And he lied. But why?
Lance
Brisk air slaps me in the face as I get acquainted with Manhattan. Twice I’ve dodged a cab, my focus on the view. It only took me a mile to realize how brave Harper is, how brave anyone is to try and conquer a city such as this. As for my own opinion, so far, it’s the same—chaos. A clusterfuck of skyscrapers, streets filled with loud traffic, and people scattering in all directions on life’s everyday missions. It’s everything and nothing like the movies. A bit less glamorous, but I’m going to let my time with Harper here sway my final decision. I’m three miles in when I take a detour to Ground Zero. Even though I was six when it happened, I’ll never forget the panic on my parents’ faces as they watched those buildings go down. It was the first time I’ve ever felt real fear. I stand in place, staring at the memorial in awe of what those people have endured and decide it’s a plus for the city. New York is an overpopulated army of survivors who stood their ground and reclaimed their city as not one of fear, but as a place of resilience. It’s heroic just to live here. New York is full of fighters, so maybe there’s a place for me here too.
But how can I fit in her life here?
Is this a fool’s errand?
My life is at the ranch, and when it’s not, it’s on the road. I dedicated myself to the purpose years ago. But if my inkling is right, maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated. Going heavyweight means I can split my time between fights. I’ll get much better pay, more leisure time to prepare between bouts. I’ll hire help at the ranch. I’ll do whatever it takes if we manage in a few days to reclaim what we lost.
Dreams change, they evolve, because of the people in your life.
Mine are evidence of just how drastically it can happen. But any new dream I’ve conjured up has always involved Harper, dead center. I can’t imagine her out of any scenario that won’t complete me. And I can’t will myself to forget her. I don’t want to. My motivation for being here is selfish. She may be able to live without me, but I’m convinced her asking the same of me is too much to ask of my heart, which has been slowly suffocating without her. I don’t love her any less than I did two years ago, that was clear to me the minute I saw her on the other side of that door. If she’s changed, maybe I can change to suit her. I have to believe that life is a series of truths and that some are absolute while others get too muddled amongst youth, aspiration, and ambition.
Harper is a truth for me. What I feel for her is the truest of truths.
It’s love, the kind that changes people, pure and simple, because she changed me by just believing me, in me, to the point she possessed a part of me. Maybe I can’t move on because I’m not supposed to. Or maybe I’m too late. Either way, I have to know.
There’s been plenty of available women down the line, but I’ve rarely indulged and after, fucking hated myself for it. At one point, I damn near self-sabotaged and then blamed Harper for the guilt, for discarding me like I was disposable which made me a hypocrite. I used those women for solace, to try to ease the ache. Another old habit reemerged, and right now, I’m fighting against them all.
This is either a sick fascination with the past, or I’m finally running in the right direction. Time will tell. In the next few days, I’ll know.
If given the chance, I’ll love her better than I did, wholly and unconditionally, the way she loved me. I thought I had loved her right, but I must have missed something because she didn’t hesitate long enough, and she didn’t walk, she ran away.
I never wanted to be one thing, anyway. I don’t want to be a fast definition.
Ballplayer, rancher, fighter…I can switch hats to whatever she needs because I want her back in my life.
With every light tap of my sneaker to concrete, I try to convince myself this isn’t a manic attempt to escape my reality back home.
I need this.
I need this.
My phone rattles in my hoodie as I stop a few feet from my hotel. I assume it’s Tony wanting to get some training time in. He’s already managed to arrange a few hours at a gym later tonight.
Harper: Just woke up. Ready to see the city?
Lance: I’ve already run the whole thing, but I’m happy to browse more.
Harper: Show off.
Lance: Early bird gets the worm.
Harper: I couldn’t give a shit. The worm is all yours.
Lance: I see we’re still a pleasant morning person.
Harper: I just punched René in the throat for using the rest of my peppermint creamer. You might want to give me an hour and another cup. Don’t take any chances, save yourself the sore throat.
Lance: An hour. Got it.
Harper: Did you see the statue?
Lance: You mean that small ass action figure off the harbor? Seriously, a lot smaller than they make it out to be.
Harper: That’s what she said.
Lance: Aww, look, sweetheart, you made a joke even in your wretched state. I’m guessing you’re happy someone is in town.
Harper: Yeah, I heard Lucas Walker is staying at the Four Seasons for his press junket.
Lance: You’re an asshole.
Harper: Happy face and hands emoji
Lance: Eye roll emoji. See you in an hour.
Harper
I’m nervous in a stage fright way. Less than twenty-four hours in and I’ve already lied to Lance. I threw up in the shower due to nerves. I’m not in a bad mood, I’m terrified. What if René’s right? What if he’s here because he wants me back, or worse, what if he doesn’t?
I’ve barely slept. I can’t stop thinking about how amazing it felt to be on the receiving end of his attention, in his arms. I haven’t forgotten how thoroughly I got wrapped up in him when we were together, of how certain I was, of how much I trusted him, in us. And now? Now I’m a girl whose once sure steps are unsteady.
“Chill out,” I scold myself, brushing my teeth for the fifth time in an hour. I can’t sit still. I can’t stop fidgeting. Why is he in New York?
“Mami, door.”
“I’m coming.” I gloss my lips and do a final once-over in the mirror. Hair down, beanie, sweater, jeans, and short boots. It’s my go-to girls’ night outfit, and René approved. When I get to the living room, René is in a silent stare-off with Lance, who’s politely making small talk.
“…ju ever lost?”
“Oh, yeah, plenty when I first started. But none in the last six months.”
“How many fights is that?”
Lance grins. “A lot.” He catches sight of me. “Hey, Priss. You look beautiful.” I avoid direct eye contact as more nausea threatens.
Woman the hell up, Harper.
My stomach rolls and I smile so wide, René gives me an odd look. In an attempt to tone it down, I busy my hands wrapping my scarf around my neck before gathering my bag from the hall tree. “Thank you. Good Morning.”
“It’s noon,” Lance says, trailing after me to the door.
“Like I said, Good Morning.”
“Don’t dancers have to get up early?” He chuckles behind me.
“Life’s a bitch to me that way.”
“Should I wait up for ju?” René calls from behind us.