Two Weeks (8 page)

Jackson smiles. "Yeah, sure.”

I thank him and then awkward silence rears its ugly head. "Well, if I don't see you again before tomorrow, it was nice running into you. And I hope your next fight goes well." I smile and gaze over at him.

"Yeah, same, Ally," he says warmly. "And I'm sure it will go well. People film these things, so it will probably end up on YouTube. Nobody will watch it, though. The videos aren't nearly as cool as the real thing."

"I'll definitely watch it," I say, hoping to defend him from himself. "How do I find you? Do you use your real name?"

He laughs and it happens at the same time that the engine growls. It feels kind of like his laugh shakes the whole truck. "They call me
Juggernaut
," he says. "It's kind of dumb, but people eat it up."

I giggle. "Jackson 'The Juggernaut' Ames, huh?"

"Hey, it's just showbiz. That's how these things work. Don't make fun of me."

I smile wryly. "Okay, well, once again, Jackson, it was nice running into you. And I'm sorry for acting like such a bitch at the bar." I reach over and we inelegantly shake hands.

"Don't sweat it," he says. "Enjoy the rest of the day. And pay attention to any signs of a concussion. I know all about that too well.”

"I will," I say as I open the door. I close it and then turn around and wave goodbye to him. The truck roars to life as he puts it into reverse and backs out of our driveway. Our goodbye is weird, but there's nothing I can do to change it now.

I head inside and find my dad is sitting in the living room. "Hey, hon," he says. "Was that Jackson Ames out there?"

I blush, but I don't think he notices. "Yeah. I ran into him when I was jogging so we jogged together."

"Oh, that's good," he says. "I recognized his truck. Well, his old man's truck. It's a shame what happened to his parents."

My stomach tightens at the thought. "Yeah, it really is sad. Such a tragedy."

My dad lifts the paper back in front of his face. "But yeah, I always liked Jackson. He's a nice kid."

"He is," I say.

And with that, I head to the shower to cool off, both physically and mentally.

Jackson

I
'm so confused right now, it's making me sick. My mood is an uncomfortable amalgamation of lust, longing, panic, fear, and warmth. I'm giddy, but I'm exhausted. I'm neurotic, but I'm mentally calm.

I pace back and forth in the kitchen as I sip the coffee I automatically made. I don't even remember making it. The caffeine is making me wired in an especially uncomfortable way.

I dump the rest of the pot down the sink and don't have a second thought about it.

I can't stop thinking about the kiss, how soft and full her lips felt against mine. Sure, there was no tongue—but I'd be crazy if I tried to say it wasn't meaningful and real.

Why did it happen?
Was she just that delirious that she felt compelled to do it? And why the hell did I follow my gut instinct and complicate this more than necessary? I
hate
when things are complicated. I like simplicity.

The walls of my house are closing in on me, so I run out to the garage and start punching my heavy bag with everything I've got. I'm not angry, just desperately seeking respite from the volatile feelings I'm experiencing.

I kept my cool while she was around, but that's not happening now.

I jab, punch, and kick until I'm totally out of breath—and then I keep going. I maintain this routine until I collapse onto my knees against the bag, the soft mat below cushioning my fall.

I was so scared as I watched her fall, so terrified that this person I was just starting to get to know had accidentally injured herself beyond repair, that our casual jog was so deleterious it had taken her life. I feel like it was my fault since I tossed the water bottle to her and
then
she lost her balance.

And even worse than that is the fact that she's leaving tomorrow. I have somehow gone from hating her, to lusting after her, to wanting something genuine and long-term with her, all within forty-eight very brief hours.

The spotlight is back on the loneliness of my life. Ally has proven to be quite capricious, and the excitement is something I haven't experienced in years—well, other than when I step into the ring. But I can't fight all the time.

Just forget about her,
I snarl to myself. My body is worn down after my relentless attack on the punching bag. If it had been an opponent, they'd probably be in a body bag.

My heart pulses with malice, but I'm not sure what it's directed at. I want Ally, but it's clear I can't have her. I'm not about to move to Boston to start the
getting to know you
phase. I missed my window for that, and unless she moves home permanently, which won't happen, it’s clear that this will never be.

I long for the next fight that much more. My training will decide my fate. The variables are clear and established—then I just wait and see. It's simple.

I'm thrilled when I remember that I need to mow the field. I did the lawn yesterday, but the field still needs me. It's mindless activity, activity that takes up a serious chunk of time. More importantly, it's a
distraction
.

I mow quicker than I'd like because I see a storm coming over the horizon. I increase the speed of the tractor and get it done just as the first drops of rain fall from the sky. And I keep checking my phone the whole time, desperately hoping to see a missed call or text from Ally. I'm surprised that I don't crash the tractor while I'm doing so.

After the work is done and I'm out of the shower, I make myself a frozen pizza and eat it in silence. I feel bitter and enervated. My life is a string of missed opportunities, one after another, and no matter what, I can't seem to change that.

I watch the clock as the final minutes that Ally is in Red Lake tick away. I feel stupid and immature for even thinking there was a chance that she'd want to hang out again before leaving tomorrow.
I need more friends
, I tell myself.

Finally, I resign myself to another night alone at the bar, slowly sipping shots of bourbon in the corner, watching everyone else having a better time than me and pretending like I don't care. I need to focus on the upcoming fight instead of this.

Yeah, that's definitely what I need to do.

***

Ally

I
really like Liz's parents. They're the bohemian type, a bit of a deviation from the norm in Red Lake. There are a number of eccentric folks around here, but Liz's parents are both creative
and
successful.

Her dad, Paul, makes custom furniture, while her mom, Lynn, paints. Paul actually built the wooden bed frame in my apartment in Boston. It's very sturdy.

Through their combined, continued efforts, they've built a solid, local reputation, and have made a very good living for themselves in the process.

Paul has a big garage for building and storing all of his merchandise. And Lynn has her own studio, the biggest room in their house.

It's funny because they openly admit that Liz was a mistake—but that she changed their lives for the better. Prior to her, they wanted to just travel the world in a minimalist fashion and not settle down until they were ready to die. It didn't happen that way, however, and so they traded that lifestyle for their current one.

Once a year, they take a fancy vacation overseas. I haven't seen them in years, so they have plenty of stories to share with me over dinner. Paul perfectly grills steaks while Lynn makes a delicious salad using only ingredients from their organic garden. Liz handles the side dishes, preparing asparagus and very buttery, cheesy, and delicious mashed potatoes. There is also some nice wine.

We eat and drink and laugh as the hours vanish into thin air. As much as I usually hate family dinners, I'm thrilled to be eating with Liz's family and thankful that I got to see her once more before she leaves tomorrow. Her environmental consulting job is based in Berkley, California, so the whole opposite coasts thing makes visits a huge ordeal.

After dinner, Liz's parents settle into their den to watch a movie. Liz and I go out on the patio with another bottle of wine and light the Tiki torches to keep the mosquitoes away. It's a nice conclusion to the evening.

We chat idly for a few minutes before Liz drops the
M-bomb
as I'll so eloquently call it.

"Must be excited to get back to Boston, huh?" she asks after I ask her the same thing about Berkley.

I swallow hard. I quickly recall everything about Max and Angela. I realize how rough of a spot I'm in because Angela is usually the one I go to for advice. I didn't consider that during my hours of lonely commiseration.

While Liz and I were very close growing up, we haven't been that close in a while, especially not with our extreme distance. But I decide to take the risk anyway, emboldened by the wine.

"I'm not actually that eager to get back," I say and fall silent.

Liz's expression morphs into one of concern. "What's up, Ally?"

"Can I tell you something, Liz?"

"Anything," she says warmly. "
Especially
if it's controversial." She gives me a devilish smile.

I break down and tell her about Max and Angela, about her confession. I explain my relationship with Angela and how it's going to affect things going forward. I tell her about the fact that everything in my life I've tried to plan has been undone like I never planned any of it at all.

It was undone in that single phone call. Here one second, gone the next.

Nothing is waiting for me in Boston, just emptiness. It's an ugly truth.

She seems startled by my admission. "That's a cruel fucking game they're playing, Ally. It's pretty sick."

"I know it is," I say. "I think I might have actually forgiven him if it only happened once or whatever. I guess I'm kind of pathetic like that." I hang my head shamefully.

Liz scoffs. "Oh,
hell no
, especially not if it was your best friend he was cheating with. That's crossing a line, Ally, and you know it. You don't cross that line."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she says. "I gotta say though, this is pretty unusual. You were about to settle down with him and so he just settles down with someone else instead, behind your back. Is he religious? Is he obligated to stay with her or something?"

I let out a nervous chuckle. "He's not. But that would make this easier," I say. "At least it would explain his behavior."

"It's so weird," she says.

"So anyway," I say, "I'm not all that thrilled about going back. I don't really want to go back, honestly. Not yet. I wish I didn't have to."

Liz nods. "I get you. So what have you been doing since you got the news?"

All of my remaining walls break down and I explain to her my miserable, lonely Saturday night and then my jogging this morning. "I jogged with Jackson, actually."

She grins at me. "The hottie from the bar the other night? The
Hulk?
"

"Yeah, him." I pause. "I kind of accidentally fell down a hill and knocked myself unconscious. He took me in his arms and carried me to safety. It was kind of romantic," I say giddily.

Liz is taken aback. "Whoa, Ally, that's like
knight in shining armor
material," she says.

I start laughing. "Yeah, it was definitely weird." I feel myself loosening even further. I start blabbing more than planned. "I think I've got a little crush on him. But it feels stupid with all of that's going on with me."

I
think
about when I kissed him, but I actually omit that part in the retelling.

"What a crazy morning," she says.

"It actually kept me pretty distracted from my miserable life," I confess. "It wasn't until I got home that I even remembered that Max is a cheating, lying asshole that chose my best friend over me after impregnating her."

We sit in silence until I see Liz's face light up like a light bulb. "That's it," she says confidently. "I've got it."

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"Do you have any vacation time saved up?" she asks.

"A couple weeks, I think. I haven't gone anywhere in years."

Liz gives me a devious smile. "Okay, I know exactly what you need then—and you don't need to go
anywhere
."

I take a deep breath; I'm nervous about what she might say. "What do I need, Liz?"

"You need a rebound. You need a break, and you need something to distract you from all of the bullshit in Boston. Stay here and screw around with Jackson and then go home when you're feeling better. Let down your guard and have fun."

"That's the stupidest thing ever," I say, the first words that come to mind.

"Have you ever tried it?" she asks firmly.

I realize she's got me. "No," I say weakly. "But that's kind of screwed up, isn't it?"

"Not if you're clear up front. Make rules. And then it's over when you leave. I mean, I definitely saw the way he was looking at you at the bar, and I have a good feeling he'd
love
to play along." She gives me a sleazy wink.

"I don't know," I say. I'm tense when I think about running into him at the bar; I relax when I think about him carrying me in his arms to safety. Huge contrasts.

"You'll just have to trust me, Ally," she says. "Men can be total assholes, so sometimes you need to just... well,
use them back.
"

"That's ridiculous." I shake my head in disbelief. "I don't want to
use
anyone."

"That came out wrong," she says apologetically, but I don't think she's really sorry. "I guess it's more like seeing things from their perspective. Let loose and have some fun and stop worrying about everything that sucks in the world because there is a hell of a lot of stuff in the world that sucks and honestly, you could spend the rest of your life thinking about it all the time and never make any real difference." Her rambling, long sentence makes me burst out laughing.

"I guess that's kind of true," I say, trying to remain composed. I press my head hard against the cushioned deck chair behind me. The sun is setting, and given the fact that it's summer, that means it's probably around nine.