The Fight Within

by Laveen, Tiana

  “You mean something has come down, right? Like another whore’s panties on your behalf.”

  “Not this shit again…”

  “No, this is your weekend to spend time with your children, Jackson! Remember them? You have a sixteen-year-old son and a fourteen-year-old daughter! Would you like to see their birth certificates to help jog your memory?”

  “I don’t need this crap right now, Treasure. I can’t have them over this weekend, okay?! I have a really big case to prepare for on Monday, and I will be working on it the entire time, non-stop. This is serious.”

  “And so are Brian and Asia. This is the third time in a row you’ve come up with an excuse that surrounded work. Where are your priorities? You haven’t seen them in two months! Do you even know what’s going on with your kids anymore, Jackson? Do you even care?!” She quickly glanced over her shoulder, hoping and praying her raised voice didn’t meet the sensitive ears of Mr. Owens, though he seemed a million miles away in thought, and distance.

  “I’m working like this to keep you and the kids in that damn house! With as much alimony as I’m payin’ you, you’d think you could cut me a damn break.”

  “You really are unbelievable! Alimony can’t replace a hug from a father to his children. Fine, Jackson, skip out on your children again. I’m done lying to them on your behalf, though. I’ve been covering for you, and now I’m done with that!” She quickly ended the call and made her way back over to her client who was now twirling one end of his mustache, reducing it to paper-thin consistency, angled into a tight, pointy tip.

  “I’ve made a decision,” he said sternly as he rocked back on his thick, shiny brown heels, his hands pushed deeply into his pants pockets as if he were some world-renowned speaker in a jam-packed auditorium.

  “Wonderful.” She smiled from ear to ear, folding her hands dexterously over her milk chocolate cake colored skirt. “Which one did you choose?”

  “None of them. I wish to see the quartzite tile catalog!” he declared, throwing his hands in the air as if this was something she’d wished to hear.

  Her entire body burned as if the bowels of hell became her internal inferno. The heat began its rapid trek from the bottom of her freshly pedicured feet until the blaze rushed to her ears, scorching them so, no doubt turning them freshly pricked blood red. Surely, profuse swirls of smoke were tumbling out of her eardrums, as if she were some cartoon maniac that had transformed into the Tasmanian Devil. She’d spent literally hours with the man, going over this and that, trying to speak reason into him, but she finally gave into his demands at his insistence that granite countertops were his best option. She assured him that with a house like his, he’d probably prefer the quartzite catalog, but no, he’d insisted on seeing the granite samples—noting that it was just as good, and he knew what he wanted and refused to be swayed by her words of discouragement.

  She’d worked with the bastard several times in the past, and knew his taste just as well as her own. Despite that, he insisted on taking her through these changes, time and again, wasting valuable energy, and she simply had no more on reserve. He looked about the place, his chin raised high once more and his attentions elsewhere, as if he’d done nothing the least bit wrong. Her fingers juddered, just like his damn mustache. She wanted to reach out and rip the grotesque thing clean off his face in one violent swoop.

  Now, three unrecoverable hours later, the man switched directions as if he were doing the Cha-Cha Slide; only there was no happy-go-lucky beat. The bastard made a U-turn on a rocky mountain road, dragging her by the hair down his twisted path of nonsense. In that moment, she fantasized about wrapping her hands around his number two pencil thin neck, and squeezing the very life out of him! She could almost envision his beady eyeballs popping out of his damn skull, and his little stupid facial hair twitching, moving about like a playground seesaw gone wild as he gasped for air…but no, she’d squeeze and squeeze a bit more until she’d had her fill.

  “Ms. Chambers. Ms. Chambers?! Shall you direct me to the quartzite?” he interrupted her fantastical trance, slicing it in half with the shrillness of his voice.

  Bastard. The damn daydream was getting oh…so…good.

  “…Why, of course, Mr. Owens. Right this way.” She gave a sleight of hand, observed him turn on his heels like a soldier and saunter off, as if he ran the show, the after-party, and the groupies at the hotel. Walking steadily behind him, she glared at his small, lemon shaped head as it bobbed about, to and fro, the tip of it pointy, covered in a smattering of dull brown hair that shone slightly under the showcase lights. She had a desire for a big glass of lemonade right at that moment, fresh fucking squeezed…

  ‡

  Chapter Two

  “That’s right, baby!” Sean laughed. With two fingers placed between his lips, he whistled loudly before erupting into an avalanche of clapping while watching nine-year-old Jacob steal second base like the damn star that he was. The Manchester Monsters Little League Team was kicking butts and taking names thus far, and he was beyond thrilled to see all of his hard work paying off. The gig didn’t pay much, but he was rewarded in other ways—the kids were finally winning, and smiles stayed on their faces more times than not. He’d been called in after another abysmal season, begged to do his friend Anthony this big favor. The engagement would only last for one month and a half while the man went on some extended business trip. In exchange, he was given a meager weekly check, but he was having so much fun, it didn’t even matter. He took the job as temporary Assistant Coach, and after forcing the team to do rigorous outfield drills that the little guys moaned and groaned about, he saw a definite improvement.

  He turned his back for a moment to stifle a yawn and caught the eye of a woman sitting on the metal bleachers, her shapely legs, clad in tight blue jeans, crossed, and an oversized light pink hoodie covering her chest. It didn’t hide her beauty regardless of the thing partially cloaking a portion of her dark, slightly wavy hair. An unmistakable flirtatious smirk lined her face as their eyes locked. He looked away, placing his attention back toward the field, yelling and screaming his borderline inappropriate urgings right along with the parents and opposing team. The score was 3 to zilch, with only a few minutes left in game. He tried to keep focused, but someone kept calling out to him, a voice like that of a hummingbird, and it simply wouldn’t cease.

  “Coach Mahoney!”

  He heard it a bit louder that time, and slowly turned his head in the direction of the voice, finding the source to be the dark-haired beauty wrapped in pink. Now standing on her feet, her hands framing her mouth in a makeshift megaphone, she gave it another go.

  “I’m kinda in the middle of something right now,” he announced. He couldn’t believe it. What the hell was wrong with people? Couldn’t she wait to say whatever it was she had to say, dammit?

  Yeah, she was hot, hotter than an egg frying in the middle of the desert. To add to that sweltering pot, the foxy vixen was just his type, but the rudeness she demonstrated left a bad taste in his mouth, much worse than the warm beer he’d left by the side of his bed that he’d guzzled earlier that morning. He’d downed it with a couple Tylenol due to laziness and lack of forethought. Regardless, it served its purpose.

  Soon the game was over, and the sweaty boys gathered around him, their grimy faces covered in the grins that only winning could administer. He’d all but forgotten about the attractive woman until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

  “Hey,” she said, her shoulders slumped, now looking suddenly bashful. The sun had disappeared, leaving everyone under the kiss of an overcast haze. He peered up into the clouds, suspicious of rain, and could almost smell the shit in the air. He had a love hate relationship with rain. It ruined things, but made things grow, too. Parents made mad dashes to their children, surrounding them with hugs, praises and pointers of unsolicited advice for the next go round. It had been a good game, and a great day.

  “I’m Lance’s mom.” She grinned a bit brighter, as if
that news within itself should make his day.

  “Lance? Oh yeah!” He chuckled. Lance preferred to be called by his nickname, ‘Tiger Blood’. The strawberry blond-haired boy hated his damn name so much that he’d balk and stomp about every time it was called. Once the other children got wind of his annoyance, of course they stuck it to him even harder, saying his name in a sing-song way over and over again. So, it was time for a change. This change revolved around the kid having the heart of a wild animal on the damn loose, a one-day furlough to wreak havoc. That was paired with a comment from Coach Davis a few weeks back when he’d made a joke that Lance had ‘Tiger Blood.’ The shit stuck and the boy liked it. “Tiger Blood he is…”

  “Yeah.” She laughed lightly, bringing him out of his remembrances as she cocked her head to the side, her shimmery blue eyes sparkling a bit brighter. “I just wanted to thank you for talking to him last week. He was kinda bummed out.”

  “Oh, no problem.” Sean threw up his hand and shook his head. “He’s a really good kid…and he’s improved so much.”

  She nodded in agreement, seemingly lost in thought. They both turned in the direction of the boy, who was huddled with two others as they gripped sopping wet bottles of purple Gatorade and tipped the things to their mouths in celebration.

  “Um, sorry about interrupting you earlier. I was tryna talk to you before he came over, but—”

  “It’s cool…”

  “Thanks,” she offered a nervous laugh and rubbed her hands together, fingers painted in red polish. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda inquired about you.”

  “Inquired about me?” His brows dipped a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I…I don’t follow what you mean by that.”

  “I mean.” She glanced back over at Lance, then back toward him, her eyes narrowing just so. “Asked if you were married, single, you know…” Her lips curved slightly upward.

  He warmed to the realization of what the hell was playing out, hooked his newfound understanding on a smirk as he looked back over at the small huddle of boys who were now approaching them.

  “Ahhhh, I see.” He shot her a lazy glance.

  “You’re not making this easy,” she said, chuckling lightly. “I was just wondering if—”

  “Hey.” He put his hand up. “Let me say this super fast before he overhears.” He shot a look back over at the boys then back at her. “I think you’re extremely attractive, you might be real nice, too, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable going out with one of my player’s moms. I know I’m just a temp, but they’ve gotten to know me. It doesn’t seem right, ya know?” He winced, hating that he had to do it, especially as he surveyed her luscious lips…

  Oh, this hurts!

  He had an urge to bite his own damn fist to stifle a lust-filled scream, and didn’t miss her reddened complexion, as she no doubt fought for a way out of the awkward ordeal. It sure as hell wasn’t his intention to turn her down.

  “Yeah, I can understand that,” she said in a resigned tone but keeping the smile, though now it was at half-mast.

  “Hey, Mom! Hey, Coach Mahoney!” Lance called out as he drew closer, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  “Hi, babe!” she shouted with exaggerated enthusiasm, no doubt grateful for the ‘out.’ She took her boy in her arms, leaning low to kiss the top of his hair. When she rose, Sean was there waiting. Slanting in close to her, he whispered ever so quietly in her ear,

  “…If I weren’t the coach, and you weren’t his mom, trust and believe, I would’ve taken you up on your offer before you could even get the damn words out.” He loved how she reddened once again, this time the expression paired with one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen.

  See, Kyle? I’m not a jackass…

  “Hey everybody!” he shouted out, taking a few steps away from her. “Tomorrow, Coach Davis needs you on the field at 5:00 sharp. Great job tonight!”

  He said goodbye to his team, waved and turned on his heels to race home. He had an online exam in less than an hour, and hoped and prayed he’d do alright on the damn thing. His anxiety knotted up inside him, twisting about as if made of cheap yarn in his gut as he reached his black Nissan Altima and slid inside. As he pulled away from the curb, he wished he could duplicate himself, morph into a few clones so he could get everything done in record time. In less than seven hours, he’d have to be up at the crack of dawn, ready for work. For a moment, he felt sorry for himself. Had the whole damn world paid him a visit, perched on his shoulders, bearing down ready to shit a ridiculous load upon him, as if he didn’t already have enough trouble? But then, just like that, he pulled out of the dark deliberations, and gave himself an internal pep talk.

  Look, you’re almost done with school, your bills are paid, this little league shit is just for fun—and at least you’re helpin’ somebody.

  He hated how Kyle’s words still stung long after the delivery, and he’d kept thinking about them from time to time each day that passed. He always considered himself a generous guy—the one that would give his shirt off his back to others. He’d been told by his big cluster of friends that he was a bighearted person…but was that just compared to them? Truth was, he realized time was slipping by, and he wasn’t taking chances anymore. He wasn’t living, he wasn’t dreaming big. He stood stuck, trapped, and worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until Kyle called him out on his egotistical ways. The whole world revolved around him, just like a baseball spinning in the air, but he seemed to have blinked one second too long and missed the entire beauty of it all. He sat there in that car for a bit longer, thinking about the shit he wanted in life, and how now he was 34, and still trying to figure it all out.

  This is fucked up. Maybe my ex-girlfriend was right…maybe I am childish…

  Maybe Kyle was right too. Maybe I’m selfish, only thinking about my own needs and myself…

  This made a hell of a wake-up call. He pulled himself out of the funk once more, and concentrated on the here and now.

  Your damn team won again…

  You still appeal to the ladies. That’s a damn plus. You just got hit on by a babe for God’s sake, and she actually looked like somethin’ and may have even had a good head on her shoulders.

  He nodded to himself, agreeing with his thoughts as he mentally patted himself on the back.

  He was good, yeah…everything would be just fine, right? No one said the road to reaching goals would offer a smooth ride. Matter of fact, it seemed the more he drove, the more dips, turns and curves he encountered.

  I just need to be grateful there is a clear, definable path in the first damn place. It could be worse. What if I didn’t have a map?

  He turned the key in the ignition, and headed on his way…

  *

  “Brian.” Treasure tossed the ivory and red-checkered dishtowel on the nearby kitchen table. “I told you to be home by nine. What time is it?” She sucked her teeth as she leaned back against the pantry counter and crossed her arms and ankles. The boy had been trying her to the tenth degree, making a mockery of her rules, her judgment, and her laws of the damn house. “I said, what time is it?!”

  The tall, lanky boy with skin the color of a snickers bar and loose, wild, curly hair gripped the straps of his navy blue backpack that hung slack along his body. The damn thing looked as if he were in the midst of removing it, letting it fall to the floor. He smirked and clicked his tongue against his inner cheek as he peered down at the ground, his dark brown eyes turning into sleepy slits.

  “This isn’t funny. Is something funny, Brian?” she snapped. Weeks of his insubordination, sassy mouth and disrespect had come to a head. The workweek sucked. Matter of fact, very little had gone right in the past few days at all. Home was supposed to be a haven, only her own child was making it hell.

  “Nah…” He laughed lightly, exposing an off-white wad of gum pushed to the side of his mouth, then smacked on it a time or two.

  “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!”
/>
  He slowly raised his head, and his cool, cocoa colored eyes, devoid of concern and care, focused upon her as if she were a mere image conceived from his imagination. Her heart skipped a damn beat, and then another. Inside of his heated glare she saw and felt hatred conceive and emerge. It drifted off his core like a wave of heat, skirted across the room in a zigzag snake like fashion, and bit her smack dab in the soul. She’d never seen her own flesh and blood regard her that way. His words could’ve never been so cruel, but his look upon her, one of regret, disdain and angst, made her feel as if she were losing her first born, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Regardless, she stayed the course, refusing to let him off the hook.

  “It’s 10:43. I got home ’round 10:32.” He held onto his sly smirk—held on so tightly to it, one would think it was permanently adhered to his damn face.

  “Brian, I’m tired of you treating this house, my rules and me like some game. You’re grounded this entire week, and the upcoming weekend, too!” She turned away, facing the sink as she prepared to wash the dishes.

  “What?!” he yelled out, suddenly showing emotion, giving a damn. “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, I can’t? I just did!” She cast him a heated glare from over her shoulder. “Now go do your homework and I mean, only homework. No Facebook, no Pitter, no—”

  “Twitter…”

  “I don’t care what it’s called! No video games, nothing!” She completely stopped what she was doing and faced him, scratched the side of her nose then extended one slightly wet hand, palm up. “And give me your phone.”

  He scowled at her once again, then his expression softened in perplexity. It was as if he were nestled close to the prickly flesh of bewilderment. His expression reminded her of the one Mr. Owens had, as if her words suddenly caused him to require the services of a translator.