Page 102 of The Beginning and End of Everything
The line clicks. "Well, there you are, you son of a bitch." Larry laughs. "What’cha want?"
"I want a fight."
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Poppy
"Poppy." Hope shouts through the door, and I groan. She has no idea about what’s happened over the past twenty-four hours: that I didn’t go to sleep until four this morning when Finn called to let me know Brandon was safe, or that, when I called his work, I was informed he’d been fired.
"I know you're home." The knob rattles before she bangs on the door. "Open up, or I'll be forced to smash your bedroom window and climb in."
I get up and flip the lock, and the second the door opens, she’s shoving one of her jackets at me.
"Here. Put this on." She grabs my arm and pulls me into the walkway before I have a chance to blink. "Let's go. Chop-chop." She snaps her fingers.
"I’m not going anywhere, I—"
She drags me toward the parking lot. "Oh, yes, you are. We’re going to The Pit." She stops midstride and places a stern hand on her hip. "And you want to know why? Because Brandon, like the prick that he is, is due to fight in about twenty minutes."
"What?" My blood pressure ticks up, and within seconds, my entire body is on fire. "Oh, I'm going to kill him."
* * *
Breaker.Breaker. Breaker.
I've never seen this place so crowded. People are shoulder to shoulder, yelling and shouting and toasting their beers while I duck underneath their sweaty arms and weave between heckling men.
The microphone crackles before the jarring screech of feedback kicks in. "Gone from the ring for four months, he's back with a vengeance." Larry pauses for dramatic effect, and everyone goes nuts. "Brandon 'The Breaker' Blaine!"
Brandon steps out from the back, hands taped, and hair messy. He paces the pen like a tiger hungry for blood, and with each agitated movement, I catch a glimpse of his monster, willing and ready to claw its way out.
I finish shoving my way through The Pit, losing Hope as I go. I pass Finn before I climb between the worn ropes.
Men whistle, and Brandon whips around, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull when his eyes land on me. I march between him and his opponent, only stopping when my face is inches from Brandon’s chest. "Get out of this ring, Brandon."
The crowd boos, then a crumpled beer can lands at my feet. "Get the pretty out of the ring," someone yells.
"Brandon, please. Get out," I repeat because there is a very real fear gripping my throat. I’m terrified of the setback, the inevitable downward spiral.
"Get your bitch out of the ring," the opponent shouts over the boos bouncing from the concrete walls.
Brandon's jaw sets, then his neck cracks to the side. I've seen that look in his eye once before, the night he nearly killed two guys—the night he hit me.
Brandon moves around me, and his gaze strays to the side. "Finn," he says in a low voice before his attention swings to his opponent, then he charges. A hard punch lands on the other fighter’s face, the spray of blood splattering the front of my shirt.
"The fuck did you just say to her?" Brandon fists the guy’s hair and slams his head back against the concrete with a loud crack.
The opponent manages to block his face from another blow, but Brandon just goes to his torso, battering it with ruthless jabs.
Someone’s arms wrap around my waist, lifting me up and over the ropes. "You all right?" Finn asks as he drags me away from the ring.
The crowd is going ballistic, but even with their cheers, the sickening whack of the guy’s skull against the concrete rises above the noise.
I thought I was helping him. I thought that getting him away from this violence would allow his wounds to heal, but I know nothing. All getting him out of this ring did was place a Band-Aid over a knife wound. It didn’t even stop the bleeding, much less heal him.
Finn escorts Hope and me upstairs while Larry and Kyan attempt to subdue Brandon. Finn seats us at one of the empty tables, then disappears through the doorway beside the bar.
Hope tries to talk to me, but her words are nothing more than background noise, I’m focused on the fact that I caused this. I stepped into that ring when I shouldn’t have. I can’t help but think that maybe I’m part of Brandon’s problem; all I seem to do is make things worse. When we were sixteen, I showed up at his caravan and kissed him. I was the one who grabbed his hips and pulled him inside of me. And nearly ten years later, I was the one who tracked him down when all he wanted to do was disappear. I am part of his problem…
