Fuck it,I thought.We’ve gone this far.
“When I lived back across the country, I used to fight for money. Frisk and his guys ran some of the fights, and one evening, there was a misunderstanding. I left town right after, but with my shit luck, I managed to run into them again.”
Ezra looked down at my plate, seeing how close I was to being finished eating. “You used to be a fighter?” he asked.
I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “No. I am a fighter. I just don’t swing my fists for money anymore, and especially not for that guy.”
The waiter came over to refill our drinks, and while he did, I tossed the last few fries down my hatch. Ezra looked a little startled across the table, like he was still processing what I said, but Irving surprised me more. With his eyes cast downward and his hands on his coffee cup, he looked lost in thought, but not the least bit disturbed by my history.
I pulled out my worn leather wallet, tossing some bills on the table. “Enough small talk. You ready to get out of here?”
Ezra started to stand up, but Irving grabbed his arm. “One more question, please?” Irving asked.
I clucked my tongue against my teeth. “Make it quick.”
“It’s an easy one,” Irving said. “I’m just… Well, what are you hoping happens next? After you leave town?”
I blinked, even more surprised by the question than the last one. “What do you mean?”
Irving shrugged. “You’re not fighting for money, and you’re heading to a new city. What’s your plan? If everything goes right for you, what’s your new life going to look like?”
I was thrown off by the question. It was like the surprise of a left hook, glancing off your face when you thought the fight was already won. Why did this guy care what my plan was? People like me didn’t have big dreams to chase or career goals to accomplish. We just went by, day after day, and tried to keep out of trouble.
That was my plan—don’t fuck it up.And maybe I’d have a little more luck the next place than I did in Seattle.
“No plan,” I said. “I’ll get a job and pay my bills and fill my fridge.”
“There must be something else you want, though,” Ezra added. “Everyone wants something.”
I sighed. “I don’t know,” I said, crossing my arms again. “I guess I always pictured owning a little house, a couple acres of land that were all my own, and getting a good dog to run around in the yard.”
They both watched me from across their table, smiles lighting up their faces when I said the part about the dog.
“Enough of that,” I grumbled, fighting back a wave of embarrassment. “You ready to go yet?”
Ezra linked his elbow through Irving’s, then batted his eyelashes across the table at me. “Oh, we’re ready,” he said. “Trust me that we are very, very ready.”
