“Yeah.”
“I wanted to be here in New York, Troy. I did. It was an easy out, a way to follow my dream with one exception.”
“Lance.”
I nod. “See,” I sniff, “problem is, I can’t stop loving him.”
“You aren’t going to outgrow him, Harper.”
“I’m realizing that.”
“You have to tell him.”
“He thinks I’m above what people think about me, and for so long, I was, but that scared the shit out of me.”
“It scared me too, even now, I’m terrified for my children and the world they’re growing up in.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Can I give you a little of my own truth?”
“Sure.”
“None of us really are tough enough, no matter how resilient we think we are. Someone in the newsroom had it out for me the other day, called me a fucking monkey, and I almost cried.”
I throw my head back and laugh.
He narrows his eyes. “You asshole.”
“Sorry, but I needed that laugh.”
I sip my martini and finally put a voice to the rest of my fears.
“Even if I decide to hell with it and step into the spotlight with him, this is Lance. He’s not going to get it at first because the man truly loves me, loves this face, this nose, and everything attached. But when he realizes what’s happening, he’s going to want to fight and not just in the ring. Because they will come after me again and again for a profile God gave me, and some will go far enough to say it in front of him. I don’t want him to feel these things. I don’t want him to be embarrassed.” I’m sobbing again. “If I would have fallen for a nobody, it wouldn’t matter. But people are so damn cruel. You know that.”
He pulls me to him and holds me there as I shake with the fear of the last two years. It’s exhausting, and all I want to do is let it go.
“I don’t think I’ve ever in my life met a man who so clearly loves and respects a woman equally as much as he does you. He’s worthy of you.”
“God, don’t I know.”
“He doesn’t.”
“I know. I just…”
“I understand you completely. It’s a horrible situation, I hate the scrutiny, myself. Not just about the way I play, but my wife, my family. It’s no picnic, but we’ve learned to ignore it. It will be the same for you.”
He pulls up his phone and begins tapping on it, which sends me on high alert.
“Troy, please don’t tell him.”
He eyes me as he continues with his phone. “I’m not going to lie to him anymore, Harper. If you’re not going to put him out of his misery, I will.”
“I will, I just need to figure out how. I don’t even know if he’ll talk to me.”
“I wasn’t texting him anyway.”
“So, who are you texting, then?”
He turns to me, holding his cell phone in plain view. I study it closely and crack up laughing. “Is that you?”
“Yes. Google Drive. My mom was kind enough to scan and organize the family photos and saved this gem.”
“Okay, so you had one bad picture day.”
“And this is seventh grade.”
“Geesh. Is, oh hell, Troy, are those your teeth?”
“Yep. Single mom. She couldn’t afford braces. I was stuck with those fucking teeth until my freshman year of high school.”
“Yikes.”
“So. I may know a thing or two about feeling ugly.”
“Yeah, well, you got them fixed. I’m not about to Jennifer Grey myself and get a nose job. Screw all that. But I did consider it briefly.”
“Then don’t. He would hate it if you changed a single thing about your face. You know that. But all of us at one point of our lives are on an insecurity streak, and there’s always going to be some asshole quick to point out your flaws, even with a backhanded compliment. Then there are the people who see nothing but how they feel about you.” He glances at the photo and grins. “Mom loved this fugly ass kid. When she sees this picture, she sees the son she loves. And you saw—”
“Your teeth,” I admit, feeling guilty, “your flaws.”
“We’re all guilty, Harper. Most are programmed somehow to be assholes and notice the flaws first. Even a saint would gasp at these fucking teeth. You just have to ignore the assholes who speak up and say, ‘What the fuck is wrong with that boy’s teeth?’”
We both burst into laughter. He tips his beer and shakes his head. “See, we’re laughing, but if that boy wasn’t me?”
“I know.”
“He never saw your flaws, Harper.”
“I know. I screwed up so bad.
“No, see, I think you’re brave.”
“How? I let my insecurities get the best of me, and I ran away like a coward.”
“Maybe you did, then, I think you’re brave now because you know you’re not going to Canada.”
Lance
I take a punch, appreciating the burn in my jaw while trying to lighten up. Jab, jab, hook. Chris’s head snaps back with each blow.
I let my frustration overpower me, and then I’m flying, my fists the propeller, my legs, the anchor.
“Watch it,” Tony growls as I dig into my sparring partner, my hooks landing too heavy for a friendly bout.
“Easy, bro,” Trevor chimes in from the side of the ring.
I’m too in the moment to ease up, ready to unleash.
Body, body, body, uppercut.
“Ease up,” Tony barks.
I charge forward cornering Chris, before unleashing another combination.
“Done. Time,” Tony calls. “Enough!”
I pull away, extending my arms out at Tony in frustration.
“Jesus, man.” Chris spits out a mouthful of blood after pulling out his mouthguard. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I blow out a breath, trying to steady my pulse. I’m still in the mood to brawl and have no outlet.
“Get him out of there,” Tony barks at Rip, one of my dad’s longtime retired ranch hands who now works in my corner. “He’s not fucking listening today.”
“I’m all ears,” I grunt, spitting out my mouthguard. “I need a match.”
“You need to work on your fucking feet. I’m done today, and so are you. What the hell were you thinking laying into him like that?”
“I’m thinking you need to get me someone in here that can fucking handle it!”
Chris tosses me a look. “Offense taken, asshole. Tony, I’m out.” Chris gathers his gear and stalks out of the barn as Tony turns back to me with accusing eyes.
“It’s called sparring for a reason.” He pulls himself up eye level with me on the side of the ring.
I tap my gloves together, still alternating on my feet. “He’s a welterweight! Get me a match!”
Tony crosses his arms perched on the side of the ring. “You know anyone else willing to come out to this cow pasture specifically for you?”
“It’s your job to figure that out!” I throw up my gloves.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Tony says, sizing me up. “A hard hit isn’t all you need. You still need speed. You think you’re outclassing that guy? You don’t have shit on the guy you’re about to try to pound into submission. They might not land as hard as you, but it won’t matter if you can’t match their speed. And they will hit hard and land more.”