“You are going to get out there in an hour and stand in that goddamned ring and I don’t give a shit if you raise your hand once. You can let him hit you until you go fucking blind! I don’t care! All that matters is you go down in the fourth round, and then you can pack up all your shit and I never have to see your face again. Understood?”
His nostrils flaring, Harley leans into me, and my fingertips tingle from the lack of oxygen. I never let my eyes slip from his, and he loosens his hold on me just enough that I’m able to shake my head no.
He pushes into me again, this time rearing back and punching me in the gut and chest as his other arm brings renewed force against my neck.
“No,” I choke out.
“Not an acceptable answer!” he rages.
“It’s the only answer you’re going to get,” I say, my words cracked and hard to hear, but Harley hears them. His nose to mine, he’s inches from my lips, and he reads them as I speak.
I watch his pupils dilate as the wave of realization comes over him. He’s not going to win this battle. There’s nothing he can say that’s going to change my mind. Emma doesn’t want me in the ring with Graham, so I’m not going.
“Fuck!” Harley says, punching a hole through the wall next to my head. His hand comes down three more times. I don’t flinch.
“Harper, you better rethink this real quick! If you don’t get your ass ready…”
“What are you going to do to me?” I interrupt. Harley flinches at my boldness, stumbling back a step or two, his brow lowering as his chest picks up speed, breathing in and out with more force. He opens his mouth, ready to lay into me again, but I ignore it all, talking right through him.
“This isn’t about you, Harley. It’s about me, and doing right by someone. And I never wanted to shit on everything you’ve done for me, have given me by letting me come here. You’ve given me an escape, so many times, man. And I am aware and grateful for you and your lack of judgment. Believe me…you’ve saved me from the brink more often than you’ll ever know.”
Harley looks up, his face still angry, his teeth gnashed.
“You could almost kill me and the answer would still be no,” I say, and I watch as his chest stutters. “And that’s only because I know completely killing me wouldn’t do you any good either. You can’t rule me, Harley. You never could.”
I look over to Bill, standing, arms folded, against the wall across from us, his eyes switching from me to Harley and back again. Bill’s doing his best to look armed and ready, but I can see the doubt and shock underneath it. He never thought I’d leave. I never thought I’d leave. Up until last night, I thought I’d be here today ready to pummel Graham, forgetting about the fourth-round rule, powering through until there was nothing left of him.
Then Emma cried in her sleep, her body cinching up on me, and her arms squeezing at her chest as if she were dying. That one vision—seeing her hurt when she wasn’t awake and aware enough to hide the pain—was all it took.
I will never make her hurt like that again.
“Get the fuck out!” Harley yells. “Get your goddamned face away from me, get your car off my street, and leave.”
His hand runs over his chin as his wide eyes look around his desk until he finds his chair, sitting in it and leaning back.
“I’m sorry, Harley. I really am grateful,” I say, lifting my hand to shake his. He slaps it away, hard, then leans to the side, spitting on his floor and stomping the wetness into the ground with his heavy boot.
I look to Bill, my lips pursed, and I shake my head, perhaps a little in shame. I don’t like leaving them in a position, but I weighed the pros and cons. Harley will be fine. Tomorrow, he’ll have another me—another pawn to put in the ring. He’ll get over today quickly, and Graham will live without the glory. And I will live without punishing him. As badly as I want to, I will live.
I step from the office and walk down the hallway slowly, letting my fingertips drag along the wood-paneled wall on my way out, remembering the feel of the tongue-and-groove pattern that I will never see again.
I don’t know how I’m going to pay for next semester, and come three months from now, I’m not sure how I’m going to make my portion of the rent. But I’ll figure it out. I’ll take three jobs, beg coach to find more money for my scholarship portion, or hell—I’ll sell my car. It doesn’t matter as long as Emma’s eyes are waiting for me, her arms waiting to hold me, her heart waiting to need me. I can live without so very many things. What I can’t live without, though, is her.