Billy smiled.
The match began. They circled each other for a few seconds, and then it was on. The guy knew how to mix up the kinds and pacing of his strikes so that Billy couldn’t predict him, and he was good at defending his own vulnerabilities. He obviously had some training.
Which explained how his opponent landed an absolutely brain-rattling hook to Billy’s face.
Jesus fucking relief.
The feeling that erupted throughout Billy was almost euphoric.
It made him smile even more. He recovered himself and was right back in it. He landed a few fucking satisfying hits himself, making the guy bleed from the corner of his mouth. And leaving Billy feeling more alive than he had anywhere else for a long time.
Except for when Shayna had been in his bed and at his side.
The thought was a total fucking distraction, of course, giving the guy an in to deliver a brutal hammer strike to Billy’s bad shoulder that just barely missed his face. And even though it hurt like hell, Billy relished it.
Because those voices? They weren’t saying one goddamned thing.
So he didn’t stop the fight. He didn’t give up despite the fact that he was bleeding from a cheekbone and his shoulder. No. This guy knew how to fight. They were well matched and gave each other real competition.
Exactly what Billy needed. Which was why he went right back in for more.
Shayna should’ve been more
excited this morning.
This Big Brothers Big Sisters assignment was a fantastic opportunity for her career. And while she was excited, she was also exhausted, strung out from how poorly she’d slept, and increasingly pissed off at Billy for making her feel this way.
Maybe food would help.
She was downstairs toasting a bagel and spreading peanut butter on apple slices when the front door sprung open.
Shayna nearly jumped out of her skin. “Holy crap, you scared me,” she said, surprised to see him home.
Billy closed the door with a strength that could only be described as slamming it. “Sorry,” he mumbled, chin and eyes down. He staggered towards her.
“Dude, are you drunk at ten o’clock in the morning?”
“No,” he said, making for the fridge. He reached in and grabbed the half-gallon carton of milk. And then he tilted back his head and chugged it.
Which was when she saw all the cuts and dried blood.
“Jesus, Billy! You’re hurt. What happened?” Her pulse exploded into a sprint as she tried to catalog his injuries.
There were cuts on his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his mouth. A bruise was blooming at the corner of one eye. And a bloodstain on his shoulder in the same spot where she’d patched him up before seemed to indicate that his scars had opened up again.
He shook his head and gave her more of that weirdly flat and overly mellow tone. “Not hurt. Actually feel pretty decent. For once.”
She gawked at him. “What does that mean? Did you get in a fight? Or a car accident? Or…just tell me what the hell happened to you.”
He ignored her. “You moving out today?”
Shayna frowned—both at the non sequitur and because they’d discussed this the night before. Did he not remember her telling Tara? Or, oh God, did he want her out today? “What? No. I have to cover an event at the Northeast Rec Center. Don’t you remember?”
He chugged another long drink of milk. “Oh, that’s right.”
“Billy, you’re really worrying me right now.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Shayna.” He gave her a look that was…so sad it made her chest hurt.