A Boy I Used to Love(51)

I felt like a king, even when I was mopping up the old floor at night.

I had gotten myself into a fucking mess after my last fight. The pay was big, but the guy running my opponent had connections that went all the way to New York. After the fight, he pulled me aside and offered me a chance to work for him. I refused. But then an idea got into my head.

I asked him to find Lacey.



       
         
       
        

She hadn't spent a second outside of my mind since she left. And that was five years ago. Five fucking years of just dodging life and throwing dirty punches and scrambling to make things work. The garage got shut down by the cops, and I spent my days training and sleeping and my nights fighting and fucking women whose names I didn't even care to learn.

I wanted her to come back to me. I wanted her to prove everyone wrong and come back. There wasn't a day that went by when I didn't think about going to get her. Just showing up and changing everything in both of our lives.

A hand wrapped around the middle of the weight bar, breaking up my thoughts.

Pin pushed and showed his teeth to me.

"Son, I need a motherfucking answer," Pin said. He stood up and put his hat on with his free hand. "This is a springboard."

I pushed with all my might, overpowering his grip, forcing the bar up. I was benching more than I needed to and now I had Pin pushing on the bar, trying to break me.

After a few seconds, he stopped and let go.

I slammed the bar back and sat up. I spun off the bench and stood up, towering over him.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I yelled.

"You need to listen to me, son. I'm trying to pull your ass out of this hole you're in."

"I'll give you an answer when I'm ready," I said. "I told you that."

"I don't have time."

"Neither do I," I said.

We stared each other down. Pin shook his head. "Stupid. That's what you are, River. The true fighters are the ones who take everything they can get."

"Then I'm not the fighter you want," I said.

"But you are. You're going to be huge. I know it. You won't listen to me."

"I'll call you with my answer," I said.

Pin said something in Italian and walked away.

I sat on the end of the bench for a good hour and just thought about life.

I was waiting for a call.

The call that would forever change my path in life.



Dear Lacey,



Hey, darling. It's me. It's been five years. I can't believe it's been five years. I can still picture you. Sitting in your car. Me grabbing the open window, throwing promises at you. Telling you I was going to make things right. But I didn't make things right. I got lost. It all went dark when you left. The light went out. Everything went out.



I dropped the pencil to the floor. I ripped the paper out of the notebook and balled it up. I threw it into the trashcan where it joined the others. I was a fucking fool for trying to write her. Trying to put five years of feelings into one letter. 

But I had her address.

I knew where she was.

I knew what she was doing.

She was in school but not medical school. Her parents were retired and living on Long Island in some expensive fucking beach house. Her father ended up making a killing with whatever company he began to work for when they took Lacey away from me. He got in on the ground floor and got a piece of the IPO and made seven figures.

All that shit ripped me up inside, but if Lacey was happy, then it was worth it.

That's all I wanted for her.

What was I supposed to do? Just show up and take all that away? Her dreams. Her stability. Her future.

There were images in my mind of us running away together and finding a way to make it work. But I had been in the dirt long enough to know that life wasn't some fucking movie where things just always worked out. Sometimes things didn't work out. And that was just life.

I grabbed the pencil again.



Dear Lacey,



You left. I was drunk and babbling about meeting up in a few years. But you left. Not me. I could have kept you from leaving but you would have regretted me.



I ripped the page out and tossed it.

I had gone up to our meeting spot two times now. Two years in a row I spent the entire day up there. Scrounging up cash to buy a diamond ring in case she showed up, then burying the rings. That was just a waste of money. But here's the deal with that …  I never believed in signs or superstition until I met a guy named Finn. He was a fire-haired Irishman straight out of Belfast. Came to the states to work in construction and fell on hard times, got mixed up with gangs and drugs. He bounced in and out of prison until he found the west coast and realized all that muscle and anger he held could be used for fighting. He had a routine before every fight and he never lost. He carried a rosary and looked in the mirror, mumbling prayers in his thick accent. When I asked about all that shit, he said a good man needs a routine and a belief.