“Wow. That got your hackles raised.” He stood there grinning at me as if he didn’t have a fucking care in the world.
I couldn’t breathe without worrying about the myriad of somethings ever brewing in my head. Yet, even with my forearm across his throat, he grinned. It enraged me.
“You sorry sack of shit.” I shoved him harder, but the brick wall behind him failed to yield to my will.
I wanted to release the week’s worth of the hell I was living with onto his face. Hands, fists, hopes, dreams, fantasy, and—most of all—reality. I wanted to shatter it all—preferably over his skull. Just as I convinced myself that Slate would understand if I committed murder in his locker room, Flint came flying in between us.
“Stop.” He shoved me backwards.
I stumbled, but Bailey straightened his pansy shirt with a grin.
Like the fool he was, Bailey prodded, “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t act like you haven’t dipped in the On The Ropes waters. Oh that’s right. You’re too pussy-whipped by that poor artist chick. Eliza, right?”
The sound of her name rolling off his tongue was more than enough to secure my spot on death row. However, the bastard wasn’t done yet.
“Maybe I should see what she’s up to right now. I bet that tight little ass of hers could more than cure my blue balls.”
My brain exploded, shooting adrenaline directly into my veins.
“No!” Flint yelled as I dived past him, landing a hard fist to Bailey’s chin.
Finally, that fucking smile was wiped from his face.
Flint pushed and shoved between us, trying desperately to separate us. He was barely able to keeping us far enough apart to where we couldn’t land anything else.
“Stop! Calm down!” he barked into my face. “You’re both going to get booted from the gym.”
I couldn’t have given a damn about On The Ropes in that second though, but I did care about Eliza.
“Goddammit, Till. Stop. It’s not worth it.”
My body fought, but my judgment finally caught up. I stared savagely at Bailey as I allowed Flint to push me away.
“You stupid fuck,” Bailey cursed, rubbing his chin.
“Chill!” Flint pleaded, holding my eyes. “This is not the time or the place. Just let it go.”
I took a deep breath and tried to reel it in. The desperation in my brother’s eyes was the only thing that grounded me.
I begrudgingly started toward the door, but then I heard Bailey mumble words I couldn’t quite make out. Flint’s entire body went stiff beside me, physically revealing their severity. But before I could even ask what was said, Flint spun and, with one unexpected right, dropped Derrick Bailey to the ground.
Out. Cold.
“Holy fuck!” I grabbed Flint as he dived back in for seconds.
“Yeah. Say it again now, bitch!” Flint yelled over my shoulder as I shoved him out of the locker room.
A few of the guys lingered around the door, obviously listening.
“Jacob. Sam. Go check on Bailey,” I ordered as I dragged Flint up to the office.
He wasn’t fighting against me, but he was obviously fuming.
“What the fuck did he say?” I asked as soon as the door closed behind us.
“Nothing.” Flint flopped down into the chair. His legs and arms were noticeably shaking as the rush of adrenaline left him.
“Oh it was something if it set you off like that.”
“He’s just a dick. That’s all.” He looked up nervously. “Am I gonna get kicked out of the program?” Flint had recently turned sixteen. He was huge and would easily be bigger than I was in a few years, but he was still just a kid in a man’s body, who was worried about getting in trouble.
“Nah. I’ll talk to Slate. It’ll be fine.”
“Okay.”
It seemed to be enough to ease him.
“So you’re really not gonna tell me what he said?” I asked him.
“Nope. You’d end up in jail. Just let it go.”
We both turned to look out the glass windows as Bailey made his walk of shame out of the gym. He didn’t say a word as he left, but his tail was firmly tucked between his legs. I found it especially gratifying when I saw his girl from earlier watching from the treadmill.
“Hey, we should celebrate. It’s not every day you get to knock out a big-time, professional boxer.” I looked over at Flint, who erupted in laughter.
IT HAD BEEN ALMOST TWO weeks since I’d shoved Till out of my front door. I hurt. I missed him. I missed the boys. I missed the everyday, routine life we had. It sucked. When I’d made the decision to slam that door, I’d had no idea that it would shatter my fantasy as well.