Ally nods. “After he got locked up, his dad visited me. He told me to keep my mouth shut about who Lacey’s father is—if his son was even her father. He said I’m nothing more than trailer-park trash and I’d never see a dime of the Nelson fortune if I even hinted at Austin being Lacey’s dad. He told me he had the money to take my child away from me and make my life hell.” Ally wipes away her fallen tears.
“Have you spoken to Austin?”
She shakes her head. “Not since he called me the night he was arrested.” She pauses and gathers herself. “The day everything went down, I was working as a receptionist. Austin called me and told me he had been busted for dealing. I knew he supplied the construction workers on his dad’s job sites, but he told me to mind my own business, so I did. About a week later, I was out on the street because my name wasn’t on the lease, and his dad refused to help, even after I told him I was pregnant. And then, a few days later, while I was packing my belongings into my car, he came up to me in the parking lot of the complex we lived in and said those things. So, I listened. I packed what I could and headed back to Mom's.”
Ally leans into me and cries. “I don’t even know how he found out we were here or why he showed up. I haven’t told a soul about Austin, ever.”
“He found you because of Thea,” I tell her. Ally stiffens in my arms. “I’m sorry I ever brought her into our lives.”
The last place I want to be right now is on the ice. We’re down by two goals, both resulting from power plays when I was sent to the sin bin. All night, this jackass has jawed in my ear, saying shit to piss me off. I get it, it’s a normal tactic, but tonight is not the night to fuck with me. I should’ve told Coach I couldn’t skate, but it would have to be a cold day in hell for me to utter those words. For as long as I can remember, hockey has been my life. The rink is usually the one place where I can escape everything, but not tonight. As soon as I walked into the locker room, Jude was on my ass for making his sister cry. Fuck him. And fuck her.Sheput my niece in harm's way.Shecontinued to see her ex behind my back, even going as far as to ask my permission to hang out with him. I must be some kind of idiot.
The line switches, and I head off the ice. “Rose, do you plan on playing tonight, or are you just wasting space on the ice?” Coach asks. I don’t answer because there isn’t a good one to give. “Answer me,” he says as he whacks my helmet. I stand and face him. Even without skates on, I’m taller than him, and right now, I tower over him.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Get the fuck off my bench,” he yells and points toward the door which leads to our locker room. I do as he says without hesitating, with no questions asked. I don’t bother showering, and I don’t even wait for the game to end before I’m out the door and heading toward my car. Thea’s voice rings out from behind me. I ignore her and continue to my car, lengthening my stride to get away from her.
“Kyler, please.”
She can beg all she wants. I’m not stopping. I reach my car and get it, locking the door as I start the engine. My headlights flash on Thea just as I pull out of the parking spot. One look into my rear-view mirror, and I see her standing in the middle of the lot, watching me drive away. I’m not wrong in how I feel. I told her from the get-go I don’t let people into my life because I don’t trust them. I made the mistake of trusting her, only to be let down. Lesson learned.
Instead of going home where I know Thea and the others can find me, I drive toward the southside of town to the warehouse hosting tonight’s fights. Throughout my very short relationship with Thea, she begged me to stop. I’m glad I didn’t listen because I need to hit something or someone tonight.
I check in at the desk and then maneuver myself to the front of the makeshift ring, which is just hundreds of men gathered in a circle. The two fighting now are circling each other. When one threatens a punch, the other steps back. This goes on for a good five minutes until someone from the crowd pushes one of the fighters into the other, and then it’s on. I pretend it’s me and practice my moves with each punch thrown. It’s not like we’re professionals or anything. We’re just a bunch of dumb fuckers looking for excitement and to make a few extra bucks.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and when I turn, the “owner” beckons me to follow him. We end up in a corner, and he tells me I’m next. I agree and take off my shoes and shirt. I’m thankful I wore shorts out of the locker room because fighting in jeans sucks. I need as much movement as I can get.
When the current bout ends, I step onto the old gym mats someone brings with them to each fight. They’re caked with dried blood, they’re ripped, and most of the padding is gone. They’re used to prevent skulls from breaking open when someone falls.
The guy before me sizes me up. I let him. He’s a bit shorter than me, and his arms are stubby, giving me a reach advantage. I roll my shoulders, put my hands up and march toward him. He swings and connects, stunning me. And it’s in this moment where I decide I need the pain, and I allow him to pummel the shit out of me until I blackout.
There’s noise all around me. Someone is talking fast while something is poking me. I hear cops, bushes, and then I feel something cold against my leg. A bright light shines in my eyes, and I try to bat it away, but my arms won’t move. I’m trapped. I want to move my head away, but something holds it in place. But what?
I moan. It’s the only thing I can do.
“Can you hear me?” a voice says.
Another moan.
“You’re going to be okay. You’re on the way to the hospital.”
Another moan.
“I know you’re in pain, but we’re going to take care of you. Just hang tight. We’re almost to the hospital.”
Moan.
“I wish you’d wake up and tell me your name,” the voice says. “I’d like to call your family and let them know where they can find you. I’m sure they’re worried.”
No one cares about me.
“All right, my friend, we are here. Let’s get your fixed up.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Something is pinching my hand. It hurts and is annoying. I reach for whatever it is and then cry out in pain. My eyes open, and my hand instantly goes to my head, and then I cry out again. I take on my second fight of the night, this time with my consciousness, but quickly lose that one as well.
“Good morning,” a man in blue scrubs says to me. I glance at him with blurred vision.