“I know you were outside the door.”
“Why shouldn’t I be outside my door?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Wham.
“Sam, I don’t know what you mean. I’m not sure you know what you mean. But I know what I heard and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m really fucking disappointed in you. You were great but I have opened up in a way that I never thought I could. I’m grateful to you for it. But if you think I’m just some story? If you’ve just been baiting me, letting me use you to butter me up for a story? Then you can fuck right off and forget you ever knew me.”
Wham.
I can’t hit the bag hard enough. Can’t outstrike the pain. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Lacey’s gone,” she says. “I sent her away. Will you take that walk with me?”
I give the bag one last knee to what would be an opponent’s midsection and I step back undoing my wrist wraps as fast as I can. “Okay. But after that I want you to go. I thought there was more to you. But what do I know? I’ve certainly been wrong before.” I walk away and turn back around. “Oh, and I get to choose where we’re walking to.”
I stalk off, knowing I sound petulant, not really caring. Such as it is, I have made a new life for myself out here. I get dressed, put on a sweatshirt and pants. As I move through the house it’s obvious that Lacey really is gone. Maybe I’m being too hard on Sam, but I couldn’t control my anger.
I realize that one of my problems with what I heard is that I’m fine being nothing—I took myself out to the middle of nowhere and vanished. I made myself nothing, invisible, a ghost, and I did it on purpose. And I know what it’s like to be told I’m everything. Those heady days at the top of the fight game were fucking exhilarating and I wore it well while it lasted.
What I’m not used to being is something, somewhere in the middle. I’m not going to tolerate just being there for someone else’s fucking convenience.
“Let’s go,” I say, coming back out onto the porch. “I want to show you something before you go.” I walk fast, not really caring if she can keep up.
She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s feeling something like I am.
Something like mourning.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE : SAM WASHINGTON
God, I’m such an asshole. I’m not letting Hugh off the hook; frankly I think he’s being a huge baby. But I know how it must have sounded and he obviously wasn’t prepared for it.
I don’t want to let myself off the hook either but I was just blabbing. Sometimes the only way to get Lacey to be quiet is just to talk faster and louder than she is. That’s not always a guarantee that what comes out of my mouth is going to be the height of wit and insight.
But what I know for sure is that Hugh means much more to me than what I let off to Lacey. Less than 72 hours in and I’m hooked. I can’t imagine going back to New York without him. But will he even want anything to do with me now?
Hugh is walking so fast. I can barely keep up. Then it seems like he doesn’t want me to keep up, so I slow down on purpose and try to enjoy the scenery. Now that the rain is gone, I can see more clearly. The whispering aspens hiss and shift. Light reflects off of the remaining small puddles on and in the rocks and leaves. The air is clean and I’m struck by how quiet everything is except for the crunch of our feet and our breathing.
“Hugh,” I say. “I need to rest.”
He stops ahead, and then turns around. “We’re almost there,” he says. There’s a note in his voice that almost sounds like pleading, but Hugh is not a man who pleads.
“Just give me a second.”
He nods and takes a step towards me. I can see him softening, I think. I hope so. If this is about to end, whatever it was, I’m desperate for us to part as friends. Or at least, not as enemies.
“Come on,” he says. “I think this will be interesting for you. And maybe for your story.” He says this last bit over his shoulder and I feel a rush of hope. Maybe we’re going to be able to handle this all like grownups after all.
We step through the trees and emerge into a clearing of waist-high grass. In the distance is a snow-capped mountain peak. There are two deer near the opposite tree line. And in the middle of the clearing is a pile of stones that rise to the height of Hugh’s chest.
Hugh walks to the stones and drops to one knee. He turns and motions me closer.
“Andrew always wanted to be cremated,” he says. “After the funeral, I took his ashes and brought him out here. This is his burial mound. I’m not spiritual or religious or whatever you want to call it. But I think he would have gotten a kick out of this. It has helped me in some ways, having him this close. But I also wonder if it’s been unhealthy for me.”
He lets out a deep slow breath. I put a hand on the top of his thigh and press gently. “Didn’t he have family?” I say.
Hugh smiles sadly. “I didn’t tell you anything about my dad. Or mom. She died when I was young. I don’t even remember her. But my dad was an army guy. I lived all over the world while I was a teenager. Andrew was my half-brother. I’m not sure why dad never wanted him to know, but he always told Andrew that he had adopted him. Honestly, the old man told so many lies that maybe he was telling the truth. I don’t know for a fact that Andrew wasn’t adopted. Point being, we were raised together like brothers. We were brothers. And I got my brother killed. Then I let the cops let me go because I was a big shot.”
He puts his hand out and touches the stones. “I miss you buddy,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”