How did I keep messing up my life this badly? What was I thinking? I was so f**king selfish. I couldn’t see past my own self-pity to think that Lorrie needed me when I was in the hospital during the flare-up. I had f**ked up again.
And now it was over.
I punched the kitchen cabinet door to the left of the sink. The door caved in, sending splinters and Cheerios from inside flying everywhere. My fist exploded in pain. Breathing hard, I flexed it to make sure nothing was broken. It hurt, but I was okay.
The kittens had scattered at the loud noise of my outburst, but they were now cautiously approaching the cereal and splinters on the floor. Seeing them brought me back to my senses. If I needed to blow off some steam, I should do it at the gym instead; I didn’t want to hurt the kittens.
They were reminders the time Lorrie and I had spent together. Looking at them had always made me happy but now it filled me with grief.
One hour ago
I kept my head down and brushed past the rest of the guys at the gym. They saw the look on my face and nobody tried to stop me to chat. I didn’t see Gary; he must’ve been sleeping off the hangover. I headed straight for the heavy bag and began to work it with my bare fists.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwackathwackathwack.
I wasn’t just punching the faded leather; I imagined punching my own face in. I deserved it. Lorrie was special and I f**ked it up. I couldn’t help her and I couldn’t save her. I was too weak. Too stupid. Too selfish.
Thwackathwackathwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwackathwack.
Lorrie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Feeling dizzy, I tripped over my feet. I shot my gloves out and grabbed onto the bag before I could fall. I leaned heavily against the leather bag for a second before pushing it away and getting back up.
Fuck this disease.
I kept hitting the bag until sweat stung my eyes, my arms were sore, and my fists were angry and raw, but I still didn’t feel any better when I was done. It didn’t matter how hard I punched those bags, I’d never be able to take back the pain that I had caused Lorrie.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I don’t find something solid in my life.
I bent over, breathing heavy, and leaned against the leather punching bag that had just taken all the punishment I could deal out. When I walked over to the water fountain to get some water, the other guys gave me plenty of space.
It was supposed to be me; I was supposed to be that solid thing in her life. I promised her that but I f**ked it all up. What the hell was I going to do without her?
As I headed back for another round with the bag, the gym doors swung open and Johnson, the fight coordinator at the Squirrel, came in with a clipboard in hand. I stopped for a second to see why he was there.
“Listen up guys! I know this is real short notice, but I’ve got a fight lined up in the next hour. So if any of you want a shot at Walter Morris, here’s your chance. I had him scheduled for a fight with Dan Evans, but Danny boy’s got the flu and canceled this morning.”
Walter Morris was one of the top fighters in the area. Six foot four, built like an ox. I’d never fought him before but I knew that I’d have a hard time with him even on my best days.
Johnson looked around the room at the other guys there. No one was volunteering. I didn’t blame them. One hour wasn’t really a lot of time to prepare to fight Morris. Taking a fight on such short notice against an opponent like that was a deathwish. But maybe I needed that right now.
Johnson was getting desperate. I only half heard him say, “Come on, if you win, I’ll double your winnings, you got my word.”
I couldn’t care less about the winnings but I needed to forget what I had done. I needed to feel that rush of being in the cage, hovering on the edge of violence and oblivion. I wanted the clarity of fighting for survival against a caged animal. I didn’t give a shit that this particular animal was going to be Walter Morris.
Lorrie was gone. She wasn’t coming back. I was supposed to help her heal, not be a source of her pain, but that’s exactly what I ended up being. I was pathetic. I didn’t deserve to be happy.
Then I decided.
I locked eyes with Johnson, and just gave him a tilt of my head. That was enough. Johnson knew what I wanted. Understanding flashed between our eyes and he nodded before turning and leaving the gym without another word.
Maybe I could win this fight, maybe I couldn’t. Walter was a hell of a lot more prepared than me, but I had one advantage. I’d lost the only person that made me give a damn about myself.
I had nothing to lose.
Chapter Twenty-nine
DAMAGED
Lorrie
It was Hunter.
A sharp pain knifed through my chest. He looked beyond exhausted. His chest heaved and his mouth hung wide open, gasping for breath. There was blood dripping down his face from one of the cuts on his right cheek and the bruise on his left eye was a stormy mix of gray and purple. It seemed to be getting darker and swelling bigger by the second.
A violent shiver ran through my body, and my mouth opened in horror. I’d never seen Hunter like this before. I’d never seen someone so broken.
Finally, the other fighter managed to push Hunter away. The two began circling each other again. Hunter’s hands were down by his stomach and his legs wobbled with the effort to remain standing. My heart squeezed in my throat as I watched him struggle.
Something was horribly wrong.
I watched Hunter stumble around the cage. My heart raced, almost ready to explode. There was no way he should be out there. This wasn’t the lightning quick Hunter that I first saw in the ring. Maybe he didn’t look like he was dying, but it was close.
“Hunter!” I screamed, desperate to do something but unsure what I could even do.
Tension knotting my muscles, I held my breath as Hunter’s opponent came forward and took a wild swing. Hunter narrowly ducked the punch and stumbled away without even trying to throw one himself.
Maybe he was just trying to make it to the end of this final round without getting knocked out. If he could just last that long, the fight would be over and he could get some badly needed medical attention. Maybe there was hope after all.
He dodged another punch, but this time tried to throw one himself. It missed, and his opponent countered with a punch to his ribs that landed with a loud thud. Hunter winced and backed away, circling around. I clenched my jaw nervously. Hunter moved in and out, but didn’t try to punch the other guy.
The crowd booed at his refusal to engage. Hunter responded by coming forward and trying another wild punch. It missed. His opponent tried to knock him out with a high kick and Hunter just barely got away. This time the crowd cheered. My head swam, dizzy with images of Hunter hurt or worse.
I couldn’t let this keep going on. Maybe if Hunter saw me he would stop trying to be a hero and just stay away from his opponent until this last round was over. It was clear Hunter was going to lose the fight. He didn’t need to keep trying for a lucky knockout and risk getting hurt himself. People might boo, but at least he wouldn’t get injured any worse than he already had. My pulse thundered in my head as I thought of what to do.
“Hunter! Just make it through the round!” I yelled. He gave no sign of hearing me.
I began to swim my way to the front of the crowd, squeezing myself into every opening I could find. There was some grumbling, but I kept pushing forward. I had to get him to see me. He needed to stop fighting.