Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Maybe time is starting to heal wounds.
I’m not sure but I don’t have the mental wherewithal to think about it.
“Sit by me,” Ever says, tugging his hands towards the table. “Please! Maybe Mommy will make us some orange Kool-Aid. I only get that on special nights, but if you’re here, it’s like a special night! Right, Mommy?”
She looks at me and beams. I glance quickly to Crew and think I see him press something into Ever’s palm.
He forces a swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Darkness passes through his eyes and he gives me a hollow smile.
“I’m sorry, monkey. I can’t stay tonight. Maybe some other time.” He reaches for the late notice on the table and sticks it in his pocket.
“Crew—” I begin, but he silences me with a look I can’t quite read.
He shakes his head and leaves as quickly as he came.
FOUR
CREW
I had to get out of there.
My head is a fucking mess and I know, from experience, this isn’t a problem liquor is going to solve. I’m not sure running will fix it either, but it seems like the healthier alternative.
Leaving them tonight was harder than normal. Typically, I just head out and do my shit. I manage to block them out and focus on whatever, whoever, is in front of me. But not tonight. Tonight carries so many memories, regrets, and what-ifs that it’s almost unbearable. Just seeing that look in her eye, like I’m the thief that stole her world, just about broke me.
I start down the sidewalk, tugging my hood over my head. I loosen my shoulders, twisting from side to side as my feet find a rhythm on the pavement.
A cold burst of air rattles my lungs. I pick an object in the distance and jog towards it.
I plow forward, waiting for the numbness I normally feel by this point to settle over me. But it doesn’t come. I run faster, the pace causing acid to pump through my veins. I relish it. The physical pain should block out everything else.
I focus on my breathing, in, out, and turn a corner towards the park.
“Another year has gone by without Gage. Thank you for that.”
As much as I hate it, she’s right. Gage flipping his car two years ago tonight on an icy bridge was my fucking fault. I’ve drunk myself nearly to death over it, I’ve cried over it, I’ve tried to escape the guilt in every way possible. I’ve fucked whores, I’ve hit punching bags, I’ve run so many miles that you could probably lap the whole fucking planet with my steps. But none of it changes anything.
I fucked up. My life is what it is because of me. No one else.
Losing Gage, especially the way we did, was a wake-up call. A little too late, no doubt about it, but I realized that I had to change. Yeah, I could be pissed about losing everything that mattered to me: my girl to my brother, my mom to cancer, my career to a fucked-up neck injury at the hands of a prick, and my brother because I couldn’t keep my temper. I had to stop using these things as an excuse; I had to quit making things worse . . . and I needed to try to make things right with the one other person that was also affected by nearly every one of my mistakes.
I often wonder what her life would be like if she hadn’t met me that day or if Gage would’ve gotten to her first. I wonder if she would be happier.
I exhale as I turn a corner. I’ll never know the answers to those questions, but I do know that I need to try to make sure her life isn’t completely fucked because of me. I owe that to her. To Gage. To Ever. To myself.
The steps come easier. My breathing regulates and I feel my body falling into a rhythm. If only my mind would follow suit, everything would be golden.
But it won’t.
The chill in the air reminds me of early summer in Minnesota. I think back to my days at the University there, back to the days when wrestling was my life.
Wake up, practice, hit a few classes, practice, then maybe find a girl to spend a couple of hours with. Repeat.
It was such a wild time in my life, so many things changed so quickly. I was a poor kid from Dorchester one minute, a collegiate champion the next. A kid destined to work the docks and then destined to be the “next big thing” in Mixed Martial Arts.
It was surreal and exciting. I woke up in March of my freshman year and realized I had barely talked to anyone from Boston since I left the summer before. I hopped on a plane and went home to more than I ever expected.