He shakes his head and grabs my hands, pushing me away gently.
“So, you regret New York?”
“Partly.”
“Leave.”
“What?”
“Leave. I’m not buying what you’re selling. I don’t believe you. Mere weeks ago, you wanted this, wanted me. Whatever has gotten into you, isn’t the truth. You’re believing the lies you’re telling yourself.”
“I believe what I can see,” he yells angrily. “That’s the truth.”
“Then fucking look at me!” I scream at him. His eyes roam me, my breaths coming fast before he darts them away. “Believe me, Lance. I know I hurt you, and you’re punishing me for it. And you’re hiding behind my dancing as an excuse to get rid of me, but that’s all it’s ever been, an excuse. I’m here because I want to be. I want you. I want us back. You can trust me, Lance. Let me back in.”
His answering silence is deafening.
All fight leaves me as I walk over to him and again lift on my toes covering several inches, so we’re eye level. I’m on pointe now as I glower at him. “It’s a thin line, Lance. And so, I’ll believe for both of us.”
Defeated, but only for the moment, I leave the ring, this round goes to him.
Dinner and a hot shower do wonders for me. Though I’m still reeling from the news about my parents, deep down, I always knew the day Dad got arrested was the day it was over for them. I expected it, but it didn’t make it any less hard to hear. Now maybe they can move on, both of them. And perhaps it’s for the best. Running a comb through my hair, I crack the bathroom door to let the steam out and hear Trevor down the hall on his headphones, talking shit on his video game.
“Yeah, me and the wife are going to do the usual tonight. It’s Friday, so that’s tacos and fetish porn.”
I burst out laughing when he pipes up again. “You ever tried mayo? It’s an edible lubricant.”
“Shut the hell up, punk,” Tony grumbles from his bedroom, and I can tell there’s amusement in his voice.
“I’ll get to you soon, honey,” Trevor quips. “Grab the new jar of mayo, it’s in the cabinet.”
Giggling, I smooth the goat’s milk lotion Jeannie gave me—made by a local farm—over my arms. It smells of Lavender, like Nana, and somewhere between the lewd jokes Trevor’s making, the atmosphere of family, and the comforting smell permeating the bathroom, I feel the same level of ease as I do in Nana’s brownstone. It’s the ease in which Lance now dismisses me that has tears threatening, but I bat them away. I came to fight for my place in his life, and he’s not making it easy. But I refuse to let his determination overtake my own.
I know he loves me. Just as much as he did seven weeks ago, two years before that and the years during, but lately, he’s making it incredibly hard to believe. The longer I stay, the angrier he seems to get. But I have to hang in there, especially when times are hard. My parents may no longer be a shining example of longevity, but his are. And they’ve overcome improbable odds. I’ll never stop dancing, and I will resume my breakneck pace once I’ve earned my place with Lance. There’s a future for us. We loved each other across space and time before, we can do it again. I just have to get him back in that mindset. Mustering up my strength, I open the door and catch Lance on the other side.
“Can I have a word?”
“Sure.”
He nods over his shoulder. “My room.”
Cloudy eyes roam my body. I’ve got on a long tee and tiny sleep shorts. My hair is wet, and I’ve just applied lip balm. Heat stirs below as I watch him clench his fists. He wants to touch. I’m his to touch, but I won’t give him home field advantage or the leverage to kick me out of his room. He’s not here to mend fences, it’s evident in his demeanor.
“Not finished yet, come in.” Reluctantly, Lance steps in and closes the door behind him.
I draw a dollop of lotion from the jar and hike my leg up on the side of the sink before rubbing it in.
“So, what’s up?”
“You paid for Dad’s meds and told him we had a deal.”
Shit.
Double shit.
“He needed them, and I had the money. It’s simple math. Don’t ask me to apologize for it.”
“You had no right.”
“I’m a part of this family.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Fine, I want to be a part of this family. And I didn’t do it for you, or because I think I have some say in anything, or because I think you’ll love me more for it. And I can’t believe you would want to deny him that comfort for foolish pride. You’re being an idiot.”
“And when we don’t have the money next month?”
“Jesus,” I say, turning to face him. “That’s next month.”
“You’ll be gone then, and he’ll be just as helpless. You can’t put a Band-Aid on this, Harper.”
“Stop it. Don’t make me feel bad for doing something that helped. I’m glad I could, even if it’s only temporary.”
“Stay out of this.”
“It’s a recurring charge.”
“What?”
“You can pay me back.”
“Cancel it. I mean it. I don’t know what’s going to happen from now until my next fight.”
“Whatever happens, I want him to have those meds. I don’t give a damn if you pay me back, I’m just saying it for the sake of saying it, kind of like the way you’re ignoring the fact that you love me.”
He snatches me to him by my wrist. “You aren’t wanted here. Go. Home.”
“You love me.” I palm his face, and he rips it from my touch, his breaths coming fast. Undeterred, I step away.
“Look at me.”
Jaw locked, his hostile gaze drifts up to mine.
“You love me. You’re full of piss and vinegar because you’re sick of life. I get it. Take it out on me.” I slide my hand between the valley of my breasts, and his eyes follow as I rim my shorts. I feel the shift, the tension growing unbearable as he watches.
Slowly, I begin the descent of my hand before sliding my fingers between my legs. “You love me, and you damned sure want me. You’re jealous of my fingers,” I say, increasing the pace. “I want you here too.” I bite my lip, my eyes hooding before he jerks my hand out of my shorts.
“You still think this is a game?”
“No, Lance. I’m pretty fucking serious. Though I desperately miss your sense of humor. But I’ll give you a pardon because it seems you’ve lost every bit of sense in that thick ass head of yours. So how about we ease some of that tension. Take me. I’m right here. Take it. I want nothing more than for you to take it out on me.” I grab my towel. “I can bite into this. No one will be the wiser.”
In seconds I’m bent over the sink, scalp stinging due to his fist full of my hair.
“Atta boy.”
He commands my eyes in the mirror. “You don’t want this. You don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t want to know this level of depravity.”
“I’m not the inexperienced little dancer you met. You changed that. You keep changing it.” Reaching behind me, I grip his thick cock and feel he’s hard. “You made me a fighter too.”
“You want to be fucked and used?”
“Used? You’re incapable of using me, but if that’s what you want to call it—and if used feels as good as it did in New York—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Damn you, Harper,” he hisses, and I sense him weakening as I stroke his length. I can feel the anger rolling off him.
Loving Lance has always meant embracing his demons. Two years ago, we were able to keep them at bay. That no longer seems to be the case. “You want to play devil?” I taunt, “I’ll be your greatest advocate. If this is what keeps you fighting, so be it. Whatever it takes. I love you. All of you. Even the asshole who seems to have taken up permanent residence. I’m not leaving. Fight me, fuck me, it’s your decision. But I’m not leaving.” I stroke him again and feel his fingers at the top of my shorts. His grip o
n my hair tightens as his cock jerks at my touch. Breasts heavy, I stand in wait as he jerks his sweats down, and murderous eyes meet mine. He’s at my entrance when a knock sounds on the door.
“I have to piss,” Trevor says from the other side.
Lance jerks away from me, his voice coated in arousal when he replies. “Use mine.”
I straighten, heart hammering as he steps away, shutting me out.
“Go home.” It’s a new tone, one I’ve never heard from him, and I can’t help the crack I feel in my foundation.
Singed, I open the door, steadying my voice. “I am home.” His eyes are still on me when I shut the door. Seconds later, I hear the crack of drywall.
Harper
I need to tell him. But I don’t want the truth about what happened to be the reason we get back together. I want to tell him when we’ve mended our relationship to the point I feel I can open up. I don’t want his pity or his guilt to be the reason he forgives me. It’s a battle I fight daily. But he needs to hear it. He needs to know why I left. And it kills me that it may be the only way he lets me back in. And if so, will his perception of me change?
It’s a risk I’m going to have to take. There’s too much space, far too much space.
Heavy bass rings out through the pasture as I make my way from the house toward the barn. I can feel the weight in the air as screeching guitar riffs draw me in. I know what’s just behind the door, but the sight of it is just as paralyzing when I open it, and Lance comes into view. Tool’s “Sober” rings out as Lance’s powerful fist connects with the bag. It draws me back to our beginning. He’s no longer caged, the barbed wire at his biceps flexing with every powerful throw of his arms. He’s liberated himself. The side of him he used to hide from me has taken front and center.
He’s always prided himself on keeping his demons, his anger on a leash, but it seems like in the last few months, they’ve swallowed him whole. For the past day, I’ve watched him closely and weighed his words carefully. The thing about knowing someone so intimately and having them pull away is this, you have the power of perception few others will ever have. And with this knowledge, with every move he makes, I know this isn’t the same version of the man I fell in love with two years or even two months ago, but his mirror. He’s now living the perception of his reflection.
He’s giving up the fight and letting it consume him, and we’re all in the path of his implosion.
It’s not going to go away overnight. This is depression. He’s barely living. Mechanical. Easy to anger and quick to blow up. There’s no solution. He might be living in his reality, but he’s also drowning in it and has been for way too long. When I arrived in Texas, I thought the hard part of the battle would be convincing him I’m sincere, and it has been, but the real battle will be to show him his mirror.
I can’t confess anything when he’s in this state.
A full minute into the song and he’s not winded in the least, his combos coming out at a machine gun pace. Body, body, uppercut. He’s hungrier than he was when we met, more jaded, less willing to believe in the dream, in any dream.
Strong torso twisting with each step as he charges forward, his speed increases with the weight of his throws. Covered in a sheen of sweat, his body glistens like he’s covered in kerosene as he catches fire. His bruises and scars just as visible to me as the first time I saw him, but they’ve multiplied.
The words of the song bleed in my ears and trickle down to fester in my chest as the bag jerks on the chain like a piñata. I’m certain he’s never hit this hard in his career, in his life.
This is thunder, a warning.
“Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters, appearing next to me at the door just as the song peaks and Lance cracks through the leather of the bag. It’s then I see it, the awe and fear on Tony’s face. Neither of us has ever met this side of Lance. Just as I’m about to speak up, Lance knocks the bag off the hook, and it lands with a thud clouding up the dust on the floor of the barn.
Harper
The crunch of gravel announces a new arrival as a Ford pickup pulls up next to the barn. A guy who looks around Lance’s age and build jumps out. I’m in a folding lawn chair next to the ring and am the first to greet him.
“Hello.”
“Hey there,” he says with a smile, heading towards Tony. Lance barely glances up before resuming his strikes on the bag.
“Hey, man,” Tony greets as the guy nods toward Lance.
“That him?”
“Yeah.”
“This should be fun.” The guy smiles, and it’s then I realize just how good-looking he is. He pulls off a ball cap, revealing light blond hair and tugs off his hoodie, uncovering his ripped form. He’s so hot, a nervous laugh erupts from me. All eyes shoot in my direction, including those of my ex-boyfriend.
“Sorry,” I lift my phone. “René…” I trail off. Lance isn’t buying it, and a grinning Tony isn’t either. Rip makes the introductions. “Lance, this is Nick Regis—your sparring partner today.”
Lance nods, slapping the side of the bag with his fist and making it jump. “‘Sup. Thanks for coming out.”
Rip starts taping Nick’s hands as my eyes dart between the two. “No problem. Heard you’re coming up quick.”
“Working on it,” Lance grunts out, tapping the bag twice more.
“Might want to save some of that for me.”
I can’t help my wicked mouth. “Oh, he’s got stamina.”
Lance bites his lips to hide a smile. I consider it a small miracle. We haven’t spoken in a day, and though still aloof, we’ve worked alongside each other in a sort of silent truce, neither of us willing to give in. I’m still working out a way to bridge the gap since he’s become untouchable.
“I didn’t mean that as a compliment,” I say dryly, turning to Nick. “He’s full of hot air.”
Lance rolls his eyes. “Ready when you are.”
Trevor pulls up a few minutes later in his Dad’s beat-up truck, hauling ass to Lance’s corner. “Damn, I would have been pissed to miss this.” He glances over at me and blows me a kiss. “Lady love.”
I give him a wink. “Hiya, handsome.”
Lance grumbles and places his mouthguard in. The barn goes eerily silent as Lance’s background music dies down. “I’m on it,” Trevor says as he and Lance exchange a look.
“No music,” Tony says.
Lance shakes his head in protest.
“Tough shit,” Tony retorts, “you don’t get your crutch, and we’re going all rounds today.”
Lance looks surprised. “I’ve been at it half the day.”
“That’s the point. It’s time to mix it up.”
Nick steps inside the ring and looks around. “Nice setup, man.”
“Thanks,” Lance grunts, seeming unimpressed with the whole situation.
“That yours too?” He nods over to where I sit. I wait with bated breath as Lance’s eyes roam over to me. My heart is beating in my throat. I know what answer I want him to give, what I desperately want to hear, but know he won’t give it to me. In his heart right now, he doesn’t believe it to be true. But it doesn’t affect the sting of his answer.
“No.”
“She’s mine, actually,” Trevor says easily.
Nick chuckles. “Sure, kid.”
“You can suck this kid’s nuts,” Trevor quips.
“Easy, killer,” Tony chuckles.
“Give me a few to warm up,” Nick says, walking to his corner.
“Sure,” Lance says, his eyes finding mine.
“Tony,” I say, keeping my eyes locked with Lance. “Would you have a beer with me after dinner?”
“Sure.”
“Nick, how about you? Would you like to join us? I looked up this bar down the road a few miles. I want to shoot some pool.”
Nick eyes Tony and nods. “Sure.”
“You’re going to the Rust Hole?” Trevor says with a sour look on his face.
“Sorry, buddy,” I say. “I�
�ve been working my ass off. I need to blow off steam.”
Lance taps his gloves together, soaking in every word. I know I’m walking a dangerous line, but I can’t help but fixate on his answer to Nick. I’m at my limit. I love him, and I know he loves me. But if he won’t even admit to a stranger who I belong to, how in the hell will we ever get out of this mess together?
I’ll stand my ground, but I can only stand so much punishment.
Air thick with tension, Tony orders at Rip to take Nick’s corner while Trevor stays back with Lance. The guys face off in the center of the ring as Tony gives them a rundown. And with the ring of the imaginary bell, hell unleashes.
I’m on my feet as Lance throws a combination, dazing Nick on the ropes. Nick shakes back to in enough time to dodge what I’m sure would have been a knockout blow. Lance is wholly concentrated on the fight, channeling his fury into his fists as Nick rises to the challenge, landing one blow after another. Tony had told us at the kitchen table last night that Nick was going pro in a few months. Lance finally has a worthy sparring partner and in the last six rounds of boxing, he’s proven himself, but I can see the fatigue growing in his steps, in his throws. Lance’s stamina is obliterating his defense, every punch he throws wearing him down. It’s a fair fight, but I can physically feel the air change when Jack steps into the barn ringside. Lance throws one combo after another, swiping Nick’s headgear askew.
“Round,” Tony yells as both men exhale, retreating to their corners. Nick’s eye is swelling as Lance swishes and spits a mouthful of blood.
Trevor’s whispers carry slightly as he encourages his brother. I’m on the edge of my senses, admittedly and ridiculously turned on at the display of testosterone. Both men are in insanely good physical condition, and I’m having a horrible time keeping my head in the fight, instead of in my overactive sexual imagination. I think of the first time Lance made me come, the intensity in his eyes, the way his lips felt, the feel of him on top of me. And later, when he pressed into me for the first time, the burn, the ache I felt for him after. The ache I feel now just watching him.
The Underdogs: The Complete Series Page 86
