Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
“It’s not good.”
“Fuck,” I yell, throwing another combination. My anger surges once again and I take it out on the bag. Throwing another jab, cross, hook, I feel a burning sensation at the top of my back.
I stand still, watching the bag spin. My chest feels tight as I try to locate the source of the pain.
I’ve never really felt this before. I’ve pulled every muscle, ripped every muscle, in my body several times. But this isn’t that. It feels eerily reminiscent of my last fight at Minnesota, only much, much, much less.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, grabbing a towel off a chair in the corner. I dry my face and then throw it across my neck. “Son of a fucking bitch.” I try to tell myself that it’s probably a pull on something from work.
That I’ve never had anything hurt like that before, so the odds that it’s nothing serious are good. Maybe something just strained when I hit the bag.
Yeah, that’s probably it.
I head inside to grab a bottle of water. I ran three miles as soon as I got home. But when I was done, I was as pissed as I was when I started, so I decided to hit the bag instead. No matter how many times I threw, I couldn’t diminish any of the anger.
“Knock, knock, motherfucker.” The door swings open and Will waltzes in.
“I need to lock the fucking door.”
He just laughs, but I hear the hesitancy in it. “What’s happening?”
I down the rest of the water and toss the bottle in the trash.
“Well?” he asks, leaning against the wall.
“Well, what?”
“Dude, come on.” He shakes his head and walks into the living room. I follow him and sit on the couch while he takes a seat in the chair he always uses. “How are things with Ever?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
And I don’t. I don’t want to discuss this shit. It seems asinine you’d ever have to discuss this shit. A kid getting cancer. How the fuck does this even happen?
“Fair enough.”
“There’s nothing fair about it.”
He twists his head back and forth, considering my statement. “True. So, moving along, I was going to ask what you were doing tonight, but I’ll skip over that.”
“Smart move.”
He laughs again and I know it’s for my benefit. He’s trying to make me relax and settle down. Gage had words to pacify people; Will has his laugh.
“What are you here for, anyway?” I ask.
The asshole smirk leaves his face and he looks somber. “I was just checking on you.”
I blow out a breath and look to the ceiling.
“I feel like I should do something,” he says seriously. “I mean, I don’t know Julia all that well because she never really hung out with us too much, but Gage was my family. And you, I’d go to war with you, man. We’re blood. A small percentage, maybe, but blood anyway. I just don’t know what to say or do.”
“So what’s going on in Will’s world today?” I ask, changing the topic. I doubt it’ll take my mind off of Ever, but if anything can, it’ll be Will’s escapades.
His eyes widen at the opportunity to say something stupid. “I banged this chick last night. Tightest pussy I’ve ever felt. Ever. Fact as fuck.”
“That’s saying something.” I laugh.
“No shit.”
“You seeing her again?”
He shrugs like he’s never thought about it. I roll my eyes and flip on the television.
“This isn’t really my world, more your world, but your fight video has exploded over the weekend. I wanted to call you this afternoon, but I knew you were busy.”
“Pull it up.”
He grins and reaches in his pocket. In a minute, his phone is in front of my face with YouTube open. I make out the interior of Shenanigan’s. The video starts playing. I’m jerking the first guy through the air. The camera is on me and then hits the guy just as he lands in the middle of the table.
I’ve seen myself in a number of videos before, but it’s always been wrestling bouts that I’ve had to watch to see where I lacked or where I fucked up. I’ve never seen myself in a street fight. Now I know why people don’t fuck with me after they see this.
The camera gets closer as my elbow strikes the second guy across his mouth. You can hear muffled voices whispering back and forth as his teeth go bouncing down the bar.
“Did you see that?” Will asks, pointing at the screen.
“It was even better firsthand.”
“That thing is everywhere. Literally on every MMA forum, social media, the whole thing, man. I know you’re dealing with serious shit right now, but you’re kinda fucking famous again. Google yourself.”
“It’ll just bring up Minnesota shit,” I say, starting to hand his phone back to him. I do not need a reminder of what used to be, what could’ve been. I’m acutely aware.