It’s better not to ask the question. When I’m ready to quit, I’ll do it and leave. It doesn’t escape me that he’s simply using me, and so I’ll use him in return, leave on my own terms.
I think about Deidre in Thailand. She said those exact words, that Glass was just using me. I make a mental note that she’s smart. She was right on the money. She saw straight through her father. She saw it before even I truly did.
Better play it straight with Dee.
I started calling her Dee in my head the moment I tried to write her that letter and realized I didn’t know how to spell her name. I tried anyway, knowing fully well I probably got it wrong.
There’s conflict in me, a kind of still storm. I haven’t stopped thinking about Dee, her face, her voice, her shy smile.
All this time, for every punch I took, for every kick I skipped over, for every jab I slapped away or took above the eye, she was in my mind. Not always consciously, not always right at the forefront, but still there.
If I wasn’t consciously thinking about her, I was definitely subconsciously doing so. Sometimes I’d wake up at night having dreamed about her.
I wondered what her life story was like, tried to piece it together from just the bits and bobs I had gleaned that day we met. An overbearing, asshole father who is a mob boss no doubt played a huge influence in her life.
But no sight of her mother. I guessed that that meant she didn’t have a mother, because I can’t imagine a mother not being there to protect her daughter from Glass.
He’s a capable man, of that I have little doubt. But his responsibilities do not lie with his daughter… of that I have even lesser doubt.
But in the end I realized I’d never be able to put together her story. The only way to ever truly know it was to meet her again.
And the only thing standing in the way of that was doing what Glass wanted. So I wasn’t just training to be the best fighter, I was training to ensure that I didn’t let down Glass, that I got glowing reports from my instructors.
Because I knew he would take me back to the States.
I knew, through him, I would get to see her again, learn more about her.
She’s become an obsession.
The limousine vibrates as we start crunching over the gravel of the driveway, and eventually we round a fountain with winged baby angels spitting water.
I can see her, standing there, hands in her pockets, looking awkward. It makes me smile. She’s grown more beautiful, more mature. It’s the only way I know how to describe it. She looks more like a woman now.
And I just can’t take my eyes off her. She makes me feel a kind of tense anticipation in my gut, makes my temperature rise. Just the brief glimpses I get as the car rounds the fountain, and I feel like I’m ready to burst.
We slow to a stop, Frank lumbers around, and as Glass gets out I struggle to look past him, to see Dee.
I finally catch a glimpse of her big, black eyes. I’m lost in them in an instant, swimming in her gaze, feel like I’m pulled to them by some magnetic force.
She breaks eye-contact, looks down at the ground, doesn’t look back up at me until we’re reintroduced by Glass.
I can’t take my eyes off her, and my heart hammers in my chest as we shake hands. I don’t want to let hers go, but she pulls her shy fingers from mine. She leaves my skin tingling.
Glass guides me into the house, but I keep looking at her over my shoulder. I smile at her, and for a moment she smiles back at me, and it’s like I’m shocked by the electric paddles doctors use to save lives. It hits me right in the chest, takes my breath away.
She leaves my world reeling as we walk inside the front door.
Glass takes me on the grand tour. I don’t pay a lick of attention.
Then we get to the gym. It’s first-class, better than anything I’ve ever seen, even on gym advertisements on the television.
I’m actually impressed, and when I see Glass grinning at me I can’t help but to smile back.
“It looks good,” I tell him.
He laughs, claps me on the back, then puts an arm around my shoulder.
“We’re going to make a lot of money,” he says. “And a legacy. You’re not my real son, you’re not my blood, but legally, you are my son. I expect, if you have any children of your own, they will carry the Marino name.”
I meet Glass’ eyes, and tell him slowly, “Children are a long way off for me.”
“Right, right,” he says, before hastening to add, “But make sure they are a consideration. Find yourself a woman, someone who will listen to you and not make trouble. Someone who’ll be happy if you just give her a child. This is important to me, Duncan, you understand?”
I make sure not to show any expression on my face, even if I find what he says outdated and disturbing.