Page 59 of A Fighting Chance

Gentry has him by the shoulder, and he whirls Dean around, grabbing him by the neck. “The lady said to let her go. She even said please,” Gentry warns, his eyes stone cold and fixed on Dean.

“That’s a lady?” He laughs. “Pfft. Nah. She was in your pants pretty fast, and if I remember, she used to beg me for—”

Gentry punches him then.

And when I say Gentrypunches him,I mean Dean will be lucky if he ever sees out of his left eye again. Or feels the left side of his face. Or is able to chew. Because Gentry doesn’t just punch him once. He doesn’t show a fraction of the restraint he did last week with Charles. He punches Dean until he’s screaming out for Gentry to stop. Like a wuss. And I don’t feel bad saying that considering what he just said about me.

Gentry doesn’t just let Dean go; he throws him to the ground like a piece of paper he’s simply crumpled into a ball and tossed.

Dean’s back connects with the concrete floor of the barn and he rolls, wincing and grabbing at his face at the same time.

“I guess I don’t need to tell you you’re fired,” Gentry says, pushing at Dean with the toe of his boot.

Dean rolls to his knees and then to his feet. He looks at me with disgust and rage then turns and leaves the barn.

I run to Gentry, his arms already outstretched to embrace me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod my head against his chest, but I can already feel the tears welling up.

He holds me tight and starts to run his fingers through my hair.

My hands are trembling from the rush of adrenaline and fear. I try to hold the tears back. I try with all my might to keep them in, but it’s no use. My shoulders begin to bob, and he knows.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Fuck that guy.”

“Thank you,” I manage between sobs.

Gentry kisses my forehead and nudges my face, urging me to look up at him. My eyes meet his as he smiles down at me and says, “Seems I’m punching a lot of people for you girls these days.”

I let out a small laugh despite my tears. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about. The people who got punched brought it on themselves,” he says, and he’s right about that, I guess; no one told them to be assholes. “Besides, I haven’t punched anyone in a really long time. It’s nice to know I still got it.” He lifts his one arm into the air and flexes his bicep.

At this, I roll my eyes. Although he does have nice arms. “I like it better when your body is making love, not war,” I tell him.

He looks down at me, raising an eyebrow. “Oh ma’am, I couldn’t agree more,” he says, before leaning down to kiss me. He presses his lips gently against mine and the hair on his face gently scratches me.

We stand in the embrace for a long time—teasing and kissing, talking and laughing.

And I don’t know when, I can’t point out to you the exact moment, but at some time in this barn, I begin to fall.

Twenty

Gentry

I’m fallingin love with her. Or maybe I’m already in love with her.

The fact that I’m unsure of the difference confirms it for me.

Fuck.

Most people would be happy to realize they’re in love. Most would rejoice. But all it gives me is apprehension and a knot in my chest. Like a shitty knot. Not a welling up, but a brick.

Do I tell her?

Or do I keep my mouth shut and let her leave?