The Last Round (8 page)

“You don’t understand! There are things you don’t know about me.”

His arms swing in the air. “Then tell me! Make me understand.”

“No! You’ll turn around and walk away. You’ll see me differently. You’ll—”

“Will you stop telling me how you think I’ll react and give me the benefit of the doubt? Fuck! If I haven’t proven myself to you in the last two months, then what have you learned about me at all? Do you realize what you’re doing right now?”

I shake my head.

“You’re treating me like one of your paintings. I’m human and I have feelings, Jenna. You can’t just stuff me into a fucking cardboard box in the hope that everything will be fine. I’m here, standing in front of you, asking you to give us a shot, asking you to tell me everything and trust in me. But you just keep pulling away and shoving me aside.”

I shake my head fiercely, tears begin to trickle down. “I have another side of me, a darker side. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Everyone has a dark side. Everyone has secrets. Everyone suffers from something. You think in the past couple of months I didn’t know you were keeping something from me? I know there’s something you struggle with, but I waited and I was patient for a long time. I’m not going to judge you. I’m not going to walk away. The moment you realize I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happened in your past, the better it’ll be for us to just get over this hump.”

I laugh. “That’s just the thing, Logan. It’s not a past issue.” I walk up to Liam, and our bodies almost touch. My head bends back so I can look him square in the eyes. “My issue, my dark side, my problems . . . they’re present. They’re now. They are front and center.”

“I’m not going to give up on what we have over whatever you’re dealing with. We can take care of it together.”

“I know you’ll give up.”

“I’m tired of this. None of this makes sense to me. Stop this bouncing back and forth and just tell me. If you don’t tell me everything, and I mean everything that’s going on with you, the feelings you have for me—everything—I’ll walk. Right now. And as fucked-up as I’ll be over it, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep playing these guessing games with you.”

“I won’t tell you . . .”

Liam laughs, his shoulders deflating. He looks me straight in the eyes, long and hard, and then turns on his boots, treading away.

“I’ll show you,” I yell out.

He stops, his back still facing me. I quickly go after him and walk around to stand before him, meeting his gaze. “Fine, Logan. I’ll give you everything you want to know. All of it. The way I feel for you. My issues. But I can’t just say it. It’s better if I show you. Meet me here tomorrow at eight in the morning.”

“I have to work.”

“Do you want to know?”

He nods. “Then call out sick or something. Meet me here at eight in the morning, and I’ll take you where we need to go. By the end of tomorrow, you’ll have all of your answers. And if you want me afterward,” I choke back on the words, “then at least you’ll know the truth.”

“Cut!” the director yells out. My chest is still heaving from that scene. I wet my lips and look up at Liam. He’s smiling at me from ear to ear. “You did awesome,” he encouraged.

The director lightly jogs over. “Natalia, that was perfect. Both of you, it was great on the first take! Let’s move on to the next scene.”

Liam rubs his hands together. “It’s a kissing scene.” He wiggles his brow. I laugh, my nerves easing a bit.

Julian

I PULL MY
hoodie midway down my forehead and adjust the strap of the gym bag on my shoulder. Nerves settling in, I grip the handle of the door. I breathe in, hesitation swallowing me up and it causes me not to step foot in there. The last time I left this place was five years ago, and it wasn’t on good terms.

Fuck it
. If I learned anything in my boxing career it’s to not fear anything or anyone, even rejection.

The smell of sweat and moldy underground basement invades me. It still smells like shit in here, but it instantly fills me with comfort. I’m promptly transformed to the past, when things were good.

I continue to walk down the narrow hall, getting closer to the sound of bags being punched, men hissing and puffing as they land a jab against the leather, the whip of several jump ropes slamming along the floor, the loud ring of a bell, ready for the next round; and I hear him, the man who taught me all I know about boxing, Alfredo.

I enter the gym and everyone is doing their thing, exercising with their trainers, or on their own. I glance around; a smile slightly tugs at my lip. It is exactly as it was years ago. As much money as this fucker made, he never upgraded the space. But I have to hand it to him, it’s a real gym—the real deal. One that has seen many boys grow into men and become their own. A real gym that has seen the struggle and hunger of those who wanted to succeed as a fighter and make it to the top. I’m one of those men.

My eyes trace over the small space and land on the one punching bag that hangs in the far right corner.
Shit, is that the same one?
My feet carry me closer. I keep my distance as I watch a guy bounce around and give the black bag a few hits. It still has the same duct tape I wrapped around on the bottom, probably a decade ago. I used to give that bag a few good hits. It was my only therapy; that bag took a good beating as I let out all of my frustrations on it, especially on the night my mother died.

“Ahhh!” I screamed from the top of my lungs. My right fist pounded against the bag, followed by my left. I didn’t care to put on the fucking gloves. I needed to get away from that house. Get out and hit something. My mind whirled with the last sight of my mom, lifeless on her bed. She was fine yesterday. She was awake and alive! She told me she felt better than ever! “Ahh!” I shove my bare fist into the bag again. My knuckles feel raw and numb. I needed the pain inside to go away, I wanted it to go the fuck away! The pain in my chest is the worst feeling I’ve ever endured. It sunk in, creating a dark hole and the poisonous venom is slowly seeping to my core. It burned and I needed to feel agony on the outside to hide the pain I felt on the inside.

I could feel the blood on the tore skin of my knuckles, but I kept going, pouncing and punching and clawing at the fucking bag.

“Julian?” I could hear her in the distance. How did she get here? How did she find me? I could feel Natalia getting closer, but I don’t look at her and I continue to treat the bag like it was the reason for ruining my life.

“Julian I just heard . . .” she cried out. “I’m so sorry.” Her tone trembling.

Fuck! I clenched my teeth. I won’t cry. I won’t fucking cry. Men don’t cry. I swung my arms harder, faster. My mouth was dry and throat burned, my head felt heavy and my breathing was heavy, but I couldn’t give up.

Natalia’s hands found its way to my back. “Julian, please stop.” she cried out. “Stop.” She gripped my arms down to my side. I breathed out, my head found its way to the bag. I leaned against it.

“She’s gone,” I mumbled. “She’s gone, Natalia.” Natalia rushed around to face me. She brought her hands up to my face and forced me to look at her.

“It was her time to go, Julian. She won’t suffer anymore.”

Her words settled deep within me, and I couldn’t help it. I tried so fucking hard to keep the tears in, but they just came out and they would not fucking stop. “I didn’t want her to go. Not yet,” I cried out. “Not yet. Not yet.”

Natalia pulled me in and I broke down in her arms, crumbling as the world beneath my feet continued to live. Natalia kneeled down beside me as I slid to the floor, and cried my eyes out like I was five and lost my favorite stuffed animal. I wish it was a stupid plush doll that I lost. It wasn’t. It was the one woman who raised me and loved me, and although she didn’t have much to give, the love she poured into me was everything I needed.

A piece of me died with my mother that day, and I fucking hated the world after that.

I clear my throat at the resurface of the memory. It hits me deep and hard, like it was yesterday. I’m thankful I had Natalia there with me that day. I don’t know what my life would be like today if she wasn’t a part of it. She was always there, especially when I needed her the most. Even when I didn’t ask, she just showed up and held me on the day that felt like the world was at an end.

I shake away the thoughts, and turn my back to the bag. There are many teenage boys and men surrounding the ring and one boxer being trained in the center of the ring by Alfredo. I shove a hand into the pocket of my hoodie and with my other hand I hold the strap around my shoulder in place as I make my way toward the ring. A boy who’s doing crunches on a floor mat—he has to be around the age of sixteen or younger—glances at me as he makes his way up from a sit-up. He does a double take, then his mouth drops open in shock.

“Julian-The Champ-Rios?” he shouts out. I nod, a humble grin settles on my face. My mind still reeling from my recent memory. I love my fans, especially the younger ones who look up to me. I remember being his age and feeling the same excitement when I met my first real life pro-boxer in this very gym. “Holy shit! It
is
you!” He jumps up and runs toward me. I stop in my tracks and greet him with a handshake.

My smile broadens as his eyes light up. “You’re my idol!” he says, “What’re you doing here?”

“Your idol, huh?” I shake my head. “Nah, kid. I’m sure there are better men out there you can look up to.” I nudge his shoulder with a bent elbow, playfully.

He laughs. “Are you kidding me? Thirty-six fights, zero losses, thirty-two won by knockout, four by unanimous decision? You
are
my idol! I want to be
just
like
you
!” God, I hope not, kid. I hope you’ll be better. So much better. But I keep that comment to myself.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“I’m Luis, but everyone calls me Slick, because I’m slick in the ring.” He bounces on his toes, dancing around me with his fists up as he jabs the air.

Chuckling, I nod. “Cool, I see you got some skills there. Keep it up.”

“Are you sticking around? Maybe you can show me some moves.”

“Uh, if I don’t get kicked out, then maybe,” I say as I look up and see Alfredo glaring holes at me. By this point, others have noticed me and I’m surrounded by a small group of people, asking for autographs. I sign gloves, T-shirts and even hand wraps before Alfredo steps down and approaches me. He doesn’t say a word, instead he storms past me and into his office.

“Nice meeting you all,” I yell out, as I follow closely behind Al; I know he wants to speak in private.

Once we are in his office with the door closed, he takes a seat behind his desk in a worn out, ripped leather chair. I look around; posters of fighters he’s trained cover the plain wall. I notice a poster of me behind his desk. It’s torn and warped a bit after a few years of hanging from his wall. His office is still cramped with file cabinets, paperwork and expense documents spreading along the entire space.

“So, I see you still have a bad habit of being unorganized.” I swipe at a pile of papers on a chair and take a seat. It doesn’t matter if I make more of a mess, there is crap all over the floor as well. What’s an extra stack of paper?

“Cut the crap and get to the point. What’re you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and say hi,” I spit out, irritated he’s still upset with me. I place my bag beside me on the floor and pull down the hoodie from my head. I stare at him. Although it has been five years since I have last seen him, he looks the same, with the exception of the grays that spread a bit more over his chocolate brown hair, and the wrinkles around his glaring eyes. He’s lost some weight too, though it looks more from sickness and not from the choice of a healthier lifestyle.

He chuckles then it turns into a cough, the raspy wheezing fills the small room. “You expect me to believe that shit?”

I decide to keep trying to stir up a conversation, before I get to the point. “The gym looks exactly the same. Why didn’t you spruce it up?”