Forgotten (8 page)

“
That he’s got a fast
escape route,” Ryker chimed.

“
You’re not a part of this
conversation, Ryker,” I said, wishing Bree would get a clue and
ditch Ryker so he wouldn’t find a reason to be around me all the
time.

I glared up at Jace. He didn’t even
pretend to work with his assignment. That he put that much effort,
just so I couldn’t have my spot, didn’t make sense. If he was
interested in me, stealing my chair wasn’t the smartest move to win
me over. Therefore, he wanted nothing to do with me at all. Perhaps
he was simply trying to make some other girl jealous. The whole
“dearest” bit was surely an act.

“
Why bother stealing my
spot, only to act like you can’t stand me? I’m sure a vacant spot
would open up next to the cheerleaders.”

“
Cheerleaders?” Jace asked,
and looked in the general direction I nodded. Jace let out a long,
lazy breath. “You wouldn’t like it if I hung out with
them.”

Before I could comment, his white
silhouette blazed brighter; my mouth went dry when he leaned close
to me. I swallowed – hard. He took a slow, deep breath and said
that I didn’t have a chance.

“
A chance of
what?”

“
Of not falling for me,” he
said as if I’d broadcasted my feelings. “I’ve spiked your interest.
You want me – need me.”

“
Let’s set some ground
rules, I do not want you,” I hissed. “You’d better learn fast, that
I take care of myself.”

“
If only,” Jace muttered,
losing himself in his thoughts. A heavy sigh escaped. “If
only…”

***

Leaning against the brick wall outside
McKesson High stood Jace’s oversized friend. Every so often he’d
twitch. A steady stream of students walked passed me as I held onto
the cold metal railing and watched him. The afternoon sun shimmered
against his figure enough that I knew that even if he wasn’t very
strong, he had enough sheer body weight to throw around. He was the
type of guy who probably had a few fights under his belt. Closing
my eyes, I looked in the general direction of where he stood. I saw
nothing until I started to open my eyes. His silver outline
dissolved into nothing.

“
Why do you close your eyes
when you look at us?” Jace asked, standing a couple steps above
me.

Stalk much?

Even though Jace was a gigantic pain
in my backside, and refused to get a clue and move onto his next
conquest, he had to have the sexiest voice on Earth. I had to give
him that. Taking in a deep breath, I took in his otherworldly scent
blowing in the breeze, when a vision ripped me from
reality.

The black water hid
everything under its surface. Nothing showed through, except for
the faint outline of a calloused hand. Just when I was about to
look away, a single blue flame sparked just below a ripple of
water. The flame danced and flickered in the water like it would
have in the wind.

“
What happened just now,
Gwyneth?” Jace asked. Concern clung to his question.

Shaking my head, I opened my eyes and
walked away without replying. He reached for me. I missed my
footing when his hand grazed my jacket, just above my hips. I
gradually faced him, keeping a hand on the rail. If my balance
faltered, he might not notice. His brilliant outline offset the sea
of dark shadows passing by.

“
Don’t know what you’re
talking about because I wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. I
like to feel the sun on my skin, and I was trying to enjoy the
first seconds of freedom before –”

He silenced me unexpectedly. Not by
clenching my arm, arguing with me, or making me sick. He gently
tucked my hair behind my ear, being careful not to actually touch
my skin.

“
Tell me what just happened
to you, Gwyneth.”

I swallowed hard, summoning the
ability to speak or think. When neither returned, I aborted my task
of acting like a sensible human and simply pushed off the rail only
to immediately lose myself in the crowd of students.

Without looking back, I made my way to
the nearest building with a punching bag. The smell of sweat
comforted me, wrapping its glorious stench around me. KnockOuts
were my home away from home. I changed out of my school uniform and
slipped into some gym clothes.

The manager pulled two leather gloves
from the bin behind him. He was one of the only people who turned
me down to feel his face – my way of picturing how people look.
Charlie said he didn’t want to ruin the illusion of the young,
athletic man I imagined him being. I’d covered up my chuckle with a
cough when he told me so. The husky, wide shadow gave me the
impression that he used to be fit, but over the years his waist
line grew with his age. His voice was rough, and raspy from smoking
too many cigarettes. Often, I caught him rubbing his face after
taking off what looked like glasses. I sincerely doubted he had
much for hair since it would require him taking care of that too.
Even though he kept the gym in decent condition, he slid me a few
bucks to clean the place when it started to turn south.

Charlie bumped the counter with a pair
of gloves before tossing them into the air. The counter bump was my
warning. My depth perception was almost worthless, so I stood in
defensive mode, protecting my face. One glove fell short and hit
the ground a few feet from me, but the other grazed my
shoulder.

“Speed bag is reserved for you,
Winnie,” Charlie hollered from the front desk.

“Thanks, Charles.”

He groaned, “How many times have I
told you to call me Charlie? You make me sound like an old man
calling me Charles!”

“How many times have I told you I’ll
punch you in the face if you call me Winnie again?”

He chuckled until it turned into a
cough. He spit a moment later. “One glove is two feet straight
ahead of you and the other is about four paces over your right
shoulder. Oh, Hector said that he’d be a few minutes
late.”

Following his instructions, I picked
up the gloves and headed to the speed bag on the opposite side of
the room from the front desk. Keeping my hand along the wall, I
walked the perimeter of the room since there was a large boxing
arena in the middle. My fingers traced the cracks along the cement
bricks of the wall, leading me to the familiar worn leather where
I’d lose time beating out my anger/frustration/irritation for years
now. Reaching the corner, I took five steps forward. A speed bag
grazed the top of my pony tail. I took a step backwards and began
to punish the bag.

Finding a rhythm, I drummed it. My
mind wandered immediately to the old man in my vision who defied
the laws of nature and became younger. The blood dripping from his
hands was so dark it appeared black. Was blood-lust the reason he
broke through my parents’ window, years ago? Had this man been a
killer his entire life and that was what the vision indicated,
because people just don’t grow young? He killed with a knife – that
much was obvious from the vision. I shouldn’t have been able to
recall so many details, because I still wore diapers. And until
now, I’d only seen visions of my life when I was older. The laugh,
his malevolent laugh, was so frighteningly familiar, like I heard
it in another life perhaps; or was my imagination getting the best
of me? Too many unanswered questions formed and my shoulders hurt
badly enough that I couldn’t keep them above my head any
longer.

Even though Hector still had to show,
I ditched the speed bags. Memory serving me, I counted ten paces
back to where a skew of rolled up mats was stored. Flinging one in
the air, I smoothed it out and laid down to get in a quick abs
workout. Polishing off a series of different exercises to work the
muscles, I moved into the plank position when a pair of hands
pressed down on my shoulders, making the workout harder, by
tenfold.

“
About time!” I yelled,
collapsing to the mat.

“
You stink,” Hector said,
sitting down next to me.

“
Well, I have been working
out for like an hour now,” I said, stretching out my
abs.

“
Not like sweat, Winnie.
You smell like smoke,” he said like
I
was hiding something. The question
was: where had
he
been? He ducked as I pushed off the mat to tackle him. Pinning
me against the floor easily since I was at muscle failure, he
laughed. I tapped out.

“
Please tell me you’re not
sucking on cancer sticks,” he said.

“
I’m not that dumb,” I
said. “What was so important that you blew off our workout
date?”

“
If you must know, I was
tying up a few loose ends at work,” Hector said. “Any particular
reason why you’re in such a mood today, or is it because Martha is
driving you nuts?”

“
A weird dream kept me
tossing and turning last night.”

“
Was it a good one?” Hector
asked slyly. The mat shifted under him. He was stretching for his
workout.

“
It was a weird dream
because it involved this guy I can’t stand,” I admitted. Normally,
I’d only tell Bree details about any guy problems I found myself
in, but she was dead set on Jace and me hooking up. Her opinion
would be biased. Besides, Hector was different than other guys. He
wasn’t dateable. He filled the over protective brother role. “I
know this is crazy, but I just sort of get ill when he’s
around.”

“
Lover’s sickness,” Hector
teased, but was polite enough to hold in a chuckle when I scowled
at him. “You used to get ill around me when we first started to
hang out.”

“
Scratch that up to the two
concussions you gave me in the ring the first year I met you,” I
said.

“
Well, what do you think
about him?” Hector said more seriously. “You’ve always claimed to
have such good judgment in people. Do you need me to put
–”

“–
Jace,” I interrupted.
“Jace Eatros.”

“
Jace,” Hector repeated,
memorizing his name.

“
And no, you don’t need to
put him in his place for me. I can handle him. I just don’t know
what he wants with me.”

“
Let me know if he gets out
of line,” Hector insisted, like I knew he would. “He sounds like
the stalker type.”

No, that would be the creepy,
twitching giant who followed me around after school. Jace at least
had the decency to make his presence known, no matter how
unwanted.

***

From the smell of the house, John
already had the wings drowned in BBQ sauce. Martha had pop chilling
in the fridge. There were enough potato chips in their pantry to
feed a small country.

I finished showering ten minutes
before kickoff. Max barked eagerly as I changed into a pair of
sweat pants and oversized football shirt John gave me from “the
good old days” as the high school receiver. He told me it was royal
blue and lined with gold edging.

“
That jersey is falling
apart!” Martha exclaimed as I made my way down the
stairs.

“
It’s just getting broken
in,” I said, walking over to the couch.

John chuckled and handed me a plate of
hot wings. I imagined him beaming with pride to see me wearing his
old clothes. I made my way to the couch and waited to eat until he
brought over the chips and pops. Max groaned when he realized, not
only would I not be petting him, but I would not be playing with
him anytime soon. Bringing over a squeak toy, he rested on my feet
and proceeded to pout in a way only dogs can.

“
I thought I threw that
tattered old shirt away,” Martha said after she joined us in the
living room.

“
You did, three times,”
John said and scooted over next to me on the couch. “I’ve had to
rescue it from the trash.”

Two minutes before halftime, the door
bell rang. Martha got up, allowing her husband to swear under his
breath after North Carolina tackled Duke’s third-year quarterback
for the umpteenth time. An authoritative woman at the door
questioned Martha, but I couldn’t make out any of the questions.
Slamming his plate down on the end table, John stated that the
defensive line wouldn’t break five-hundred unless they started
playing with their heads. Pop threatened to go up my nose when John
growled about a bad call. Soon he grumbled about his honey-do list
and stomped off to the garage.

“
She’s here!” Martha said,
walking quickly into the living room. She started to ask where John
was, when a power tool sounded from the garage. “Get your
father.”

My father? My mouth dropped.
“John?”

“
That’s what I said,”
Martha replied like
I’d
said something odd before she raced back to the
front door.

Absorbing what just happened, I sat
there, stunned. I caught myself smiling, realizing that my place in
the house had somehow changed when I wasn’t paying attention. I was
happy about the impromptu welcome into the family, but I was
guarded. John wasn’t my father. As much as I loved him, he couldn’t
fill those shoes. I shook my head, trying to clear it forcefully. I
was probably reading too much into Martha’s comment.

I pushed off the leather couch and let
Max lead me to the garage door. Instead of opening it, I knocked
twice and let John know he was needed inside. After he assured me
he’d be out after fixing something, I left for the front door and
found myself looking down at a trembling, petite, dark shadow – a
young girl, perhaps?