Page 110 of Prove You Wrong

There was no doubt in my mind this was going to be hard. But now, standing in my kitchen, this feels impossible. The foil is still out on the counter from where I didn’t clear up properly in my eagerness to get out. I feel like a fool, expecting a round of bacon butties to fix everything.

‘You want to work out some frustration?’ Chunk holds up the sparring kit. ‘I’ve got an hour before I head to The Wreck.

Feeling numb, I put on the gloves and go through the motions, following the routine Chunk always sticks to.

We work out in silence, except for him calling out prompts. I can’t drown out the echo of Ella’s words. She deserves better than me.

It’s fucking true. My best efforts aren’t good enough. If wish and want alone were enough, then there wouldn’t be a problem. But she needs more.

‘I don’t know if I can do this.’ I thrust my forehead into my gloved hands, but the pressure isn’t helping to clear my head.

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ He smacks the pads together, indicating I should keep jabbing.

Ella’s face swims into my memory. She looked hollow, tormented. Seeing her suffering hurt more than the words she tried to cut me with.

‘Ella.’ Punch. ‘She’s falling apart.’ Punch. ‘I swore to myself I’d be her glue, to keep her together.’ Punch, punch. ‘But what if I’m notsticky enough?’ Punch. ‘What if she doesn’t want this particular brand ofadhesive?’ I throw out my hand, defeated.

Chunk chuckles. ‘I hope you’re better at being glue than you are at analogies.’

Stupid, traitorous tears prick my eyes. But this is Chunk and I don’t care what kind of mess he sees me in.

‘Listen to me.’ He clumsily grapples my shoulders. ‘You are her glue. Her lynch pin. Her rock. Whatever she needs right now, you are. And if that means giving her the space she’s asking for, that’s what you do.’ Chunk gives a final squeeze and shake and lets go, lifting the pads back up as targets. ‘Be patient.’

I nod and jab out a couple more crosses before my arms drop again.

Chunk is levelling his gaze on me and I find myself saying words I hadn’t fully admitted to myself. ‘What if I fuck this up, too?’ Throat tight, it comes out as a fucking squeak.

What if I fuck everything up, like I always do?

***

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I try to call Ella but she doesn’t answer. I suck at giving her the space I know she needs.

My shift at The Bull is boring as hell. It takes roughly three percent of my brain to go through the motions, leaving the rest to obsess. It doesn’t help that it’s quiet with only a few regulars in.

As I polish the mirror at the back of the bar, I scowl as I catch sight of my own miserable reflection.

‘What’s with you?’ Scott asks as he pulls down the top shelf bottles to clean.

‘Nothing,’ I grind out. We can both be Mr. Grumpy.

After a minute, Scott puts down his cloth. ‘What did you want to talk to me about the other day, before you had to do your blood bikes thing?’ He’s really trying here.

I stare at him in the mirror, wondering how he’ll take the news. Deliberating if it’s still a good idea. ‘I’ve been offered a full time job. I’m thinking of taking it.’

That’s kind of a lie. I’d fully accepted the role, but now I’m having serious second thoughts.

‘Good for you.’ He raises his eyebrows and nods slowly, levelling his gaze on me.

‘You’re not annoyed?’ My eyes flick away, and I keep polishing over the same shiny spot.

‘This was only ever supposed to be a stop-gap for you.’

I glance back up to see his reflection.

‘I’m relieved.’ He shakes his head with a small smile, puffing out a breath. ‘Mum’s always on at me about what you’re doing with your life. So, what are you going to do? Will Chunk mind?’

‘I hope not,’ I turn to look directly at him. ‘He offered me the job. Head of Hospitality. I’m in charge of realising the luxury treehouse venture.’

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