A Fighting Chance

By A.J. Sand

Jesse Chance is a bastard.

And that’s all he heard his entire life growing up once news got out that he was the illegitimate child of womanizing ex-con, Henry Chance.

Stuck in Glory, Texas, a town too small to escape the sins of his parents, Jesse turned into exactly what everyone expected him to be: a lover of liquor and women, and so good with his fists, he became a teenage champion of the secret underground fighting rings that float around the South, while doubting the only people who ever believed he could be more, his ailing mother, and his girlfriend, Drew Hallisay.

But determined to make his mother’s dying wish come true, he enrolled in a college on the East Coast, far away from his past. Jesse Chance is reborn into a new life, and set on keeping Glory, Texas--and Henry Chance--in his rear view.

Until a visit from his father in the middle of the night changes everything.

Forced to return to Glory to prevent a tragedy, Jesse is soon back on the fighting circuit with Drew's help and facing the history he was so desperate to escape, the part of him he would prefer to hide.

As he slips back into his old ways--Henry Chance's ways--he finds himself torn between the guy he was and the one he’s been struggling to become. And in a world dead set on betting against you, can you ever really overcome your past... or your destiny?

17+ for adult language, moderate violence and sexual content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.J. Sand
• Release date: Feb 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310904134

A.J. Sand

Veteran couch potato. Lover of the written word. Fairly sarcastic. A little irreverent. Hopeless romantic. Email: [e-mail]

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A Fighting Chance

by A.J. Sand

A Fighting Chance

Copyright © 2014 by A.J. Sand

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All named copyrighted or trademarked products are the property of their respective owners.

Cover Design © 2014 Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

Editing and proofreading by Cameron Scheck

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.

A Haunting

The Glorious Ones

A Wish

The Past Is Like Shrapnel To The Present

Wounds

No Puedo

Bite

Crazy

Things You Do For Family

What Do You See?

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here

What’s Left Of Us?

Debt

Pull

Devil’s Advocate

Of Monsters And Men

Daddy Issues

Redemption Song

Acknowledgments

Here’s to carving out your own path and defining yourself.

A HAUNTING

Tonight I’ve seen a ghost.

Nothing else explains the face from the past in the restaurant window. It vanished when I blinked, but I’m still staring at the glass for the kind of seconds that lasts forever. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though; I have always considered myself haunted.

Bullshit, Jesse, you’re going crazy if you’re seeing things. Also, if you’re arguing with yourself about it.

My girlfriend, Lydia, touches my hand, bringing me back to the moment, to Zoya’s, where all my friends have gathered for my birthday dinner. I’m shaking so much I have to set my glass down. You okay? she whispers as her brown eyes widen in concern, and when I nod she mouths Zeta Chi twice, the name of my fraternity. It clicks then that I am in the middle of my thank-you speech, and that I was talking about my frat brothers before I got distracted.

Uh, and to Duke, my best friend…and the guy who hasn’t kicked my ass for dating his sister…

"Yet," he yells from the other end of the table. My dickhead friends laugh, of course.

"Anyway, dude, you were the first person who made me feel welcome at Hamilton, and I’m sure Lydia didn’t plan this on her own, I continue. To the guys at Zeta Chi, my family, I’m going to miss you next year, especially the pledges, because I won’t have anyone to serve me drinks on Thirsty Thursdays. I’m incredibly grateful that all of you wanted to spend tonight with me. I guess that’s it. Thank you." I take my seat as they clap.

Welcome to twenty-two, JC! Duke says. All right, where the hell is the food! That gets far more appreciation than my speech.

I don’t celebrate my birthdays but Lydia had been insisting all week that we go out, and I hadn’t expected that twenty other people would be waiting for us in Zoya’s private dining room for my surprise party. Hamilton is a midsized East Coast college, so getting to know a lot of people is easy, but I have a sense of belonging here, something I have rarely felt. I am in a room full of friends and not just people looking for free food on a Friday night. My girl went all out, too, with a special three-course meal, which is served a few minutes after my speech.

Once dessert comes, most people have either switched chairs or are moving away from the table to talk in smaller groups. That weird feeling from earlier completely dulls under the liveliness in the room. It was probably my mind forcefully yanking me down memory lane, which is normal because things are changing—I’m a year older and in my final semester of college. But I refuse to take the trip. Not tonight, and not when I have a future bright enough to snuff out the shadows of my past.

A waitress walks in holding a gold label bottle with sparklers flying off the top. Duke points to me and she brings it over, while another waitress is behind her with champagne flutes. I pour and pass, opting to stick with my water. When Duke sees that I won’t have any, he strolls up to my side with a disapproving look. We call him Big Duke because he’s built like a human army tank at 6’2," 275, which is even funnier because he and Lydia are twins. They have the same round face, dark brown eyes, black hair, and naturally tan complexion, but she is the complete opposite—short and petite.

His forehead creases as he chugs his champagne—he’ll chug anything with a percentage of alcohol by volume. "Not even on your birthday, Buzz? I got the champagne specifically for you, bitch. It’s bad enough you wouldn’t let Lyds throw a party at the House." Buzz is short for Buzz Kill, which is my nickname in the frat because my liver isn’t on life support most days, like everyone else’s.

I drank enough for the birthdays of everyone in here when I was younger.

One drink isn’t going to kill you. His confused look holds as he runs his hand through his short hair. "All these girls in here and somehow you’re the pussy." Duke has the kind of mouth that lacks a connection to his brain.

Watch yourself, I warn with a shit-eating grin, "before I accidentally tell you what happens with your sister when you’re not around."

He frowns. You’re sick. See? It’s all that sobriety. Don’t make me rethink giving you your present.

I shake my head. Dude, we talked about this. I said—

"No presents. Yeah, yeah, I heard you the million other times; you get off on murdering fun. But I couldn’t help myself, and you’re going to think I’m pretty fucking awesome. It’s as much for me as it is for you, anyway, Duke says as he reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. He hands it to me after pulling up a screen. It didn’t need public speech fanfare. It’s confirmation for plane tickets and a hotel suite. Vegas. MGM Grand. Spring break. Me. You. Lydia and Carmen, for four days."

"Whoa…really? Duke, man, this is the fanfare. But…with me and Lydia’s trip coming up this summer, I can’t afford—"

"Present, remember? It’s done and covered. I had already planned for us to go for at least the weekend, but then last week Lydia told Mom and Dad about this surprise dinner thing, so they took care of the rest. The Prices are great. They’re the real-life versions of the people smiling in the stock photos in the frames at Target. Lyds got us all tickets to Cirque de Soleil, too. No way I’m going with just the girls to see dudes in leotards twirl in the air for two fuckin’ hours."

Fine…thanks, dude, I say, pulling him in for the handshake-hug combo. Tell your parents I said thank you, too.

Plus, I owe you for getting me through Franklin’s hard ass quizzes.

How’d you do on the last one? I ask.

Duke shrugs. "Eighty. Good enough. But the one before that was a seventy. If I keep it up, and manage to pull off a B minus on the final, I can graduate without looking like a complete dumbass." Last semester he got an email from the registrar stating that he was short a math course, and statistics was the only thing he could fit into his schedule. Lucky for him, I took the class last year, and the prof is a lazy shit who doesn’t change his material much. I promised Duke that I wouldn’t let him fail. We’re getting out of Hamilton together.

Call for you, Jess, Lydia says as she walks over with my cell. As soon as I take it, a cold noose tightens around my heart, but I do my best not to react to the Texas area code. Home. A place I cut ties with four years ago, and counting. My plan is to have and counting go all the way to the grave.

Thanks… Walking out of the dining room, I head for the hallway. My pulse slips into a sprint as I stare at the lit screen. I know who’s on the other end. For the past four years, she has called on this day. My choices are always to either be a dick and not answer or be selfish and do, and every year I make the same shitty decision. Swallowing my guilt, I force the call to voicemail and push the phone into my pocket. Sometimes I wish she’d just give up and figure out that anyone who won’t take her calls for four years isn’t worth calling anymore. I flinch when my phone vibrates after a few seconds of stillness. She left a message. That’s a first.

"The mysterious birthday call?" Lydia asks, running her hand over my shaved head after she turns the corner.

Yeah… I keep the details of my background to a controlled bare minimum, even for Duke and Lydia. Everyone knows I’m from a small town called Glory, my mom died freshman year, and my father may as well be dead. My orphan bomb detonated—once you mention a dead parent and a deadbeat parent, people stop asking questions.

Lydia wraps her arms around my waist and aims a worried look up at me. "Was this too much? You seemed pretty freaked out earlier. I know you said you didn’t want—"

I’ve never had a birthday party thrown for me before. I’m not mad, Lyds. Thank you. I give her a reassuring smile and kiss her.

She shoots me that same uncertain look Duke always does. Never? I looked up your town a while back…it’s so small. As popular as you are here, I’m sure you knew enough people there to have tons of parties. A guy like you must’ve been, like, a big fish in a small pond, especially at that tiny high school—

"I didn’t have that high school experience." Or life. At home she has bedroom walls covered in a lifetime of cheerful memories with friends, and sometimes I think she has no fucking idea the kind of bubble frozen smiles under frame glass creates. Her parents’ divorce was so amicable that everyone—new partners included—is currently vacationing together in Aspen. But I’m glad this was my first birthday party.

Good. Because there’s something else. She caresses my jawline and pulls my face to hers. Pressing me against the wall, she winds her hips on mine, all slow and sexy. I’m easy, so this guarantees that at some point tonight one of us is going to end up on our back before the door to my apartment closes.

Oh yeah?

Lydia nods. "It’s red, lacy…and it’ll be on your floor later…or in the next ten minutes if we leave right now…." After a look around, she cups my groin.

What kind of guy leaves his own party?

"The tab’s paid and closed out, so the kind who’ll get to see me in his favorite position—with a devilish smile, Lydia leans in and bites my lip—in the next ten minutes if we leave right now."

Done. We head back into the private room for her purse.

From where he’s standing, Duke gestures at us to come over. Kickback at the House? he asks. I knew he was going to try to pull the party thing anyway. But birthday sex with my girl versus having beer spilled on me in a loud house with a bunch of other dudes, and chicks I’m not sleeping with? Yeah, no fuckin’ competition there. Wait…are y’all leaving?

Trying not to laugh, I say, Netflix.

Long queue. Sorry, bro, Lydia adds.

"Fine. Catch you suckas later…" Duke says, leaving us with a jerk-off motion, which in Duke Speak can mean any number of things, like a simple good-bye. Lydia shoves his shoulder and we bolt for the exit before anyone else notices. When we’re away from the lights out front, I pull her close and steer her backward toward my car.

I forgot to tell you. My mom got you a book about Spain! She’s so excited about our trip. Lydia links our fingers and I kiss the back of her hand. She even left Post-its in the architecture section for you. Places we must see and buildings you’ll love. Madrid is where my dad proposed, you know. Maybe it’ll become a special place for us, too…

I hope so. Not in a marriage way because we’re way too young for that shit, but our summer trip through Europe is the first big step in the direction we’re headed as a couple. We’ve been together on and off for two years, but we’ll be living together in Huntsville, Alabama, where I finally landed part-time work as an assistant at a small architecture firm. For some reason, though, the thought of our future, which should feel right, especially as things fall into place, only pushes a burning ache through my stomach. And the closer we get to graduation, the stronger the feeling. My real world choices seem daunting and final, but it’s nothing Lydia’s doing. All the anxiety and uncertainty is coming from me.

I lean in to kiss her and my eye catches movement near my car. There’s a shadowy figure peering into the driver’s side window. Like before in the restaurant, I wonder if it’s really there or if it’s another episode of my apparent birthday psychosis. But as Lydia’s nails press into my skin, I know she sees him, too.

Someone’s breaking into my goddamn car, I whisper, and I push her behind me. Unless…is this a prank, Lyds? Part of my birthday? When we got here, I parallel-parked on a dark side street because Lydia wanted me to. I didn’t think anything of it at the time when she pressured me into taking the spot—she’s notorious for backseat driving—but now I know she probably didn’t want me to see Duke’s monstrous red Hummer. So, this street is a great place to put a car to keep a birthday surprise ruse going and the perfect spot to enable thieves, too, apparently.

She gasps, nails going in a little deeper. No, only dinner. I swear. Her voice is wavering and my instincts also tell me she didn’t set this up. What’s strange is that the person’s mannerisms are actually familiar to me. Like I know whoever it is. Suddenly the voicemail is on my mind, and I can’t help drawing a connection between the two. It’s way too coincidental.

Go back to the restaurant, Lydia. I take careful steps toward my car, hoping the person won’t see me until I want him to.

Lydia cuffs my wrist. "Jesse, are you crazy? He might have a knife…or gun. There’s palpable fear in her tone. You know, the thing that puts new but unwanted holes in your body?"

That’s why you need to go. I move away from her and creep to the bumper of a parked car before she can protest further. The man, who is wearing a battered leather jacket and scuffed dress shoes, continues inspecting my car, taking a slow, relaxed walk around the front. He’s smoking and he even gives one of my tires a light kick. He doesn’t look around and he isn’t jumpy, so either he’s the world’s shittiest robber…

Or he’s just killing time.

Because he’s waiting for me.

I sneak to another car, the one directly behind mine. The man is whistling a tune I know, one I’ve only ever heard from one person, and frigid dread snakes through my core. No fucking way. No. My anger fuels an impulse and I pounce on him, slamming him facedown onto my hood and twisting his arm against his back.

He yells out in pain and struggles to break away from me, swinging his free arm. "I just want to talk! Just talk, Jesse!" He turns his head, trying to look at me, and the moonlight illuminates his entire face, his eyes in particular. Those same fucking dark brown, close-set ones I have, too. The same ones I saw in the window tonight. It’s my ghost. My worst fear is confirmed. My father is here. The motherfucker found me. And with him comes the life I left behind but apparently can’t outrun.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, I whisper as I back away from him like he’s on fire, colliding with Lydia. Henry pushes himself upright off the hood and winces as he flexes his arm. He’s haggard, his hair is a wash of gray, and he has aged beyond the four years since we last saw each other.

Wow, okay, guess I don’t need the Mace after all. Lydia steps in front of me for a better look at Henry, and I pull her away because he’s poison, like an airborne toxin that you don’t even realize you’re breathing in until death is already imminent.

We need to go. Now, I say to her.

Jesse... Henry says. Hear me out. Please.

My anger is a hot, churning pain in my chest, and I point at him, shouting, Don’t follow us. I’ll call the cops. I’m sure there’s probably a warrant or two out for your arrest somewhere. Just leave. Just…fucking…go back to Glory. I take Lydia’s hand but she doesn’t budge.

You know him, she manages to say with both certainty and confusion in her voice. And he definitely said your name.

Yup. I do. And he did. Unfortunately. If you come with me, I’ll explain everything, I say, almost pleading. I just want to keep everything I cherish away from him. My girl. My friends. My life. Can we go, please?

She shakes her head. "Wait, you look like him. In the eyes. Who—"

Doesn’t matter, I say. Henry is walking toward us, looking distraught, and a compassionate expression settles on Lydia’s face. We aren’t going back to Zoya’s.

Let’s just hear what he has to say, okay? Maybe someone from home died, she offers, and I shake my head, though, in resignation. A fiery tickle erupts in my throat, threatening of a panic attack, which I haven’t had in years. I feel like a cornered animal. With every step Henry takes, my skin crawls, my displeasure grows, and I fight my overwhelming need to leave, without Lydia.

Throwing my hands up, I yell, What, Henry? What is it? Why the fuck are you here?

Jess! Lydia says in a harsh tone to admonish me.

I need your help… When Henry reaches out to me, I see the space on his right hand, where two of his fingers used to be—the ring and the pinkie are gone. They were clearly sliced off, in a clean line, and then cauterized at the knuckles. What. In. The. Entire. Fuck? I’m in trouble. A lot of trouble. I think you have to come home.

The GLORIOUS ONES

Five years ago…

Steven Ramboldt’s face scrunched in pain right before his entire body landed with a heavy thud at my feet. And that’s a knockout! the ref shouted as he yanked my arm up, and the crowd exploded into cheers.

On nights like these, I felt like God here. Anyone from Glory, Texas, chanting my name like it was a hymn, would have gotten on their knees right now to worship at my feet. At least for a little while.

I was the reason Perry Webber could charge double the normal amount for admission to his sweltering barn on a fight night: thirty dollars a head to watch me paint the floor with someone’s insides. I would also get twenty percent of whatever Perry took in when I won tonight’s main match. Knowing that was the only thing that made being the good-for-nothing son of good-for-nothing Henry Chance mean something. I had inherited two things from the man who was no more than a glorified sperm donor: a weakness for long-legged women and a talent for the fights.

I stepped out of the ring, not sweating or winded at all. Steven was my warm-up, light entertainment for the impatient spectators, and my real competition, Kerr Edwards, climbed in as Steven’s limp body was dragged out. Inside the mass of people, I watched Edwards bounce around, goading the folks on my side, until a glass bottle shattered at his feet. The thrower also tossed a few fuck you’s at Kerr, and next to him, a girl from school, Cynthia Mitchell, flashed her tits at me. My smile was polite, maybe vaguely inviting, but it was all for show. Their open loyalty came from my victories alone; fight nights in Glory were the only times I could count on people here supporting me. The other days, they said the same shitty things the ones from Renshaw, Kerr’s town, did: I was just the bastard kid the longtime married Henry Chance’d had with Carla Jones, the black secretary he used to work with at a car dealership a few cities over.

He wanted no part of me, either. I could only give him credit for not denying I was his kid, even though he would’ve had a hard time doing that when the main difference between us was my darker skin. I looked just like him. People always noticed it first in our close-set, dark brown eyes, but I also shared his strong, narrow jawline, and slightly pointed chin. I had his black hair, his slim build that never changed no matter how much I ate, and when I was younger, I had grown much faster than kids my age, just like my younger half brother Henry Junior.

Seriously? my girlfriend, Drew Hallisay, asked with a snap of her head in my direction, her dark brown eyes glowing with jealousy. Call me crazy, but Drew jealous was kinda sexy, especially when she bit her lip and scowled. She aimed a spiteful glare at Cynthia. Put them away, bitch! she shouted, her tone husky and possessive.

Before Drew, I had plowed through the girls in my grade in a lot of secret hookups. Then she and I became really good friends during junior year last year when she needed help in math, and the way I like to tell it, I seduced her over hours of trig homework.

Grabbing her hips, I pulled her against me and wrapped my arms around her middle. She sighed and her shoulders eased when my lips brushed her ear. You think I’d give up a girl who loves the fight for some groupie?

Pulling away, she shook her head, eyebrows drawn together. "I don’t love anything about this, and I hate it when you say that. I’m only here because you are, and you shouldn’t even be here. Your mom—"

Tell me about Edwards. I clenched my jaw, attempting to soothe the familiar squeezing in my chest that came with the mention of Ma. I didn’t want to talk about her right now, and I didn’t want to think about her, either. I had been lying to her about why some Tuesdays I stayed out so late, but I think Ma knew I didn’t really work a night job helping Perry around his farm. She had seen the cuts and bruises before, too; she just never asked. She didn’t want this for me, but she probably figured she had made a deal with the devil all those times she’d accepted money from me.

Kerr any good?

I could see in Drew’s eyes that she was resisting her urge to argue with me, but she only fingered the tips of her black ponytail and sighed. He’s itching to fight you. People are still talking about your win in San Antonio last month, and he hates it. Word is, he’s been talking shit all week, she whispered as she massaged one of my shoulders. I didn’t buy the calm look on her face with all that concern in her voice. He’s good. He’s won, maybe, three fewer fights than you. He’ll give it his all at the beginning and try to take you out right away. But I don’t think he can beat you. He gets out of breath pretty fast.

To people here in Glory, Drew and I probably didn’t seem to fit together. The Hallisays moved here four years ago when Doctor Hallisay, her father, took over Herman Daniels’s medical practice after he passed away. Because nothing big ever happens in this place, town gossip was rampant about the doctor and his bank teller wife, who were leaving life in Houston to move into Daniels’s massive house in our small town. Even the guys at my middle school had lined up across the street to see the doctor’s hot teenage daughter, and everyone got the surprise of their lives when the family with the Irish last name turned out to be black. At the time, they were the fifth black family in Glory. Once the fascination wore off, though, people realized that Doctor Hallisay was someone who had come to do a lot of good here. His practice was just as successful as Daniels’s, and he never turned anyone away.

Drew also looked like she shouldn’t have been in a place like this, with her made-up face and pink manicure. But no matter how brutal things got, I never ever saw my girl cringe or hide her face at the sight of blood or the crack of a bone. She didn’t get scared unless I was in trouble in the ring. She spent her time studying the fighters, learning their weaknesses and habits, and she even kept a journal of their stats. The few times I coaxed her into betting, she walked out of here with more money than anyone else, including me. The guys at the edge of the ring always tried to make her feel like she didn’t belong up here with them, but Drew didn’t back down to anybody. Not in Perry’s barn, and not even her parents or her friends when they warned her about dating me. Not anybody. The day someone spray-painted a racial slur on her car, I was ready to dislocate some fucking shoulders, but she only flipped them off as they drove away, looked at the smear with her hands on her hips, and said, Well, I guess I’ll have to get that paint job earlier than I hoped.

We who did this—these fights—we knew why we really signed up for the carnage. Yeah, it was a fun way to burn off steam and the money was good, but we really came here seeking validation of our strength. Hers was quieter, and maybe that’s why I respected it more. It might not have been physical, but she was still the most fearless person I knew.

How much did you put on it tonight? I asked her.

I didn’t.

"You didn’t bet on my last fight?"

She gripped my chin, holding me with a skeptical expression. You said that three, four fights ago. I’m tired of pretending I believe it. One day I’d like to bet on you following through with something that isn’t a punch.

I sighed, frowning. Is this about college again? Drew was worse than my mom when it came to my future, worse than our hack of a senior counselor, too, probably. It was a secret to everyone but them that I had a B+ average, and I had come a long way since hovering in the low C range at the start of high school.

You say it like I’m asking you to chop off a leg. What’s so hard about just taking a look at the applications?

I pulled at the fringes of her cutoffs. Last week it was brochures…now it’s applications.

"Yes, six. Three on the East Coast. Three on the West Coast. You know, the world outside of Glory. You remember it exists, right?" She took my hand and squeezed it against her thigh.

Man…have you seen the place this packed before? This is a grand for me easily. I changed the subject to kill my annoyance. Of course I knew Glory wasn’t the center of the universe, I thanked God for that, but what was really out there for me? More ways to be kicked down and judged? Constantly being unsure of who I could trust with the story of my background, so I wouldn’t have to be reminded that I was the product of an affair? That my father saw me as little more than a pile he’d stepped in? Cruel as the people here were, there were no surprises in a place of barely four thousand. I knew to expect the Huck twins to shout shit at me when I walked by Murphy’s Bar, and that bible-thumping Sally Corbitt was always mysteriously out of my mom’s favorite orchids every time I went into her flower shop. And I could count on peace, even some respect, in the days after I won fights.

It’s always this packed, Drew said, rolling her eyes.

You’re really going to stay mad at me before I go up there? I asked, kissing her nose. ‘Cause I got something for you—

I don’t want your fight money, she said with a curt tone and a sharp glare as she pulled away from me. Then her face softened in that way only Drew’s could after she got all fiery. Dammit. That was bitchy. Sorry.

Well…the gift fits, that’s for sure, I teased as I reached into my bag, and my heart kicked my ribs. I hoped she liked it.

Hey! You jerk! she said, playfully slapping my arm. I opened my hand and showed her the personalized guitar pick I’d gotten for her a few days ago. Most of my winnings went to basic needs or helping my mom out, and what was left went to gas for driving to out-of-state fights. Drew’s parents were able to give her everything, including the guitar she was going to use the pick with, so I tried to give her things that were sentimental. Girls liked sentimental shit.

Her smile was bright with appreciation, and the nerves in my chest settled as I set the pick in her palm. It was pink, her favorite color, and it had the image of a guitar in the middle with the word SPARK going across. She was my spark plug.

Funny. She beamed. Thank you. I love it.

There are a hundred of them in the pack. I know you like to have one for your necklace. It’s not much—

"I don’t want much. Her arms locked around my neck. I’m gonna try to be a supportive girlfriend now. She shoved an earphone ear bud into my ear, and Lil’ Jon and the Eastside Boyz blew in. Their music literally sounded like fighting, so it always got me pumped. Make it quick tonight, okay? No showing off."

Perry announced that he was no longer accepting bets, and as the mob around him cleared, I held my breath and straightened my shoulders. Henry was there, graying black hair slicked back, wearing a suit too big to really be his, and his wedding ring was probably already in his back pocket. My father cast smiles at as many women as he could, while moving through the crowd.

He had always been able to make people look, wonder, and care. He could keep younger guys riveted with stories from his time growing up in Glory, over beers at Murphy’s. And have high school girls blushing in whispered conversations after he offered them the cigarettes they couldn’t buy themselves. There was just this charismatic air about him. Mom never explained the details of their relationship to me. I always thought she was too embarrassed to admit that she had fallen for the mystique of Henry Chance, too.

Every day, from the moment my mother told me he was my father I wanted to hate him more than I’d wanted to do anything else in my life, especially because it seemed like he worked so hard to not forge a connection with me. Drew always said that there was no difference between love and hate—you dedicated the same amount of energy to both—but hate filled you with venom as a consequence. Well, I’d rather be poisonous than what I really was.

When Henry and I made eye contact, the moment he nodded and I nodded back, a feeling of relief washed over me. But as always, I got angry with myself for liking his acknowledgment. I didn’t love him at all but I couldn’t bring myself to hate him, either, as if there was a permanent seed of hope inside me that I still needed him to nurture. I had stepped into the ring two years ago because of him, seeking his attention in the same place he used to fight, and equally despising him for only doling it out here. And what was I because of this? A pathetic reject with daddy issues. Sigmund Freud would’ve had a fucking field day with this shit.

Well, isn’t that sweet. But I heard your old man still wishes you were just a stain on your mamma’s bed sheets. He wanted her to swallow! Kerr Edwards yelled. He was standing right over Drew and me, leaning over the ropes. You were supposed to be baby juice in her throat, weren’t you?

You son of a bitch! Drew fired back, and I grabbed her arm before she hopped the spectator barrier, so she settled for giving Kerr her middle finger.

Perry was signaling me from across the room, so I said nothing to Kerr, deciding that my fists would be the best response. Perry’s son, Bucky, jumped into the center of the ring and put a bullhorn to his lips. He was my best friend, Perry’s youngest, and he was in our grade, too. His name was really Abraham, but everyone called him Bucky because of his teeth; although, he liked to say that he was named after Clyde Barrow’s brother.

Showtime, I said to Drew.

We go see your mom right after? Drew asked and I nodded, though, still unsure. She cupped the back of my head and I pressed my mouth against hers hard. As our kiss got deeper, she jumped onto me and wrapped her legs around my waist. When my lips hit her neck, Drew shuddered out a soft noise. Damn. There wasn’t anything sexier than a girl moaning. No, it was hot as fuck when you were the one making her do it.

We were obnoxious with our PDA, and sometimes it was to spite all the nosy fuckers in this town, but mostly I did it because I was absolutely fucking