My chest tightened at the thought of Vincent. I’d tried so hard not to think too much about him tonight. It felt weird not seeing him, like I was missing something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“He’s...” I searched for the word, “complicated, I guess. He holds back a lot. I think it’s all part of the tough guy act he has going on and he’s trying hard not to be weak. But there’s obviously a lot going on in his life and he’s pretty messed up.”
“Do you like him?”
I hesitated, not really sure how I felt about Vincent. At the moment, I kind of wanted to give him a piece of my mind.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
It was obvious that I’d avoided answering her question, but thankfully Hadie didn’t press the topic any further.
“How are things with your dad?”
This was another topic that I didn’t really want to talk about. My friends knew about my dad’s issues, but they didn’t really know how bad things had gotten for us. A part of me just wanted to tell Hadie everything that was going on in my life. I wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was happening to me.
I wanted to ask for help, I really did, but I was ashamed. I was ashamed of what I let him do to us. I was afraid that people would judge me. I was scared that somehow this was my fault and I would be blamed for letting it continue for so long.
Besides, Hadie had enough problems of her own without me adding to that. I didn’t want to make her feel even worse, so I just swallowed away all that pain that had been stored in my chest for so long that it had become a part of me.
I was pain.
“Things are better,” I lied, because I truly wanted to believe that. “Things are definitely better with him.”
And as the lie left my mouth, I could almost pretend that my lie was a truth.
Chapter Eighteen
Vincent
The air crackled with excitement—the crowd was bloodthirsty tonight.
People surged around me, moving forward as they tried to get a view of the two fighters. I wasn’t fighting tonight, but I was here to scope out my competition.
Whoever won tonight would be fighting me in a couple of weeks. That would be the big fight; that was the fight everyone bet the big bucks on. That was the fight I couldn’t lose. Ryder was making sure I kept my focus for it.
This fight was a big deal for everyone involved in the amateur circle, and by the looks of it, the newcomer wasn’t going to go down easy. He was in the ring with Smith, who was probably our best fighter after me, and seemed to be getting the better of him.
“Look at that guy,” Ryder said from beside me. “He’s not holding back. That’s a guy who’s been through shit in his life. That’s how you can tell a good fighter, little bro. You can tell by how desperate they are; from how dirty they fight.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I continued to watch Smith and the newcomer. The guy Ryder was talking about wasn’t as big as his Smith. He had dark blonde hair, was a little taller than me, and was lean and muscular. Smith was a huge son of a bitch and people were usually intimidated by his size alone. They usually just psyched themselves out and Smith would win easy. He knew how to use his size to get into people’s heads. The main issue with Smith was that he was a stupid fighter.
His punches kept missing because he swung without focus. His strategy was to hit the smaller guy and knock him down, but he wasn’t really considering anything else beyond that. His movements were slow and delayed, while the other guy was quick on his feet. His eyes were calculating as he dodged Smith’s large fists every single time.
I leaned forward eagerly. This fight was getting good now. Smith was hard to beat, but it seemed pretty obvious that the newcomer had an advantage over him.
I could tell. The crowd could tell. All eyes were on the new guy.
And then the fight turned deadly. Smith let out a roar and moved forwards, throwing both his fists around like a moron, hitting air every single time. The newcomer jumped out of the way, and then he suddenly darted to the left and punched hard against Smith’s side.
The crowd let out a chorus of “oohs”, but the fight wasn’t over yet. Smith clutched his side, obviously in pain, and that’s when the newcomer started barraging him with punches and kicks at lightning speed. He was relentless, he was merciless; he didn’t show any signs of stopping, until Smith was out cold.
Smith’s supporters—mainly our guys—starting heckling and swearing at the newcomer, who didn’t seem fazed by the assholes yelling around him. There was a lot of cheering too, and he was swept up into the crowd.
There was a gleam in Ryder’s eyes when he turned to me. “That’s Troy’s new guy. Not bad, huh?”
I shrugged, not letting the nervousness show on my face. I never got nervous, but all of a sudden something made me not want to be in the upcoming fight. This was what Ryder meant by not losing focus. If I went into a fight and my head wasn’t in the game, I was majorly screwed.
“You can take him though. He’s good, but he’s not as good as you are,” Ryder said, unfazed by how quiet I was. He grabbed me by the shoulders with enthusiasm. “Shit, Vin! We’re gonna make so much money from this fight! Bets are already being lined up and it’s pretty even at this point. There’s no way you’re gonna lose this thing.”
I didn’t bother to answer him.
What the hell was I supposed to say? I couldn’t tell him how I was feeling because he’d give me shit for being weak. All I could do was act like everything was fine—that I was fine—and that I was confident about the upcoming fight; that I wanted to win, and that I would win. Because I never lost a fight.
“Yeah, I’ll pound his ass into the ground.”
Ryder grinned and led me through the crowd, and once again I couldn’t help but feel like my life was under someone else’s control. I kept wanting to break free and make my own decisions, but Ryder was in charge of me, and I let him play that role in my life like I was a fucking puppet.
Later that night, we sat around a small fire at the creek behind our house. The boys were all here, drinking and smoking and being loud. As usual, there were lots of girls around, but none of them caught my interest.
I was quiet as I sat with Goat and Three, who kept going on about the newcomer that the Allbrooks were backing. Everyone was talking about his victory against Smith and wondering how he’d stack up against me.
“Did you see how fast he was?” Three’s face was lit in an orange glow from the fire. “Shit! I couldn’t keep up with all the punches he threw. Smith won’t be getting laid for a long time. Poor bastard.”
After the fight tonight, Smith had barely been able to move. He was one of the best fighters we had and he’d gotten his ass pummeled. Sure, it sucked to get your ass kicked, but the embarrassment was a hell of a lot worse than any physical damage he’d endured. He was getting a lot of shit for letting a new guy kick his ass in.
“So a pretty shit day all round,” Goat said as he took a puff of his cigarette. “We didn’t even get any dinner from Estella tonight.”
“I did,” Three said, looking pleased with himself. “She brought stew for Dylan and he let me have some.”
“You lucky bastard,” Goat growled.
Three held up his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t go hatin’ on me. Vin was the one who didn’t want her at the house.”
Goat glanced at me sideways. “What’s up with that, huh? She’s probably the only chick we know who’s not easy and who we actually don’t treat like a piece of meat.”
Three snickered. “She’d be good to eat.”
I shot him a glare but he only grinned back at me. “You totally wanna do her, Vin. Admit it. That’s why you get all protective over her. You don’t do that with other girls, just her.”