“I see the way you two look at each other. Now pretend it’s him and hit the damn bag.”
Positioning myself next to the bag I eye it, then spot Camden in the ring. He is looking at me with a sexy gaze, yet it’s still laced with anger. He looks away like I don’t matter, and anger floods my limbs. His games are exhausting. I don’t know whether I want to hate fuck him, or just hate him.
It pisses me off of how he blames me for everything.
It pisses me off that I am to blame for everything.
It pisses me off that I still want him.
It pisses me off that he doesn’t want me.
Glancing back at the bag a whoosh of air rips from my mouth and I give a one, two, jab, and the bag flies from the impact. Relief blooms through my chest, and I exhale a breath that I’ve been holding in for years.
Debs’ mouth dramatically drops, her eyes looking between the bag and me.
“What?” I question nervous I did something wrong.
She looks at Thomas with surprise on her face.
“I told you she can hit,” Thomas gloats standing by the ring. He’s been instructing Camden for the last hour to give it all he has when sparring. Camden rests his arms on the ropes, his forehead soaked with sweat as he watches me closely. I want to flip him off.
“Do it again,” Debs instructs.
Trying to focus on the bag and not the fact that Camden is watching me, I hit it again, using the same combo as before.
“Alright,” she nods approvingly. “Maybe I have something to work with after all.”
“So you think I can go pro? You think I have a shot at the MFC?” I can’t help but ask. MFC is where everyone wants to be in this career.
She leans in closer, glancing around her. Looking with her I notice everyone’s attention is back on their own drills instead of me. “You think that is where the big money is? Well you’re wrong.” She steps closer, looking around her to see if anyone is paying us any attention before continuing. “Listen to me and we’ll get a fight that will make us both rich!” She waggles her eyebrows, her tongue snaking along her bottom lip.
“I don’t get what you mean.” I shake my head confused. “Like sponsors and stuff?”
“Oh, god no. This is more underground, like black market kind of shit,” she whispers.
“Underground?” I scrunch my nose with distaste. I want more than back alley fights in garages. I could have done those in LA, I want bigger. I want to pave the road for females everywhere.
“I have already said too much,” she huffs, stepping back. “Just do what you’re told, and if you have what it takes you’ll know soon enough.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes and continue to hit the bag. This woman is full of shit.
***
For the next three days Debs has me on nothing but the punching bag. I’ve hit it so much, there are times I forget how to hit. My knuckles are cracked and bleeding, and my wrists are on fire. I’ve told her about the pain, she tells me to suck it up and starts flirting with Thomas.
Friday morning as I’m heading out of Chloe’s house I find Journey sitting on the front stoop waiting for me.
“Hey!” She jumps up, smoothing out her tie dye dress. Her hair is in a messy long braid, and her left eye looks darker than her right.
“He do that to you? Or did you fall down again?” I ask sarcastically.
She opens her mouth to respond, and then looks the other way. She is clearly getting tired of whatever is going on her so called relationship.
“You need me to step in?” I’ve never wanted to cause so much harm to someone in my whole life. The feeling is somewhat unsettling.
“No, I have it under control Tatum.” She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms.
I scoff, irritated.
“You need to get away from him. Are you living with him?”
She grabs the ends of her hair, mindlessly playing with it. “Yeah,” she mutters.
“Leave. Go stay with Dad,” I demand, not ask. I bite my inner cheek as the urge to shake some sense into my sister becomes overwhelming.
“Speaking of Dad, he was asking me to come to dinner tomorrow night,” she changes the topic.
“So?” I don’t like where this is going.
“So, I can’t remember the last time we all sat down and had a dinner together.” She raises her brows, looking at me pointedly.
Rubbing the temples of my suddenly aching head, I sigh. Dinner with my dad is nothing short of a disaster, I know it. “Do it for me,” she whines.
I hate when she does that, I can’t tell her no.
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
She gives a curt nod. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” Smiling she heads off back towards Dad’s.
“Looks like she’s still a mess.” Looking over my shoulder Chloe is leaning against the door with a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Yeah, she is. This guy she is seeing, I’d like to get my hands on him.” My fingers flex on their own thinking about giving the asshole what he’s been giving my fragile sister. She’s a hippie, who wants to hit a hippie?