Rebound: Chapter 38

I’m not scheduled to lead a class this evening, but I head to the center anyway. There will be company and warmth and far less temptation to drink until I hit oblivion. Sanjay drops me off a block away because I want to walk off some of my emotion. He’s his usual chatty self, and I don’t think he notices anything off about me at all, but then, I am a master at this. At hiding my pain. I’m so good I could give a damn TED Talk on the subject.

Listening to Drake go over the divorce details was hard enough, but what followed almost destroyed me. All these years, I’ve kept that night from Elijah. I needed to protect him from the awful things his mother said to me, no matter how dearly it cost me. The way he stared at me, rejecting what I was saying after he forced me to confide in him—it was a heavy blow. Part of me understands his disbelief, but I’m so sick of being second best. Sick of knowing that his instincts will always keep him loyal to his family and not to me—his wife.

Well, I won’t be his wife for much longer, I remind myself as I walk toward the community center. Tonight is the first time I’ve believed, without a doubt, that the divorce is the right choice, and the heaviness of that breaks my heart. Elijah and I still love each other, but we’re doomed. It’s time to accept that.

I blink back tears and tell myself to concentrate on the here and now. The welcoming lights of LOJ welcome me. In this working-class neighborhood, I feel more alive than I ever did in Manhattan. There are threats and dangers, but at least you know what they are. You can see them coming.

I walk through the big metal gate at the entrance and immediately see a group of young men. That’s not unusual or cause for concern. Sissie is quick to point out that a lot of young men in this area feel the need to look and act tougher than they are to survive. But something about this group sets off alarm bells in my admittedly inexperienced mind.

They’re clumped together at the side of the building, out of line of sight of the street where kids sometimes go to sneak a cigarette. I’m sure many of them wish for something stronger but none are willing to break Sissie’s zero-tolerance policy on drugs of any kind.

The gathering is maybe five or six strong, and they’re circled around something—or someone. It’s probably nothing, but I should get help. There are two big bikes parked in front, so a couple of Misfits are here, and Sissie herself keeps a baseball bat in her office. I don’t even have to walk inside. I could just get out my phone and call. Yes. I should definitely do that.

I stare at the little group, see the way it moves, and hear someone crying. I don’t want to get help—I want to be the help. I stride toward them, my heels clicking on the concrete.

“Hey!” I yell as I get close. They whirl around in surprise, and it takes them about two seconds to go from surprise to suspicion and all the way through to certainty that I’m no threat at all. Shawn, the talented dancer from my class, cowers in the middle of the circle.

His lip is bleeding, and he’s holding his hands in front of his face. “I’m okay, Miss Amber,” he says desperately. “These are my friends. Please don’t get involved.”

Oh, hell no—the kid is getting the snot beaten out of him, and he’s trying to protect me? No fucking way.

I push my way into the circle, and they assemble around me like vultures. I must look like easy pickings. Maybe I am.

“They don’t look very friendly, Shawn,” I say, putting as much confidence into my voice as I can. The leader breaks rank and gets right in my face. “What the fuck you know, lady? Shawn here is one of us.”

“No, he’s not, you asshole. Now get out of my way. I am not in the mood for this bullshit. I’ve had a very bad day, and you don’t want to mess with me.”

His eyes widen, and I realize how big of a mistake I’ve made by calling him out in front of his group. Now he looks weak, and the only way he can stop looking weak is by showing them who’s boss. “Shawn,” I say quickly. “Leave now. I’m fine.”

I’m not fine, I know, but all of this will be for nothing if Shawn is hurt even more. I meet his frightened eyes, see how brave he is trying to be. “Now, Shawn—get inside.”

One of them tries to grab him on his way past, but those dance skills of his come in handy. Shawn ducks and dodges and scurries away between his legs. Quick as a flash, he runs toward the community center.

I gulp down air and swallow my fear along with it. I am not prey, and I will not show fear.

“You got some balls, bitch. Who the fuck you think you are?”

“I’m nobody special, but I’m not going to let you touch that boy, you hear me?”

He shoves me against the wall, and his pals snigger as he tugs at the strap of my purse. “You want that?” I ask. “Take it. There’s cash in there, and a Tom Ford lipstick that I think is your exact shade.”

His friends make guffaw, and one of them wolf whistles at him. He, however, doesn’t look like he’s finding any of this remotely amusing. From the corner of my eye, I see Shawn disappear through the door of the center.

“Maybe I’ll take your purse, and maybe I’ll take you too,” the leader says menacingly. “You look pretty good for an old lady.”

“I’m not old, I’m forty,” I snap back. “And don’t you dare touch me.”

I can take the verbal abuse, and I don’t care if he steals my purse to save face. But he will not be laying a hand on me, no matter how big he is. And he is big. I have had it with men who think it’s fine to touch women like they’re property, and my fear is overshadowed by my determination not to let it happen to me again.

He reaches out and grabs my shoulder, and I start to very obviously raise my knee—a trick Rafael taught me. If a man suspects you’re going for his crown jewels, his focus will go straight to protecting his dick. Sure enough, my harasser immediately glances down and starts to swerve. At that exact moment, I slam the heel of my palm right up into his nose. A sickening crunch is followed by spurting blood, and he screams, “Fuck! You fucking bitch! You broke my nose.”

Tears are streaming from his eyes, and his baseball cap has fallen off in the struggle. The guys standing behind him look shocked, and I realize they’re younger than I initially thought—not a single one of them is a day over twenty.

“Leave Shawn alone,” I say sternly. “In fact, leave all these kids alone. And get a belt, for fuck’s sake. You’re going to trip over your pants walking around dressed like that.”

I step around the group, adrenaline surging and the reality of what just happened catching up with me. I force myself not to look back, not to show weakness, but I realize how crazy that whole incident was. How badly it could have gone. Any one of those men could have hurt me.

I stride briskly, wanting to run, and I’m flooded with relief when I see Erik and Rafael heading in my direction. Erik stops briefly, asks if I’m all right, then continues on to deal with the group of kids, which quickly disperses. As Sissie said, they’re all a bit scared of the bikers. Rafael looks at the guy with the busted nose as he walks past, then looks at me. “You do that?” he asks.

“I did,” I reply, suddenly feeling shaky.

“Nice hit. Stupid, though—why didn’t you come get us?”

“I don’t know. I was in a bad mood, and I may have had a couple of whiskeys too many,” I answer honestly. “They just pissed me off. Is Shawn okay?”

“He is. His mama is on her way in. You still in a bad mood?”

“I feel a bit better after that. My husband—soon-to-be-ex—is a boxer. He loves punching things. I get it now.”

Rafael nods but stays silent, as usual. From this close, I notice that one of his many tattoos is a king cobra, the hood at the front of his throat, the body of the snake wrapping around his neck then disappearing off under his tank top. I wonder idly what the rest of his tats look like. It’s not a sex thing, it’s a curiosity thing. He is hot, but for the time being, men hold no appeal for me. Apart from one, and he is off-limits.

“You got time for a lesson?” I ask.

“Why? You still need to punch things?”

I nod. “I do. It’ll make me feel better. Plus, I have some ideas about Shawn and his situation, and I need to clear my head.”

Erik overhears and says, “Nothing clears the head like punching things. Come on, Miss Amber. Do your worst.” He grins and gestures me toward the large rec room.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” I smile back, grateful. For the next hour, I will be too busy throwing and blocking punches to even think about the James family.