Part 23 (1/2)
”Come on,” he says, reaching out a hand. I get up, but don't take it.
”I don't really feel like going anymore, Chance. Dad is probably going to want to talk to me.”
”f.u.c.k your father. Let's go, I'm starving.”
”f.u.c.k my father?”
”Yes, f.u.c.k him. He should be concentrating on scrounging together enough money, not having it out at you.”
”He's not going to have it out at me.”
”Yes, Ca.s.s, he is. He's ashamed, his ego has been bruised, and he needs an outlet. I wouldn't risk it. Come with me today.”
I want to bite back. He doesn't understand... I need an outlet.
”Come on, you can b.i.t.c.h at me as we walk.”
Crossly, I fold my arms. ”I resent that.”
He gives me a small shrug, and there's just a glimmer of a smirk on his face.
”But I reserve the right to do so.”
”Fine by me,” he says.
I don't know why a I shouldn't be taking such big risks, especially in the lobby of our hotel a but I take his hand. I don't care anymore if Dad sees us. I don't care if he finds out that we're together now.
We're together. Even I haven't thought about it in those words.
It feels good to hold his hand. I feel somehow safer when I do, like I'm not the only one dealing with all of this s.h.i.+t.
Chance is right there in it with me, too. He's even the one who is going to be fighting.
We're in this together.
”You really don't have to do this.”
”You heard me last night. It's all set in stone. I've already arranged the fight.”
I swallow. ”You knew I was listening through the door?”
Chance just nods.
”What if you lose?”
He looks down almost angrily at me. ”I'm not going to f.u.c.king lose.”
”Fine,” I say. It feels like we're on the brink of an argument and I have no idea why. ”I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”
”Don't apologize, Ca.s.sie. It's just I've never fought a guy as good as Kaminski before.”
”So?”
”I can't be lacking anything in the cage. I need to know I'm going to win. Do you understand?”
”Yeah, I get it, Chance. Confidence.”
He changes the subject: ”I need either tuna, chicken, and some brown bread with a boiled egg.”
”Well, great, that leaves us lots of places.”
”It's to prepare for the fight. I can't be eating junk food, or rich food.”
”You could probably get turkey easily?”
”That'll do,” he says.
We sit down at a small cafe and eat breakfast mostly in silence. Chance looks off somewhere else, and it disconcerts me. I almost wish he had his c.o.c.ky, swaggery-self back, always making inappropriate jokes and being a general d.i.c.khead.
Now... now he is preoccupied.
I guess that I am, too.
I look up from my scrambled eggs on toast, see a kind of burning urgency in his eyes.
”Are you nervous?”
”No.”
”Afraid?”
”No.”
”You just want to be prepared.”
”f.u.c.king right.”
”Okay,” I say. I lick my lips. ”Then how can I help you?”
”Help me?”
”d.a.m.n right,” I tell him, imbuing my voice with as much conviction as possible. ”You're not alone, even in the cage.”
”I'll need you to be there,” he tells me. ”I'll need to know what I'm fighting for. What I might lose.”