by Aly Martinez
“I know. I appreciate it all. I really do.”
“I know you do, son. So before you go and get soft on me, let’s keep that adrenaline going and get you warmed up. Let’s make a deal. You take him two rounds, then you have my full permission to knock him the fuck out in the third.”
My eyes grew wide. “Seriously?”
Slate always encouraged us to take it the full three rounds. He drilled into us all that the local league was there for practice and experience, not for laying your opponent out. It still happened sometimes, but it was never the goal.
“His trainer is talking all kinds of shit today. This guy’s apparently the new golden boy over at Three Minutes. I saw a video of him fight a few weeks ago, and I swear he’s just a fat kid who can take a punch. But to hear them tell it, he could go ten rounds with Holyfield.”
I laughed at his assessment. “You know, most people would end that sentence with your name.”
It was Slate’s turn to laugh. “Go on. Get out of here. I’ll meet you out there.”
“Thanks, Slate,” I responded, and we both knew it was for more than just taping my hands. It wasn’t enough. But it was all I had.
“HERE WE GO! HE’S UP!” I stood from my metal folding chair to clap.
“So, how long have you known Till?” Derrick asked beside me.
I had been drawing in one of the notebooks I kept stashed in my purse when he’d surprised me by sitting next to me. I’d met him briefly a few times over the years of watching Till fight. There had been a half-hour delay, so we’d had plenty of time to chat while we’d waited for the fights to start.
“Jeez, um . . . eight years. We grew up together,” I answered with a smile.
Derrick was a good-looking guy—I couldn’t deny that. He was a little preppy for my tastes, but he didn’t seem snobby, so I could overlook the slacks. His hair was sandy brown and perfectly styled. He had sparkling, blue eyes. His bright, white smile was blinding, but not in the heart-stopping way Till’s was.
“So, you two . . . together?” he bumbled out uncomfortably.
“No. We’re just friends.”
“Good,” he whispered, and my cheeks heated to pink.
About that time, Till “The Kill” Page entered through a side aisle. I freaking loved watching the guys fight. It was such a rush.
I glanced to the other side of the ring, just as Till’s hulking opponent stepped inside.
“Fuuuck!” I breathed. “He’s huge!”
Till was big, but this guy had him by at least two inches and fifty pounds. Where Till was hard and defined, the man across the ring had a thick layer of fat over muscles I could barely make out.
“They call him the ‘The Brick Wall’ for a reason,” Derrick chimed in.
“Is he any good? Till didn’t mention anything about this guy.”
“They only added him to the card last week. I’m not sure Till even knew who he was. I’ve heard this will be his only amateur fight before he goes pro.”
“Shit! He’s going pro?” I gasped, never dragging my eyes off the ring.
“Yep. Just like me.” He tossed me a toothy grin.
“You’re going pro? That’s awesome! Congrats,” I responded as everyone started sitting back down.
“Thanks. I’m pumped about it. Being able to make a career out of something you love . . .”
He continued to ramble, but I lost my focus when, just as I found my chair, Derrick’s arm slid around the back. It wasn’t touching me, but I was all too aware that it was there. He reclined in his seat and crossed his legs knee to ankle. I took a second to turn away and bite my lip before looking back to the ring.
I was met with a hard glare from hazel eyes.
Till was standing in his corner, shaking out his arms, but his eyes were not homed in on his opponent like they should have been. They were narrowed on me—or, more accurately, the arm Derrick had draped around the back of my chair.
“What?” I mouthed to him, confused. I mean, Till didn’t exactly love when I talked to or dated guys, but he usually just ignored it. The same way I did when we ran into other women who obviously knew him. We were friends—nothing else. However, the inferno brewing in his eyes said otherwise.
He shook his head and turned to Slate, whispering something in his ear.
“No,” Slate said loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the crowd.
Till shrugged and started bouncing on his toes and pounding his gloves together.
Within seconds, the bell rang and I jumped to my feet.
“Let’s go, Till!” I screamed, causing the couple in front of me to turn around in disapproval. I didn’t care. We were at a boxing match, not the library, and above that, my man—er . . . something like that—was in the ring.
The first round flew by. When the bell rang and the fighters moved to their corners, I glanced down to find Derrick already sitting and scrolling through his phone. His arm was still firmly planted around the back of my chair. I hadn’t torn my attention away from the fight, so I couldn’t be certain if he had watched at all.
“Wow. That guy can take a hit,” I said, flopping down.
“Yeah. Till’s gonna have to do way better than that,” he snarked, not looking up from his phone.
“Umm, he totally won that round in points.” I snapped and his eyes finally rose to meet mine.
A slow smile crept across his face. “Oh, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. Of course he won that round. He just needs to be careful not to tire himself out. That’s all.” His hand moved to my back and he soothingly rubbed my shoulder. “Till’s got this, I’m sure.” He winked, and my cheeks heated once again.
I physically felt the moment Till’s eyes once again found me. It might have been because of his angry gaze, but more likely, it was because Derrick had chosen that exact second to reach up and tuck a stray hair behind my ear. He too was well aware that Till was watching us.
I dragged my attention away from his hypnotizing, blue eyes just as the bell sounded. I barely made it to my feet before the fight was over. With three punches, Till forced “The Brick Wall” to crumble. The ref hadn’t even finished counting when Till started using his teeth to remove his gloves. Slate might have been shaking his head in the corner, but he was smiling while doing it.
Till didn’t linger to bask in his victory. He quickly disappeared. It took several more minutes for them to get “The Pile of Bricks” off the mat, but eventually, he walked out of the ring to what could only be described as a polite round of applause. The only obvious injury was to his ego.
The next bout was in the second round when Till suddenly climbed from the row behind us and into the chair beside me. Before he had even settled, he shoved Derrick’s arm off the back of my chair, replacing it with his own.
Derrick looked around me in absolute disbelief, but Till didn’t even acknowledge him.
“’Sup, Doodle,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just pissed a semicircle around me.
Men were ridiculous. So instead of arguing, I reached back, removed his arm, and decided to play it casual too.
“You dropped that guy! Nice job!” I offered a high-five.
He tossed me a side smile and smacked my hand. “It’s no big deal. He wasn’t as good as people built him up to be.” He sniffed, trying to play it off.
“Oh, shut up. He was good and you destroyed him,” I said, calling his bullshit and causing his smile to grow.
“I know, right!” He squeezed just above my knee.
“Stop!” I burst out laughing while trying to pry his torturous hand away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, faking concern while continuing to tickle my leg.
“Till! Please!” I folded down in the chair, using both of my hands to unsuccessfully stop only one of his.
“You okay, Doodle? You look like you’re having some trouble there?”
I continued to laugh, all the while threatening his life under my breath. I finally resorted to violence
by punching his thigh with my knuckle.
“Damn,” he cussed, rubbing his leg, but he did release mine.
“I seriously hate you sometimes.”
“No, you don’t.” He dropped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to his side for a brief hug, but it wouldn’t have been Till if he didn’t complete the piss circle by kissing my temple.
Derrick cleared his throat, reminding me that he was, indeed, watching our little tussle. We might have been twenty-one, but we pretty much always acted like we were thirteen again. Some things never change.
“Sorry,” I said to Derrick, embarrassed for having acted like a giggling fool.
He smiled warmly and opened his mouth to speak, but Till got there first.
“Hey, Q’s in the dressing room getting wrapped. You want to come with me to wish him good luck?”
“Yeah!” I all but jumped out of my seat.
I could watch Flint and Till fight all day long, but I still thought of Quarry as such a little boy, so I was a bag of nerves. And Till knew it because he’d spent half of the morning laughing at me as I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Quarry to give it a few more months.
I stood up without another thought of the sexy, blue eyes on my other side.
Till guided me through the crowded gym with a hand planted securely on my lower back. I’d long since stopped reading into his every touch. That had become way too time consuming over the years. But just because I didn’t dwell on his advances didn’t mean I’d stopped throwing my own. Just as he pressed his hand to urge me forward, I seductively arched my back. I honestly couldn’t help myself. He let out a loud grumble, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t like it or if, even worse, because he did.
A few people stopped to congratulate Till on his big win, but eventually, we made it back to the dressing room. My nerves calmed as soon as I saw Quarry sitting on a table in only a pair of boxing trunks. Slate was standing in front of him, taping up his hands.
“That’s just gross. You have muscles!” I cried out teasingly.
“You like what you see?” Quarry flexed his arm, showing off a tiny, yet totally defined, bicep.
“Are you smuggling grapes, Q?” I joked, and his smile grew.
“I could ask the same question to your bra,” he responded, and my mouth gaped open.
“Hey!” Till and Slate scolded at the same time.
“What?” he yelled innocently. “I was kidding. We were just joking around. Tell ’em, Eliza.”
I was afraid that, if I spoke, the laughter I was desperately trying to suppress would leak out. “Yeah. Joking. Totally.”
I bit my lip and turned to Till, who had his hands planted on his hips. Because I’d been fully expecting him to be pissed at Quarry, I was surprised to see that his shitty attitude was aimed at me.
“What’s that look for?”
His shoulders flexed as he cracked his neck. “I don’t want you talking to him anymore.”
“And here we go,” Slate mumbled from across the room.
“Uhh . . . who? Quarry?” I asked in shock.
“Derrick. I don’t like him, and I sure as shit don’t want you anywhere near him.” He narrowed his eyes at me, taking me aback by this sudden attitude.
It was unusual for Till to be an ass to me, but it wasn’t exactly an anomaly. I knew exactly how to handle him.
I very calmly pasted on a patronizing smile. “Well, I didn’t know that, Till. Perhaps it would be easier if you made me a list of who I’m allowed to talk to,” I said condescendingly as I dug into my purse and pulled out a sketchpad. Dramatically, I licked the end of the pencil before poising it over the paper. “Or wait. A leash might be better for full control over who I’m near. I’m sure we could temporarily rig one up with a jump rope or something. Please just let me know what works best for you.” I popped an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Quarry told Slate as they started laughing behind me.
“Don’t give me that shit, Doodle. I don’t like him. He’s a self-centered, arrogant prick. ”
“Oh, well, you should have just said that, then. I already have one of those. I don’t need another,” I smarted off.
“Burn!” Quarry whispered, but neither Till nor I shifted our focus.
“Seriously?” He crossed his arms to match mine.
“I don’t know. You tell me. Are you serious with this crap?”
He sucked in a breath through his nose. It was angry going in, but he held it until he released it on a resigned sigh. “Look. I have never once asked you not to hang out with someone. Never. You make your own decisions about guys, and no matter how big of a douchebag they are, I keep my mouth shut. But I can’t bite my tongue here. I do not like that guy. It makes my skin crawl that you are even on his radar. We’re family, right? Well, family watches out for each other. So, Doodle, I’m asking you. Please. Stay. Away. From Derrick.”
I held my attitude for a few seconds longer, but it wasn’t because I was still mad. Rather, if I spoke, I knew I’d start crying.
We’re family.
There was no way he could truly understand the depths of what those words meant to me. I swallowed hard, trying to force the emotions back, and for once, I actually succeeded.
“Okay.”
His head snapped back as if I had slapped him. “Um . . . okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. If you had started with that explanation instead of being all bossy, this conversation could have been a whole lot shorter. I get it. You don’t like him. I’ll steer clear.”
Till smiled, and it reflected on my own lips.
“Besides I’m in a very committed relationship with Justin Timberlake right now. ”
“Good. Keep it that way.” He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me up against his chest.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him as his hand slid up and down my back.
Till and I both knew we had a strange relationship. It was more than a friendship, but there wasn’t romance or sex. There was definitely love though. Immeasurable amounts of it. I knew that Till had this grand fantasy about me. But what he didn’t realized was all that he gave me in return. He was the only thing I’d ever had that I honestly thought I couldn’t live without. Till Page was my soulmate on every level. I’d accepted that it didn’t have to be sexual between us. Truth be told, I’d have been happy to sit in an empty room for the rest of my life as long as he was sitting beside me.
But it was moments like those, when his arms were protectively folded around me, and his heart beat a strong rhythm in my ear, that made me want more.
“I NEED TILL TO SIGN this paper for school,” Quarry said as I opened the door.
“Uh, okay? He’s not here.”
“Really? His truck is here.”
I glanced out into the parking lot, and sure enough, Till’s truck was parked front and center. “I haven’t seen him at all today, actually.”
“Well, he wasn’t at the gym this afternoon either. Slate drove us home.”
“And you checked his room?”
“No. But I didn’t hear him come in. He must have snuck past.”
I headed back to my room. “Till?” I yelled at the ceiling. But I didn’t get a response. “Till!” I yelled again.
“Yeah.”
I heard his voice, but it wasn’t coming from the ceiling. “Where are you?” I looked around my room.
“Purgatory,” he slurred then began to laugh.
I traced his voice to the window, but when I lifted it, I didn’t see him anywhere. “Till?” I called again, getting frustrated.
“Jesus. Stop calling my name.”
I leaned outside and found him sitting on the ground with his back against the brick exterior of the building. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag was at his side.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you. I’m sitting in pu
rgatory. And they say I’m the one going deaf.”
“Oh, well, that clears things up,” I said sarcastically. “Quarry was looking for you.”
“Fuck.” His voice broke as he began frantically scrubbing his face with his hands.
His reaction instantly worried me.
“Give me a second. I’m coming out.” I shut the window and ran back to the door, where Quarry was still waiting. “I found him. He’ll be up later.”
“Can you ask him to sign this? I’m about to go to bed.”
“Um . . .” I responded, remembering the way Till had slurred his words and the bottle at his side. “Here.” I snatched the pen and paper from his hand. “Does your mom spell her name with ‘ie’ or ‘y’?”
“‘Ie.’”
I scribbled “Debbie Page” across the paper and handed it back.
“Hey, thanks!” He smiled and dashed away.
I made a mental note to discuss the big, red F on the test I’d just signed later, but for now, I needed to see what the hell was going on with his brother. I snagged one of my many sketchpads off the coffee table and walked around the side of my building.
“Doodle!” Till yelled in greeting as soon as he saw me.
I kicked the sole of his boot. “Scoot over, drunky.”
“You want some?” He lifted the brown bag.
“Um. Hell yeah!”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He smiled and passed me what I discovered was beer.
I immediately poured its warm contents into the grass before handing it back empty.
“Not cool, Doodle. Not. Cool.”
“Oh, whatever. You don’t even drink!”
“I know, because that shit is expensive, and you just wasted it!”
I shrugged. “I can live with that. Now, scoot.”
“Okay, but you don’t belong in purgatory, so you can only stay for a few minutes.”
“Why exactly is the flowerbed under my window purgatory?” I asked as he lazily moved over a few inches.
Using a finger, he pointed over his head to my window. “Heaven.” Then he motioned to everything in front of us. “Hell.” And finally, he pointed to the dirt where he was sitting. “Purgatory.”
