“You hurt your right?” He comes over and grabs my right and I pull it free before he can pull off my glove.
“I fucked up, all right,” I growl. “It’ll be back to normal in no time.”
“You fucked your right. During the season. When?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“When?”
“Last night. I broke something.”
“You broke YOUR KNUCKLES, THAT’S WHAT! You fuck your right on a temper tantrum? What the fuck? Am I gonna have another Scorpion on my hands? Huh?” He pushes me, and I let him, just stand there and let him have his tantrum. He gives up and stalks back to his chair.
“You might as well not go to the fight without your right,” he growls.
“I’m not missing a fight.”
“You should’ve thoughta that before busting your knuckles. This because of Tate? A girl?”
I hit the bag, then lower my arms and stare at the ground, inhaling deeply.
“Her name’s Reese,” I say, under my breath, frowning up at the heavy bag. “Reese Dumas.”
He swears under his breath. Then he pulls out the flask. “Stay away, Maverick.”
“How about you stay away from that flask, Oz?”
“I can’t.”
“So we understand each other.” I get into position and start hitting. “I’m not quitting her.” Then I test my right and jab the bag, and pain shoots up my arm. I yank my glove off.
I stare morosely at my hand, testing my fingers and curling them in.
“Members of the Tate team,” Oz says, leaning forward in his seat, “even if they’re not blood related, they’re closer than if they were. She’s not going to want to even look at you, Maverick.”
I toss my right glove aside and keep hitting with my left. I don’t think we should do what we did again . . . the Tates are my family . . . Miles is coming . . .
“I don’t want to see you make a fool of yourself for a damn Wendy!”
I stop. Then slide my gaze to Oz and narrow my eyes. “She’s no Wendy.”
The frustration’s building. I go back to hitting and I’m hitting the bag hard.
“Heard you trained with him,” Oz says.
“Yeah. Would’ve told you if you’d been half-awake.” I don’t stop hitting.
“This means you won’t need me now, huh.”
“No. Just means I get more chances to find out how to beat him.”
“He’s getting the same chance to be sure how to beat you,” he growls.
He swigs and stares mournfully out the storage unit door and I stare at the heavy bag and keep on hitting until my muscles burn out, and then I keep going.
TWENTY-FOUR
PATCHING UP MAVERICK
Reese
My mom’s been calling, but I haven’t picked up the phone. I’m afraid she’ll hear my voice and she knows me too well, she will know there’s something haunting my thoughts.
I finally cave in when Brooke knocks on my door. “Your mom called me. She’s worried.”
I was packing things into my suitcase, since we leave to the next location tomorrow—Atlanta. Racer is in a deep sleep in his room, all packed and ready, except for a little red train he likes to tuck under his pillow at night. “What did you tell her?”
“That everything’s fine. Isn’t it?”
I nod.
Brooke hesitates for a moment, then gives me a really warm smile. “Reese, I’m here if you want to talk.”
All my life I’ve wanted to have someone to talk to other than my parents and now that I have her, I’m not sure that I can talk to her about what I most need to. “I’m good,” I assure her.
She smiles again.
“I’ll call her,” I add.
“Great,” she says, relieved, and gives me a thumbs-up before she leaves. I decide to call and soothe my mother’s fears. “Mom, how are you?”
“Worried.”
I sigh. “Don’t be; I’m fine.”
“You promise? Tell me you’re making good choices, Reese. And that you’re staying strong? We can come get you.”
“NO! MOM!” I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to go back home, where I’m always the old Reese, where I can’t grow and learn and discover and experience. “Mom, I’M GREAT HERE. I’m . . . just in a blossoming process and I need time solo, okay.”
“Butterfly?” she asks hopefully.
“No,” I say with a wan smile, “still a caterpillar.”
“Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
I tell her about Racer and my diet and the Tates, how great they are, and the team, and that Miles is coming over.
“Oh, this makes me happy! Don’t forget to call every night or two, three at most. Okay, caterpillar?”
“Okay, Mom.”
I know she cares, but when she doubts me, I feel hopeless, like I’ll never be able to gain her trust again even though I have been slowly earning mine.
When I hang up, I make a note on my phone—CALL MOTHER.
Brooke peers into my room.
“Your mom’s happy now? She was pretty worried.”
I nod. “I guess it’s her favorite thing to do.”