Fighting Shadows (On the Ropes #2)(5)

I wanted to scream and yell that he couldn’t possibly make that promise. But it would have only added to my mounting guilt.

I know, I signed back to him with a forced smile. “Really. It’s okay,” I whispered as Eliza, who was securely wrapped in Till’s arms, broke down.

My attention was drawn away by a knock at the door.

“You up for some company?” Slate asked as he walked in, his wife, Erica, in tow.

Slate Andrews was the former heavyweight boxing champion of the world. But to me and my brothers, he and Erica were the parents we’d never had. Slate owned a boxing gym for underprivileged kids, and considering that the three of us had never fit into a category more, we’d spent most of our time at On The Ropes. He was tight with a lot of the kids at the gym, but it was obvious to everyone that he had formed a special bond with us—or, more accurately, with Till. Like so often in our lives, Quarry and I were just part of the package.

A few years earlier, Slate had given Till the opportunity of a lifetime by bankrolling his efforts to become a professional boxer. A fated chance that had ultimately led us to a moment where I lay paralyzed in a bed and my brother sat across from me as the current heavyweight champion of the entire f*cking world, holding the woman I loved.

It didn’t exactly seem fair, but not much in my life was.

“Yeah. Come on in,” I replied, looking around the room at the solemn faces.

My eyes landed on Quarry, who was in the corner, peering out the window. If it weren’t for the softest shake of his shoulders, I wouldn’t have thought much of it.

“Hey, Q,” I called.

He didn’t turn to face me as he answered, “Yeah.”

“You crying over there?” Yep. I went right for it. He was my little brother. Even in a moment that, by all means, should have been emotional, it was still my job to give him absolute hell.

“Fuck you,” he barked at the window.

My lip twitched at his response. “Hey, you can’t be a man and a baby. Either cuss or cry,” I teased, making sure to sign as I spoke so Till could join in the fun.

Slate groaned beside me, and Till shook his head before kissing Eliza’s temple.

“Leave him alone,” Erica urged.

I couldn’t do that at all though. I needed that interaction to keep my mind from spiraling out of control.

In an exaggerated baby voice, I mocked, “Q, you want me to ask the nurse if she has a lollipop?”

“I hate you,” he mumbled, pushing to his feet and storming toward the door.

“I’m just kidding, Quarry. Christ, don’t be so sensitive,” I yelled after him.

When he reached the doorway, he looked up and flipped me off. Tears painted his face, and it would have been a lie if I didn’t admit that it f*cking killed me to see him like that, but at least the attention was on him.

“Seriously, Flint? He’s worried about you. Cut the kid some slack, ” Erica huffed as she went after him.

Cut him some slack.

Cut him some slack?

What exactly that meant, I would never understand. We were the Page brothers. Slack was not something we would ever receive—and truth be told, we couldn’t afford to. You know what slack did to a person? It made you soft. Slack left you unprepared and gave you a false sense of safety, all the while slowly working its way around your neck, leaving you a tangled mess and fighting for your next breath. Fuck that. I was doing Quarry a favor by keeping him on his toes. The world didn’t hand out slack.

Where had my slack been when I’d been scrubbing the filth off the floors of our shithole apartment just so Social Services wouldn’t place Quarry and me in foster care? No one had cut me slack when I used to stay awake all hours of the night waiting for my father to come home because I’d known he’d have drugs in his pocket—drugs I could trade to the old lady next door in exchange for a f*cking meal to keep us fed. Had slack helped me as I’d searched through the bins at the local church drive for jeans that fit Quarry who, for some reason, wouldn’t stop growing?

No.

I’d had to fight for everything. The same everything that had absolutely never been enough. For God’s sake, hearing and walking weren’t even guaranteed for us.

Fuck the slack. Give me the tension.

Erica was right though. I should have apologized to Quarry, but where would that have left him? He needed to learn that it’s not okay to cry. No one cared about his tears any more than they did the billions I’d shed in my eighteen years. Emotions didn’t pay the bills, or I would have been Donald f*cking Trump. You had to get up, brush yourself off, and figure it the f*ck out. You found a solution, even if it f*cking sucked, and then you moved on. Wallowing got you nowhere, and pity was for the weak.

So, as I lay there in front of my family, I made a decision.

One choice.

Infinite possibilities.

One gigantic lie.

“I’m gonna be okay,” I told the room. However, the announcement was entirely aimed at myself. “Even if this isn’t temporary. I’ll be fine.”

If only I could have found a way to keep from losing myself in the arduous process of pretending to be fine and okay.





“HELP ME! PLEASE!” I SCREAMED, almost plowing the well-dressed man over. The concrete was cold against my bare feet, and the torn sweater did little to protect me from the freezing wind swirling around the city.