Among the Echoes (Wrecked and Ruined #2.5)(23)

"I’ll be right back." Dave stands up and heads down the hall, rubbing his stomach, but Adam never drags his eyes from the TV.

A few moments later, the fight begins and he immediately slides forward to the edge of his seat. I don’t particularly care for boxing, but watching Adam get excited about it makes me curious. He doesn’t speak or even cheer, but as the rounds progress, I watch him more than the TV. I begin to think he's forgotten I'm even in the room. With every punch thrown on the screen, he twitches to the left or right, and at one point, he dips completely. I use a hand to stifle my laugh, but he immediately swings his gaze to mine. I try to wave him off and excuse my laughter with a hand gesture, but he cracks a knowing smile that makes me blush.

"Something funny, Riley?"

"No. No." I continue laughing. "It’s just I wasn’t sure which match to watch—the one on TV or the imaginary one you were fighting."

He gives me a quiet chuckle and leans back against the couch, scrubbing his hands over his jeans. "Sorry. Habit."

"So you really are a boxer, huh?" I ask, and his bright smile fades.

"I am," he answers shortly.

"You ever been to one of these big matches? I bet it would be exciting to watch one of these in person."

A glimmer flickers back into his flat eyes and he nods. "Yeah, I’ve been to a couple. It’s always…fun."

"Cool." I say awkwardly, looking down and plucking imaginary fuzz from my pants. "Hmm. I wonder where Dave went?" I peek down the hall to see the bathroom door shut but the light glowing from the crack under the door. I fully expected Adam to go back to watching the fight, but instead, he crosses his legs, knee to ankle, and tosses an arm over the back of the couch.

"So where are you from, Riley?"

"Florida," I answer without thinking. My eyes go wide when I realize what I just admitted, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch the truth as it flies across the room.

"Florida? Really?" He appears shocked.

"Well, at least that’s what I like to tell people. I’m actually from here in Ohio, but doesn’t Florida sound like more fun?" I nervously laugh as he narrows his eyes.

"Yeah, that does sound more exciting than Ohio. You ever been down there—to Florida, I mean?" He asks suspiciously.

"Yeah. I went to Disney World once when I was in college. I loved it. What about you?" I attempt to change the focus of the conversation to him.

"I’ve been to Disney a couple times."

"No, I mean, where are you from?"

"Oh, I grew up right near here actually, but these days, I’m kind of a nomad. I stay in Chicago a lot," he responds, glancing back at the fight. I could be wrong, but I think it’s more to avoid the conversation than to actually catch up on the action.

Normally, I would enjoy the silence. I can’t screw up anything else like I did with my little Florida slip up if I don’t talk. But I’m too curious about him to keep myself from starting another conversation.

"So, how’d you get into boxing?"

He turns back to face me, and a staggering warmth slides over his face. "My mom put me in boxing when I was a kid. Apparently, I was quite the handful when I was young, and she wanted to give me an outlet to get out the pent-up frustrations." He pauses to laugh to himself.

"You stuck with it all these years?"

"I did. By the time I hit middle school, I was a good bit larger than most of the other kids my age, and while football seemed like the likely sport, I just wasn’t interested. I grew up with just my mom, and I took the role of man of the house very seriously. I wanted to be able to protect her. I took up wrestling and enrolled in every self-defense class the community center offered, and when I wasn’t there, I was at the boxing gym." He stops to look over at me knowingly. His words from that first night flash into my head.

You remind me of my mother.

"Oh." I look down at my hands, twisting in my lap.

"Have you ever taken any self-defense classes, Riley?"

"Um. Yeah. Dave’s taught me a good bit. I swear I’m not always frightened like I was last night," I say unconvincingly.

"Was he the same one to teach you how to handle a gun?" he asks sarcastically.

"Hey! I know how to shoot. I just hate guns," I laugh, trying to defend myself.

"Let me teach you some self-defense stuff."

"What? Why?"

"Because I think it would make you feel a little more secure to know how to properly defend yourself. I mean, combine that with your stellar skills behind the barrel of a gun and you wouldn’t have to fear anyone," he teases.

If he only knew how much I really have to fear. No self-defense class will make me feel secure, but I still laugh at his silly comment. It feels good to make light of it even if I’m the only one in on the joke.

"It’s okay. You don’t have to do that," I answer, but he leans in close to catch my eye.

"Dave seems like he means well, but I promise I can teach you better, Riley. Let me help you feel safe," he implores and the gentleness in this huge man’s tone has me immediately agreeing. "Good. I’ll get a mat and move aside my furniture. We can do it in my apartment."