by J. L. Beck
I survey the students, knowing at least one of them is going to tap out.
“Okay, here is the deal. Anyone who utters the word ‘can’t’ exits. No questions. No crying in baseball. No, ‘oops, I didn’t mean to say that.’ ‘Can’t’ is now your safeword. Use it wisely. You won’t get to use it twice.”
I look around one last time and see no one walking toward the door.
“All right then, today you are a pussy. Tomorrow, if you survive, you become a student. If you are in agreement, say it loud and proud and clap it out. What are you?”
Without exception, they yell, “PUSSIES!”
I nod and get them started.
After some basic safety exercises, I put them through their paces on the simple maneuvers. Then we progress to the most advanced techniques in hyper slow motion, which is absolutely fucking painful for someone without the right muscle development. I want them sore. So sore tomorrow that we weed out the weakest temperaments, saving all of us from some weepers. They have no clue how hard this class is. But they will. I only want the best, the ones that want to be here. I’m not about wasting my time on those that don’t give a fuck.
Two hours, and a bucket of sweat later, and we call it a day.
Grabbing a fresh bottle of water, I down half of it after receiving comments from and offering kudos to participants who stop me on their way out of the cage. Gazing to the clock on the wall, I check to see if it’s time for my next client.
It’s a one-on-one session with a new client who Roman booked for me. At the time, I was thrilled because another client means more money in my pocket, but now, I’m not so sure. Everything with Roman and Luke is in the air. I used to consider them friends, but now I’m not sure about anything.
Walking up to the front, I spot one young man waiting.
“Can I help you?”
The man stands and walks toward me, hand outstretched.
“Actually, you can. I came to see you, Lex. I’m Damon Rossi.”
I stop short, forgetting to extend my hand in return. I can’t process what he just said or why. I’ve seen pictures of him online, but he looks different now, more casual. Still, there is an air about him that tells me to tread lightly.
“Lex Miller, right?” He keeps his hand out, waiting for acknowledgment.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. You’re Damon,” I point out the obvious.
“Yes, I came here for a sparring session.” He shrugs. “Roman kicks my ass every time I come here. Thought I would try my luck with you.” His tone is flat, matter of fact, and I can hear a smugness behind it. He obviously gets what he wants when he wants it.
“I don’t know if I’ll be the right fit for you.”
He drops his hand and stands there, staring at me.
I wait, staring back.
The moment extends, almost long enough for me to say fuck it and walk away. Roman comes up then, almost as if he can sense the tension. He places a hand on each of our shoulders and laughs.
“I see you two have finally met.”
“Yes, seems Lex is a bit unsure if he is a good match for me to spar with.”
Roman lifts a thick brow. “Don’t tell me you’re doubting yourself?” He’s poking fun, but I’m not really in the mood.
“I’m not doubting myself, just not sure…” I shrug, unable to tell Roman that I’ve read and heard enough shit about the Rossi’s that the idea of sparing with one leaves my innards twisted to shit.
“Don’t worry, Damon has like no skills, I beat his ass every time,” Roman jokes, and somehow his banter lightens my mood a little. That is very short-lived when Damon answers.
“I could just shoot your ass. That’s more my skill set.” He smirks.
“If you can draw your gun quick enough, old man.”
“Who are you calling old? I’m in my prime. Just ask my wife.” Again, hearing him talking about having a wife humanizes him. Making him seem less like the person I’ve read about online.
“No one wants to hear about your sex life,” Roman huffs before turning and walking away. You two have fun.
Damon turns his full attention back to me. “You ready to go?”
“Sure.” I nod and get the protective gear.
A few minutes later, we’re gloved and getting into the ring. I start out slow, getting a feel for him. He is a little inexperienced in the ring, but I get the feeling he is holding back. There is something restrained about him, it’s the feeling you get when the sky darkens, the air turns cold, and you know a thunderstorm is near.
“Roman says you’re a good guy and that we can trust you.”
We? Either he has a rat in his pocket, or he is talking about the Rossi family.
“Is that so?” I start jabbing, but Damon is quick on his feet, dodging every one of my jabs.
“Yes, and I trust Roman’s judgment.” We keep moving, tiptoeing around each other, both figuratively and literally.
“Is this the part where you tell me I better not disappoint?”
“No, this is the part where I tell you that Roman is family to me, and his friends are my friends. He vouched for you, and that’s good enough in my book. I’m here to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, and neither does your girlfriend.”
Well, that’s surprising.
“What’s the catch?”
Damon shakes his head at me. “No catch. Are you always this hard to convince about a good thing?”
I stop moving and lower my fists. “Look, I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve just got the wrong impression of you. I’m gonna give it to you straight. I saw some stuff about you in the local paper and...” I trail off, thinking about what exactly to tell him.
“And all you’ve heard was that my brother and I are terrible people, hardened criminals, too dangerous to be under the general public?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of.” I scratch the back of my head. “But now that I’ve met you and know how close you are with Roman, maybe you are not the person I thought you were.”
“Lex, I like you. You’re honest, and honesty is always a good trait to have. So, I’m going to give you the same courtesy. Most of those things you’ve read about my family are probably true, but there is always more to the story. Nothing in this world is black and white. Good and evil. There is no either-or. No line for people to stand on. There is goodness in the worst of us and bad intentions, even in the nicest people. The only difference between other people and me is that I recognize I’m both–black and white, good and evil. I love my family, my wife and kids. I would die for them, but I would also kill for them, and after, I’d come home, wash the blood off my hands and kiss them goodnight.”
For a moment, I just stare at him, letting his words soak in like rain into the ground. I would die and kill for the people I love, and I know what blood feels like on my hands.
It makes me think, are we really that different?
16
Jude
Every few minutes, my heart pitter-pats. Realizing today is his family dinner day. The official thing.
Fort builders. A Dean. Pops. The family who had a mom that laughed and held them on her lap before one day leaving them behind.
All. The. Things.
I shake my head, trying to dash away the hype I’m piling on.
These are just people, Jude. They eat with forks and put their pants on one leg at a time just like anyone else.
It does not work. Even when I’m not thinking about it, seconds later, I’m crashing against that same emotional inundation all over again.
By the time the getting ready hour rolls around, I’m a tangled mess. I make valiant attempts at convincing myself I should not care, and keep failing, miserably.
How do I not care? I have their blood in me, a baby growing in my belly. A relation to them all! No matter if they like me or I like them, nothing will change the fact that I will be meeting my baby’s family for the first time today, all at once. His or her grandfather. Nieces. Uncles. Aunts. All the famil
y!
Even if I never date Lex romantically or ever see him again for that matter, nothing changes that fact! He and I will still have a child together. He and I will always be connected in some way through this experience. Even if–god forbid–something horrible happens, and I’m not able to bring the baby to term, I will still be a woman who carried his child in me. We will always be joined in this way.
Now the question is, will Lex’s family accept me as I am? Accept me into their fold and treat me as one of their own?
I rummage through my bag for the third time. I only have one dress with me, but, for some strange reason, I act as if there are more or better options to consider because I look again and again.
This dress is really the only option. Leaving my parents behind meant leaving the life they offered, too. No turtlenecks, no hair handkerchiefs, no denim floor-length skirts. And definitely, no more clogs!
It had taken me a few weeks to discover that the college had a clothes closet for the public, which I ended up volunteering in for two weeks before I found a job, luckily, I got the pick of what was available while I was there. Mostly, discarded items from college students, but better than anything I had, that was for sure. What I didn’t find there–like my first-ever brightly colored underwear, and shoes that fit–I bought with my first paycheck.
I was so proud of the day that I no longer owned one stitch of clothing or anything else from that life.
This butter-yellow dress with tiny cornfield blue flowers is the favorite thing I own and the only item I consider special. It is simple and modest, but beautifully so. It has a boatneck top, three-quarter-length sleeves, and falls to just above my knees with a bit of a flair after it cinches loosely beneath my breasts.
Breasts that are getting slightly fuller and more tender by the day.
I have no jewelry, no accessories, no fancy anything. And no makeup. Just the dress and some sandals. That has to be enough. Just me.
I decide to pluck a few white hepatica blooms from the wildflowers in the yard and tuck them into my hair, it’s secured up and away from my face. They are the perfect complement. I stare for a brief moment at my reflection in the mirror and shrug. This will have to do.
When I exit the bedroom and walk down the hall to the living room, it occurs to me that this is the first ever family dinner I have been to. Before, I never had anything but church dinners. Dinners where I was always seated at the children’s table because I was not yet married.
A discipline meant to reinforce the perpetual state of childhood women were kept in until they did their godly duty and became a wife. It was designed to be an incentive, but all it ever created was shame. A reinforcement that we were objects, and our only goal should be to move from one place on the path of servitude to the next.
Females were allowed to move to the adults’ table once they were married off, usually at sixteen, but, since I had been so rebellious and strong-willed, my father had great difficulty finding anyone open to accepting me into their household.
At least that’s what he told me. I always had a hard time believing that. Not because it wasn’t true, I was difficult, different, never fitting in with our people. That was true. The reason I always had my doubts was that my father didn’t usually seek permission or approval, he didn’t care if they wanted to be married. He simply told them it was a match and expected everyone to follow his orders. So, I always wondered, and if he was lying, for what reason? Did he make it up, or did no other family want to take me in? And if not, why not? What was so wrong with me? And that’s how messed up this whole thing is, they’ve groomed me to feel insecure about something I didn’t even want.
This “family dinner” will show me how the rest of the world lives. I’ve seen movies, read books, but nothing compares to the real thing.
Turning the corner into the living room, I’m startled when I see Lex stand.
He is wearing dark slacks, a black belt and shoes, and a crisp blue button-up shirt that sets off his dark hair, and highlights the green in his eyes. He is so handsome!
I rub my thighs together, my core heating up just by looking at him. This man, who holds more of my faith in his hands than he’ll ever know.
Looking down, I realize he is holding flowers. A small bouquet of purple and yellow wildflowers. He stretches them out in my direction as his free hand covers his heart, and he looks spellbound. We are caught in a moment with each other that makes me feel so connected to him. He, appreciating me, and I, appreciating him.
And our baby growing between us.
Stepping forward, I accept the flowers, bury my nose in them to hide at least some of my overly emotional response, and allow him to pull my hand up to meet his lips.
I blush, never having seen or experienced that gesture outside of the movies. I try to remind myself he has probably done it a hundred times before, but somehow, that still does not make it any less special for me. It is still my first time. And it came from my baby’s daddy.
“You look…magnificent.”
I shake my head, feeling shy, and he tucks one knuckle under my chin to lift it and looks me in the eyes.
“I’m serious, Jude. You have taken my breath away.” He grins, igniting mine in response. “My family is going to love you!”
I hide my eyes before they well with tears again. My emotions are running higher than normal, it seems.
“I need to put these in water.”
“Only if you promise me something first.”
I look at him, searching his eyes.
“Will you promise?”
“How can I promise something if I don’t know what it is I’m promising?”
“You’ll just have to trust me. You’ll like it though, I promise,” he says with a wink.
Ooooh, he is good!
That makes me grin, and I nod.
“I want one kiss, at the moment of my choosing, tonight. Here, there, in the truck, wherever. At some point, I want one kiss from you while you’re wearing that dress.” He points to it as he looks down.
I flush, both from the compliment and the idea that he might kiss me in front of his family, which would be way too much.
“Agreed. But only in private!”
“Deal.”
“All right. Enough of all that.” I wave at him, embarrassed again as I turn for the kitchen. “I’ll meet you in the truck.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. I will wait here and escort you out. It’s only proper.”
Another rush of emotion hits me. Proper. He wants to treat me proper. He has no idea how much that one small sentence means to me. I’m grateful I’m already in the kitchen, and he can’t see my face. I brush away a fat tear that makes its way down my cheek and chuff at my girlishness.
Moments later, we are off.
The drive is long. Thirty minutes feels like four hours because I have no idea where we are going or how long it will take to get there until we arrive. I fidget the entire way.
When we pull up, I see a large, two-story house with a converted garage, so the drive and street are filled with cars. Apparently, we are the last to arrive.
It is a nice house, well cared for, and larger than any I’ve been in before. But that isn’t saying much since I come from simple people that donate their wealth to the church.
This one looks like happiness lives here, which makes my heart happy too.
I place one hand over my lower belly, protectively.
Lex tells me to stay put and comes around to open my door, which creates another wave of emotion. Proper. The word echoes again in my head and rips a river down to my heart.
I have never felt more important.
He tucks my hand through his arm and leads me up the sidewalk. Before he can reach for the bell, the door whips open and there stands a tall man, grinning, he looks every bit like Lex, only maybe 30 years older.
He grins at me, rather than Lex, which surprises me.
“Well, aren’t you the prettiest thing I have ever seen.”
He opens the screen door and ushers us in as I blush, not knowing what to say to that. “Come in, come in.”
I can feel Lex beaming at me.
“Hi,” I stick out my hand, “I’m Jude Abbot.”
Before he can take my hand, there is a crowd behind him, pushing, wanting to see me, too.
“It’s her, she’s here!”
“You’ll have to excuse us; we have no manners. Lex has never brought a girl to family dinner before.”
“Girl, that’s the prettiest dress I’ve seen in a long time. You look fantastic!”
I don’t know who is saying what, and suddenly, Lex’s brothers are pulling everybody back as he chuckles and steers me in with his hand on my lower back. I am instantly overwhelmed. They are a sea of happy faces and open hearts. Each person is even warmer than the next.
One of the women grabs me by the hand, her hair is blonde and curled at the ends.
“Enough! She gets to have five minutes with us before you all devour her with questions. A girl needs a breather to get adjusted.”
I feel relief, and it takes the edge off. It’s all so overpowering, I’m grateful for her kindness. She leads me into the kitchen, away from the bustle of activity in the living room, and introduces me to Lily, Sebastian’s wife.
“And I’m Jules, Remmy’s wife. We are so excited to meet you! We’ve been able to talk about nothing else all day.
“Boy, Lex sure knows how to pick them. You are gorgeous!” It’s Lily, being incredibly sweet. She can’t be much older than me, with similar blonde hair. And she’s pregnant. My eyes saucer when they pick up on that detail, and she nods.
“Yep,” patting her belly, “baby number two. Next in line for the Miller clan.” She is grinning, obviously happy about her news.
I feel an unexpected presence at my knee and look down to find a toddler coiled around my leg, looking up me. A feeling of instant contentment hits as this moment becomes one of the most magical experiences I have ever had in my life. My eyes smart with a flash of moisture, and the tension in my chest is so swift that it threatens to overtake me and prevent me from ever taking a breath again. It’s all so overwhelming.
