Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(25)

Thank you for an amazing life,

Mia

P.S. It’s safe to exhale now.



My breath left my burning lungs on the rush of a laugh. God, Mia. In all the times I’d imagined the words on those pages, I’d never once considered how I’d feel after having read them. The relief was just as surprising as it was exhilarating. Her note didn’t really say anything I didn’t know, but it still freed me. The last memory I had of Mia alive was her connected to a slew of wires and machines at the hospital. And the one before that, she was seizing in the front seat of my car. But, in that letter, she wasn’t broken and helpless. She was laughing and cracking jokes. Which was exactly how I wanted to remember her.

Two arms folded around my waist. “You still okay?”

“Yeah, Rocky, I’m good. You feeling any better?” I asked, tilting my head to wipe a stray tear away with my shoulder.

“Much,” she replied, squeezing me tight. “I’m getting a tattoo!” she announced. “Right now. Tonight.”

I dropped my chin to my chest and sighed. Fucking, Mia. Somehow, in only two pages, she’d convinced our little Miss Preppy to get inked.

“I wouldn’t mind starting on my sleeves,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.

Moisture was flowing from her eyes, but a wide smile split her mouth. “Thank you. I know you didn’t exactly want to be here, but I needed that.”

I grinned because, deep down, I knew I’d needed it more. Instead of admitting that, I said, “Come on. Let’s get that virgin skin some ink.” I paused, shoving my letter into my back pocket. Quirking an eyebrow, I said, “You tell your dad I took you to get a tattoo, I’m kicking you out.”

She hiccoughed a laugh, drying her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “I’ll blame it on Mia. He can’t be mad at her, now can he?”

“I’m sure she’d be willing to accept the blame even if he could.” I laughed.

With quick goodbyes and promises of returning for dinner, Liv and I left.

Three hours later, we headed home newly inked.

Alone—together.





Three years later…

“LIV!” GWEN YELLED AS I exited my classroom at the community center.

I made my way toward her desk. “Would you stop yelling? You’re making the sign language students wish they were deaf. No one wants to hear you shouting all the time.”

“It’s not all the time! Only when I need you. If you have such a problem with it, maybe you could talk to that rich boss of yours and see if he’ll fund getting the intercoms fixed.”

I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t talking about Melvin, the man who ran the local community center where I ran the American Sign Language program. She was talking about my other boss. The one who more than likely wouldn’t bat an eye at buying a new intercom system. I, however, refused to ask him for anything else after he’d paid for all new desks and books not even six weeks ago.

“Nope. No way,” I replied.

“Fine. Then learn to deal with me yelling.” She shrugged. “Anyway, the new volunteer is waiting up front.”

Folding my hands together in a prayer, I pleaded, “Tell me he’s better than the last fifteen people I’ve seen.”

“Can he really be any worse than the lady who brought her parrot to the interview?”

“God, I hope not. Who would have thought it would be this difficult to find some decent help?”

“Uh…” she drawled. “It’s a free assistant position. Who would have thought anyone would want that job?”

“Well, let’s just pray this guy does. He’s my absolute last chance of hiring someone and getting them trained before I leave next week.”

“Okay. I’ll have a chat with the big guy upstairs. And you hurry up before he gets sick of waiting and decides to find a real job.”

Smoothing my dress down, I sent up my own prayer. Please, please, please let this guy work. “Give me a minute. I need to grab my phone so I can give him some dates.”

“I’ll put him in the after-school room.” She closed her eyes, dramatically craned her head back, and began loudly praying to the ceiling.

“Thanks,” I laughed, snagging the papers from my inbox on the corner of her desk.

While flipping through the various announcements and memos, I wandered back to my classroom just in time to hear my phone chirping in my purse.

When I picked it up and saw the two names I’d been added into a group message with, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. It chirped repeatedly as message after message popped up on my screen.

Quarry: Fuck face?

Quarry: Limp dick?

Flint: How old are you again?

Quarry: Old enough to know that if I can wipe my ass with a hundred dollar bill, I can damn sure dress myself too.

Flint: As your agent, you’d have to pay me 30% before you even found a shitter.

Quarry: Good point. You’re fired.

Flint: Oh please, I’m not that lucky.

Me: What the hell are you two blowing up my phone for now?

Flint: Thank God! The voice of reason! Tell him he has to wear a tux tonight.

Quarry: She’s not telling me shit. She’s gonna tell you that I can wear whatever the hell I want.

Flint: Liv?