Page 21 of Surrender
“No,” she cut in sharply, a tone I didn’t often hear leave her mouth. “You have ajobin New York. A life is something else entirely, and being here in this house, with me, with other people around you who love and care about you… that could be a life you could really start to live.”
I looked away because I knew that if I met her eyes for too long, I might actually start to believe her.
She pushed off the window frame, dusting off her palms before stepping up in front of me and holding out her hands. “You don’t have to decide right now,” she said, dragging me out of the lonely chair and pulling me to my feet. “The realtor said the owners aren’t in a hurry to sell, so they’re happy to hold off listing it for a little bit.”
“What’s the catch?” I questioned, narrowing my eyes.
She laughed off my suspicions, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as we strolled slowly back through the empty kitchen. “Not everyone has ulterior motives, you know. I think they just understand this house needs a lot of love and attention. You’d have to spend some time fixing it up, but if you put in the work, you’ll get something that lasts.”
We walked out the front door, leaving the creaky floorboards and peeling wallpaper behind, but as we strolled down the path to Lucy’s car, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder.
Maybe she was just talking about the house.
Or maybe Lucy had become some philosophical genius.
Either way, I couldn’t help but see Nate’s face as I stared back at my past.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face him and attempt thatfixing-uppart just yet, but the way my stomach flip-flopped atthe thought of being back here and seeing him around, I had to admit something to myself.
Whether I liked it or not, it was here that felt like home.
Chapter Nine
BLUE
“You better move faster, Patrick,” I called as I watched the young teen attempt to outmaneuver Rafe, the two of them dancing around the ring in the center of Brawlers.
The gym was packed, almost a body on every single piece of equipment, including a couple of bare-knuckle fighters training in the private ring downstairs. That style of boxing had been illegal for a long time, but was beginning to find a resurgence and had been legalized in a few states so far. But until it grew, it was still the underground fights where they were making their money, and we all needed to be careful about who knew it because Brawlers had become the go-to place to hold them.
“This a new training technique?” Match questioned as he stepped up beside me with a frown, studying Rafe and Patrick, and the strange teaching choice I’d made just a few minutes ago. “Or does Rafe suck that badly that we have to disarm his opponents now?”
Rafe scoffed loudly but didn’t look my way, continuing to duck and weave around the younger boy.
Patrick was dragged into Brawlers a few months ago by a mother who was sick and tired of him constantly speaking with his fists and not using his damn mouth. He was fifteen, he’d been expelled twice from school, he’d done a couple of short stints in juvie, and he was currently on his last warning before being shipped away forwho the hell knowshow long next time.
“Patrick knows how to swing and land a punch,” I explained, folding my arms across my chest and fighting a grin. “But…”
“I’ve got to learn… to protect… my face,” Patrick called out, breathing heavily and refusing to take his eyes off his opponent.“And not… swing in anger.”
And he was exactly right.
Patrick could throw a punch.
He’d proven that time and time again.
But when you got in a ring with a real fighter, going at them with your fists flying wasn’t going to win you a damn thing. You had to protect yourself and learn how to move.
So, after a few months of trying to get Patrick to keep his damn glove up to protect his face and get him to stop throwing stupid punches that were going to get him knocked out, I made a training choice.
And that was how he ended up with his gloves duct-taped to the sides of his head.
Not only was he getting used to having his glove up to protect himself, he couldn’t punch.
He could only get out of the way.
“All right, unravel him,” I called, and Rafe grinned widely, reaching out and tearing the tape from Patrick’s head in record time.
Patrick’s eyes shot wide open. “Motherfuc—”
