Fighting For Air Read online

  “A bit.” I force a smile. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had, but she’s all energy and no calm. There’s no one in the world I love more than her, but it’s been hard dealing with her fire now that mine’s burnt out.

  “How was your first day at the gym?”

  “It was great.” She just stares at me with an eyebrow raised. I roll my eyes. “Okay, it was terrible.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m stuck with this trainer who’s a total crab. And I’m super sore which pisses me off. He barely worked me.” The force of my rant takes the wind out of me. “Shrug.”

  “Sigh.” She pushes the food around on her plate. “That sucks.”

  “How was your day?” I shift in my seat to give her my full attention.

  “Oh, it was fine.” She waves her hand in the air, and I almost snort at how obvious she is.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, if you must know.” She puts her fork down and turns to look at me. Her smile is stretched full across her face and her cheeks are flushed. “I think I met the love of my life today.”

  Oh, here we go. “Is that so? Where?”

  “At the gas station.”

  “Ah, a very romantic place.”

  “Hey, now! You met El-” she stops, her eyes already searching mine for forgiveness.

  “You’re fine. Tell me all about him.” Twirling spaghetti around my fork, I prepare for what I’m sure is going to be too much detail about a man that will mean nothing in less than a month. Myla resists being tied down. She claims it’s in her blood.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I want to hear about the sexy gas man.” She giggles and puts her hands in the air like she’s about to paint the story instead of tell it.

  “Okay. So, I was pumping gas and he pulled up behind me, and he said-” my calf starts to cramp and I stop listening to her. I reach down and rub the muscle, instantly angry again. Caden is a total asshole, and I’m upset that not only did he get to me emotionally, but he got to me physically too.

  The speed talking finally stops, settling us in a blissful silence. She’s staring longingly at her plate now, like she can see him in the chunks of tomato.

  I’m jealous of her. As much as I know this relationship, if you could call it that, won’t last, at least she’s feeling something. At least she isn’t numb. The thought makes me want to punch something. Preferably Caden, but I’m not picky.

  Chapter Four

  Aubrey

  Long fingers caress my neck, slowly beginning to tighten. Tears streak my cheeks as my airway closes off. I open my mouth, a fish still in water whose habitat is betraying her. Choked sobs escape me while I frantically claw his face.

  “Don’t fight me, Bree. Fucking relax.”

  I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want to be here. I kick at empty air and hear him chuckle. My vision blurs as the unforgiving darkness creeps in.

  “Aubrey! Aubrey, wake up!” Myla is standing beside the bed, close enough to get my attention but far enough away in case I swing at her. I don’t, this time snapping out of the nightmare fast enough to figure out where I am.

  I sit up and touch my throat, hating that the skin still feels bruised. With a sad smile, Myla sits beside me.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her, taking my hand away from my throat to wave her off. She doesn’t look convinced so I repeat myself, “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just a stupid dream.”

  “That’s the third this week.” She pauses. Thinks. “They’re getting worse, Bree.”

  “I know.” The usual defense mechanisms begin, my body folding into itself without instruction. With three, long breaths I try to nip the anxiety attack in the bud, but the familiar fire starts to crawl along my chest anyway. There’s no escaping it. Sooner or later he’ll be out of prison and back in this town. Back in my life. I can just feel it. I can feel my control, my strength, slipping all over again.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t go away for school? I know we already have a year in here, but I’m sure a lot of credits would transfer. Is this really where you want to be?”

  “He doesn’t get to take my hometown from me.” Even as I say the words, I know they aren’t true. He already took it away, a long time ago. The optimist in me just can’t let it go, believing that maybe, one day, I’ll feel safe here again.

  “I swear, Myla. I’m going to be fine. He’s not going to get out anytime soon. Plus, there’s no way I’m walking away from Elite now. That gym is amazing. I could actually become a real fighter there.”

  She smiles at me and I’m not sure if it’s because the words comforted her, or because she pities me for saying them. I’m too tired to interpret.

  “I can stay in here tonight,” she offers.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary.” Despite my saying this, I push the blankets back for her. She crawls under them and squirms until our arms are pressed against each other. I stare up at the spot where I know the ceiling must be. I’m exhausted, but afraid. I don’t want to see him again. I don’t want to hear his voice anymore tonight.

  “Bree?”

  “Yeah?” I look over in her direction and see that she’s staring up at the ceiling too. Whatever she wanted to say never comes, silence hanging in the air long enough for my body to finally relax.

  Just as the grogginess is seeping in, she speaks again, “Bree?”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe you should tell someone.” The shaking hope of her voice breaks me. Every few months, she does this. She brings us full circle, reminding me of all the reasons why I shouldn’t remain quiet. The system never works like it should, and he’ll be out sooner than later. Maybe it would add time to his sentence. Maybe it will keep me safe. Maybe it will stop him from doing it to the next girl who recklessly falls in love with him. Maybe it will give me peace of mind.

  What she doesn’t know is that all those reasons aren’t reasons. She never got to know him well, but I did, and letting that secret slip would never keep me safe, and peace of mind? I don’t think that will ever be in the cards for me. Even behind bars, he haunts me.

  “I did, Myla.” I let myself sink further down into the blankets, praying she will let it go. “I told you.”

  I feel her breathing hitch beneath the weight of that, before returning to normal.

  “Goodnight, Bree.”

  “Night, My.”

  Chapter Five

  Aubrey

  To my surprise, the gym lights are already on as I pull into the parking lot. I double check the clock in case I was wrong when I snuck out of bed after nightmare number two, but I was right. It’s just now turning four. No one should be here right now, including me.

  I grab my bag from the passenger seat and head off to investigate. By peeking through the small window on the front door, I see that my luck is still terrible. Caden is inside, punching a Bobby at station five. Each movement is crisp, accurately hitting key spots with minimal effort. Embarrassing as it is, I’m entranced.

  Many people have talked about the famous Caden Larson, it’s not often a kid from a small town like this makes it big. Usually, the Elite Gym is full of guys from around the country, biding their time in this shit-hole town until the big leagues call them up.

  Rumors aside, I’ve done plenty of Googling on my own, and I know he’s good. Or, more accurately, was good. Yet, seeing him in action changes things. He’s not just talented, he’s proficient. Brilliant. Picasso with a mannequin.

  I continue watching from the comfort of being hidden, trying to absorb every little movement and technique. During this further inspection, I realize he’s shirtless. That’s how I know I’m losing my touch. He’s gorgeous, and I’m just now noticing his lack of clothing? Myla would be devastatingly disappointed.

  After his combination is finished I decide to stop being creepy and go inside. Caden jumps at the sound of the door, looking at me, then the clock. “Why are you here?” His tone is defensive and I already forget how great I thought he was just a moment ago.

  “I could ask you the same thing, hey?” I stand in front of him with my hands on my hips. The view is much better from here, just inches away, and his attention is on wiping down his Bobby. Allowing myself a few seconds of curiosity, I let my eyes wander over his dips and curves.

  If you asked someone to draw the perfect example of what a fighter should look like, they would draw Caden. He hovers over the Bobby, every muscle rippling with the movements involved in cleaning.

  As if he isn’t cut enough, he has tattoos that make his muscles even more prominent. One of these is a tribal print, the stark black working its way across his pec, over his shoulder, and down just above his elbow. When I follow the tattoo back up, I see that he’s staring back at me now, bright blue eyes full of mocking humor. I snap out of the fan-girl trance, reminding myself that I hate him, and ask, “So, why are you here?”

  “Once I’m done training you in the mornings, I have to go to work. This is my only chance to work out myself.” I try to act disinterested in his explanation as I push past him and make my way to the weight bench. The stupid, unnecessarily long packet he gave me says we’re starting with this today.

  “Where do you work?”

  “I’m a cop.” I duck my chin into my chest, hoping to hide the look of horror I know just flashed across my face. It makes perfect sense that Caden, the guy I hate, works as something I have such a bad history with.

  I force myself to recover, saying, “I thought you worked here.” He grabs a crumpled piece of cloth and starts wiping the sweat off his chest. In my own best interest, I force myself to look away.

  “I did. I was paid to fight. Now I just help Jason out, kind of as a favor.”

  “Favor for what?” I bring my eyes to his b
ut regret it instantly. Those bright blue eyes that were laughing at me earlier are now dark and cold. He doesn’t appreciate the questions.

  “Breaking my contract.”

  “Right, that.” I itch to ask him more, but think better of it. He has just as much ammunition as me, and I’m not in the mood to fight like we did yesterday. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to have the same plan as me.

  “Your turn to answer. Why are you here an hour early?”

  “Oh, right.” I climb onto the weight bench, half hoping that the movement will prompt him to go away and let me workout on my own. It doesn’t. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  It’s not a lie, but it’s not all together the truth either. He studies me for a moment. “You should have been exhausted. Did I not work you hard enough, yesterday?”

  “No, I was tired.” I ball the cuffs of my sweatshirt into my hands and squeeze. “I’m just not a great sleeper. Not a big deal.”

  “Is a big deal, as a fighter. Rest is huge.” The tone of his voice reminds me of my mother, back when she used to lecture me on the importance of perfection. That was before she gave up on me, of course. “There’s a supplement you can take, all natural, to help you sleep. I’ll grab a sample from the office later. I want you to try it, okay?”

  “Okay.” I let go of my sweatshirt sleeves, thankful that the solution, at least for him, was so simple. Who knows, since I’m trying to be optimistic and all, maybe it will help me sleep.

  I get myself comfortable beneath the bar and lift my hands to it. A shadow falls over me as Caden moves into position to spot me. “Oh, I don’t need a spotter.”

  “What, you’re too cool to follow the rules?” He rolls his eyes at me but moves away. Proud of myself for the tiny win, I begin to lift the bar. “Slow down there, little lady. I’m just adding more weight. You can do better than this.”

  There he goes with the whole being an asshole thing again. Little lady? Really? If he hadn’t made that comment, maybe I would argue that I really can’t do more weight than what I put on. Perhaps that was his plan, to piss me off so I push harder and prove myself. Whatever his intentions, I’m sure as hell going to lift whatever he puts on that bar now.

  “Try that. See how ya do.” He smirks down at me, hands hovering a few inches above the bar as a reminder that he believes I’ll fail. Gritting my teeth, I lift the bar off the hooks and begin my reps. If he’s impressed with the ease at which I do it, it doesn’t show. He remains stone faced during the ten reps, and frowns when I settle the bar back on the hooks.

  I snap at his stupid frown, asking “What? Disappointed that I did it?”

  “Nope.” He turns his frown into a smirk. “Disappointed you stopped at ten. I would have preferred fifteen.”

  With a huff, I grab the bar and take it off the hook. I push the bar fifteen times, refusing to show any signs that my chest feels like it’s about to rip apart. When I put the bar back, I glare up at his smug face and spit out, “If you have expectations, then tell me beforehand. I don’t appreciate when men set me up to fail just so they can call me little fucking lady.”

  His mouth opens, the smirk frozen between shock and satisfaction. Then he gives me a genuine smile. “I think I’m going to like you, Aubrey.”

  Chapter Six

  Caden

  A plate covered in tin-foil is waiting for me on the counter when I get home from my shift. Upon further inspection, I see that it’s three-cheese lasagna. I throw away the foil and slide the plate into the microwave, swallowing the guilt I feel from eating yet another cold dinner.

  While the slice of Italian heaven gets nuked, I fill a glass of milk and place it on the table next to my phone. For the last thirty seconds, I lean against the wall and close my eyes, trying to get a little rest.

  The microwave beeps way too soon. When I reopen my eyes I’m even more exhausted than before. Maybe I should take my own advice and take some supplements so I can sleep.

  Just as I take the plate out of the microwave and sit down to eat, Cassie dances her way into the kitchen. It never ceases to amaze me how much grace she has. How much energy and excitement. It breaks my heart that she had to quit dance last week. Dancing was her dream. She was going to be a ballerina. No four-year-old should be told no when it comes to their dreams. I grip the table to get my anger under control, then give her the warmest smile I can find.

  “Hey Cass, how was your day?” She smiles as she skips over to the fridge.

  “Great! I got to go to the park.”

  “Oh, Caitlin took you to the park today?” Cassie stays silent as she opens the fridge. As if she was summoned, Caitlin sulks her way in and stands behind her younger sister, scowling as she stares over Cassie’s shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to drink,” Caitlin states matter-of-factly. I sigh, knowing where this is going to end up. Every day comes a new argument.

  “There’s tap water, and there’s a jug of milk right in front of your face.” Cassie ducks under Caitlin’s arm and whispers that she’s not thirsty. She’s talented at sensing when a fight is brewing. I wait until she’s out of earshot before turning on Caitlin.

  “Did you take her to the park today?” Her shoulders lift and fall as she sighs and shrugs at the same time.

  “She’s four years old.” Since that’s not really an answer, I wait to hear more. She continues to stare into the fridge, despite the beeping noise it’s now making from being open too long. “No, I did not take her to the fricken park.”

  The curse word is mild compared to some that have slipped recently, so I let it slide. With a calming breath, I keep my voice nice and low and say, “The park is too far away. I told you she can’t go alone.”

  Despite the calm I’m trying to maintain, she explodes. “I’m sick of watching her all the time! I’m not her fucking parent.”

  “Language, Caitlin!” I breathe before continuing. “Come on, you know money is tight since I didn’t sign that contract. I can’t afford daycare.”

  “If mom was here-” I stand up and she falls silent. Tears slide down her cheeks but I can’t tell if they’re from anger or sadness, since both make her cry. Slowly, as if it’s taking a whole lot of effort, she closes the fridge door and speaks, “The milk is sour. And you’re welcome, ya know, for the lasagna.”

  I deflate. Why does it feel like no matter what, I always lose? “Caitlin. I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.” She walks out of the room, her footsteps growing heavy as she makes her way down the hall. With a tight chest and one stray tear of my own, I look around the house. My parents’ house. The usual grief begins clawing up my throat, but I swallow it down. There’s a time and a place for it to come thrashing it’s head. Here, with the girls home, is not it.

  I take a swig of my milk, but end up coughing it back up. Right, spoiled milk. Already forgot.

  With shaking hands, I pour the milk down the sink and grab the carton from the fridge to do the same. Once all traces of the chunky dairy product are gone, I sit back down to eat my lasagna. It takes effort to cut a piece off, because all I can picture is Caitlin, sixteen-years-old, with the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders, pouring herself over mom’s recipes to make this for us. I force myself to eat, not wanting to waste her hard work, but my own hatred for myself masks the taste of it.

  Once my plate is clear, I look up at the ceiling and whisper, to no one in particular, “I’m trying.”

  Chapter Seven

  Caden

  The next few days are long and mundane as I settle into my new routine. I show up at the gym, train Aubrey, and try not to curse or throw anything. Then I shrug on my uniform, show up to work, and try not to hate all the lowlifes I’m forced to deal with. After all that lovely shit, I come home and the girls ignore me. Well, Caitlin ignores me. Cassie just avoids me. After that, I try to get some sleep, try being the most important word.

  Repeat.

  On Thursday, something slightly more exciting happens. The chief ducks his head into the breakroom after lunch and asks me to come into his office.

  “Yes, Sir.” I stand up and straighten my uniform, preparing for what I’m sure is going to be a scolding about how terrible I am at filling out reports. He walks fast, leaving me to feel like an idiot as I try to keep up.