“We’re not wrestling. We’re boxing. Now get up here,” Ashton shouts as he gets into a stance.
“Go on…unless you’re too chicken?” Zane chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.
I might be a little scared, but I’d never admit that out loud. I especially hate being called a chicken, so I roll my eyes and make my way into the ring.
I think I understand how David felt against Goliath. He was small and brave, and I…well I’m not small. I slide on my gloves and mimic Ashton’s stance. He moves closer so we can tap our gloves together.
“And just so you know, my boxing name isThe Raging Bull,” he says softly before giving my gloves a tap and taking the first swing.
Thankfully, I dodge him in time, missing his first swing but taking a hit right into my jaw with his second blow. I groan as pain shoots up my skull, and Zane chooses this time to start blasting“Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor through his phone speakers. I’m not liking how much he’s enjoying this.
“There you guys are,” I hear a familiar voice say from behind us.
I twist around to see Ryland walking up beside his little brother, right as Ashton slams a right hook into my ribcage, sending me tumbling and landing on the boxing ropes. Ryland hisses, as if watching me is hurting him, and I frown.
Okay. I’m done playing nice.
I push myself away from the ropes and bounce back onto my feet. Ashton gives me a smirk, slamming his gloves together, gearing up for another blow. Zane and Ryland are cheering us on, gathering a crowd around them that I’m trying my best to ignore.
“I recognize that look,” Ashton says, taking a swing and missing.
“What look?” I grunt, stepping back and jabbing him in the ribs.
Ashton swings his fist toward me, but I block him with my arm. “You’re about to self-sabotage yourself.”
I pierce my brows together, feeling the prickle of hot rage travel up my spine, and I swing, hitting him square in the jaw. He stumbles backward, lifting a glove up to his lip, which is currently bleeding. I smirk, feeling victorious.
“I’m not self-sabotaging.”
Ashton steps forward, spits onto the ground, and gives me a bloody smile. “Yes, you are. And you want to know how I know?”
I don’t want to think about what he’s going to say, so I swing another jab, and then another, growling in frustration as he dodges each one.
“Because I’ve been there. When my wife left me, I withdrew from everyone and started picking up a bottle to try to drown my sorrows. Thankfully, Zane dragged me out of the pit I had dug for myself.” He swings, but I block him.
“Is that what you're here to do? Drag me out of my pit?” I shout, growing more annoyed with this boxing match, because fighting Ashton isn’t going to fix anything. I’m starting to wonder if anything will…or if this is how things were meant to turn out.
Zane changes the music to something instrumental, and it takes me a moment to recognize the song. “Really, dude, you're playing the fight music fromHarry Potter?”
“The fact that you know that makes me so proud.” He beams up at me as Ashton slams into my stomach.
I grunt, all the air leaving my lungs from the impact.
“Don’t let Voldemort win,” Ryland adds, accepting Zane’s fist bump.
I’m about to say something to the two knuckleheads when Ashton moves closer. I’m over this boxing match. I sling my gloves off, lifting my bare knuckles, and ready myself to end this fight. Zane and Ryland are cheering loudly behind me while Ashton tosses his gloves to the side.
“My pit is too deep. So stop trying to help me,” I yell, twisting my body so I can kick my leg out, slamming my foot into Ashton’s knee.
He falls to the ground with a loud thump. I jump on top of him, feeling way too much in this moment, and I have to admit that theHarry Pottermusic is only adding to it. He shoves his arms up to protect his face as I slam my fist intohis side.
“Trust me— when I say that— you need to forgive yourself— so you can finally move forward,” Ashton grunts out before he slings his leg around my torso and slams me down onto the mat.
Everyone seems to enjoy telling me what to do and what’s good for me. No one wants me to find my own answers. They just want me to believe theirs. The thought rushes through my head as Ashton shifts his weight on top of me and pins me down.
“We all make mistakes, man. But the mistakes don’t make us.”
“You don’t get it!” I yell, shifting my weight so I can push against him, but he doesn’t budge. I focus on my breathing, channeling all my energy into getting out from underneath him. “I can’t change— the past— and all it does— is haunt me. I can’t— get away from it,” I grumble as I twist under his weight.
