“Yes, they both are going. Don’t worry, Leah. I’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that.” My bottom lip begins to quiver, and I bite it to make it stop.
“Leah, I do know that. You’ll see.”
Robert leaves before me in the morning for his run. He always wakes me and kisses me before leaving. He has been training hard for the last several months. I know he is in great shape, but I know his opponent will also be in great shape. I call his mom before I leave for work and speak briefly to her about the fight on Friday. As always, we make plans to be together to watch it. I’m thankful I have her to help me get through it.
Bethany picks me up for work since I left my car there last night when I rode home with Robert. I go to work, and I feel like I am surrounded by friends, although the customers are mostly strangers. The shop is a great place to be, even if I am there working. I like being surrounded by like-minded people who share my love for books and for reading. Bethany and Jo have proven to be great assets to me and to the shop. Jo leaves, and Bethany and I work steadily and clean up as we go.
The bell rings over the door. I’m pleasantly surprised to see Brooke walking in the shop. She walks in, takes a big whiff, and says, “Please, tell me you have something sweet left.”
I laugh and say, “I think we have some cherry tarts left.”
“Perfect, I’ll take one and a coffee.”
I ring her order up, and she asks, “Do you have a minute to talk?”
Bethany tells me she’ll manage the register. “Sure, let’s sit down.” I wave my hand in the direction of the over-stuffed couches.
She tells me that she has self-published a cliffhanger romance trilogy and asks me if I would sell her paperback books in the store. She tells me her books are available only at on-line bookstores, but it would mean a lot to her if I would sell them here. I use Google to search her name on my phone and see her books have great reviews. I also take notice that most of the bad reviews are from people who claim to not like cliffhangers.
“You’re ranking very high,” I admit.
“Thank you. My books are selling very well.”
“One of your reviews says, ‘Pfft.....I enjoyed this read until I got to the end but there was no ending, it was like jumping off of a cliff. BE Alert this is a to be continued book. For this reason, I will not be reading other books by this author. However, it was easy to fabricate an ending which I did. What does this tell you?’ That’s a little harsh and unfair,” I say sadly.
“That’s nothing, there’s more just like that. Read another one, they are quite amusing,” Brooke insists.
“Oh, here’s one, ‘Very abrupt ending...cliffhanger. I don’t appreciate that! I didn’t enjoy the author’s writing style enough to justify purchasing the next book.’” We both laugh and I say, “She enjoyed it enough to finish it.”
“Let’s read a good review. ‘Loved the writing of this book and I really loved the story. Great book. Can’t wait to read the next one.’ Aww, this is sweet.”
“I learned that I can’t please everyone,” Brooke admits. “Some hate them while others love them. My books are about this alpha male named Dante, who falls in love with Amber. He’s a boxer, and she was a school teacher who was beaten and raped by a student on school property.”
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, holding my hand to my heart.
“The book focuses on Amber’s strengths and it also shows that even an alpha male can love tenderly and sweetly.”
“Aww, I love it.” I read the synopsis on the back and say, “This sounds like a really good book.”
“Thank you. It was tough at first. I put the first e-book up for sale for $2.99 and I sold only four copies in two months, then I took it off because I was so embarrassed. I decided to change the ending to a cliffhanger, I gave it away free, and I wrote two more books to make a trilogy.”
“And the other two books are selling?”
“Yes, go figure,” she laughs. “I do spend two hours a night self-promoting my free book. Each book I give away can possibly result in two sales — more, if I write additional books.”
“I would be honored to have your books for sale here.”
“Really?” she asks in disbelief.
“Yes, I’ll set up a nice display and promote you as a local author.”
“Oh, Leah. Thank you.”
“How many books do you have with you right now?”
“I think I have 10 sets of the trilogy in the car.”
“If you supply me the books, do you think 40% is fair for my share? You provide the books.”
“I thought your share would be more. Is that enough, Leah?”
“It’s plenty. Go get the books; I have the perfect spot for them.”
While Brooke runs out to get the books, I clear off a small white linen-draped table and place three bookstands on it. She comes in with a large tote of books. I arrange the books on the table and step back to take a look.
Brooke says, “I have some bookmarks if you want to give them away with the books. I use them instead of business cards.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” I take them from her and scatter them on the small table. The bookmarks are glossy, 2x5 inch with each book cover of her trilogy printed on it. Her name and webpage are located on the back. “Perfect and very cute. People love free stuff even if they have to purchase something to get it.”
“Thank you so much, Leah.”
“No problem, call me in a few days to see how they are selling.”
“I will, thanks again,” she says as she leaves.
Bethany leaves to get us food for lunch. We try hard to not eat the sweets that Jo makes. They are delicious but are not on our diet.
Like clockwork, Robert shows up precisely at 6:00. He restocks the shelves of books and the other supplies while Bethany and I clean up and vacuum. Since we own the shop, we do the cleaning and restocking ourselves. We bring in the bistro tables and chairs from the sidewalk before heading home.
“Do you want to eat out tonight?” Robert asks before I get into my SUV.
“You don’t want to eat at home?”
“I just thought we could eat out.”
“Okay, lead the way and I’ll follow you.” Robert kisses me before shutting my car door. I buckle up and wait for him to pull out in front of me.
Robert
Last night while Leah slept, I watched the videos of John ‘Stone’ Bailey, on YouTube and Break.com. I watched and re-watched them until I got his boxing moves memorized. I have watched these videos many times in the past couple of months. He’s good, but he’s repetitive. That’s the number one mistake in boxing: repetition. In the morning, I kiss a sleeping Leah goodbye and run the 15 miles to meet Gus at Upper Cut Boxing for training. When I say I’m in the best shape of my life, I mean it.
Gus asks, “Are you ready?”
I reply, “Let’s dance.”
My dad walks in a few minutes later and gives me some pointers. I’m not surprised to see him here. I knew Gus would let him know where we would be. My dad wraps my hands before he gloves me up. I meet my sparring opponent, who is already in the ring waiting for me. The guy is good, and he is here for training as well. We often go at it in ring for training purposes. After 12 rounds and we are both still standing, I know it was a good fight, for him and for me. Gus and Dad go over my moves and strategies with me for the fight Friday night. I listen and put what they tell me to memory.
“We’ll leave for the airport at 5:30 Friday morning,” Gus says. “Be ready, I’ll get your dad and then we’ll swing by and get you.”
“Sounds good. I want to be on an early morning flight home, Saturday.”
Gus says, “I figured you would; it’s already taken care of. We fly back home at 9:00 a.m. Saturday. Rest up tonight and I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning.”
“I wish you would give yourself time to recuperate before returning home after the fight, Friday,” my dad says with concern in his voice.
“Why? I plan to kick his ass quickly. I won’t need time to recoup.”
“That’s my boy.”
“See ya both, tomorrow.” I run the 15 miles home and shower before I call Leah to tell her I am on my way. I dress in jeans, a tee, and boots for Leah’s benefit. Although she knows that I was training today, I don’t want to remind her by showing up in my workout gear. Leah and I have a routine, and I try very hard to stick to it.
When I show up at the shop, Leah has everything done. “Were you slow today?”
“No, but we did have some downtime today, so we were able to stay on top of things,” Leah says.
I walk over to Leah and kiss her and then ask, “Is there anything in the back that needs to be done?”
“No, nothing. We didn’t have a delivery today. I probably should have called you to tell you not to come, Robert. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t be, I would have come anyway. Did Bethany leave early today?” I look around the shop and I don’t see her.
“I let her go at 5:00. I didn’t see a need for her to stay.”
“Leah, you know I don’t like you being here alone.”
“Robert, I’m all right,” she calls over her shoulder as she gets her purse from her office.
When she returns, I say, “If you’re going to be here alone, would you at least lock the doors from now on?”
“No, then the shop will appear to be closed.” She smiles and walks over to me and says, “But I will call you so you can come over and sit with me if that’ll make you feel better.”
“It will, thank you.”
Leah and I have dinner with her parents at their home tonight. We drive together, leaving Leah’s car at the shop. We talk about everything but my fight on Friday.
“Did I tell you that Brooke’s books almost sold out?” she asks with excitement in her voice.
“No, you didn’t. I’m a little surprised by that,” I admit.
“You shouldn’t be. Locals love supporting other locals. Especially when the local author writes romance books.”
“That makes sense. But since she is a new self-published author, I thought maybe people would be leery of that.”
“Her book covers are professionally done; that helps. She’ll be glad to hear that they’re selling so well,” Leah says. “I’ll need to call her and tell her to bring in some more books when she gets a chance.”
We pull up at Leah’s parents’ house and find both of her parents in the kitchen. Her mother, Sue, is standing at the stove while her father, Tim, is sitting at the bar telling jokes. Leah and I walk in and Leah says, “Dad, how many times are you going to tell that joke?”
“Well, there they are,” Tim says as he stands up to hug Leah, then me. “As long as your mother laughs at it, I’m going to keep telling it.”
Leah walks over to the stove and hugs her mom. “Mom, is that Grandma’s homemade spaghetti sauce you’re making?”
“It is,” she says proudly.
“No one cooks as good as you, Sue,” I say, inhaling the delicious aroma of Italian cooking. The three secrets of real Italian cooking are garlic, garlic, and garlic.
Sue removes her apron and walks over to hug me. “I made it just for you, Robert.”
Leah and Tim both clear their throats at the same time and we all laugh.
“What about us?” Tim asks, trying to look serious.
“I made it for the both of you, too.” Sue laughs and walks back over to put her apron back on to finish cooking the pasta sauce. The words on her apron say, “I don’t need a recipe. I’m Italian.”
“Yeah, sure you did.” Leah laughs. “We know who she really loves,” Leah says, walking over to sit next to her dad.
“And it ain’t us,” her dad jokes.
Leah helps her mom set the table while Tim and I walk outside. “I hear you have a fight coming up?”
“Yes, my first fight in two years. On Friday. In Chicago.”
“Gus called and told me. I’m able to go, after all.”
“Good.”
“You just focus on the win.”
“Thank you, I intend to.”
That night Leah sleeps cuddled close to me with one of her legs thrown over mine, one of her arms around my stomach, and her head resting on my chest. I know she is worried about me and I love her for it.
Leah gets up with me in the morning. I had intended for her to sleep in, but she insisted on getting up. While I shower, she makes us a healthy, low-carb, high-protein breakfast, including a protein shake. We have breakfast together and she doesn’t mention the fight. In fact, she avoids it. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.
She kisses me goodbye and stands at the door and watches me until I’m out of her sight. I run the 15 miles to Upper Cut while listening to Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” on repeat. There’s just something about that song that fills my body with adrenaline. I love the rush I get from the combination of the song and running.
I walk into Upper Cut expecting to see the ring set up for me. I’m surprised to see it is already being occupied by two other boxers. Gus and Dad are standing over near the speed bag, talking. I grab a bottle of water and down it as I walk over to them. “There’s sleeping beauty,” Gus jokes.
I look at the clock and it is 6:05 a.m. “Sorry I’m late,” I say sarcastically. “There was heavy traffic on the 15 miles of sidewalk I ran on this morning.” I look at the speed bag and then the heavy bag. “I could have stayed home to do these.” I nod in the direction of both punching bags.
“We know, we think it’ll be better if you to do them here,” my dad says. “We believe the atmosphere at the gym and the boxing ring will keep you motivated.”
I sit down while my dad wraps my hands and Gus gloves me up. The song “The Eye of the Tiger” plays over the intercom and my heart begins to race. Man, I love that song and the adrenaline it brings with it.
“Are you ready, Bobby?” Gus asks.
I stand up and say, “Let’s dance.”
I stop only long enough to rehydrate and eat. After I spend time on the speedball and heavy weight, I go 12 rounds in the ring with a new sparring partner.
Later that night Leah and I have a quiet dinner at home. She helps me pack for my boxing trip. I watch as she walks into the bathroom and returns with some Neosporin ointment, gauze wrap, and tape, and tosses them into the duffle bag.
I look at her in disbelief. “Sweets, I wish you had more faith in me than that.”
“I do; these are for your opponent,” she lies.
“If those are for my opponent, he’ll need more than that.”
She walks back into the bathroom and tosses another package of gauze into the duffle bag. We go to bed and watch a little television before we make love.
Afterward, she cuddles into me and shares her concerns with me about the fight.
“I’m afraid you’ll get hurt,” she says as she traces circles on my chest.
I kiss her forehead and ask, “You’re afraid I’ll get hurt or worse?”
“Both,” she admits.
I kiss her forehead again and say, “Don’t be afraid, Leah. I give you my word that I’ll be home unharmed.”
She looks up at me and as seriously as she can, she says, “Robert if you lie to me, I swear I’ll hurt you myself.”
I laugh and say, “Fair enough.”
We sleep intertwined with each other until the alarm goes off. When I return from my shower, Leah isn’t in bed. I quickly dress and find her downstairs in the kitchen.
“I thought you could use this,” she says as she hands me a protein drink.
“Thank you, but you should have stayed in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits.
I lean in, take her by the arm, and pull her into me. “Please, don’t worry about me.” I kiss her and hold her close. I see headlights coming up from the driveway and I know it’s Dad Tim, and Gus.
“I can’t
help but worry.”
Leah
Robert gave me his word that he’ll be home uninjured. I know he can’t promise me something like that. He has no way of knowing that for certain. I stand at the door and wave as they pull off. I have a smile on my face and tears in my eyes. I don’t want him to see me cry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to my Robert fighting; I’ll always fear for his life. As soon as the brake lights are out of view, I close the door and cry.
I call Robert’s mom, Margie, and invite her to my parents’ house tonight. She worries about Robert as much as I do. I go in to work and go through the motions. My thoughts are only on Robert and his fight.
“Are you all right?” Bethany asks.
With a slight smile, I look at her and say, “I am, why?”
“You just don’t seem like yourself today.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I lie.
Bethany and I work steadily. We stock and clean up throughout the day. So at closing time, we can leave.
I get the deposit ready for tomorrow and balance the books. I am excited to see that sales are consistently improving. I call Brooke and let her know the last of her books sold today and I also remind her to bring in some more books when she gets them. I also tell her I’ll pay her when she drops off her books.
I call Mom and Margie to let them know I’m leaving and will be there soon. I decided to stop by the cemetery first. I buy Jamie wildflowers and lay them carefully beside the pink roses that Robert left for her this week. They still look pretty healthy. I pray to God and talk to Jamie and ask her to watch over her daddy if she can. I tell her how much I miss her and how lonely I am without her. I remove the few leaves on the ground and pick away the weeds that have started to grow since my last visit. I carefully touch her name that is engraved in gold, on her black teardrop-shaped tombstone. I say as I stand to leave, “Bye, Jamie. I love and miss you more than life.”
A Life Worth Fighting Page 2
