Chapter 8: Bring Me Back: Chapter 8

This stupid smile hasn’t left my face all day.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s pathetic.

Nobody should feel like this just because a man texted her.

But he did, and I do.

Butterflies flap away in my stomach whenever I reread our texts from last night—which I’ve done three times.

It’s not like James said anything spectacular. I’ve been trying to rationalize the reasons why he texted me in the first place, but I keep ending up at the same conclusion: He was thinking about me. Why else would he have asked if I was up in the middle of the night?

I put down the paint roller and take a break for lunch. On my way into the kitchen, I check my phone and spot a missed call from Drew. We’ve been playing phone tag for the past week. I click on his name and sandwich the phone between my shoulder and my ear while I stick leftovers in the microwave.

Drew’s snippy tone chirps through my ear. “Well, look who it is. Miss Busy Bee.”

“Hey, I’m so glad I was able to catch you. How are you?”

“Oh, just living the dream. How are you?”

“I’m good. Been busy with the renovations on top of planning the adoption event.”

“How does the house look? You haven’t sent me any pictures.”

“I will when I finish painting. I picked out some soft grays and light blues. It’s very calming.”

“I’m gonna start calling you Joanna Gaines from now on.”

I chuckle. “Hardly.”

“You’re really into this dog event, huh?”

“I feel excited about something for the first time in a long time. I just hope all the puppies go to good homes.”

“You should adopt one.”

I frown. “I can barely take care of myself right now.”

“Not true. You’re doing good out on your own. Besides, nobody can be depressed with a puppy.”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

“What’s new with your hot neighbors? Tell me some juicy stories before I have to get off the phone. Give me something here. I’m bored out of my mind.”

I bite my bottom lip to stop the goofy smile from making yet another appearance. “Well, James came over last week to teach me how to cook.”

“Oh, that’s sexy. I love when someone can feed you.”

I take my bowl out of the microwave and carry it to the table. “It certainly was sexy watching him cook.”

“Has he made a move yet?”

“Oh, no. I think he just likes to help. It’s in his nature.”

“Men aren’t that helpful unless they want something from you.”

I’m quiet for a moment. “He texted me late last night after his shift. It didn’t seem like he wanted anything from me. It was almost like… like he needed someone to talk to.”

“It was late?”

“Yeah. After two.”

“Dude, that’s a booty call.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t ask to come over, or to see me. We were just talking.”

“Nix, this isn’t one of your romance stories. When a guy texts you that late, he’s only got one thing on his mind. Trust me.”

My stomach sinks. “I don’t know.”

“I’m just saying, don’t be too naive. I’m looking out for you.”

We chat for a few minutes longer, and then I tell him I have to go even though I don’t.

Maybe Drew’s right. James didn’t text me during the day. Why was I on his mind so late at night? What did he really want? Questions swarm my mind, and I go down the rabbit hole of and .

Why would he be interested in me?

What do I have to offer him, or anyone for that matter?

My own family can’t even stand to be around me. Why would James be any different?

Several minutes later, my heart is racing and my palms are sweaty. Then I remember something my therapist once told me: I need to stop overanalyzing everything. It doesn’t serve me to sit here and waste time wondering why someone did something. It doesn’t matter why James texted me last night—what matters is that he did. For whatever reason, I was on his mind, and he reached out. The conversation was harmless, regardless of what his intentions might have been, and I enjoyed it. End of story. I finish my lunch so I can get back to painting and leave the worrisome thoughts behind.

Or at least I try to. Drew’s voice echoes in my head for the remainder of the day, and I end up rage painting half of the bedrooms upstairs.

I’m in bed reading around nine o’clock when the doorbell jolts me out of my thoughts. I trot downstairs and swing open the door.

I gasp when I see Leo’s face. “Oh my god. What happened to you?”

He shrugs. “Got into a fight.”

“Clearly.” I tip his chin. Purple splotches cover his jaw and cheekbone. A scab runs down the middle of his bottom lip where it was split open, and one of his eyes is still swollen shut. I haven’t seen him in a few days, but the wounds are still pretty fresh. “Is the other guy even alive?”

“Barely.”

I usher him inside and then freeze. “Please tell me your brother didn’t do this to you.”

He laughs. “Nah. Some random guy.”

“What was the fight over?”

He pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. “About five hundred dollars. It’s an underground fighting ring. No rules. Last one standing wins.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re in ? Seriously?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Nix.”

I stare at the money as he tucks it back into his pocket. “Why fight for money? Why not just get a job?”

“I don’t do it for the money.”

“Then why? You like getting your ass beat that much?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Something like that.”

My stomach flutters. He like getting his ass beat. It’s the pain. The need to feel something physical to dull the ache of the mental anguish.

He glances down at my arm. “I know why you’re always rubbing that wrist, Nix. I know you like the pain too.”

I swallow, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. “It’s not like that.”

He drops his chin and looks straight into my eyes. “You can’t lie to me, Nixie.”

I pull my sleeves down and grip them in my palms. “I don’t the pain. I want to escape it.”

He takes my hand and lifts it between us. “Will you show me?”

I shake my head and pull back my arm.

He lifts his palms on either side of his head. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Why are you here? You need me to patch you up again?”

“Nah. I’m bored. Wanted to see if you wanted to hang out with your little bro.”

I chew my bottom lip. “Maybe you can take me the next time you go. That is, if you’re allowed to bring a guest to .”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “How about tonight?”

Nerves trickle through my veins. I could stay in my comfort zone with my nose in a book, reading about other people’s adventures, or I could go out and try something new.

“I’m in.”

I’ve officially lost my mind.

I’m standing in a dimly lit auto body garage. People push against me from all sides, waving fists of money and placing their bets. Their shouting echoes off the walls.

It’s the last place I’d ever choose to be. Confined, crowded, and unpredictable. Yet here I stand, holding on to Leo’s hand like a lifeline.

“Back again?” Someone claps Leo on the back as he pushes past us.

“Just spectating.”

“That’s too bad. You put on a good show the other night, man.”

Leo grins, beaming with pride.

It makes me wonder what else he’s good at, and if anyone ever praised him for it.

“Bring me the next time you fight,” I shout into his ear. “I want to watch you.”

He shakes his head. “If I’m fighting, I can’t keep an eye on you.”

“I can keep an eye on myself.”

He arches a brow. “Pretty sure my brother would actually kill me if anything happened to you on my watch.”

“You let me deal with your brother. He’s all bark and no bite.”

“Only when it comes to you, Nixie.”

My chest tightens, and I want to ask why that is, but this isn’t the best place for a heart-to-heart about his brother.

We watch the first fight, and I’m equal parts enamored and disgusted. I’ve watched UFC matches on TV, but this is different. It’s raw and dangerous. These people aren’t fighters in the literal sense of the word. They’re regular, everyday people—the cashier at ShopRite; the gas station attendant; the bank teller at Chase. We all recognize each other from the area. But we don’t say hello. We don’t acknowledge that we know each other, because down here we’re someone else. And isn’t that all anybody wants? To step into someone else’s shoes for a little while? To forget who we are, and let it all go?

The fight ends when one guy clips the other on his chin, and it’s lights out for him. While we’re waiting for the next fight to start, the crowd grows restless, amped up from the first. Leo’s grip on my hand tightens as we’re jostled around. Someone knocks into me from behind, and I fall against the person in front of me.

“Sorry about that.” I steady myself, and glance at the person I was pushed into.

The woman spins around and places both palms on my shoulders before shoving me backward. “Watch where you’re going, bitch.”

I stumble. “It was an accident, I’m sorry.”

Leo pulls me to his side. “Come on, let’s head over there for a better view.”

“You want a good view?” The woman grins and swings her arm wide, gesturing to the makeshift ring. “How about a front-row seat, Bambi?”

My eyebrows push together. “Oh, no. I’m not fighting.”

She sucks her teeth, and steps so close to me I can smell the sour scent of beer on her breath. “What’s the matter? You scared?”

I shake my head, squeezing Leo’s arm. “I came here to watch.”

“That was before you crossed my path.” She yanks my elbow. “Now you can watch as I kick your ass.”

Fear courses through my veins, adrenaline kicking my heart into overdrive. “N-no. I’m not fighting.”

“Leave her alone. She said she was sorry.” Leo’s fingers tighten around my wrist. “Go fight someone your own size.”

The crazy woman laughs. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. When I’m done with your girl, I’ll make sure you get a taste too.”

Before I can blink, she charges me, digging her shoulder into my midsection and knocking me back onto my ass. The crowd roars as she mounts me and begins throwing punches at my face.

Leo attempts to rip her off me, but a few men grab him so he can’t intervene.

It’s just me and this psychopath.

A warm stream trickles into my eyes, making it hard to see. Pain splits into my face from the force of her fists as she lands each punch. It’s fight or flight, and with her on top of me, I’m not going anywhere.

“Put your arms up! Block her!” Leo’s voice rises above the screams from the crowd.

“What’s the matter, Bambi? You’re too scared to hit back? Don’t want to chip a nail?”

All of a sudden, my mother’s face flashes in my mind. She’s looking down her nose at me, top lip curled in disgust, and speaking to me with that condescending tone in her voice.

I gnash my teeth, and buck my hips as hard as I can, throwing her off-kilter. I slip out from under her and scramble to my feet, backing away and putting up my fists to block my face. I bounce around her as she pushes to her feet.

She grins. “You should’ve stayed down, bitch.”

She throws another punch, but I duck out of the way. I step to the side and land a right hook on her cheekbone, but she barely notices it.

The fight continues like this for what feels like an eternity, with me attempting to land a punch here and there in between blocking my face from her heavy fists.

But I’m not a fighter.

I’m not tough.

I can’t do this.

I can’t beat her.

She rushes me again and slams me down onto my back. All the air is knocked out of my lungs, and a splitting pain shoots through my side. My arms are tired, and I don’t have any fight left in me. I just want this to be over. I let her hit me until someone jumps in and calls the match.

Leo dives down beside me and scoops me into his arms.

And that’s when everything goes black.