Pushing The Limits: Take Me On Part 30

Haley stops dead at the entrance of the cafeteria and her grasp tightens. Hoping she'd continue, I walk forward until my arm completely stretches behind me. When I turn, Haley's lost the cuteness. "Don't do it, West."

"Do what?" We both know that in the cafeteria I'm going after Matt hard and fast.

The second I dropped Haley off at the corner near her uncle's house on Sat.u.r.day, because we can't be seen together since his ultimatum, I've thought about this moment. The anger has built and stewed and I'm d.a.m.n ready for it to boil over. Haley won't give me details, but Matt hit her and I'm done with everyone acting like she's roadkill, her family included.

"Remember what I said about you leading with your emotions," she says.

"Yes."

"Well, this is you doing it."

"Haley, this is premeditation at its best."

"It's not how long you think about it-it's the emotion. Anger is going to get you nowhere. I take that back. Anger is going to get you killed." Haley glances around the cafeteria. Sensing the anger pulsating from me, people watch us like bottleneckers with a car wreck.

"I can stop you," she says simply.

I look deep into her dark eyes and shake my head. "You wouldn't humiliate me like that."

"This is insane," she hisses. "You'll be lucky to get one punch in before the security guards take you down and the two of you get kicked out of school. Zero tolerance policy, remember? Doesn't matter who hits first-you both get suspended."

A wildness inside me creates a grin on my face. "I have a plan."

"Ah, h.e.l.l, really?" Haley tosses her backpack to the ground like she's throwing in the towel. Matt's gym rules: he can't train for a week if he gets suspended for fighting at school. "When will you get it through your thick skull that I'm not worth fighting over?"

"Yes, you are. And you know this won't go to blows. The real fight will be in a few weeks in that cage."

Haley shifts into shock mode with her paled-out face. "No, West. Don't you dare challenge him. You have a better chance against Conner."

"I don't want to fight Conner. I want Matt and I want him suspended from his gym."

"You have a decent shot of standing after three rounds with Conner, but you're going to make it emotional by going after Matt. How are you going to keep your head on the game plan in the cage when Matt rattles you? When he calls me names? When he calls me a s.l.u.t?"

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d will be dead if he goes there. "I'll be fine."

"When are you going to learn? This isn't a tough man contest where guys beat their chest, then sees who hits harder. This is the ultimate chess match. Yeah, you've got to be strong and have skills, but a lot of times the smarter guy wins."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem. Matt's a moron."

"He's trained-a machine-and that's what I need you to be. No emotion. When I yell at you to watch for something or to do a certain combo, I need you to do it. You have to be focused and search for those open moments. Not p.i.s.sed off and looking for vengeance because if you lead with your emotions, you won't find vengeance. You'll find your a.s.s handed to you."

"All noted," I say. "Are we done, because I've got a fight to start."

"When are you going to stop acting on every impulse? It's going to get you killed."

"I'll stop." I clutch her hand and she tries to yank it back, too p.i.s.sed at me to let me touch. I flash her a grin and she rolls her eyes, annoyed I can easily disarm her. I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers. "After I settle this with him."

"You're like loving someone sentenced to death row."

"But you love me." I drop her hand and stalk to the corner. Matt places his tray at a spot at the end of the table and laughs as he says something to his friends. His low-life little brother, Conner, sits at his left-hand side. No more game playing. It's time we call this fight what it is: a war.

Matt's head snaps up as my fingers grip his tray and I push it off the table. The tray, a plastic plate, two bowls and a carton of milk clank and bang to the floor. Food splatters everywhere.

"My bad," I say. "I must have tripped."

"He's mine alone." Matt jumps to his feet as well as the rest of his crew, but before Matt can gain traction, I grab his collar and slam him into the wall. "If you look at Haley again, talk to Haley again or touch Haley again, I'll kill you. You want to hit someone, you're hitting me. Got it?"

A shadow darkens his features and he knows I know. Matt's fist flies for my face and my guard goes up and I block the blow. My jab immediately retaliates. Purple shirts are everywhere as the school's security guards pummel us.

Matt lunges for me. "You're f.u.c.king dead, Young!"

"Bring it!"

He points as the security guards pull him back. "It's you and me in the cage. You and me!"

I relax so the security guards ease up on their manhandling. Mission accomplished.

Haley The cutting of vegetables turns into a rote movement. The sizzle of the meat on the stove is the saving buzz that drowns out the noise from the living room and keeps me from blowing my brains out. Out of the corner of my eye, Jax drums his fingers in a heavy metal beat against his arm and gives the floor a death glare. "I can help you cut vegetables."

Chop, chop, chop. The onions on the butcher block shape into smaller pieces. "It's better if we keep you away from sharp objects."

"True. Nice what your boy did at lunch today. I found an ounce of respect for him."

I sigh loudly. West got suspended for the rest of the day over his stupid stunt with Matt. "He'll be fighting Matt now."

Jax grunts. "Like he wasn't going to be fighting him before."

"Do you think West will be ready?" Because I sparred, Jax and Kaden have upheld their end of the agreement and have been helping me train West. Jax has been working with him on boxing and Kaden on grappling.

Jax has that thoughtful-owl look again. "I don't know. Maybe. He's got raw talent, but he's just that-raw. Plus he's got a h.e.l.l of a temper. You've gotta tell him to control it."

"I have."

"Then tell him again."

My uncle's voice rises. "...biggest screwup on the planet..." Jax's mom hums a church hymn louder from her forever sanctuary in her bedroom. She's mending something...again.

I pour more oil into the skillet, so the hissing sound of the fryer will mask listening to my uncle berate my younger cousin for walking into the house with dirt on his sneakers.

"It could catch fire if you do that," Jax says. Our eyes meet and an insane spark of hope stirs within me and the sad part is the same delirium burns in Jax's eyes.

"The Red Cross gives shelter to people whose homes burn down." I return to the vegetables. "In small disasters they often give hotel rooms. Sometimes multiple rooms depending upon the size of the family."

"Interesting. I'll keep that in mind."

The more time I spend in this house, the crazier I become. The aura of my uncle is embedded in the paint in the walls, a fine layer on the floors, hanging from the ceiling. It lurks and consumes and digests. Sometimes I find myself wishing he'd choke while he eats, fall asleep at the wheel or just drop dead.

I toss the onions into the hot oil. "I think I'm becoming evil."

"It's the house. If we survive until we graduate from high school, everything will be fine."

Mom walks into the kitchen with Maggie on her hip. Music blares from the earbuds stuck in my sister's ears. Even though my sister is eight, she clings to my mother like a toddler. Maggie isn't immature; she's afraid of evil. She should be scared, instead of being numb like me.

My mother settles Maggie into a chair. "Have you seen your father?" In her jeans and black Roadhouse shirt, she's seconds away from stepping out the door to start her second job.

After my acceptance to the University of Kentucky, he's been akin to a ghost. One more thing I've screwed up. "He's probably still at the library. Dad's really trying for a job."

Mom sucks in a breath like she's going to talk, then stops before slipping paper and crayons in front of my sister. "Please take care of Maggie while I'm gone."

Jax s.n.a.t.c.hes a piece of raw potato. "With my life."

"Making sure she doesn't hear yelling, eats her dinner and goes to bed will suffice. I'm hoping none of you will be reduced to life sacrificing."

Jax chuckles. "Just saying."

"You're a good boy." She pats Jax on his arm. "And you're one of Dad's favorites."

Jax pops the potato wedge into his mouth and the grin on his face speaks volumes. Mom kisses his cheek, my cheek, then Maggie's and is out the door. Somehow the room loses warmth.

"You know I've seen your dad a couple of times up at the strip mall."

The knife in my hand pauses. "He's probably wasting time before the bus shows."

"He could be going to the bar."

I viciously slice through another potato. "Have you seen him there?"

He's silent as the blade of the knife thumps into the wooden board with each stroke.

"We don't have the money for it," I say. "And Dad doesn't drink. At least not like that."

"Beer at the bar is cheap."

I slam the knife down and round on Jax. "My father wouldn't give up."

"Not the enemy." He picks up my sister, who sits staring at us wide-eyed. "Come on, Mags. Let's hide in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

West The princ.i.p.al suspended me for the rest of the day because I slammed Matt into a wall. I chuckle. That would have gotten my a.s.s expelled at Worthington.

At the breakfast bar in my mother's kitchen, I pile high another layer of ham and smash the bread on top. Haley's been on me about weight. She's threatening me with hours wrapped in plastic in a sauna if I don't stop eating high-calorie garbage. I've got five more pounds to drop and ham shouldn't kill me. The sandwich melts in my mouth. After the tournament, I'm eating everything in sight.

I've got thirty minutes before I have to head to the gym to train for the evening with Jax and Kaden. Haley's taking the night off to watch her younger sister.

The rumble of wheels causes me to halt midchew. Rachel came home yesterday and I've managed to avoid her. I glance at the back door, the sandwich still in my hand, but Rachel's fast in her wheelchair and I wouldn't make it out without her noticing. She rolls into the kitchen and our eyes meet. My throat constricts and I have to force down the food in my mouth.

She doesn't say anything as she coasts past me to the fridge. I shift my weight as she attempts to maneuver so she can open the door. Her movements become crisp and her eyes narrow on her wheels. I step toward her and she snaps, "I can do it."

I step back and toss my hands in the air. Everything inside me twists as she moves the chair forward, backward and forward again until she can finally open the d.a.m.n door. Her eyes fall to the right and my heart sinks when she lowers her head.

The housekeeper forgot to store drinks on the lower shelves. Just f.u.c.k.

She slams the refrigerator door and rolls over to the windows. Rachel blinks rapidly as she looks out at the garage. That building was her home. Whenever she became frustrated or mad or lonely, she went out there and tinkered with her car. Besides the fact she can't drive anymore and that her beloved Mustang became toast in the wreck, Rachel can only touch a closed hood.

Rachel lost her home.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"It's bad enough I've lost the ability to walk or stand, but did I have to lose you, too?"

The floor creaks and Rachel and I both turn our heads to see Dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He clears his throat and motions for me to follow him out. "West."

A million words form in my mind. Rachel didn't lose me. I love her. I would cut off my own legs and give them to her if it meant she could walk again. Because I'm an idiot, I say none of them. Instead, I open the fridge, grab a diet soda and leave it on the table.

Dad's already at his mahogany desk when I enter his office and slink into the chair across from him. The table behind him is full of pictures of our family. Most of them are of Mom and their lost daughter, Colleen. It's the loose picture of me and Dad stuck to the corner of an eight-by-ten matted framed picture that's my favorite. I was eight in the photo and thought my dad kicked a.s.s.

Dad's in a white b.u.t.ton-down shirt with no tie. His suit coat is hung on the back of his chair-an indication he just arrived home. He finishes typing on his laptop, then focuses on me. "Your guidance counselor called and told me about the fight."

Prepared for this, I'd packed the moment I walked in the door. I've got three full bags ready to go and a wad of cash thanks to my job at the bar.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

"What?"

"Tell me why you got into the fight."

Dad hasn't asked why I've done anything since my second suspension in eighth grade. "The guy hurt Haley."

"Haley's your girlfriend." It's a question said as a statement.

"Yes."

He reaches into a file folder and produces the report card I hammered to his office door. "You could have handed this to me."

"Could of." But nailing a straight B report card to his door was the equivalent of flipping him off. The suspension screams I'm a failure, while the report card is my "f.u.c.k you" to him.

Dad flattens his lips and stares at his desk. I know that look. He's seconds away from losing his patience and tossing out the "You're a disappointment" lecture. I scoot to the end of my chair, ready to leave.

"Is it possible for us to talk?" he asks.

"You know I got suspended, right? Still feel like sharing a feel-good moment?"

"I don't remember the last time we've had a conversation."

My eyes flicker back to the picture of us, and Dad follows my line of sight.

"It hasn't been that long," he says.

Yeah, it has, but I relax back in my seat. I'll admit-I'm disarmed yet cautious. He's never waved a white flag, but I wouldn't put it past him to knife me in the back. "Let's talk."