The media has been bugging the piss out of Mack and Shane about Andi, especially since Shane is so close to the light-heavyweight title fight. They’re trying to make a big deal out of Andi’s involvement with his training so she’s tried to stay away to protect Shane’s reputation. Shane has told her over and over that he wants her at the gym because she helps him. She just keeps saying she’ll end up causing him more trouble than she’s worth.
Shane was madder than I’ve ever seen him about that. All I could do was smirk as he explained to Andi that she was more important than any fucking news story. She won’t be “the cause of his career’s demise,” as she puts it. Shane still comes to see her at her house and at the club. Only when we’re at the club, he does everything he can to get photographedwithher – just to get a fucking rise out of her. It’s hilarious.
I’ve been spending more time with her at the youth center lately….and not nearly enough time at the gym. I haven’t talked to Andi about a major decision I have to make yet, mainly because I’m still trying to come to understand it myself. After everything I’ve done to convince my family that I want to be a professional boxer, I’m not sure that’s where my heart is anymore. I haven’t changed my mind because of Andi, but being with her has helped me see a few things about myself that I didn’t before.
Which is pretty damn hilarious considering I have an advanced degree in psychology. Guess my psychoanalysis skills work on everyone but myself. Working on the landscaping at the youth center has had an unexpected benefit. I’ve found that I actually enjoy building things with my hands. Even helping with building my mom’s back yard sanctuary, despite her Hitler-like tendencies, was constructive. That’s when the realization hit me – constructive feels better than destructive. Yes, that’s me, the guy with the life-changing epiphanies, also known as the Dalai Lama.
“Hey baby,” Andi gives me a kiss before she sits across the table from me. “How was your day?”
“Much, much better now that you’re here,” I say as I take her hands in mine. We decided to meet for a casual dinner at a small Italian restaurant where we’re less likely to be hounded by people who recognize her.
She looks apprehensive. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Translation:Who do I need to beat the crap out of?
She takes a deep breath and says, “Remember I told you there was still something I needed to tell you about the bastard?” She doesn’t need to say more –the bastardis his moniker now. I nod and let her continue uninterrupted.
“I tried to give it time to see if he would leave me alone. I haven’t talked to the press or anything. Bill called and told methe bitch,” also known as the foster mother, “is involved and they’re doing a joint press conference about this – to solidify their position and paint me as the emotionally disturbed one.”
My hackles are instantly raised in defense. “When is this press conference?”
“Sunday morning,” she says cautiously.
The last thing I want is for her to be afraid to talk to me so I visibly relax my shoulders and my jaw muscles. Which fucking hurt right now from being clenched so hard. I rub my thumb across the back of her hand, pick it up and kiss her palm. “I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
She suddenly looks fearful, “I need to tell you who he is, Luke.” It comes out less of a definitive statement and more like a confession after a torturous session of waterboarding.
“You can tell me he’s the fucking President of the United States and I’m still not going anywhere, Andi.”
She winces and looks down at our hands as she says, “You’re close, actually. He’s the current Speaker of the House. Congressman Jackson Rhoades.”
TheSpeaker of the House? The person third in line for the presidency and second only to the vice-president in case of a disaster. That man isthe bastard?Andi is fidgeting and her eyes keep darting to the door. She pulls one hand away and reaches for her purse.
“Where are you going?” I ask her pointedly.
“You didn’t sign up for this, Luke. Let me deal with this and when it’s over, we can try this again.” She’s fucking serious.
Remembering our conversation a few weeks back, I pull her hand back to my mouth and kiss it repeatedly. On her palm, on every knuckle, and then on every finger. “Sweetheart, remember you wanted me to patiently and gently remind you to let me protect you?”
She won’t make eye contact with me but she nods. Then I see a tear escape from her eye and she quickly wipes it away.
“I’m not going anywhere, Andi. I’m with you, remember? We’re under the same umbrella. We’re crazy about each other. And I can’t even sleep without you now – much less live without you. We do this together, my love.”
Andi smiles hesitantly and takes a deep breath. I know she’s weighing her options right now. Argue or accept what I said? Go off on her own and figure it out? Try to avoid me and keep me from kidnapping her again?
“None of those ideas will keep me away from you, Andi. Just accept it. You know I’m not above kidnapping you again,” I say matter-of-factly.
This earns me a laugh, because she really does know it, and she finally relaxes a little.
I’ve been staying at her house every night and only going by my apartment to get my mail. I’ve tried sleeping without her but it doesn’t work. Later at home, I’m sitting on the couch watching TV and Andi crawls into my lap andcurls up in my arms. I love it when she does this. She lays her head on my shoulder and wraps her little hands around my neck. Sometimes she falls asleep in my arms like this and I carry her upstairs to bed.
She’s nervous tonight, though, and me holding her like this helps calm her. She surprises me when she whispers, “Thank you for not leaving me,” as she closes her eyes and lays her head on my shoulder, nuzzled into my neck.
I’m so stunned I can’t speak for a minute. I rub her arm gently and ask, “What do you mean, baby?”
“When I told you who he is. Thank you for not leaving me. I would understand if you change your mind, but I just want you to know that what you said means a lot to me.”
I know she was in foster care. I know she was legally emancipated at sixteen and has been on her own since then. My mindknowsthese things but I don’t think I’ve ever fully thought about what that includes. But when she says something like this, I’m forced to consider what that really meant for her, how scary it had to be for her, and how lonely.
She would still let me off the hook if I wanted to walk away until she dealt with this. What other choice has she had her whole life? None – she’s had to face everything all alone.
