“It really was,” he replied.
When we got to the door, I could hear Slate yelling, and I steeled myself for a similar reaction from Till, but the second I walked through the door, he smiled and I burst into tears.
“Oh, Jesus. She’s crying,” he teased as he walked over and pulled me into his arms. “I’m fine,” he reassured me, but they were angry tears. There was no soothing them.
I leaned away and signed as I spoke, “That was so messed up.”
“Yeah. It was. I’m good though.”
“Are you sure? You’re entirely too calm right now.”
“I think he’s pissed enough for both of us.”
We both looked over at Slate, who was marching around the room with his phone glued to his ear. He was barking at someone about the boxing commission and integrity. It was so unlike anything I had ever seen from Slate that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“So, what now?” Quarry asked as he signed.
“Now, we go get some food,” Till replied.
“No, I mean, how bad is it that you lost?”
“Well, it sucks. But the check still cashes the same.” He winked. “Yo, Slate. Let’s get some food. We’re gonna need to figure out a new bell plan.”
Slate waved him off as he continued to rant on the phone.
I watched as Till walked away seemingly unfazed. It was eerie and worrisome.
Oh, God, I silently whispered to myself as I sank down the wall to the cool bathroom floor.
I replayed that ten-count in my head at least a million times. Over and over, I tried to figure out how to make the outcome change.
Quarry’s words scrolled through my mind. “What now?”
I had no fucking idea.
It wasn’t career ending to lose a fight, but maybe going deaf was. And that little revelation shook me to the core. I had no plan B. I loved boxing, but it was always about the paycheck. Watching that savings account grow meant more to me than any belt I could wrap around my waist. The pursuit of greatness and the dreams of being a legend were great, but Eliza and the boys didn’t rely on me for those things. Their futures rested on my shoulders. The same shoulders that had been flat out on the mat because I couldn’t even hear a fucking bell.
It was a hard pill to swallow, but the effects were what really did the worst damage.
Being hungry for more was one thing, but I was so sick of groveling for the scraps life tossed at my feet. And just when I’d thought I had found my one chance to escape the dungeons of reality, my own fucking body had sabotaged me.
I needed to get out of there. I pushed to my feet and tugged on some clothes, not even bothering with the shower.
I couldn’t let them see how much losing had shredded me. My whole body ached with disappointment; I didn’t need theirs as well. Flint would just try to fix it, Quarry would worry, and Eliza would have to save my ass once again. I was so sick of being a burden on all of them. I was barely a man anymore. I couldn’t even fuck my own woman without having a goddamn nervous breakdown.
I just needed to leave. But as I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I realized that running would do me absolutely no good. There were no more windows.
“Fuck!” I yelled as I slammed my fist into my reflection. It shattered against my hand, and I wished like hell that I could do the same to life’s vendetta against me.
As predicted, Eliza came rushing in, ready to care for the broken patient who masqueraded as her fiancé.
“Are you okay?” she asked then lifted my hand to inspect my bloodied knuckles.
I snatched it out of her grasp. “Don’t fucking baby me,” I growled. “I can’t handle it tonight. Just leave me alone.”
“Let’s just talk about it.”
“No. I don’t want an intervention tonight.” I snatched a towel off the ground and wrapped it around my knuckles. “I’m all maxed out on feeling like a bitch tonight without you making it worse.”
“Making it worse?” She tilted her head in confusion.
“Yes, worse. Just let me hang on to my own balls for the evening. I’ll be sure to return them first thing in the morning.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that helping you was the same as taking your balls. But you know what? Now that you mention it, maybe you’re right. I’ll be happy to stop trying to talk you down when you go into one of your full-blown tailspins. Would that stop you from being a broody asshole all the time?” She threw her hands out to the sides in frustration.
“A broody asshole, huh?”
“Yep. You’re always either pissed off, angry, or moping.” She flicked her fingers at me as she finished the sign.
“I just got knocked out because I can’t hear. I think I’ve got a right to feel that way.”
“So is that”—she pointed to the broken mirror—“about the fight? Or were you in here wallowing in bitterness and pity?”
I fucking hated that she knew me so well.
“I have the right to be bitter!” I roared.