Page 2 of Far from Destined

He was all of a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, glasses falling off his face, and his hands shaking, but he had stood up to me. I remembered smiling and lowering my head to explain to him what I was doing.

I liked the guy. We had exchanged numbers, and I was always there to make sure his girl made it to her car unharmed. She could take care of herself, but it was always smart to make sure that more than one person watched your back.

Of course, I hadn’t been alone when I was shot, but you couldn’t fight a gun with a fist.

It sure as hell seemed like I was trying these days.

“I’m off after I rinse the grime away,” I said as I stripped out of my shorts and headed to the shower. “I’ve got to work in the morning.”

“Got to go save those kittens,” Bob sneered, and I flipped him off, unwrapping my hands as I turned on the water. My open wounds stung, and I cursed. This place had a doctor on call, but he was a jackass and didn’t like me. That meant I’d either have to go to the emergency room or have my partner at my vet clinic help me if I needed stitches.

I looked down at my hands and figured I was safe there. I didn’t have any deep cuts on my face, so I counted that as a win, too.

No stitches today, just ice, and then a beer later.

“You up for another fight next week?” Bob asked, looking down at his phone.

“No, got a family thing. I’ll let you know when I need another round.”

“You say that as if you’re just using it as an excuse to punch somebody and not make money.”

I didn’t bet on myself. Actually, I didn’t bet at all. All I did was fight, trying to get some of the rage under control. Honestly, I didn’t know why I was doing this, and I knew I was probably going to hurt myself in the end, but my brothers and sister didn’t know what I was doing. Nobody did.

I was just fine with that. If they knew I was fighting like this, they’d drag me home and yell me into submission.

Sometimes, I felt like I was weak enough to fall right into the plans others made for me. The person I was before I was shot. I was done being that guy. That man cried out for help and never got it. He pushed his brother away to save the girl rather than saving himself.

I wouldn’t be that person anymore.

“Okay, man, just let me know when you’re ready to fight again. I like it when you come in. You get shit done, and you don’t whine about it.”

“I do my best,” I said dryly.

“Yeah, I think you do. It’s probably why I like you. Stay safe, and don’t fight anywhere but here. You don’t want me to have to put you on an actual contract.”

I snorted and shook my head. “I don’t have that much of a death wish,” I muttered.

“Good, kid. Don’t get one now.”

I nodded, then finished showering before drying off and pulling on my clothes. I didn’t have much with me. I always worried that someone was going to steal my shit. Though tonight, nobody else was with me here. The guy I had fought had his own room, and we simply nodded at each other as we walked away. I liked Dave. He was a good guy. We both just tended to take out our rage on each other. Next time I saw him, we’d get a beer, though we didn’t have much in common outside of the ring. And that was just fine with me.

I made my way to my car, grateful that everybody else had gone home, and nobody seemed to be around. I didn’t want to have another conversation.

I was so tired of talking, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.

I had to go back to my normal life tomorrow and pretend I was fine, that I wasn’t stressed out or repeatedly having nightmares about being shot. The fact that I could still hear Hazel screaming in my dreams was something I should probably tell somebody, but I wasn’t going to. Not anytime soon, anyway.

Not when everything hurt.

I looked up at the sound of someone next to my car and froze, my fists clenching at my sides. I swore I could hear the cock of a gun, but then it was gone. The person in front of me was one of the last people I wanted to see.

“So, you want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” my younger brother, Nate, asked, a scowl on his face.

“None of your fucking business,” I countered, pushing past him to my car. “Where the hell are you parked?”

“I got a lift here. Heard you were fighting from a buddy who recognized you and texted me to get my ass here. I thought I should be able to drive your car back to your place if I had to carry you out of there.”

“I take it you were inside?”