12 Rounds

by Lauren Hammond

  So I walk across the stage.

  Lift my arm above my head.

  Position my left foot behind my right one.

  And prepare to bow out, gracefully.

  “I have to go,” I say quickly.

  Then I gather the cotton balls and tweezers and sprint through my door, closing it behind me. Inside the condo, I place my back flat against the door, trying to catch my breath, knowing that my bow out was anything but graceful.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ~Sean~

  For what feels like decades I stare off, the glass coffee table, bland neutral walls, and blue carpet blurring in my vision.

  Hadlee is like a tumor on my brain growing larger by the second.

  An infectious mass.

  Throbbing.

  Expanding.

  I just can’t stop thinking about her.

  I’ve never met a female who is genuine. Sure, they all come at me, flashing big bright smiles, manuevering their stacked bodies in just the right way, and knowing that I’m a man and that I have carnal urges.

  Sometimes I let those carnal urges do the thinking for me.

  Sometimes more often than not.

  When Hadlee wet her lips earlier, I had to shift into an uncomfortable position because just witnessing that made my dick hard.

  But that’s the thing. She did it so innocently. She had no idea what kind of effect it would have on me and I imagine she doesn’t know what kind of effect she’d have on men in general. The woman, without question is clueless and not to mention earth shatteringly beautiful.

  No.

  Not hot.

  Beautiful.

  There is a difference between hot and beautiful. Hot is a woman who has it going on. Curves for days. A Round ample ass. Preferably, in my case, a set of jugs big enough to fit in the palm of my rather large masculine hands. And when you see this type of woman, the only thing you can think of is how nicely your bike would fit into her trunk.

  Beautiful, that is on a whole different level and something I have had yet to experience. Until Hadlee came along that is.

  Beautiful is seeing a woman smile and the simple sight of it nearly takes your breath away. Their little quirks aren’t irritating, but are instead adorable, and you find yourself staring at them because you’re so mesmerized by everything they do. And then you find yourself wondering how another human being could create something so perfect. Something so…beautiful. Finally your mind swirls, jumbling up the words before they leave your throat and part of you feels tense. Nervous. Even jumpy. You know you’re completely out of their league, but the fight in you wants you to try as hard as you can to get inside their head. Make them understand that deep, down inside you really are a good person and worthy of just being in their prescence.

  It’s like something goes off inside of you. Something similar to a nuculear bomb and you can help but want to protect your beauty.

  Love her.

  Caress her gently.

  Be a different man with her.

  Fuck. I rub my head with my good hand and sigh. I am not this guy. I don’t say adorable, well technically I just did but that doesn’t count. I was using it as a reference. I don’t get involved any further than a wham bam thank you ma’am. And I don’t let myself get attached to people. In my experience, attachments are just let downs waiting to happen. The second you drop your guard its like everything blows up in your face.

  Besides, it’s not like Hadlee would ever be interested in a guy like me. And judging by the way she ran from me just now I know that for sure. I’m no good for her. She deserves some one true. Someone good. Not someone who has to go through his entire life pretending he’s something he’s not. Not someone with multiple arrest records, a gun beneath the floorboards in his bedroom, or someone who used to hustle blow and think nothing of it.

  No…

  I take that back.

  I do have have a conscious.

  And sometimes I hate when it comes out.

  That nagging voice that just bounces around the walls of your brain.

  It’s always there.

  In the back of my already fucked up mind.

  A constant reminder of what a dirtbag I really am.

  I can hear it now.

  You know you shouldn’t be doing this Sean.

  Selling drugs is not a way of life.

  I can’t tell you how many times I screamed I know at that voice. Then I told it to shut the fuck up.

  The thing is, at the time, I was so young and desperate. Desperate for money. Desperate for stability. Desperate to keep the only family member I had left under the same roof as me. Not just because I loved her, but because we’d already gone through so much, and I didn’t want her to live out the rest of her adolescence, knowing what it was like to struggle. To live without food on the table every night. To never know where you were going to end up.

  When I was working the streets, I saw the desperation that I knew was inside of me in the customers’ eyes. You know, the addicts. The cocaine was like a religious temple to the junkies and they needed to pay their respects once a week. Sometimes more. Sometimes I thought that I could see their eyes sparkle when I handed their bag of blow and they handed me a wad of cash. It’s like they had wet dreams about mountains of white powder and they were rolling around in it, tossing it up in the air like snow, laughing gleefully when it floated down from the air and landed on their tongues.

  The guilt never came while I was making the sale. It came afterward when realization of what I’d just done hit me. I just contributed to someone’s death for completely selfish purposes. I’d always thought that. I used to go home after a night on the streets and let the guilt completely drown me. I’d lie awake in bed, fighting off sleep, and hate hate hate myself for what and who I had become.

  Until one day right before Murph joined the brotherhood he gave me some helpful advice. “You need to stop beating yourself up over this, Sean. You did not make those people addicts. They were addicts before you came along and they’ll still be addicts after you. They have to find it within themselves to make a change for the better if they want to.” Sometimes I think the big lug is smarter than he lets on.

  Even though Murph’s advice was so true and sound, part of me still thought about punching Connie in the fucking face and screaming, What are we? Shouldn’t we be trying to help these people instead of fueling their addiction? Shouldn’t we be trying to clean up the streets to make this city a better place to live?

  But I never did. Not because I was afraid of his reaction. Or because I was a young coward. Or afraid of dying even. I never said anything or did anything because I knew, deep down in my gut that the man just didn’t give a damn. And I knew my ranting and raving wouldn’t make a damn bit of a difference.

  I hear the door to the four-plex open, but I ignore whoever came in until a soft, feminine voice greets me with, “Hey Sean!”

  I snap to attention when I see Hadlee’s roommate, Lara. I nod. “Hey.”

  The truth is my mind is too clouded with thoughts of Hadlee and haunting images from my past to have any kind of conversation now. So I stand up slowly, brush past Lara, and say, “Have a good night.”

  But she follows me. “Hey wait up!”

  I groan and pray that she doesn’t hear me. She doesn’t. I know this because when I stop and face her, she’s wearing a wide smile. “Did you need something?”

  She stops a foot away from me, at her door and sticks her key in the lock. “Lee’s birthday is a week from Saturday. A bunch of us are taking her out. She’s been through a lot this past year and I thought it would be a nice gesture. You should come.” She twists her key and the door opens slightly. “I think she’d like it if you did.”

  “I can’t,” I tell her as the disappointment sets in and I’m sure she can hear it in my voice. “My title fight is Friday in Atlantic City. I don’t think I’ll be back in time.”

  “Oh.” Lara sounds disappointed too. “Well if you somehow
make it back in time we’ll be at C’est La Vie. It’s this new swanky—.”

  “I know,” I cut her off. “I’ve been there.” What she doesn’t know is that I’m one of the three owners.

  “Oh, cool.” She walks into her condo and hangs out the door. “Well, if you make it back, I’ll see you then.”

  “You bet.”

  She closes her door and I hear the lock click. I walk back to my condo and think about what I can do to make Hadlee’s birthday memorable and happy.

  And that’s something completely out of character for me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ~Hadlee~

  I’m at my Tuesday afternoon appointment with Satine.

  I’m in my usual seat, staring at the mountain of papers on her desk while I wait for her to come into the office.

  My mind wanders.

  Trails off down a well-beaten path enclosed by hurdles of uncertainty and fear.

  My stomach has been in knots since my last encounter with Sean. I’m not sure what to make of it, but there’s this itching feeling beneath my skin, and I feel like it won’t go away until I see him again.

  Which I know will be tomorrow.

  It’s Wednesday and I’ll see him when I go to the gym for my self-defense class. There’s a part of me that’s excited by this and a part of me that’s nervous. I’m excited because when I look at him, the tingles start low in my belly, and when I see his beautiful face it draws my lips up into a smile. For the longest time, I felt like I hadn’t smiled in ages and it feels amazing to do it again. But I’m still nervous too. Nervous because he’s brooding and dark sometimes, and his moods seem to change like the wind. I’m also nervous because I don’t know what he’ll say about my random exit on Thursday.

  I don’t know what caused me to be so abrupt. Well, I kind of do. Thinking of the ordeal I went through always makes me pull back. It brings out the self-doubt. That I’m dirty and tainted. That I’ll never be good enough for anybody. I know I couldn’t control the situation. I know I didn’t ask for it, but it doesn’t make me feel any less damaged.

  Satine enters her office and flashes me a smile, “Hello Hadlee.” Her voice is warm and friendly. Which isn’t like her. She usually has an authoratitive yet monotone voice.

  “Hey, Satine,” I greet her with a weak smile and a light shoulder shrug.

  “I was on a call. I’m sorry if you had to wait long.” She’s shuffling through a stack of papers on her desk and I assume she’s looking for her notepad.

  “I didn’t have to wait long.” I start playing with my fingers.

  Satine finally pulls out her notepad and scurries around the edge of her desk before sitting down and crossing her long tanned legs. “So let’s get started then. How are things?” She pins her long black hair up with a pen and grabs another before I start talking.

  “I guess better,” I say. “Slowly but surely right?”

  She nods. “You’re still sleeping through the night?”

  “Well I’m still taking my Ambien.” I don’t think I’d be able to sleep through the night without it.

  “And the self-defense classes?”

  “They’re educational.”

  “Melissa tells me that you had an outburst your first day.”

  I don’t know why this blindsides me. Maybe because even though part of me knew that Melissa would report back to Satine, I didn’t want her to. “She put her arm around my neck. It reminded me…It reminded me…” I struggle to get my sentence out. “It reminded me of him.”

  “But other than that? Is that the only issue you had with the class?”

  “Yes,” I breathe. Other than that moment, I like that I’m learning how to prevent another attack from happening.

  “How about school? How is that going?”

  “Okay,” I say, my vocal chords quivering. I swallow the jumble of emotion in my throat. “I still feel like there’s something pressing on my chest. Like I’m always having to look over my shoulder. I still panic when I see guys wearing dark gray jogging suits.”

  Satine looks at me thoughtfully. “But you’re still making progress?” I’m not really sure if that was a question or statement.

  “Yes,” I say uneasily. “I think so.”

  “You think so?” Satine’s voice is questioning. “Can you elaborate for me, Hadlee?”

  The second her eyes drop to the notepad I roll my eyes and force out. “Sometimes I think I’m making progress. Then something random happens like a man I don’t know brushing up against me, or a woman I don’t know, like Melissa gets dangerously close to my neck. Then it feels like all the progress I think I’ve made gets tucked into a dark corner of my brain, and I feel like I’m beginning the process of healing all over again.”

  “That’s normal,” Satine comments. “There is always going to be something in the back of your mind that triggers that moment between you and your attacker. He took a piece of your dignity away from you the day he tried to rape you, and that’s something you won’t forget for a long while. But,” she pauses and stares at me, deadpan, “the most important thing is that you’re trying. That you’re willing to put together the building blocks of the healing process and try and overcome the last year and six months. That’s major progress Hadlee. Major progress.” Her eyes form slants and she tilts her head. “I’m lowering your dosage of the Ambien . I think you’ll still get all the rest you need if you take 250 milligrams instead of 400.”

  Fear floods through me and my stomach lurches. I start to panic. Tapping my foot. Raking my teeth over my bottom lip. I can’t go back to that dark place. I can’t go back to that night. Even if it’s in my dreams. “Are you…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I stammer.

  “Yes.” Satine sits back in her chair and taps the tip of her pen against her notepad. “I’m the professional, remember?”

  “I remember,” I tell her.

  What I don’t tell her is that you don’t have to rub it in.

  ~ ~ ~

  After my appointment with Satine, as terrified as I am about lowering my dosage of the Ambien, part of me feels like there has been a new found sense of hope instilled in me. In a way I feel liberated and free and I feel like doing something spontaneous. So I decide to go for a jog.

  I know. I know.

  Bold move, right?

  Well it is for me anyway.

  Even though it’s hot and humid out, there’s a slight breath of wind in the air, and when it trails along my skin my mind sails along with it to calming places. I thinking of happy times in my life. My youth. Baking cookies with my grandmother. The day I got my acceptance letter to CSU. I smile to myself. It’s at that moment that I know for sure that my road to recovery is like climbing out of a deep ravine. I’m only about one hundred feet away from its wide opening, ready climb out. It’s like being reborn, living life for the first time.

  A burst of excitement pumps through me and I push my legs harder, picking up speed, dodging deep cracks in the sidewalk.

  For the first time ever I have this feeling.

  A deep, throbbing feeling in my gut.

  A feeling where I know everything will be all right.

  That I will be all right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ~Connie~

  The people Connor Doyle looked to as suspects when the feds started snooping and a rat was involved were the members of his own organization. The members of the Braithreachas Don Saol. He and Aidan hid in a vacant apartment across the street from the four-plex where Sean Reilly lived. They’d investigated everyone else and the boy-o was the last person on Connie’s list.

  It’s not like he ever wanted to suspect Sean. The boy was like a son to him. And on top of that, his own personal cash cow. Betting off Sean’s fights had made Connie even richer than he already was, and he loved the aspect of earning more money from the kid in the future. And he would have hated to have to cut the boy-o’s bright future short.

  “Are you sure we should be doing this?” Ai
dan turned from the cracked blinds, a set of black binoculars in his hand. “I highly doubt that Sean is the rat were looking for.”

  “Keep watching,” Connie commanded sternly. There was a large part of him that doubted the boy-o was the rat too, but a man could never be too sure. After all it was Brutus, Julius Ceasar’s best friend who turned on him. Stabbed his best friend in the God damned back.

  Aidan shifted back toward the window, and placed the binoculars against his eyes. “He’s exiting the building.”

  “And?” Connie waited a second. He knew his wingman would elaborate momentarily.

  “He’s in his sweat suit. Most likely jogging to the gym.”

  Connie drummed his fingers against the wall. He threw his head back and let out a gust of air. Yes, Aidan was probably right. He was probably jogging to the gym. The kid had a title fight in about a week and Connie imagined his trainer was putting him through rounds and rounds of extensive workouts. “We’ll wait until he’s out of sight then we’ll follow him.” Connie had a feeling that his right hand man could also be wrong though. The kid could be on to them. He was a lot smarter than he seemed and he could be posing like he was going to training, but really going to a secretive meet and greet with the feds.

  Connie had seen it happen once before with the boy-o’s father. Patrick Reilly was a good man. A desperate man who joined Connie’s organization shortly after he moved his family here from Ireland. And he was Connie’s best mate. They’d grown up together. Tore down the streets of Kerry, causing havoc and getting into mishchief. But something had happen to Patrick Reilly as he grew up, got married to the lovely Siobhan, and had his children.

  He’d gotten soft.

  Became the weaker man.

  His family meant more to him than anything and as much as Connor respected him for that, he hated him for it as well. He used to know the Patrick Reilly who was fearless. The Patrick Reilly who’d take a bullet to the chest before he’d rat out one of his fellow members of the brotherhood. He thought of the last conversation he’d ever had with him.