A grin crept across my face as I looked at the floor in front of the oven.Her naked body, her shy smile, her voice asking me to take her right there in the middle of the spilled flour… I shook my head.
Damn, I miss her.
My chest began to tighten, a twitch that I wasn’t used to feeling rippling through my torso. It was strange and uncomfortable, almost a hollow pain … like something was missing and a part of me was gone.
What the hell is happening to me?
I poured another shot and downed it, clenching my teeth as the liquor tore its way down my throat. The burn was a welcome feeling, covering the emptiness that I felt inside.
She should be here right now.
I grabbed the DeLeon tequila and tipped it back, taking a shot right from the bottle.
But she can’t be. Not until I know that everything is okay. I can’t risk her safety by being with her all the time.
I needed Jada like I needed air. I wasn’t sure how in the hell I had gotten to that point or when it had happened, but I couldn’t really deny it.
I thought about the plans on my desk and laughed at myself.
I’m such a fucking tool.
I walked through the living room, into the guest bedroom I had converted into a workout room, and grabbed my boxing gloves.
I need to stop the insanity now, while I can. I haven’t committed. I can still walk away. Go back to the way things were. Remember that? When I followed the rules? Things were easy. Fun. Focused.
I stuck my hands into one of the red gloves, laughing at myself.
Who am I kidding? You can’t go a fucking hour without thinking about her. There’s no way you can call anything off.
I got my other hand situated in its glove and stretched my arms out to the side. My body was tense, my muscles stiff. I threw out a couple of jabs, getting warmed up.
Why couldn’t Simon have stayed in California? Why did he have to move back to Phoenix a few months before Jada?
I threw a couple of jabs and followed them with my left hand, getting into the flow.
Did I really have that much bad fucking karma?
I began to pepper the bag with combinations, the sound of the gloves smacking the leather loud, but not louder than my thoughts.
The harder I threw, the madder I got. With each punch, a bit of the bullshit that clouded my fucking head cleared out and I was able to focus. Boxing had always done that for me, given me a way to see who I really was. What I really wanted.
The bag didn’t care who I was or what I should want. It stood in front of me and let me assault it, let me work shit out for myself without trying to talk me out of or into anything.
Regardless of what it takes, I am going to make this fucking work. If I have to kill the bastard myself, I will. But I won’t lose Jada over this. This may be a fucked up few months, at best, but she’s mine.
The bag bounced on its stand, shaking the chain that held it in place. The sound of my fists slamming into the leather was like music to my ears, reminding me that I was in control. I created my own destiny. I could get what I wanted.
I threw a hard overhand right and watched the bag shake until it stopped.
I have what I want. I want Jada Stanley. Fuck everything else.
I pulled my gloves off, my moment of clarity more like a moment of acceptance of the things I already knew, and picked up my phone.
Me: I miss you. Hope you’ve had a good night.
Jada: Just got into bed.
Me: I should be with you.
