Grace for Drowning

When the hostess was gone, Grace's smile slipped a little. "Are you sure you're okay? You look about ready to snap that thing in two."

I realized my fingers were locked in a white-knuckle grip around the table lip and I forced them to relax. "I'm just not good with crowds."

She furrowed her brow. "Then let's go. We can find somewhere else. It's no big deal."

It was tempting, but if I couldn't even get through five minutes in a tiny restaurant then what the hell did that say about me? About what sort of boyfriend I'd be? I shook my head firmly. "No. This was my idea. I want to stay. Really, I do. I'll be okay."

She looked uncertain, but she nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Keep talking. It helps me focus."

"Okay." She gave a thoughtful pause. "What are you thinking of ordering? I hope Mexican was an okay choice."

"Mexican's great," I replied, my pulse steadying. Scrape. Rustle. Bang. Focus! I glanced at the menu. "I'm a big fan of fajitas."

"Good choice. Apparently they're one of the chef's specialties. And they're, like, seventy five percent chicken breast, so even Tony would approve!"

I found a ghost of a smile then. "Ah, I forgot about that. Better order some dessert too then, just to spite him."

She laughed. "Speaking of your training diet, that fight with Caesar sure was something. You just flattened him out of nowhere."

"Yeah it was a pretty clean strike." In truth, I barely remembered it. Once I noticed Jonah,

Caesar had gone from an opponent in probably the most important fight of my career to just something that was in my way. Not much could pull me from a fight like that, but seeing Grace being hit on apparently did the trick, and when something tugs at my emotions, crazy shit can happen. I'm not proud of it, hell, I wish it wasn't the case, but that's just how I'm wired now. It's zero or a hundred, nothing in between. "I know I've said this before, but I'm really sorry about that."

"I didn't mean it like that. It's fine."

"No, I know. I just want you to understand. I get...angry, sometimes. I don't know why, exactly. A switch just triggers and I see red. Some part of me knows I'm overreacting, but that reaction goes beyond logic. It doesn't happen often, but if it does, I want you to be prepared."

She studied me. No fear in her eyes, just a hint of compassion. "Okay. I appreciate you telling me."

There was an awkward pause. Christ, five minutes into the date and we were discussing my rage issues. Am I a charmer or what?

Thankfully, she pushed on. "You know when you're fighting next?"

I shrugged. "A few weeks, probably. That's the usual."

She nodded. "You know, I wasn't really expecting to, but I really enjoyed watching it. There's something so visceral about it, something that goes beyond regular sport."

"You should try being in the ring."

"Not sure I'm quite ready for that yet," she said with a laugh. "I am kind of curious though, what it's like in there I mean. You talked a little about how alive it makes you feel but, to be honest, I can't imagine anything more terrifying."

"It is terrifying, but that's the appeal. That sense of risk. I was always hyper competitive, even before I shipped out. And for people like me, the greater the stakes the greater the reward. I used to be able to get that rush from anything at a high enough level; football, basketball, whatever, but now it needs something more. It needs that danger. When you're in the ring and it's just the two of you, your fists against theirs, your body, maybe your life, on the line, everything else just fades to black. All your problems drop away. There's no space for anything else, and there's a strange sense of peace in that. I've never experienced anything so pure before. I know it sounds fucking insane, but there it is."

She took a few seconds processing this. I didn't expect her to get it, but she surprised me. "It's not insane. It's just the epitome of survival."

That was a remarkably simple way to put it. "Yeah, I guess it is. To be honest, I kind of wish I got more fights like that last one. Charlie works hard, but Final Blow is still a small fish in a giant pond. A lot of the guys involved just fight casually. I'm not trying to dis them — they do well for the work they put in — but Caesar was a whole different ball game. That guy is a fighter, one hundred percent. It's been a long time since I felt that sort of adrenaline."

"Well, maybe Charlie can get more guys like that now that you've proven yourself."

"Maybe." I drummed my fingers on the table, realizing I was dominating the conversation. "Anyway, enough heavy shit. First dates are meant to be light and fluffy, right? Hobbies, siblings, childhood. So tell me about New York. Did you grow up there?"

She nodded. "In Brooklyn. I love it there. I'm definitely a city person. There's nothing more exciting than having a million different things to do at your doorstep. You never get bored in a place like New York."

I could totally see her as this sophisticated, cultured, urban girl. Theaters, book stores, trendy little cafes. It made me wonder what the hell she was doing here with the likes of me, a guy who spent ninety-nine percent of his life in the same three places.

"Have you thought about going back?" I asked. "Not that I don't appreciate you being here. It just seems like the logical choice — head home, move back in with your folks until you get back on your feet."