“He broke jour heart, broke jour family up, and it made ju miserable.”
“My father broke my heart. I left Lance so that we no longer had to suffer for it. He did nothing wrong. I’ve explained this. You want a villain where one doesn’t exist.”
“I jus don wan to see ju in dat much pain evers again.”
“Goes with the territory,” I say, knowing Lance leaving me in mere days will probably feel like a wrecking ball to the chest. “I chose dance, I chose his well-being. I chose my own well-being. I ended it.”
“Okay, Mami. Jour all grown up now, I jess.”
“Jess, I am.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jus be careful. What about dis guy who took ju to coffee?”
Casey doesn’t hold a candle to Lance. The flickers I felt today during coffee don’t have shit on the flame that ignited in my chest the second I saw Lance at my door.
I shake my head, and René sighs.
“Okay, jus know I’ll be here.”
“You better be here, always.”
“I jus said I will. Now, I make another mask, and pick some clothes so ju can be ready for tomorrow.”
“No, thank you, I just want to sleep.”
“Oh no, we doing dis.”
The decision is final. For the next hour, I’ll be buffed and polished.
These are the perks of ha
ving a best friend with a self-care addiction and great fashion sense. And when I say best, he’s the best I’ve ever had. He leaves the room to go hammer and nail out my makeover while I stare at the vacant chair Lance just left.
I’ve been watching his progress closely since clips of fights started on social media. Seeing a highlight reel was just posted to his page, I watch as he knocks his contender to the ground with little effort. Two years ago, he was the most alluring man I’d ever seen. Even with evidence of a broken nose, the man is now God-like and more attractive than ever. He’s bulked up so much, I barely recognize his width, but those grey eyes and thick lashes and smooth full lips I would know anywhere. Not to mention the way they make me feel. The way I feel with him in the same space, period, is enough. Flipping through his feed, I see the location of his fight, the fight he said took place in New York. I scroll up and see the time stamp. Seven hours ago, Lubbock, Texas. Clearly, he’s not the one running his own social media page.
And he lied. But why?
Lance
Brisk air slaps me in the face as I get acquainted with Manhattan. Twice I’ve dodged a cab, my focus on the view. It only took me a mile to realize how brave Harper is, how brave anyone is to try and conquer a city such as this. As for my own opinion, so far, it’s the same—chaos. A clusterfuck of skyscrapers, streets filled with loud traffic, and people scattering in all directions on life’s everyday missions. It’s everything and nothing like the movies. A bit less glamorous, but I’m going to let my time with Harper here sway my final decision. I’m three miles in when I take a detour to Ground Zero. Even though I was six when it happened, I’ll never forget the panic on my parents’ faces as they watched those buildings go down. It was the first time I’ve ever felt real fear. I stand in place, staring at the memorial in awe of what those people have endured and decide it’s a plus for the city. New York is an overpopulated army of survivors who stood their ground and reclaimed their city as not one of fear, but as a place of resilience. It’s heroic just to live here. New York is full of fighters, so maybe there’s a place for me here too.
But how can I fit in her life here?
Is this a fool’s errand?
My life is at the ranch, and when it’s not, it’s on the road. I dedicated myself to the purpose years ago. But if my inkling is right, maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated. Going heavyweight means I can split my time between fights. I’ll get much better pay, more leisure time to prepare between bouts. I’ll hire help at the ranch. I’ll do whatever it takes if we manage in a few days to reclaim what we lost.
Dreams change, they evolve, because of the people in your life.
Mine are evidence of just how drastically it can happen. But any new dream I’ve conjured up has always involved Harper, dead center. I can’t imagine her out of any scenario that won’t complete me. And I can’t will myself to forget her. I don’t want to. My motivation for being here is selfish. She may be able to live without me, but I’m convinced her asking the same of me is too much to ask of my heart, which has been slowly suffocating without her. I don’t love her any less than I did two years ago, that was clear to me the minute I saw her on the other side of that door. If she’s changed, maybe I can change to suit her. I have to believe that life is a series of truths and that some are absolute while others get too muddled amongst youth, aspiration, and ambition.
Harper is a truth for me. What I feel for her is the truest of truths.
It’s love, the kind that changes people, pure and simple, because she changed me by just believing me, in me, to the point she possessed a part of me. Maybe I can’t move on because I’m not supposed to. Or maybe I’m too late. Either way, I have to know.
There’s been plenty of available women down the line, but I’ve rarely indulged and after, fucking hated myself for it. At one point, I damn near self-sabotaged and then blamed Harper for the guilt, for discarding me like I was disposable which made me a hypocrite. I used those women for solace, to try to ease the ache. Another old habit reemerged, and right now, I’m fighting against them all.
This is either a sick fascination with the past, or I’m finally running in the right direction. Time will tell. In the next few days, I’ll know.