are you doing here, this isn’t your scene, is it?” He’s just as surprised to see me.
“Not my scene, no,” I say, sipping my beer. I glance around the musty bar. Skeletons of longhorns hang sporadically around the place while stapled signed dollar bills pose as wallpaper. “This is where you come to hide, and it’s cheap.”
“Yeah.”
“You look bummed.”
He shrugs. “Girl shit.”
“Something to do with that beauty you used to bring home all the time?” I know her name because she’s my favorite barista, but I don’t want to let on that I do. He’s protective of her and has a bit of a complex. I was in my bedroom the night he had a blowout with Troy when Theo thought Troy had been pining for her. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I know firsthand just how off base Theo was with his accusations. Troy needed a distraction from the ache of missing the person he truly wanted. Don’t we all?
With Harper gone, I spent more time in my room observing life around me after exhausting myself at the gym. Six months without a word. Six months of pounding out my frustrations. Despite my best efforts, I was on a losing team. And this year I lost in more ways than one, I lost everything.
“You saw her?”
“Heard her mostly. She cracked me up.”
Theo frowns, his eyes roving over me with suspicion I expected. For a little guy, he’s oddly intimidating. He’s got an air about him I respect. And an immense talent that few have. He’ll go far. I’ve been so wrapped in my training, I’ve barely spoken to either of my roommates in the last few months, though Troy and I have become tight. But it’s been hard to put words to anything, especially after the way the season ended. Troy’s been distracted, but he’s been there, as silent support, when I needed him most. Daily, he’s still struggling, fighting for the future he wants, and the outcome he’s aiming for still seems possible, where mine is totally up in the air. Though wrapped in my own headspace, it was hard to ignore Theo and Laney and what they had brewing when they thought I wasn’t around.
“Thin walls,” I offer in the way of an apology. “Couldn’t be helped.”
“Sorry,” Theo mutters.
“Don’t be. Seems like you had a good year.” I grin and sip my beer.
“Well, my good year is ending on a shitty note. Garçon!” Theo calls to the bartender, who gives him a tattooed bird before pouring more shots.
“So, what’s your story?” He asks. “Seriously. I’ve never seen a jock be such a recluse.”
“I’m a creature of my routine.” It’s the truth. The other half of it is a bitterness that has been eating me alive. “I break out once in a while. But I stick to my circle, and it’s small.” After alienating myself from the team and losing Harper, it’s never been truer.
“I get it. Mine is dwindling.”
“Yeah, be careful with that.” Lifting our freshly poured shots, I clink my glass to his. “To the graduating class of 2019.”
We toss them back, and I welcome the burn as it slides down my throat.
“So, are your parents coming to your graduation?”
Dad’s deteriorating rapidly in his mindset without the right meds and most likely won’t be able to make the trip. Mom is feeling more helpless by the second bearing witness to it. The situation is as fucked as it is impossible. “Nah.”
“Really, why?”
Tony nods toward me, cue stick in hand. “I’m up,” I say, avoiding more small talk that’ll lead to reminders about my failures, about a future I’m not ready to face. “See you, man.”
“See you.”
“Jesus Christ, man, if I hear that song one more time, I’m going to fucking lose it. Do you hear me?” Tony mutters in his thick New York accent. “Seriously, this kid is your roommate? Make it stop. They’re about to turn on him.” A group of bikers taking up residence at one of the long tables glances over to where Theo sits next to the jukebox listening to the same song on repeat, his fingers in the air as if he’s playing piano along with the melody. He’s got it bad, and I feel for him.
“Motherfucker,” the bartender spouts over the music. “I told that idiot to slow it down.”
Theo looks seconds away from passing out. The minute the song dies, I hear a collective sigh of relief throughout the bar. But when the o
pening notes to “Everywhere” by Tim McGraw sound again, I feel the tension in the air rise.
“Fuck this,” I hear muttered nearby as two of the bikers stand, and I hold up a hand to stop them. “I’ve got this.”
By the time I reach Theo, he’s sliding to the floor. I scoop him up and get a number of odd looks before nodding over to Tony. “Can I use your truck to get him home?”
Tony pulls out his keys. “He pukes, you buy the fucking thing.”
“Got it.”
“See you back in an hour?”
“Yeah,” I catch the keys and make my way out of the bar with Theo hanging limply over my shoulder. The second I get him in the passenger side, he looks up to me, broken in every way a woman can break a man.
“I fucking lost her because I’m too afraid to lose her. Ironic, isn’t it?” His head bobbles on his neck, his voice cracking as I shut the door and round the truck before hopping in. He’s still talking as I turn the engine. “What kind of idiot does that? Me.”
It’s emotional vomit, and I feel every word of it to my core. But Laney isn’t halfway across the country. I’m jealous of his advantage. Harper is where she wants to be, where she chose to be, over us. I can’t demand or stand in the way of her path, the way she can’t do the same to me. She knows I understand it, even if I don’t want to. I’m at a loss, I’m angry with her, not for leaving me, but for the way she cut us in half, tore us clean apart without anything, not an inch of flesh, bone or vein to cling to. I stay somewhere in a mix between anger and resentment at this point because I’m helpless to the situation. This man is mere miles away from his solution.
“It’ll work out if you want it to.”
“You say that, but women are a little more complicated than drive-thrus.”
This pisses me off. “Newsflash, band boy, I’m capable of carrying a ball, intelligent dialect, and a mature relationship.”
“Sorry, shit,” he slumps in his seat. “I didn’t mean anything by it. No offense.”
“Offense taken. Don’t be so quick to judge. It’s rough all over when it comes to girl shit. Believe that.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s got to be easier for guys like you.”
“Believe what you want. I’m telling you different.”
There’s no point in talking to whiskey, it does nothing but lie to you. It tells you you’re stronger than you are, more resilient than you are, and that your dick will work when you’ve drunk too much of it. All lies. But the numb it sometimes provides makes it necessary.
Theo’s out cold by the time I get him back to the house. Collecting him from the truck, I hoist him up the porch steps and into the house and kitchen before nabbing one of my frozen Gatorades out of the freezer.
Bloodshot eyes open briefly when I set him on his mattress. “Shampoo.”
“What’s that?”
“Shampoo,” he repeats as if it will give me more clarity.
Chuckling, I head to his bathroom in search, and grab a bottle of what I assume is her shampoo and hand it to him where he’s sprawled on the bed. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes but pops the cap and inhales. “Thanks, man.”
“Just don’t drink it. And anytime. Thanks for the room.”
“Lance?” He calls weakly from the bed as I get to the door.
“Yeah?” I look back to see he’s out.
But I know his question and scribble both my reply and my regret on a Post-it I find on his desk, before leaving it in a place he can’t miss it.
Problem is, I was never good at coming up with the words to tell Harper how I truly felt. Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t have cut me out of her life so fucking easily. And even if I managed to find them, I’d never get a chance to tell her because she took the ability away from me.
Sixty-three fights later…
The shouts coming from all sides of the ring dull into a collective thrum. I’m dancing on air, light as a feather, my arms the only thing weighed down by exertion. Six rounds, and he’s fazed. I crack my neck, arms loose at my sides just as the bell rings, and the dance begins.
He’s dizzy, weakening by the second. It’s only a matter of time.
I come at him with my winning combination, and he swerves, knowing my tactics. This I was prepared for, so I change the sequence.
Body, body, body, uppercut.
I’m still fighting.
I’ve been as low as a man can get in the last two years.
No girl.
No draft.
And the bank is about to foreclose on the ranch.
Draft day came and went, and I retired my number.
Football is over.
Harper and I are long over.
But this, here, this is my future.
Not every dream is realized. That’s the hard truth, and the lesson I’ve come away with and survived.
Not all hard work pays off. Not every guy gets the girl. And sometimes, even the most carefully laid plans get changed, interrupted or abandoned because life has other ideas.
I’ve been on my knees more times than I can count at this point. From the ashes of the past twenty-four months, I know who I am, it’s become abundantly clear.
I’m a born fighter.
No matter the outcome, I’ve always got fight left in me, no matter how many hits I take. And I took them, eager for more, covered in those ashes, hungry and thirsty, and it all led up to tonight—my last amateur fight.
Pivoting forward, I end his misery and deliver one last blow, letting gravity take care of the rest. He collapses at my feet, and I take a step back, satisfied as my arm gets lifted while the ringside roars.
Though I know her distance, it doesn’t change the fact that I search the crowd for her face after every fight in the hope she’ll be there, a pride-filled smile on her face, an ‘I told you so,’ ready on her tongue. But she’s not. I’m her past, a moment in time, a memory. Her college boyfriend. A blip. And I have yet to fully believe that for myself.
Every fight I come up empty, but it doesn’t change my routine. I’m always going to look for her because even though she asked me not to, inside, I’ve been waiting.
Because of tonight’s win, the ranch is safe, at least for another few months. My family is safe.
Harper is thriving. I’ve been keeping up with her progress on social media. She’s joined a dance troupe that travels, working various shows all over Europe, exploring places we only dreamed of together in the double-sized bed we tangled to fit in.
The smiles in her pictures seem genuine. She’s with people who care about her, believe in her. She’s living her dream.
And my dreams have changed.
With the NFL unattainable, boxing saved me. She was right. Football was a pastime, and boxing has become my obsession.
And so I fight, for myself, for my family, and for her, in hope she looks for me in the crowd at the foot of her stage. Where I want to be, instead of sitting on a bench while Tony cleans my eye.
“You did good, kid. Two months and we’re in Vegas. You earned this. But we’ve got a few things to work on.”
Tony’s been with me since Harper introduced us, conditioning me for the heavyweight circuit. He believes in me so much, he trains me at the ranch. I’ve become his pet project. My family has taken him in as one of their own. He’s as obsessed as I am. We’re so close we can both taste it. Aside from Harper and my family, Tony is the only other person in my life who believes in more for me.
Harper.
Closing my eyes, I let the lingering loss of her eat me from the inside as he cuts the tape from my hands. Some days it seems like a lifetime ago we were in that gym, other nights, like tonight, I feel her with me.
“Kid, I figured you for a better mood since you just dominated that fight. Not a bad payday either. I told you those amateur rounds would pay off.”
I lay back and stare at the gaping hole in the tile on the ceiling as Tony inspects the damage to my ribs.
I’m a world away from his c
onversation, struck with how much truth has been revealed to me tonight in the last few hours.
Why the hell am I waiting?
Springing up from the table, I start to pace the locker room.
“What the hell, man?”
“I’m good. Ribs are sore, but I’m good.”
“You need to let me make that decision. Get back here.”
“I’m good.” I pace the room, thoughts racing, my pulse picking up as something inside me tells me now’s the time. The only time.
“I don’t like that look,” Tony says, crossing his arms from where he stands at the table.
“I need a few days.”
He shakes his head. “We don’t have time to miss a few days. We’ve got that charity match in a week, and we need every minute together before Vegas.”
“We’ve got months. I’ll make it.”
“We need every spare minute we can get.”
“I won’t miss a day. I’ll keep up with it on my own.”
He sighs, pulling up his phone. “Where?”
“New York.”
Tony’s head jerks up. “Now, you’re doing this now?”
I nod.
“Why now?”
“Because I want to see if I’m right.”
He sighs. “I’ll book us on the next flight out.”
I answer with the shake of my own head. “I need to do this alone.”
“No time for that. I’m coming.”
“This is personal, and you know it. I’ll need some space.”
“I’ll make it work.” He sighs and taps furiously on his phone. “Did you sign?”
“I haven’t looked at the contract.”
“Jesus, kid, he’s one of the best agents in boxing, and he’s not going to wait forever. Don’t piss this away. I can’t get started on negotiations for Vegas without him—”
“Book it,” I snap, gathering my bag, “I’ll sign it on the plane.”
“Hey, man, before you laser my damn head off with that look, I like Harper. I’m not saying she’s not worth the effort, but the timing is shit. And you’re about two years too late. We don’t have time for you to play Romeo. You know we’ve got a limited window.”