I glance over. His eyes on the men warming up with slow jabs and footwork. “That isn’t for me.”
He makes eye contact with me. “That?”
“The fighting,” I explain. “Give me a punching bag and I’ll take my frustrations out on it any and every day.” As much as seeing men spar and psyche each other out brought me into this world, one where I love boxing as a hobby and release, I’ve never seen myself inside the ring. I’ve seen how brutal it gets, guys holding nothing back and making their opponents grovel with split lips, broken noses, and blood dripping down their faces. I’ve been through enough hurt to know that I don’t want to make someone else feel it. No matter the form it comes in.
“You mean to tell me you never thought about it?”
I shake my head because no, I haven’t. I admire the strength and wisdom it takes for guys like Eli to do what they do, but thatsame passion isn’t in my bones. Throwing my fists into a bag, rather than a person, is enough to douse the flames that blaze.
He nods at my hands. “What has you worked up?”
I glance down at my gloves and tell him the truth where I can. “Was laid off.”
He shakes his head. “Goddamn shame what’s happening out there these days, isn’t it? This is the kind of shit we fought for.” He’s talking about him and his brother. “Freedom, sure, but also security. You know that’s why I do it.” It’s now that I see the wrinkles next to his dark eyes, the ones that have become more prominent. I realize he’s talking about Gauntlet Sundays and dip my chin. “People shouldn’t have to suffer and go without.”
“People shouldn’t, but they do.”
“Not if I can help it,” he mutters, taking me by surprise when he says, “Stop in Monday morning, and we’ll find something for you to do around here. Might not be much but it’ll be something.”
“Llewellyn, you don’t have to do that.”
He clasps a hand on my shoulder, his severe eyes boring into mine like they did that first day I showed up when I was in high school. Even then, he welcomed me and took me under his wing. Showed me around the place. Promised I had a friend in him. Told me that Gulliver’s was a safe space.
I didn’t doubt him then, and I won’t now.
I don’t want to take him up on his offer, but the reality is that I need some form of income, and this will give me that until I can find a more permanent position elsewhere.
“Are you sure?” I question, gloves hanging by my sides.
“I’ve never been surer of anything, kid.”
Tightening his hold on me, he gives me a reassuring squeeze then walks off. I watch him help a younger kid on the equipment across the way before he gives him a fist pound and makes his rounds.
As each glove pounds into the bag in front of me, I wonder how the hell I got so lucky when it came to Llewellyn. How the cards were in my favor the day I met him. How I’d never take the day back because the dude has one hell of a heart.
I wonder if his brother was the same. If Llewellyn had his heart of gold before his brother’s duty to this country interfered, or if it came from losing a part of him that he’s always referred to as his other half.
And I wonder if I’ll ever get the same chance, if I’ll ever have the opportunity to help someone like he’s helped me.
TWELVE
VIOLET
As much asI don’t want to face Dad, I promised Olive I’d try.
I’m doing it for her and Mom more than myself. I don’t want to see him. His betrayal has been on repeat in my mind, clouding over other thoughts I’d rather think about or memories I’d prefer to tap into.
I’ll endure one lunch with the man if it protects their hearts from the crushing truth.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to Alessandra’s Italian Café on the strip because of traffic. It’s after the lunch rush when I arrive. The lights are dim and add to the moodiness of the eggplant-colored walls. The hostess leads me back to a table, and I can smell the tartness of spaghetti sauce in the air. Dad’s love for Italian cuisine brought us here when we toured Chatham Hills years ago. It’s become the only place we meet for lunch, and home of the best crème brûlée I’ve ever tasted.
He hasn’t arrived yet, but considering he completely skipped out on my birthday to spend it fooling around with his secretary, my expectations aren’t very high.
Fifteen minutes later, I see Carlisle Adams over my menu before he sees me. Wearing suit pants and a tie, I can tell he’s coming from the office. There’s a hint of exhaustion on his faceas he approaches, but his thin lips tip up in a hesitant smile, the corners of his mouth wrinkling.
“Violet, honey.”
My smile is as tight as my chest. “Dad.”
