Page 30 of Fighting for You
“Answer, answer, answer,” I whisper as the phone rings, the sound making my head pound to the tune of regret. I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did.
I don’t know what time it is at this point, but we closed down the bar, dancing and singing to everything from Dolly Parton toChappell Roan. As soon as we stepped outside, I remember there are no rideshares available in a town so small at this time of night. Leaning on the side of the building so I don’t topple over, I call my brother to pick me up.
I’m so cold. It’s one of the rare freezing December nights in South Carolina, and I didn’t bring a jacket. As the sweat dries on my body, my dress clings to my skin, not offering me much warmth.
Ripley props Thea up nearby. They’re planning on walking to Ripley’s house as soon as I secure a ride. Ripley offered for me to stay over as well, and if I can’t get ahold of Hayes, I may not have a choice but to take him up on it.
Hayes’ voicemail picks up, and I hit end. My hands shake from the cold, and my body sways from the alcohol in my system as I press on his name again.
Four rings later, a gruff “what” rumbles in my ear.
“Hi,” I mumble out, trying my darndest to downplay my intoxication. “I… I need you. I need a ride.”
“Are you drunk?” he growls, but I can barely hear him over my own chattering teeth. “Where are you?”
“Louie’s,” I say, knowing I’m going to get an earful from my brother, despite being old enough to drink.
“Don’t move.” And the call ends. Great, he’s annoyed. I try to make out the time on my phone, but I’m seeing double. I close one eye and squint, but that only makes me lose my balance, so I give up and wrap my arms around myself.
“Margie, you good?” Ripley asks.
I nod. Leaning my back against the building, I close my eyes and wait.
Chapter Thirteen
Brooks
Twenty-eight hours and thirty-six minutes. That’s how long it’s been since I opened the letter from my mother that—once again—turned my world on its axis. Despite making myself promises, I’d woken up this morning pissed off at the world.
I was pissed at Elsher for not giving us the letters after the funeral. Pissed at Cary for leaving—again. Pissed at Thea for being her annoying self and badgering me about how I’m doing, despite needingsomeone. Pissed at Ripley for not being there when I needed him, even though there’d be no way for him to know. I was even pissed at Margot for being such a bright light that all I wanted to do was run to her so maybe she could chase away the darkness inside of me.
I’d texted Hayes this morning and had him book me for back-to-back fights for tonight. I’m up against Landon, and I don’t see it being a challenge. Maybe he’ll surprise me, but from what I’ve seen, he’s got a killer right hook, but it’s his only move so we all know how to avoid it.
Normally, I’d hang out at The Pit leading up to my fight, but I didn’t feel like socializing or putting on a mask. When I was twelve, my mom convinced my dad to put a punching bag in their garage because they thought it would help with my “anger issues,” so I’ve been beating the shit out of it for the last hour to warm up.
I’m unwrapping my hands, about to go change so I can head over to The Pit when my phone starts ringing inside the house. It’s on the fourth ring by the time I get to it, and I don’t even look down to see who it is before pressing the accept call button. I bring the phone up to my ear, making my way to the fridge for a water bottle.
“What?” This close to a fight, I automatically assume it’s Hayes since I’m usually there by now.
“Hi.” The sound of her voice stops me in my tracks, I can hear her holding back a giggle. “I… I need you. I need a ride.” I’d expect her words to excite me not cause my anger to boil back to the surface.
She needs me.Those are three words I never thought I’d hear her say to me. They’re words you say to someone you feel safe with, and I’m not that person. For her or anyone.
Unless…
“Are you drunk? Where are you?” I grit out, doing everything in my power to keep my voice even.
“Louie’s,” she replies. I’m already on the move, not bothering to change out of my sweat-soaked shirt. I grab my keys off the counter, heading for the door without another thought.
“Don’t move,” I tell her, ending the call.
I quickly shoot off a text to Hayes.
12/12 11:36 p.m.
Me: Something came up, won’t make it.
Delivered
