Page 11 of Tell Me You Love Me

I was positive I’d never come back to the house that held my torment and thousands of nights of loneliness.

But plans change. Life changes.

For my son’s sake, I intend to smooth those changes out and shield him from the ugliness.

ROUND FOUR

TOMMY

“Circle around!” Chris snaps from the outside of the cage, his booming voice creating a clear distinction from the person he is outside of this gym. In the real world, Christian Watkins has no time for anybody, no inclination for small talk, and no fucking tolerance for making friends when he’s already so rich with those.

It’s me.

I’m his friend.

But inside Love & War, the gym we opened fresh out of high school when the world was on fire and I was on a fast track toward prison—or insanity—he’s a powerhouse. A world-standard trainer who refuses to let his fighters slack off.

It’s me.

I’m his fighter.

“If you don’t bring that left arm up and protect your face, I’m gonna smash it with a two-by-four,” he snarls. “You don’t care about your head anyway, so I may as well swing.”

“You’re antsy today.” I duck low when Oliver, my sparring partner, throws a wildly stupid haymaker and spins himself out. But while he’s turning, I shoot forward on one knee, wrap my arms around his torso, and slam him to the canvas with a floor-rumbling boom. Instantly, I scramble over the top of his body and whip his arm back, throwing myself to the side and trapping his chicken wing until he barks out in pain.

And then I wait. And wait. And wait.

Until he taps. “You asshole!” He slaps my leg and grunts when I release his arm, laughter rolling on my tongue and my lungs heaving for fresh air. I simply lie on the canvas, sweating as the cage door squeaks open, and my brother’s beady-eyed stare becomes all I see.

“I won.”

“You’re sparring with a nobody. Don’t get too smug about it.”

“Hey!” Ollie rolls out from beneath my legs and stops on his knees and elbows. It’s the kind of position a mandoesn’tpractice in prison… unless you’re into that sort of stuff. “I’m not a nobody. I’m a whole human with feelings.”

“You’re a punching bag,” Chris dismisses him coldly. “You’re a heavy body with an hour to spare.” Then he brings his eyes back to me. “You’re not gonna win fuck all if you continue to train like this.”

“Dude, it’s July.” I peel my grappling gloves off and swipe my sweaty brow, though the action is useless since my hands are sweaty, too. “We have loads of time. We’re not getting serious until October, at the earliest.”

“Get serious in July, and you won’t have to train so fuckin’ hard in November to be ready.”

“Get serious before October, and I’ll burn out by fight night.” I extend my hand, waiting for him to grab on, but instead of letting him lift me to my feet, I sweep my legs out and buckle the backs of his knees, slamming him to the canvas right alongside me and shuffling away when he viciously flips to his hands and knees and pounces, all in under a second.

I know him like I know my own body, so I scramble toward the cage door, practically levitating in my haste, all to avoid his meaty fist rearranging my ribs. “You’re feeling anxious because we got a date for the fight.” I exit the cage and wander amongst a group of kids coming in for class, making the little punks my shields. It’s my God-given right. “Having an official date means you’re panicking. I understand that you’re a little overwhelmed?—”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.” He prowls out of the cage, his bare chest growing with adrenaline, his lungs working hard to fill and prepare him for war. “Don’t use your psycho-babble and think it makes you sound smart. Ollie’s not a contender. He’s a shitty fighter.”

“Hey!” He flops to his back. “Stop taking it out on me ‘cos you two are feeling mean.”

“You never take things seriously, Tommy! Conner handed his belt back,which cleared the way for you. Now you have it, but Docik is coming for it, and he’s not gonna lay down like…” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

Oliver grumbles.

“He’s the best fuckin’ fighter coming up right now, and he’s hungry to claim his place at the top.”

I grab one of our baby fighters—Molly—and push her giggling form toward my brother. “You really shouldn’t cuss like that in front of kids. You know the moms get fussy about it.”

He catches her and turns her back around. “You shouldn’t use a nine-year-old as a shield.” Still, he softens his touch and tickles the side of her neck. “And you’re taking the kiddie class today.”

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