Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (12 page)

            “What’s your point, Pat? This is a little insulting.” I was trying to hear him out, but all I could focus on was that he was comparing me to a drug addict and keeping me from Bree. “Mick’s house isn’t a rehab facility and I’m not addicted to beating people in my dreams.” 

            “You can make a joke of all of this if you want, Drew. But that’s not going to get you back into my gym and it sure as hell isn’t going to get you back into Bree’s life. My
daughter’s
life. Mock it if you want, but this is the way it’s going to be.”

            I rose from my chair and stood straight and tall. “I’m not mocking you or your twelve steps, but don’t you dare compare me to a drug addict. I fucked up and I’m willing to accept all the consequences that come with it. But I won’t be treated like some junkie asshole that won’t accept responsibility for his actions.” I was seething.

            “Good. I’m glad we’re clear then,” he said dismissively. “I’ll be sending Brett and Tony every morning to meet you at a gym in Jacksonville. It’s a small jiu-jitsu gym owned by guy named Max. He’s a mean son of a bitch but he runs a tight ship. He’s agreed to let us lease private gym time before they normally open.”

            “Where is this place?” I wondered aloud.

            “It’s on the west side of the city, about a twenty minute drive from here. You’ll need to be there at 5:45 every morning and be ready to work because we only have two hours before the gym opens,” he warned, sounding very coach-like in his instruction. “We start Monday.”

            “We?” I coaxed. I hadn’t missed a thing he said.

            “Yes. We. Tony will meet you there daily to train and I’ll wake my crotchety Irish ass up before dawn twice a week to drive over and work with you myself,” he said proudly, smiling at me.

            “Wow.” I was almost speechless. Leaning back onto the railing of the front deck, I looked up and locked eyes with him. “Thank you, Pat. Truly. For everything.” He was a good man, deep down.

            “Yeah, well, this is it. I care about you. I believe in you. And somewhere deep down I know that this isn’t your fault. But this is it. This is your one chance. Your one free pass. One fuck up. One step out of line and I’m done. No Murphy’s Gym. No Coach Pat. No Fernandina. No Bree.” He was serious. “I mean it.”

            “I know you do, sir. I won’t let you down.”

            He stood up from the swing and extended his hand to shake mine. I obliged.

            “Keep doing your therapy sessions and keep me posted. And talk to Mick. I don’t have to tell you what a great guy he is. You already know that, but he’s a good listener and he knows a thing or two about grief.” The look on his face said that he did too, but it wasn’t something he was willing to talk about. Certainly not with me.

            He walked down the steps of the porch and meandered down to his car, turning one last time. “Don’t call her. I mean it. No contact until I say. Don’t try me.”

            I nodded in agreement, reluctantly, and watched as he drove away. I couldn’t help sighing when I went back in the house, relishing the feeling of air conditioning hitting my clammy skin and the overwhelming relief that Pat and I had cleared the air. I walked into the kitchen to toss my empty water bottle in the trash and was met by the mouthwatering smell of warming food.

            Joan turned to me with a curl of her lips. I didn’t have to ask what was cooking.

            “Pat brought shepherd’s pie that Bree made us. He said it’s your favorite. Bree sent me a note with specific instructions on how to heat it.”

            I smiled, missing her so much in that moment that it hurt.

            “It still has twenty-five minutes to bake if you want to catch a shower. You and Pat have been out there for a while. Did you even eat lunch?” she inquired with concern.

            “No, ma’am. I’ll grab a shower then. Thank you.” I turned and quickly escaped upstairs to avoid getting more emotional.

            The three of us had a quiet dinner. I savored every last bite, thinking of Bree. Both Mick and Joan sort of sensed that I needed some time for silent reflection. I asked if there was anything I could do to help clean up and, surprisingly, Joan accepted my offer.

            “If you don’t mind just hand-washing the pan and putting it back into that thermal carrying case once it’s dry, I would appreciate it,” Joan requested, giving me a strange look. The appeal immediately garnered a puzzled look from Mick and she quickly explained. “I have a little headache tonight.”

            “Sure,” I quipped.

            I cleared the plates, silverware, and the now empty pan, carrying everything to the sink. Mick excused himself to the living room while Joan remained at the table. At first I thought she didn’t trust me to clean the correct way or something, like she had to watch me. But once I brought the clean glass pan over to the carrier and unzipped it to place the pan inside, I noticed it. A small white envelope with my name written on the outside. In Bree’s handwriting. I turned around just in time to see Joan walking out of the kitchen, a teasing grin on her face.

            My heart warmed at it all. Bree knew the only person to see that card would be Joan and she somehow trusted her to not say anything to anyone else and deliver it to me in a discreet way. I tucked it into the elastic waistband of my shorts, hiding it with my t-shirt, and ran. I couldn’t wait to read it.

Chapter Fifteen

BREE

            It was risky putting a note for Drew in with the shepherd’s pie but I had to do it. I felt compelled to not only let him know that I was okay but also to see what he would do. Was he worried about me? Did he want to contact me? Was he even still interested in being with me? I had no idea what he was thinking, feeling, or wanting.

            I knew in my heart that Drew loved me. I knew he wanted to be with me. I knew he would never hurt me. But he did. The internal struggle within him was so much bigger than me.

            The days that had already passed since the incident had left a gaping hole in my world. The void that was created without Drew directly in my life was unnerving and I didn’t know what to make of it. I had always been such an independent person, never having to rely on anyone, never having to lean on others in order to function. I not only operated this way since my teenage years, but I thrived on it. I was the one that everyone else leaned on. I was the backbone. And it rocked me to my core to be thrown out of that role all of a sudden.

            Once I finally hit the sack, I couldn’t wind down, thoughts stirring in my mind what Drew was thinking. It was another sleepless night, tossing and turning with unease, but I stayed true to my word and awoke way before dawn to make it over to the gym to check on things well before anyone else were scheduled to show up.

            As I stood in the center of the mats at just after four, I stared into the mirror at myself and literally reflected on my situation. I was madly and deeply in love with Drew and I couldn’t find a speck inside my body or mind that was willing to give up on him. But all of a sudden, I wasn’t so confident of his feelings. I walked over to glance at my image more closely, leaning my hands on the rail ledge of the equipment counter and gazing into my own eyes in the mirror. The skin surrounding them was no longer swollen, but was yellowish in color now as the bruises continued to fade. The small half-moon-shaped laceration under my left eyelid was still slightly raised and pink but I knew it would soon be white and would fade, becoming part of my permanent features. But my eyes—my eyes themselves were different. If your eyes were truly supposed to be the windows into your soul, I was sure that my body wasn’t the only part of me that was injured. My soul was aching. My spirit was waning and meek and I hated seeing myself like this. I had to get back to him.

            I looked around, turning my entire body in a slow circle to take it all in. My gym. His gym.
Our
gym. This is where we first met, rather unconventionally, but unique and special to us. Right over there, where the headgear and sparring mitts sat still, I was lost in myself one typical early morning and we literally collided.

            I sauntered over to the countertop and picked up a single piece of head gear, which actually smelled pleasant and appeared to be clean. I should’ve smiled at the realization that most everything had already been taken care of, and been grateful that Liam was so good to me. But I was overcome with a feeling of helplessness. As irrational as it was, it pissed me off. Overcome with rage, I lost it. Crying out as if in pain, I struck the punching bag to my right with an ungloved fist, abrading the skin over my knuckles but almost liking the pain. I continued to punch over and over with both fists, screaming, yelling, and crying out with each contact. Open palms slapping and shoving the vinyl of the bag, elbows striking and lashing out, my body desperately pawed and grabbed at the inanimate opponent for a release.

            I fought until sweat dripped down my temples and beaded over my top lip. Until my knuckles were raw and bleeding. Until I was out of breath and wincing at the soreness of my throat from the wails and curses of the moment. When I turned and saw myself in the mirror again—witnessed my out of control behavior—it made me even more enraged. I was furious that my life had taken such a turn and that I had absolutely no control over it. I was irritated beyond belief that I could find no way to appease my fuming temperament. Before I even knew what I was doing, I heard the sound of glass shattering as I flung something heavy at the mirror to my left. The sound of the mirror breaking snapped me out of it, shocking me. I walked slowly over to the mirror, not even realizing what I had thrown, and found a metal handgrip on the floor in the middle of a puddle of glass.

            I sank to my knees and sobbed. What had I done? What was I doing? This wasn’t me. This wasn’t how I handled things. This wasn’t how my life was supposed to be. The clusterfuck that had become my world was out of hand and I had to get control of it. And fast.

            I took a few deep breaths, wiping my tears away and rising from the floor, recoiling at the pain of the glass shards that had embedded themselves into my knees. I surveyed the destruction that I’d created in my meltdown and retreated to the supply closet to get what I needed to clean it all up. It was already past six and I knew that the chance of one of the trainers straggling in any minute would be awful for me. I looked a mess and not just because of my beaten face.

            Sick to my stomach at the thought of someone seeing me in this state and the embarrassment and shame that would come along with it motivated me to quickly clean the floor of any glass pieces that remained. I placed packing tape over the large pieces that still remained on the wall so they would hopefully not fall to the floor and risk injuring someone. Caution signs were placed around and in front of the mirror and I hightailed it out of there, narrowly avoiding an encounter with anyone.

            I texted my father once I got home.

Just got home from the gym.

One of the mirrors got broken on accident

I’ll order a replacement later today.

Otherwise good and ready for business.

            He promptly and curtly replied.

Broken mirror?

Never mind, just handle it.

I’ll be back from Macclenney in a few hours.

Chapter Sixteen

DREW

            Just seeing my name scrolled across the envelope in her curly writing made my breath hitch. My heart was racing, my palms sweaty with nerves and anticipation as I sat on the bed to open it. I was eager because I wanted to hear from her but had a pang of fear at the same time. What if this was it? What if this was my Dear John? I wasn’t ready to face that. What else could it be, though? She took a huge risk by sending it, jeopardizing her father’s trust and my career all in one swift move. And for what? Certainly not just to say hi. Suddenly, I was going to pass out. Everything in the room spun into slow motion. I watched the note slip out of my hand and glide onto the carpet.

            I leaned back, moving to brace myself against the headboard, my arms stretched out beside me. I looked dazedly up at the rotating ceiling fan.
How the hell did I end up here?

            A few minutes passed and I eventually picked up the note, placing it on my chest as I lay down. I couldn’t open it yet. I couldn’t even look at it. I actually had the nerve to wonder how she could do this to us, but then was disgusted with myself for even letting that thought enter my mind. She didn’t do this to us. I did. I’m the reason I’m not in Fernandina and stuck here with Mick instead, second guessing everything. I’m the reason she’s at home right now, bruised and battered. I’m the reason her injuries were at the hands of someone who was supposed to love and protect her. I’m a ruined, ashamed, broken piece of shit and I one hundred percent deserve whatever consequence is doled out. She deserves better. Better than what I could ever give her. Better than what I can never give her…safety.

            Enough.

            Enough of this cowardice bullshit.

            I ripped the side of the envelope angrily, bitter about what I was about to read, and unfolded the note. I steadied myself and inhaled a deep breath before focusing my eyes on the paper in front of me.