Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(55)

He drops his head when I don’t say the words. “You know what I see? Someone who’s scared. I see an unbelievably strong person, but when it comes to shit like this?” he says, motioning between the two of us. “You’re scared. You’d rather hole up with Johnny because that’s easier than feeling anything real.”

“You’re right,” I tell him, nodding. Disappointment lapping at my heels. “That’s exactly what this is. I’m so glad you figured me out.” I bend over to pick up my dress and then push past him to shut myself away in my bedroom. Leaning back against the door, I breathe in deep, trying to settle my nerves. I’ve never wanted to tell someone something more in my whole life. If I could split myself open, so Brawler could see the things inside me, I would.

“Don’t run away,” Brawler says. His voice rings clear as if he’s just on the other side of the door.

“There are things I can’t tell you right now.”

“That’s everybody. All of us hide dark shit inside.”

I close my eyes, trying to put up an invisible wall between us. “Maybe you should get Oscar to stay with me tonight.” Though Oscar’s not that much better of a choice. Something’s brimming there, too. It’s just that where Brawler and I are concerned, we’re about to overflow.

“Oscar?” Brawler hums until his voice turns gravely. “Oscar’s watching his mom. She got back on crack a couple of weeks ago.”

My lips thin. I press a hand to my chest, trying to regain control. There’s so much sadness here.

“Just let me in,” Brawler coaxes. “I won’t try anything. I won’t push. Just let me be near you. I won’t even make it about you. I want to be near you. Okay? Me. Put it all on me.”

I step away from the door and reach back to turn the knob before retreating to the small chest of drawers in the corner. There, I find a nightshirt and pull it over my head. The skin on my shoulder stretches with the movement, and I bury a hiss of pain.

As I make my way to the bed, Brawler says, “You don’t have to tell me everything. Hell, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I like that fucking idea,” I say, getting comfy on the bed. I sit cross-legged, pulling the sheets up over my lap.

He shakes his head, but an amused smile lifts his lips. “I want to know more about how you started fighting,” he says.

Now this is a comfortable conversation. I move up the bed, resting my back carefully against the wall and motion for Brawler to take the foot. He sits, the bed compressing under his weight. “I found fighting as a way to get out my aggression.” For once, this isn’t a lie. Honest to God, a counselor I used to see after my parents’ death told my aunt and uncle it might be a good idea. From then on, I was hooked. At first, it worked because I was tiring myself out. It felt good to direct my anger in a good way. Then, when I made the pact with myself that I would take on Big Daddy K, it became bigger than just healing. I knew I would have to be strong. I knew I would have to have a certain skill set. When I heard about the underground fighting, it made this all the better. “How about you?” I ask. “What are the Brawler’s origins?”

A shadow creeps over his face, like it’s a stalker he can’t get rid of, never too far behind. “I just wanted to be like my big brother,” he says. “That’s what started it for me.”

“Your brother was in the Heights Crew,” I guess. He mentioned to me once the Crew killed him, so it fits.

Brawler fiddles with the dressing that’s still around his neck. “Yes.”

“Are you going to join, too?” I know I’ve already asked him this before, but this time, I’m hoping for a more genuine answer.

He lifts his gaze to mine. “It depends.”

His stare is heavy, like he’s putting his answer on me. I’m used to a certain amount of weight being on my shoulders, but this is pushing me over the edge. “On?”

“If you would’ve asked me a week ago, I would’ve said ‘fuck no’. Not if I could help it. Not that I ever told anyone that. I like doing what I do for the Crew. I like the fighting aspect. It’s the only way I’ll be able to do it.”

“You’re wrong. You need to go to a real gym, Brawler. You need to train, get with people who can put you into some amateur fights.”

“You should be saying the same thing to yourself,” Brawler challenges.

“I can’t do that…yet. Or ever. We’re not talking about me,” I snap.

He lifts his hand, conceding. “I can’t do that either,” he says after a while. “I’m pretty sure these gyms will want money. Don’t have much of that.”

“But you get paid for the fights, right? And for running it?”

Brawler nods. “Yeah, I do. And if it was just me, I might be okay, but I have to take care of my mom. She can’t work, so it’s all on me.”

I see Brawler in a whole different light. He’s the only one who makes money for his family? It’s just so…sad. I wish I could change that for him. But like with Oscar and Johnny and any of the rest of them, do they even really have a way out of this?

Brawler reaches out his hand, placing it on my calf. I suck in a breath. Every time he touches me, the pull gets stronger. “You know we can’t,” I say. “He’ll kill us.”