“A boy your size tells me you didn’t grow up eating ketchup packets.”
“No. I didn’t,” I laugh. “Noah saw me, didn’t say anything about why I didn’t have food. He just pulled stuff from his lunch and asked me if I would eat it for him because he didn’t really like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but told me his dad got mad when he didn’t eat all his food. I knew it was bullshit, but I was hungry, and grateful."
William turns to face me, but I shove my hands in the pocket of my sweater and keep my focus on the tall blades of grass blowing on the other side of the fence.
“The next day, I remembered my lunch, and it was like it never happened. We might never have spoken again after that, if I hadn’t seen some kid crowding him against the equipment shed. I started walking over to them, trying to get a read on the situation, but when I saw him shove Noah to the ground, it was the first time I can remember instinct taking over my body. I ran the rest of the distance and didn’t stop when I got to the kid. I charged him straight into that metal box, and when he fell beside Noah with blood dripping down his nose, I didn’t feel an ounce of regret.”
“Good.” William's voice pulls me from whatever place Ijust wandered off to and I breathe out a sigh of relief, resting my forearms on the fence. “What happened next?”
“I got suspended.” I look over my shoulder at him, but his face doesn’t change, so I continue. “I was eleven but I wasn’t delusional. I wasn’t expecting to be some hero or anything, but I also wasn’t quite prepared to be the villain they painted me as.”
“You spent a lot of time trying to prove to them you weren’t just fists, I bet.”
“I probably should have,” I say with a laugh. “But no. I let that reputation stick with me. Noah knew why I did what I did and he’s been my best friend ever since.” To this day, when someone thinks they can body him, I go right back to that day. We met Silas on the first day of freshman year, and without so many words, he became like another brother to us. I’d do anything for either of them. And as long as my friends and my family know me, my intentions and my heart, I’m good with whatever anyone else thinks about me.
“You’re loyal,” Willie says. “Kind of like another little blonde kid I know.”
Chloe and I might have our loyalty in common—no matter how differently we show it—but our comparisons end there. She’s all soft light to my hard edges. No one ever has to question or make assumptions about her because her kindness and toothachingly sweet nature just constantly radiates around her. She also has a world of options laid out for her future. A hundred to my one. One that hangs by a delicate thread. One that rides on me keeping a clear head and clean hands.
“So, what about you?” I ask.
William glances over at me with one brow lifting like he’s trying to decide if he wants to tell me his story. “What about me?”
“Come on.” I tap my toe against a beam in the fence. “A world famous boxer? You’ve got to have some stories.”
He cups his hands together, eyes focused on the hill ahead, and I imagine he looks not much different than I did only minutes ago.
“I worked every day from the age of seven with the sole goal to be an undisputed boxing champion, and I made that goal a reality. And I did it twice.”
I wait for more, hanging on to his every word.
“My wife was by my side in the early days, when I was working for that goal,” he continues. “She was by my side when I achieved it, and then all I wanted was to be by her side. She wanted to travel the world, and that’s what we did.”
“What does she do?”
His mouth curves, but it’s so slight that when I blink, it’s gone. “She was an artist. A beautiful, incredible artist.”
My stomach drops at the past tense verbiage.
“She painted every city we went to, I coached in a few of them, and we laughed along the way.”
It sounds so simple, but it makes me wonder if that’s the whole point.
“Did you ever have kids of your own?”
He shakes his head, eyes still focused in front of him.
“No. It was just my Anne and me.” He swallows, and a beat passes. “She passed away three years ago.”
William's hand trembles lightly, and I look up to the gray clouds that have darkened over our walk. We stand here, sharing the quiet space for another minute.
A shiver runs down my arms, and I push off the fence. “Ready to head back?” I ask.
He buttons the top button of his jacket and carefully steps back on the dirt path.
19
chloe
