I’ve been busting my ass trying to work as much as I can, so I haven’t had the time to drop in as often. The last time I was here, he wasn’t. “I’ve been better.”
Llewellyn chuckles and pulls away. He leans an elbow against the counter and weaves his fingers together. “We both know you wouldn’t be here if that was the case, huh? What’s going on? How can Gulliver’s help?”
A loaded question.
While I’d love to take down one of the punching bags in my peripheral, there’s something else I’m here for. Something Ialways stayed away from because I wanted to steer clear of the heat I thought it would bring.
I look around, finally noticing a few guys at the far end of the room. They’re gloving up for the punching bags, but they’re too far away to hear our conversation. One is Eli McPearson, a guy I had high school history with that I know has been coming here since before me. He used Gulliver’s for the same reason I did—to get away from a home life that felt like too much. He talked about Llewellyn and the ring with such conviction back then that it’s part of the reason I showed up the first time. I wanted to see if a reprieve from life with Mom was possible.
“Actually, I have a question for you.” It burns as strong as the acid in my gut as it comes up the back of my throat. I never thought I’d be here. Never thought I’dhaveto be.
“Shoot, kid.”
I lower my voice. “Are you still running Gauntlet Sundays?”
He looks over his shoulder at the guys in the corner then curls a finger at me, signaling for me to follow him. It’s not until he leads me into the office behind the counter and closes the door that my question hits me.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Who you asking for?”
Llewellyn is deathly protective of this place, and I respect that. It’s named after his late brother, who served time with him overseas in the late eighties. He wouldn’t put himself in a position to lose what he’s spent his life building.
I hold his gaze. I’m offended by his question—but I guess I can’t really blame him since he built this place from the ground up. I don’t know who the man would be without this gym. “I’masking, Llewellyn.”
“You know it’s invitation only, kid. You can’t be bringing anyone I don’t know around.”
“Believe me, I won’t be.”
He narrows his dark eyes at me, crosses his arms, and widens his stance. “Why do you need the invite? If I remember correctly, you weren’t interested the last time I extended one your way.”
This is true. One night when I was a senior, he called me into this very room and offered me a seat to partake in the festivities. I was too focused on trying to score the best grades so I could get a full ride to Chatham U—something I never got the chance to follow through with. I got a job and realized money was more important than a college degree.
I sit down in one of the worn chairs next to his desk. I rest my elbows on my knees. “I can’t talk about it.”
I’m not about to share shit pertaining to the Lincolns. If word got back that I was running my mouth about what they were doing—even though I’m sure people have made their own assumptions—I’d be in worse shit than I am now. Besides, he’d say no if he knew I was associating with them.
“Don’t like the sound of that.” He raises a brow when I glance up. “Is it going to bring heat? The purpose of Gauntlet Sundays is to provide opportunity to those who don’t have it elsewhere. You bring your bullshit into this place and ruin it for others…”
He doesn’t need to threaten me to know one is implied.
“There won’t be any heat coming from my direction,” I promise.
At least, I hope not.
“Colson.”
I rise to my feet and stand tall. “Did you ever find me causing trouble before? Give me a chance, Llewellyn. You can trust me.”
Averting his gaze, a response lingers on his tongue. I expect him to cave and agree, but instead he asks, “How’s your mama?”
I grit my teeth because every time I think about her lately, my blood pressure spikes. I’m almost as angry with her as the time she went without filling the house with groceries for two whole weeks when I was eleven. After the ninth day, I ran out of thingsto eat. Days prior, I ate the last expired can of green beans, and I couldn’t take another day of waiting until lunch hour at school. I resorted to knocking on the neighbor’s door and asking for a twenty-dollar bill to get something from the corner convenience store down the block.
“You know how it is,” I answer.
“She the reason you’re here?”
I despise how much the town talked when I was in high school. I went to school with kids who lived in my neighborhood, with Finn Lincoln and his cousins. Kids were cruel and considered me a weak link that they could pick on, and the source of that picking always came back to my druggie mom—as if their parents were somehow royalty.
