Needing to sit down, I sat on the top bleacher and surveyed the room. Visions of kids training, learning self-defense and discipline, flooded the space. I could smell the sweat, I could hear the smack of gloves on the punching bags, and I could see the comradery that would form among them.
Like a tidal wave, ideas for classes flooded my brain as I assessed the equipment. Excitement started to boil in the pit of my stomach, and I tried to tamp it down, but looking around this room, taking everything in, it was damn hard not to get passionate.
Maybe Jett was right. Maybe I could show everyone second chances were possible. Maybe I could have a positive influence on the kids who walked through the doors of this facility. I could only hope my demons didn’t eat me alive while I tried to find a new place in this world.
Chapter Ten
My past…
Rain pounded on my windshield while I tried to decipher who was in the row of black standing about one hundred feet away. I wasn’t ready to step out of my car yet. I wasn’t ready to see who I’d ruined.
I hadn’t been able to sleep the past four nights, not since blinding rage had taken over my body and I’d found myself leaning over a bloody and breathless Marshall Duncan. The image of his lifeless body had yet to escape my memory. There were many times I’d decided to turn myself in, but Jett had stopped me. His need to keep me in his life, to help him with his club and be the one solid person in his life, had me reneging on my idea, but fuck if the decision didn’t make me feel guilty as hell.
I had yet to face the family, to see what they looked like, who they were, to see the grief-stricken looks on their faces. Seeing them was the last thing I wanted to do, but I felt like it was a punishment I deserved. I had to see whose life I’d destroyed by taking a loved one away from them. I needed to see their pain, feel their pain. I wanted to be tortured.
The day after the bar fight, I’d started collecting every article about Marshall’s death and read them to myself on repeat at night as I burned the words into my memory. To someone on the outside, my collection of articles might have seemed like a psychopathic action, but to me, it was the act of a broken man. I made sure to remind myself every chance I got what a horrible person I was. I wanted to make sure it was quite clear in my brain I was a murderer, a machine who didn’t think but reacted on emotion. I thought losing my boxing license had been difficult, but I hadn’t known what difficult was because right here and now, sitting in my car and watching over the crowd dressed in black surrounding one single person was the hardest fucking thing I’d ever done.
The rain let up slightly, making it easier to see out my front windshield. Above-ground gravestones scattered the land in front of me and surrounded the group of friends and family who’d shown up to bid their soulful farewells to Marshall Duncan.
“Are you going out there?” Jett interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice completely devoid of emotion.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do. I need to see them.”
“Why?” Jett asked, frustration lacing his voice. “You can barely hold yourself together right now. Why do you think this is going to make it better?”
“I don’t think it’s going to make it better. It’s going to show me everything I took away. I need to see his family, see how I affected their lives. I can’t be a selfish bastard who hides in your club. I need to know exactly what the ramifications were that came from my decision.”
“He is just as much to blame for what happened as you are,” Jett replied.
“No. Don’t go fucking blaming him.”
“Kace, he punched you twice. He was asking for a right hook. You can’t take the blame for all this.”
“Yes I can,” I practically spat back at him. “I’m a trained fighter. I know my limits. I know how to handle the adrenaline surge that runs through me when I’m provoked, and that night, I chose to ignore it. I should have walked away. I should have turned my back, but instead I chose to engage. I chose to let my anger loose on a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“How can you say that?” Jett argued. “He went out of his way to approach you, to aggravate you, to make it impossible for you not to get upset. It’s his fucking fault!”
“Enough!” I shouted. “I’m not going to go through this with you again. If you want me to stick around, you need to just accept the fact that when Marshall Duncan died, I died with him. I will be here for you, Jett, and I will help you with your club, but I refuse to hide behind excuses to make myself feel better. I killed a man. I ran away from his dead body, and I’m living a life I don’t deserve. From this day moving forward, I have no life. I don’t deserve to be happy, and I will go out of my way to make sure I keep it that way.”
Without allowing Jett to utter another word, I got out of the car, pulled the hood of my black leather jacket over my head, and headed toward the huddled mourners.
A priest was speaking solemnly when I walked up to the group, sticking to the back so I wasn’t noticed. I didn’t want any trouble. I just wanted the soul-crushing punishment of looking in the eyes of the woman I had ruined.
“Marshall was a well-respected businessman, a beloved husband, and a cherished father. He left us too early in this world, but we will cherish the moments we had with him and hold them in our hearts for eternity.”
My gut twisted from the priest’s words.
Cherished father… fuck.
I looked at the wet grass, watching the drops of rain fall off my nose and onto the ground. How did a man move on from something like this? How did he face life every day, knowing he’d taken the breath away from another man? Was such a feat even possible?
“The family will now place a rose on the casket while Marshall’s sister plays ‘Remember Me’ on the guitar.”
The light strum of a guitar filled the air, overlaying from the sad sound of rain pelting the wood of the casket. I stepped to the side for a better view and trained my eyes on the casket, waiting to see Marshall’s family.
A hand gripped my shoulder, and I didn’t have to turn to know it was Jett. He might not have agreed with what I was doing or approved my choices concerning this matter, but I knew he supported me. He always would.
“Kace….”
I shook my head and pulled away slightly. He wanted me to leave, but I couldn’t. I needed to see his family.
Just as Jett tried to pull at my shoulder again, I tugged free and saw someone I could only assume was Marshall’s wife step up to the casket, holding a single rose in her hand. She was holding the hand of a little girl with bright blonde curls poking out from her hood.
Everything in my body went numb as realization hit me. She would grow up without a father. She wouldn’t have someone to take to the daddy/daughter dances. She wouldn’t have a man to watch over her when she started dating. She wouldn’t have someone to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day.
I’d taken that away from her. I’d taken away her father.
The wife turned toward me after she placed the flower on the casket and held on to her daughter. For a brief instant, her eyes met mine, and I was able to see the hole in her heart I’d put there. I was able to see the pain I’d caused, the uprooting I’d forced upon her.
It was too much.
My heart beat out of my chest and my breathing became erratic. Without turning to Jett, I said, “Get me out of here.”
His strong hand took hold of my shoulder, and he guided me back to the car, not saying a word. There was nothing to say. I was an animal.
I would never forgive myself.
Chapter Eleven
My present…
“Where do you want these thongs?” Tootse called, drawing me from my thoughts. I looked up at the blondest women I’d ever met, carrying an abnormally large box and about ready to tip over from its size.
I rushed over to help and grabbed the box from her so she didn’t end up face-first into the wall.
&nb
sp; “Thanks.” She shook her arms out. “Thongs are heavy.” She huffed and held on to the wall.
I set the box on the floor in front of the counter at the community center just as the contents of the box registered in my head. “Thongs?”
“Tootse, make sure Kace doesn’t see the box….” Goldie stopped in her tracks when she saw me standing over Tootse with my hands on my hips. “Oh shit….”
“Yeah, ‘oh shit’ is right,” I said. “Care to explain why there is a box of—” I bent over and looked at the number of thongs on the shipping label and then glanced at Goldie. “Why is there a box of a one thousand silk thongs being delivered to the community center?”
Goldie stepped up to me and pushed her pen against my forehead. “Before that little vein pops, stop worrying. They are just parting gifts.”
“Parting gifts for what?” I questioned.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Goldie said while trying to grab the box off the ground. She struggled from the weird size of it. Jett called her ‘little one’ for a reason.
Instead of helping her, I stood back and watched her struggle. She tried holding the box in different positions. She even pushed it with her toe to scoot it along the floor, but in the end, she just gave up.
With a huff, she looked up at me and said, “Do you mind helping?”
“I do, actually.”
She stomped her foot on the ground. “Kace! Don’t be an ass and help me.”
“What are the thongs for?” I said between clenched teeth. “I’m in charge of the center, so I am privy to whatever information I want to know. Now tell me why you have one thousand thongs in a box in the community center.”
“You’re so frustrating,” she whined.
“Well…?” I waited.
She gave in, like I knew she would. “Fine. We’re going to offer pole-dancing classes, and we thought a little gift bag for the attendees would be nice.”
“No,” I said, going back to the front desk and checking on my paperwork. The center opened in a few days. It was a soft opening but an opening nonetheless, and I wanted to be prepared. We would only be offering a few classes to start, but once everything was complete, we would be expanding our schedule.
“No?” Goldie said, coming up next to the counter. “How can you just say no?”
I glanced up at her. “Because I can.”
“Ahh! I want to strangle you,” she complained. “Did you know pole dancing is actually a really good form of exercise?”
“Goldie, we are not going—”
“She’s right, you know,” Lyla said, interrupting me as she sidled up next to Goldie and put her arm around Goldie’s waist. “I already have a full list of names of people who want to participate in Friday’s class.” With obnoxious confidence, Lyla tossed a clipboard full of names on the counter and looked at me with quirked lips.
“See!” Goldie cheered. “A full class! It’s popular already, and we haven’t even started.”
Of course in a city like New Orleans, spots in a pole dancing class would fill. That didn’t mean I wanted to have a class like that at the center. Justice was supposed to have a wholesome, family-type environment, not a night club atmosphere, which was what I was getting from the girls with their box of thongs.
With my hands on my hips, I looked at Goldie. “All right, smart-ass, how do you expect to teach a pole dancing class without poles?”
She looked away for a second and then said, “We have poles.”
“What are you talking about?”
Biting her finger, she stepped back from the counter. “I had Jett put them in for me.”
“What!” I roared. “Why the fuck would he do that when I’m in charge of this place?”
Goldie cringed and stepped back again, Lyla enjoying the interaction between us the whole time. “Maybe because I told him you approved it.”
“Fucking hell,” I breathed out as I scrubbed a hand over my face. Gathering all my will not to fly off the deep end, I pointed at her and said, “Go behind my back again, and you will not fucking like the results.”
“I’m sorry, Kace,” she apologized.
I took off to the boxing room. I could tell she wasn’t that sorry, because as I retreated, I heard her cheer with Lyla and Tootse about the new class Justice would be offering.
Even though I hated it, I smiled and shook my head. Leave it to Goldie to get her way.
Once in the Haze Room, I took in the rich smell of fresh leather and brand new wood floors. It had taken me a couple of days, but I’d finally accepted the gesture from Jett, the gesture to reconnect with something that had been so unfairly taken away from me. It felt odd to be surrounded by something I loved so much once again, but I started to take advantage of the new room. I couldn’t help it. It was my new play yard.
I walked over to the stereo that was situated against one of the walls and hit the play button. Classic rock blasted through the speakers, putting me in the mood to do some damage. I stripped off my shirt, grabbed a jump rope, and bounced up and down to warm up. I started at a slow pace, letting my heart gradually warm to the rhythm running through me, but once I felt comfortable, I whipped the rope faster, enjoying the challenge of keeping up with the intense pace. It only took a few minutes for sweat to form on my brow and drip down my back.
Pleased with my warm-up, I quickly wrapped my hands, grabbed a pair of gloves, and secured them around my hands and wrists. It was time to attack the bag.
Freddy Mercury’s voice boomed through the speakers as I circled the bag. Finding the right position, I threw right hooks and left uppercuts. Alternating punches, I rapidly took all my pent-up aggression out on the bag, focusing on one thing and one thing alone: the feel of my fist connecting with the sand-filled bag.
The impact was hard, it was intoxicating, and it was exactly what I needed.
The nightmares were getting worse, they were haunting me every night, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of this new venture I was embarking on or the fact that I boxed on a daily basis now so I was releasing the demons I’d stowed away for so long, but whatever it was, I was reliving my worst sins at night. I woke up every morning, sweating and feeling ill with beads of sweat at my brow. It took me at least one boxing session and the morning to get over the raw and unsettling feeling I woke up to now on an almost daily basis.
Right hook, right hook, right hook.
I gripped the bag with my left arm and kneed it while throwing punches at it with my right hand. The pain gripping my chest eased with my full-on attack, and I could feel the weight resting on my shoulders start to fade.
“Take it easy there,” someone shouted over the music, stilling my workout.
Lyla turned down the music so it wasn’t blasting through the walls. When she first arrived, I didn’t get a good look at her since it had been my mission to avoid the woman, but now that I was alone in the Haze room with her, I had no other option than to soak in her appearance. Her hair was curled loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing a cream-colored tank top that was very flowy—flowy enough I could see the turquoise bra she had on underneath, which was propping her breasts up to mouthwatering standards. And to top it all off, she was in a pair of short shorts with pockets that hung a little past the hem. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Lyla than to find the shortest pair of shorts in the store. It was a casual look for her with sandals and her hair down, but it had my blood starting to pump through my veins again, reminding me I was alive. She was absolutely fucking gorgeous and unfortunately, I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking my gloves off with my teeth.
She shrugged and looked around the room. “Just wanted to check it out in here. You know, maybe take some lessons.”
Smiling, she grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and walked toward me. Her breasts swayed with each step, enticing me to the point that I had to look away or else I would be throwing her up against the wall in a matter
of seconds.
“Lessons?” I asked with a quirk of my brow. I leaned against the wall with my arms crossed over my bare chest, waiting for her to answer.
“Yeah, I heard there is a pro here, teaching lessons.”
I went rigid and stood up straight from the mention of my past. “Lyla…”
“Funny thing about the internet, Kace. You can find out anything about people, especially if they’ve been in the limelight.”
Fury blazed through me, and I tried to tamp down my anger, but it was too much, there was too much pent-up aggression. I didn’t want her searching me on the internet. Who knew what she would find.
I got in her face and said, “You had no fucking right looking up my shit.”
“Public knowledge,” she shrugged, not startled one bit by my proximity. “If you’re not going to open your mouth, then I’ll look things up myself. You know what’s funny, though? When I was doing my research, I saw you lost your license for shooting up steroids.”
“We’re done here,” I said, blowing past her, knocking into her shoulder so she was thrown off balance for a second.
As I walked away, my past came flooding back to me in full force. That morning I received a call from Dale hit me hard and all the painful memories from that night came to the forefront of my mind. I didn’t want to relive it. I knew I deserved to live with my past sins, but I didn’t want to, not now. Not with Lyla in the room.
Keeping my back toward her, I held on to the wall and hung my head, trying to shake the sickening feeling that was trying to bubble to the surface of my emotional state.
Coming up behind me and placing her hand on my back, she said, “Let’s talk about it.”
I whirled around. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it. You’re not my shrink, so do us both a favor and leave.”
My booming voice echoed through the room, but it didn’t affect her. She continued her pursuit of trying to “help” me.