“I would, it's just–Ihave towork. Like, I don’t have a choice, Bronx. If I don’t work, then our electricity will be shut off again. Or the water. And working at Aces means I only work three nights a week. Nowhere else pays as good as they do.” It wasn’t a total lie–I did have to work. I barely squeaked by most months. Since I started working at Aces in June, a lot of that changed. I was able to keep up on our bills and still have some money left over for groceries and some new-to-me clothes from the thrift shop.
The thought of going to a party at Axel’s house wasn’t the most appealing thing in the world, but I would go if I were able to. Just to see Bronx for a minute, of course…and to swipe some of their expensive, rich people weed.
“Do you work every weekend?”
“Most of them, yeah. Sometimes I’ll pick up a shift during the week if someone needs to trade.”
“If we have a party on a Wednesday or Thursday?”
“Then I would try to make an appearance.”
Bronx smiled and his straight white teeth glistened. He had been more like a brother to me than my own brother at times. Remington loved to make my life miserable in a way that only a big brother could. When I went to the Moretti’s house, life was good. I didn’t feel the dread and hopelessness I felt at home. I felt safe.
I slowly stood up from the bench and grabbed my messenger bag. “Gabby’s going to be later than she thought so I’m going to head inside. I have to talk to Mrs. Teague about changing my schedule.Yay.”
“A little last minute, isn’t it?”
“I got my schedule in the mail a few weeks ago and just opened it last night, sooo, my bad. I’m hoping she can get me out of calculus,” I shuddered as we walked near the steps.
Bronx wished me luck and excused himself to join his friends. West and his crew laughed about something and a blonde girl wearing what would barely qualify as nightclub attire clung to him like a bad case of crabs. She laughed loudly and West’s smile fell at the sound. I’m sure her voice wouldn’t stop him from getting in her panties.
So much for that dry spell.
I steeled myself at the thought. I needed to get a grip becauseI didn’t care what West did or where he put his big dick.
With my shoulders back and my head held high, I passed them all without another glance and made my way to the first day of the last year in hell.
4
West
ThelastthingIwanted to do was go back to school.
I spent most of the summer training at our gym–Brass Knuckles–and fighting on Thursday nights. The fights, while somewhat secretive, were huge money-makers for Axel and me. Right up until Dad found out about them and shut that shit down. He threatened to sell the gym if I didn’t stop the fights, ready to move that goalpost even further away from me.
Dad and I had a deal that if I went to college and got a degree, he would give me his 50% ownership of Brass Knuckles. Whenever I fucked up, he liked to threaten to take it away because he knew how much the idea meant to me. The gym was the only thing that mattered to me, other than Bronx and my friends.
Reluctantly, Axel and I ended the weekly fights, disappointing a helluva lot of people–including myself. I didn’t just do it for the money.
I wanted to kill.
Well…not actuallykillanyone, but damn, that rush of punching and kicking a guy trying to get me was like no other. The lion among sheep. The hunter versus his prey. Not even sex could touch that mix of anticipation, adrenaline, and excitement. The lights shining down, the sweat dripping, the smell of blood in the air. The crowds went wild for it. And then there was the monetary reward for the win. Axel didn't need the money from our arrangement, but I certainly did. I wasn't good at much else other than fighting, so being able to use that skill to not only get my anger out, but make a few bucks was great for me.
Dad made decent money working for McKinley Industries–Axel's dad's business–but he sure as hell wasn't about to give me money for weed and car parts. He was frugal. So frugal that even though we could move from the south side, he refused. Whenever Bronx asked him about moving, Dad would say that our house was good enough for us. It was bigger than any other house in the south side and we should be appreciative to have a house at all. I always felt like he didn't want to leave because of Mom.
They bought the house together right after they got married, and Dad couldn't stand the thought of leaving the place that held every memory with her. Even though she left us because she "couldn't handle the stress of being a single mom of two rowdy boys", Dad still made excuses for her. He defended her no matter what.
I love her and she loves all of us. She's just going through some things. She'll come back for us.
She left ten years ago. She wasn't coming back.
If that was love, I didn't want any part of it.
The memories of Mom were a gut punch some days. Other days I didn't feel anything. I tried not to let my mind wander to her because she left us all without a second thought. She told me she was going to the store and I needed to watch Bronx. I sat there with him for hours, wondering when she would be home. I didn't even realize she left with a suitcase. Dad got home from work and found a note on his pillow.
I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry.
-Rosalie