by Aly Martinez
“You gonna try to take off again?”
“No.”
“I swear to you, Q, if you leave this apartment, I will hunt you down and then drop you off at the police station myself. Who knows! Maybe Dad could use some company in prison.”
The mere mention of their father sucked the energy from the room. Quarry immediately looked ashamed, and Flint’s eyes dropped to the floor. I hated seeing those faces. I might have only been in love with one Page man, but I absolutely loved all of the Page boys.
“All right. Flint, get up,” I ordered, and he stood without question. “Till, put that meatloaf in the oven, and, Quarry, let’s do some homework. I bet you have a ton to catch up on.”
At least they followed directions well. Till went to the kitchen and turned on the oven, Quarry grabbed his backpack, and Flint cracked a book open.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” I asked Till three days later as he paced a hole in my bedroom floor.
“I mean the apartment was empty! I went to the front desk and they said she wasn’t evicted, but she didn’t turn in her keys when she left either.”
“What about all of the boys’ stuff?”
“It was gone too! I found some clothes in the closet, but all the furniture and their stuff, like Quarry’s video games and Flint’s books, were gone.”
“Maybe she got robbed?” I offered the only reasonable explanation I could think of.
“She took off with that asshole. I can almost guarantee it. She doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself. My father was a piece of work, but he was the only thing that kept her rooted to the family. I can barely believe she lasted three years without him.” Till stopped pacing and ripped the black beanie off his head before throwing it against the wall. “She fucking abandoned them!” Then he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
I took a deep breath and looked knowingly at the ceiling. “I know this is overwhelming, but they’re better off with you anyway.”
He lifted his eyes to mine and whispered, “I’m not sure they are.”
“Are you kidding me? You love them, and sometimes, that’s the hardest thing to get as a kid.”
His eyes grew warm with understanding.
“You would never leave them, so that security alone is better than whatever they had with her.”
“So, what do I do? I share a two-bedroom apartment. Scott’s cool when the boys stay on the weekends, but moving them in is a little different.”
“Till, he’s never there anymore. He spends every single night with Anna. If you didn’t have to help your mom with rent, you could afford to carry the whole apartment by yourself. Maybe bring it up to Scott. Who knows? He might be happy to get out from under the lease and move in with his girlfriend.”
He stared at me, nervously toying with his bottom lip. “Keep going,” he urged.
“Let Flint get a job.”
“No,” he answered firmly.
“Till, he could help out with some of the bills.”
“No,” he repeated.
“We were both working almost thirty hours a week when we were fifteen.”
“Yeah and I also didn’t graduate high school because of it. He makes straight A’s and actually enjoys it. He’s not getting a job. That’s the end of it.”
Suddenly, Flint’s voice came through the ceiling, joining the conversation. “What if I only work a few days a week or on the weekends? I promise I won’t let it mess with school.”
Till’s chin fell to his chest in defeat. “What if you stop eavesdropping and butt out of our conversation? Go watch TV or something.”
Then Quarry spoke up, making me bite my lip to restrain my laugh. “Can I just say, I like Eliza’s idea too. I’d way rather live with you than go back to Mom’s. I can’t believe she took my damn Xbox.”
“Quarry!” Till and I yelled in unison.
“Sorry. It slipped.”
“Go!” Till barked at the ceiling before looking back at me with exaggerated frustration.
“You can do this. I know you can.”
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “Won’t I have to do all kinds of custody stuff? I don’t have money for an attorney.”
“I wouldn’t even bother right now. She took off. Do you really think she’s going to show up tomorrow and fight for them? If, by some miracle, she suddenly decided to get her shit together and be a mom, that’s when we can worry about it. Just keep the boys in school and out of trouble and no one has to know they live with you. It won’t be long before Flint can move out if he wants to, and we’ll worry about Quarry if the time comes.”
He stared at me blankly and started rolling his bottom lip. “I’m really nervous about basically being a parent at twenty-one.”
“Well, would it help if I made twice-baked potatoes for dinner to help ease you into your new role?”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Don’t tease me, woman.”
“I just bought a whole bag of potatoes,” I playfully sing-songed.
“Damn it! Say yes!” Quarry yelled from upstairs.
Which was followed by Flint scolding him. “Really freaking smooth, Q.”
“What? I want those potatoes!” Quarry retorted, making me burst out laughing.
Till let out a huff and shook his head, but he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug. “Okay. You get the potatoes, and I’ll call Scott.”
“Score!” Quarry celebrated upstairs.
I understood, because wrapped in Till’s arms, I was celebrating too.
“Ehm.” He cleared his throat as I snuggled in even closer.
“Oh, right. Potatoes.”
“Just so you know, I’m going to need two. You know . . . fuel for my added duties and all.”
“Right. Of course.” I played along. “How about I just make all of them?”
“I like the way you think, Doodle. That is one sexy brain you are working with.”
My cheeks heated at his compliment. After one last squeeze, Till let me go and headed for the window.
“I’ll make burgers. Bring the potatoes up and make them at my place. Quarry would love to help,” He announced over his shoulder, causing Quarry to groan and stomp from Till’s room upstairs.
SCOTT WAS THRILLED WHEN I told him that I wanted to take over the apartment. His lease wasn’t up for another nine months, but he was planning to propose to Anna, so the timing really worked out for everyone. After hearing why I needed the apartment, he made me a killer deal on his bed and furniture. So by the end of the phone call, I had not only a room but also a bed for the boys and a dresser for them to store the trash bag full of clothes I had been able to recover from my mom’s.
Finally, something was going my way.
Two weeks later, everything was going as smoothly as possible. The boys were in school, Quarry seemed to be getting his shit together, and Eliza came over every night when she got off work to help with their homework. We were still counting pennies to pay the bills, but we were together. It had been well worth the sacrifice.
Flint was pissed when I put my foot down about him getting a job. So he decided to take it into his own hands and tattled to Slate, who, thankfully, took my back on the issue—kind of. He agreed that Flint needed to focus on school, but he also thought that it was Flint’s right to be able to contribute to our household. So Slate did what he always did for us—he fixed it.
Flint became the first kid hired at On The Ropes to be paid in actual cash. He still had to earn his keep around the gym, but for two hours every afternoon, Slate paid him to tutor the kids who were struggling in school. Flint loved it, and every week, he signed his paycheck over to me. I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t help. It did, but we weren’t exactly eating steak and lobster every night. Kids were fucking expensive. Especially two growing boys. Jesus, they could eat.
I loved having them around. We felt like an actual family for the first time ever. We still fought over bullshit things, and Quarry wouldn’t stop cussing no matter what
I did, but they were good, honest, and respectful kids. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how that had happened when they had been raised by two wheeling-and-dealing scumbags like our parents. I had Eliza to thank for the way I’d turned out . . . but they had figured out how to be decent people all on their own.
It was Saturday night and we were headed to a league fight at On The Ropes. I loved fight nights, but this one in particular had us all buzzing—especially Eliza. It was the night Quarry would debut in the ring. He’d only been boxing for a few weeks, but Jesus, he was a natural. I knew I was good, but I’d never seen someone take to a pair of gloves like Quarry “The Stone Fist” Page. (He announced the nickname approximately twelve seconds after Slate agreed to let him fight.)
“Yo, Till!” Derrick Bailey strutted into the locker room in a pair of khaki slacks and a teal button-down. He was such a tool.
“’Sup. You not fighting tonight?” I asked only so I didn’t look like a dick when I ignored him.
“Nah, man. Slate didn’t tell you? He’s taking me pro!”
I tilted my head questioningly. Not only were my ears failing me but they were now making up words just to fuck with me on their way out.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Yep. I’m going professional. My first fight is next month.” He bounced on his toes and put his hands up triumphantly. “I’m gonna get paid to fuck people up in the ring.” He threw a slow-motion uppercut under my chin.
I was too stunned to even play along with his little game. “Slate doesn’t do pro,” I stated, confused.
“Well, he does now. I guess he decided he couldn’t just pass up talent like mine.” He dusted off his shoulder playfully, but he was wearing at least a hundred-dollar shirt, so he just looked like a douchebag.
“Yeah. That must be it,” I bit out as I turned to face the locker.
Derrick was a decent boxer, but he wasn’t a champion.
There are two types of boxers: the opponents and the champs. Opponents are often less-than-kindly referred to as bums. Sure, they can be good boxers, but not great. Everyone starts as an opponent, but the ones who fall become bums, and those who rise and separate themselves from the pack are your champs.
Really, it all boiled down to good versus great.
Derrick was good in the amateur ring, but there was no doubt he would be outclassed in the sea of professionals. So it boggled my mind—and, quite honestly, pissed me off—that Slate would even agree to transition him.
“Page!” Slate boomed into the locker room.
“Yes, sir,” Flint and Quarry answered at the same time.
“Shit, there are a lot of you now. Sorry. I meant Till.”
“I’m here.”
“Listen, we’re switching up the order of the fights tonight. The bus carrying the lightweights from one of the other gyms got a flat. We’re starting heavy and working backwards to give them time to get here. We’re pushing back the first bell a half hour to give you guys time to finish warming up. Meet me in the dressing room. I need to get you taped up.” Then he turned and walked out, leaving me once again staring at Derrick Bailey’s shit-eating smirk.
“Okay. I’m gonna go grab a seat. Give ’em hell. I hear the guy you got tonight is a beast. Keep your left up, and get a few more wins. Maybe Slate will take you pro too.”
I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to keep my left up, all right. Preferably up around the level of his fucking mouth.
Just as the door closed behind him, Flint whispered, “What a prick! Did Slate really take him pro? He’s going to embarrass the entire gym.”
“I don’t know. Something’s not right though.”
“You’re the best fighter here. Why would he pick Derrick?”
That was a good fucking question, and I fully intended to find out.
“Just get dressed and worry about your fight,” I said, striding out of the locker room.
I found Slate laughing with one of the other trainers in the dressing room.
“You ready for me?” I asked.
“Yeah. Have a seat on the table.” He finished up chatting then grabbed a roll of gauze and tape from the cabinet. “How you feeling?” he asked as he started wrapping my hand.
“Um, Honestly? I’m a little confused.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” He looked up but continued methodically moving the gauze around my hands while holding my eyes.
“I heard you’re taking Derrick pro. That true?”
“Yep. I got him his first fight scheduled for next month. It’s nothing big, but it will get a little money in his pocket and start people talking while we work him up.”
“I thought you didn’t do pro. You sent Hutchins to a whole new gym when he wanted to transition.”
He shrugged. “Things change. I miss it, I guess. I love the amateur stuff, but the true talent makes the leap.”
“Exactly. And you choose to start with fucking Bailey?” I snapped.
His eyes shot up to mine. “Excuse me? You got a problem, then spit it out, but don’t you dare catch an attitude with me.”
“Yeah. I got a problem. How much is he gonna make on that fight next month?” I was still pissed, but I dropped the majority of my attitude.
“Not much. Four or five hundred bucks.”
“Right. Not much,” I scoffed. “I’m easily your best fighter. If this was just something you were itching to do, why the hell wouldn’t you ask me? I need the money. Bailey’s a bum and you know it.”
“Till, you have more than enough on your plate right now without adding something else on top of it. Derrick’s chasing a dream. I’m not stupid. I realize that. Do I think you’re more talented than he is? Absolutely. But you have a family and responsibility outside of that ring.
“Do you have any idea how much time goes into fighting professionally? It’s not something you do for an hour or two every night after you get off work. At least it won’t be for any of my fighters. It’s a full-time fucking job. Forty-plus hours a week. In this gym. Working out, sparing, studying, working out some more. You cannot afford to do that.”
“You managed, didn’t you? You’ve told me at least a dozen times how you had nothing except for your talent when you crossed over. You were just as broke as I am when you started. How the hell did you manage it?”
He finished wrapping my first hand, and I jumped up from the table, physically unable to sit still any longer.
“You’re right. I had nothing when I started. But you have something . . . in the form of two little brothers who depend on you to eat and keep a roof over their head.”
I hated every single word that came from his mouth, but I knew he was right.
I would have given anything to become a professional boxer. I’d shadowboxed that championship fight in the mirror a million times. It wasn’t just the money either. I knew that boxers didn’t make much in the beginning. But I was already broke, so it wasn’t like I’d have to get used to the struggle. No. This was about finally getting to do something that could really better my future. However, like most things, that wasn’t my life.
This was reality.
And I couldn’t even afford to dream.
“This is bullshit,” I mumbled to myself but settled back down on the table.
“Look, how about you increase your hours at the gym and we’ll reevaluate in a few months?”
“Increase my hours? I work close to sixty hours a week. Then I spend another twenty at the gym either cleaning shit to pay my dues or training. Where exactly would you like me to pull these extra hours from? I barely even have enough time to sleep as it is.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. You know I’d do damn near anything for you. But putting you into a professional ring without the proper training and watching you fail is not one of those things.”
“Right. I guess I just wasn’t aware Bailey was the next Muhammad Ali.” I was acting like a petulant child, but I was pissed and frustrated.
“That he is
definitely not. But his daddy is funding his grand pursuit at going pro. It won’t hurt me one bit to watch him lose.”
“Well, maybe it should. He’s going to make you look like a fool as a trainer,” I bit out just as he finished wrapping my second hand.
I stomped to the door, and just as I pulled it open, I heard him say something else behind me that I couldn’t make out.
“What?” I let out an exasperated sigh and turned to face him, but he was already storming in my direction.
When he reached me, Slate used the heel of his hand to slam the door shut. Leaning into my face, he growled, “And that’s another thing. You would have to go to the fucking ear doctor for your new physical. I set you up with a doctor and even prepaid for the appointment, but you still couldn’t seem drag your ass in to get your hearing checked.”
I blatantly rolled my eyes at his concern.
Stepping up, Slate bumped his chest with mine as he leveled me with a glare. “You know what? I’m done. I’ve let you throw a fit. You’re pissed. I got it. But I am not going to stand here and watch you act like a punk-ass kid. Remember who the fuck you are talking to or march your ass out of my gym for good.”
We stood nose to nose staring at each other.
He was wrong. I wasn’t just pissed. I was jealous. Of him. Of Bailey. Of anyone who got to follow their dreams. Of the people who had money. And most of all, the people who didn’t have to crawl through fucking windows just to feel a single minute of contentment in their lives.
But none of that was Slate’s fault. He might very well have been the closest thing to a father I’d ever had. But what blew my mind was why he did it. He was good to all the kids at the gym, but he had gone out of his way since day one to help me, then Flint, and now Quarry too.
“I’ll go to the doctor next week,” I promised.
“That’d be a good start.” He took a step away.
“And I’ll add a few hours on Sundays in the ring.”
“Another good answer.”
“Sorry,” I finally mumbled.
Slate reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I get it, Till. I fucking know how you feel. You’re hungry for more in life, and that’s a good quality for a man to have. Don’t ever lose that. Stay hungry. Stay driven. Stay focused. But you need to remember that I’m looking out for what’s in your best interest. Always.”