When I find Scarlett, she’s on her bed in the room we shared for so many years. It was three weeks before our eleventh birthday when I walked in and interrupted her dealing with women’s stuff. I dragged my mattress onto the back porch that same afternoon and I’ve slept on the fold-up bed out there ever since.
Back then the room reeked of old socks and the football boots I’d dump by the door. Now it’s all Scarlett. The musky scent she swipes from Ma’s drawer and the body spray that’s all she can afford.
An old pink sheet she sewed into a curtain in a fit of making-my-room-beautiful a year ago hangs from two nails, and the late afternoon sun casts a sickly glow over the room. It makes the red in her hair shine where it’s spread across her pillow. Her face is buried and she doesn’t respond to my soft knock on the open door. Or when I clear my throat.
She’s not asleep. Her body is too still. Full of hard lines and tension, from her square shoulders to her crossed ankles.
‘What was all that about at the hospital?’ I ask loudly. When she doesn’t answer, I lean back against the door-frame. ‘You might as well answer. I’m not leaving.’
She rolls over and glares. The black rings around her eyes show that the waterworks in Callie’s car were real, even if the drama was typically over the top. ‘Go away.’
‘Not until you tell me what you’re playing at. Thanks to you, I had to play host to the Ice Princess for half an hour.’
‘And I bet you loved that, didn’t you?’
Actually it was thirty-seven minutes, but I don’t want her to know I counted every one. And not in a hope-it’s-over-soon way. If I could have thought of a way to keep talking to Callie forever, I would have. Which is even more irritating than the fact I counted, because she’s not my type. I like girls, a lot, but I stick to my own kind. A girl like Callie needs more time than I have.
And that’s ignoring the fact that her little brother is about to completely mess up my life.
But her skin … I’ve never touched anything so soft. There’s a butterfly on the arm of her glasses. Not a real one, but a tiny silver engraving. A whimsical choice when in every other way she seems so serious and logical. And it isn’t like she advertises every inch of displayable skin like her friend Bree does, but she hints. The fit of her jeans, the dip of her neckline. And those glimpses are enough to make me want to see more.
‘Hello?’ Scarlett waves her arms. ‘Are you with me?’
I cross my arms and hope the heat in my cheeks doesn’t show in this light. Scarlett would be unbearable if she knew where my thoughts had wandered.
‘What was with you going to the hospital?’ I ask again.
‘I thought seeing Bree there by his side would stop me missing Hayden. Stop me hoping he’s going to wake up and want me.’
I sit next to her and put my arm loosely across her shoulders. ‘He’s not worth it.’
‘Maybe. And maybe I’m starting to realise that. Maybe I thought Bree should know the truth about the guy she’s keeping vigil over.’
I wince. ‘That worked well.’
‘I didn’t say it was a good idea.’
‘And luring Callie here?’
‘I thought you could maybe convince her to tell the truth.’
‘What, you thought if she came back here I could charm her into it?’ I don’t try to hide my scepticism.
Scarlett chews on her bottom lip. ‘I saw the way you looked at her. I didn’t think it would be a hardship.’
‘Shows how much you know.’ The lie spills from my tongue.
So she’s nicer than I thought. And up close she looks incredible, without make-up or anything. And there’s the way she pauses a beat after I speak, like she’s really digesting what I have to say. Like I matter. But it’s irrelevant because I’m not going to do anything about it.
‘She has a boyfriend,’ I point out.
Scarlett sits up straighter like I just declared undying love. ‘That could change.’
‘Don’t you think I have more important things to worry about?’
She gives me the same look she gives the little kid down the road when he’s eating crayons. ‘Girls will do anything for a guy they’re crushing on.’
I refrain from pointing out that she’s living proof of that. ‘And?’
She sighs. ‘And Callie will do the right thing by you if you give her a good enough reason. A romantic reason,’ she adds, in case I’m too stupid to join the dots.
The idea is something straight out of a Scarlett fairytale. ‘Just because you think the way Hayden treated you is normal, doesn’t mean Callie will do something just because a guy asks her.’
‘Don’t assume you understand how I feel about Hayden. He made me feel like I was someone for a change, and then he got hurt before I could figure out what the hell he was playing at last night.’
‘Well, Callie has a damn good reason to keep her mouth shut. It’s her brother she’d be turning in.’
‘She wouldn’t have come here if she didn’t have some doubts about the whole thing.’ Scarlett frowns. ‘I’ve seen her walking her dog along the beach. She’s the type who actually picks up after it, if you know what I mean. She’s a good person.’ There’s a wistfulness in Scarlett’s voice as she gazes at the glimpse of orange sky through the gap in the curtain.
Even though I’m still angry at her, I say, ‘You’re a good person.’
Her head jerks around. ‘You’re supposed to say that, you’re my brother.’
‘You’re too good for the likes of Hayden Chapman.’ I can’t miss the chance to remind her. I don’t know whether it’s something to do with what Ma’s ex did to her, or just watching Ma pine after one loser guy after another, but Scarlett’s pretty screwed up when it comes to dating. She couldn’t have picked a worse candidate for happily ever after than Hayden Chapman, with his money and his power and his disgust for all things this side of the creek. And then I decide to tell her, because it should be obvious but I really don’t think she knows.
‘You deserve someone who respects you. Last night, the way he treated you, it’s not okay.’ I swallow. ‘And you should know this but what Ma’s ex did. It wasn’t your fault either.’
She’s silent for a long second. Maybe I’ve pushed her too far. I’m about to go when she speaks. ‘He’s different when he’s with me. When we’re alone …’ She sighs. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘I understand he thinks you’re a sex object. He told everyone at school you slept with him last summer.’
‘Guys talk.’
‘Some do. But they don’t have to.’ While I try to avoid Hayden’s crowd around school, it’s impossible to avoid the stories. ‘He doesn’t respect you.’
She shakes her head. ‘I love—loved him.’
‘He has a girlfriend.’
‘He promised he’d leave her. But he thinks she might go crazy if he doesn’t let her down gently. I thought he planned to do it last night.’
‘Do you still think that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Scarlett …’ I can’t disguise my frustration.
‘You’ll see.’ She bites her lip. ‘When he wakes up.’
‘Coma or not, he’s a dickhead. You can’t let him treat you like shit. Think about it.’
I might as well be talking to the peeling wallpaper over her shoulder. Her eyes are glazed in thought and I hope, more than ever with the prospect of going away hanging over me, that something I said got through.
Back in the living area I bump into Ma. I feared I’d have to push her to get ready for work but she’s on her way out the door. ‘I’ll be home late. Look after your sister.’
‘Yes, Ma. You’ve been sleeping a lot lately. Are you okay?’
She brushes an imaginary speck off her skirt. ‘Just tired.’
She shouldn’t be. It’s not as though she’s been working for the last month. I don’t argue though. The most important thing is that she gets to work on time. ‘Will you be all right on the bus?’
She chuckles. ‘Who’s the parent here?’
As if I haven’t asked myself that question every time another rent bill was left for me to pay. ‘You are, Ma. I worry about you, that’s all.’
She gives my hand a squeeze. ‘You’re a good boy.’ She pauses. ‘Your dad would be so proud.’
‘Like I care what he thinks.’
Her brows come together. ‘Don’t be like that. He’s your father.’
I tug my hand free and head towards the front door. The churning in my gut needs an outlet and I don’t want to raise my voice. ‘You’d better get going. You don’t want to miss your bus.’
She doesn’t move. ‘He’s up for parole soon.’
I jerk around.
The caged animal within me fights to get free. I breathe hard and count to five so that by the time I speak my voice is level. ‘You’ve been in touch with him?’
‘Email at the library.’ There’s hope in her wide eyes, and a hint of fear. Of me or him, I don’t want to know. Probably both. Even if I attend a lifetime of anger management counselling, nothing could erase her memory of finding me standing over her unconscious boyfriend with bloody fists.
‘Why?’
She blinks. ‘He’s your father.’
‘So? He hasn’t shown any interest in acting like one for years.’ I turn away without waiting for her answer. I need to get out of there.
Picking up the guitar I told Callie wasn’t mine might have been an option earlier, but hearing about Dad changes everything. I need a bigger distraction. Music helps, but it’s not my only outlet.
A moment later I’m out on the street. The door slams behind me, cutting off Ma’s response. I don’t want to hear his latest sob story. He’s been out twice before and ended up in the same place both times. And each time she’s made excuses for him. It’s not hard to see where Scarlett gets her weakness for a dickhead with a smooth line.
Frustration claws at my belly as I take the shortcut through the hole in the fence behind the old gym. Some of the tightness in my chest eases as I round the corner of the tin building. It’s open.
I slow on approach.
Javier always says there’s no place for a red haze in the ring. Work out the anger but always be in control.
Inside, it’s muggy and familiar, with a comforting smell of sweat, liniment and leather. Here I can fight safely, within strict rules, to tame the animal within. It’s dim. A single globe on a cord hangs high over the empty boxing ring in the middle of what’s little more than a shed.
Thump, thump-thump. Thump, thump-thump.
The rhythm of fists on leather matches the drumming in my chest and echoes in the open expanse. Javier is working the bag in the corner. Bare-chested and wearing the jeans he had on earlier, sweat pours off his skin as he leans into the bag. His head is lowered, fists flying. Intent on the red leather and the demons in his head, he doesn’t hear me come in.
Or so I think.
He looks up with a grin when I’m a few feet away. ‘Something on your mind?’
‘The ring?’ I don’t want to talk about it and the bag isn’t enough for me today.
He laughs. Wipes the sweat from his face with an old towel and nods.
I don’t bother stripping off, just grab the helmet and gloves and tie them on. Javier finishes off my right hand and then I’m in the ring and ready to go. My blood pounds through my veins, mixes with the adrenaline of anticipation.
I prowl the old surface, itching to get started. Run my gloves along the ropes while I wait for Javier to finish getting ready.
No gear, no fight. He’s strict on the rules. After we met at counselling, he offered me a job and a place to deal with my anger. I’ll always be grateful for that. But right now I’m going to try to hit him with everything I have.
Anything to silence the echo of Ma’s hopeful announcement.
Parole.
It looms like a semi-trailer heading the wrong way down a one-way road. Callie’s unwillingness to tell the truth just became a fucking huge problem. If I’m away at juvie and Dad’s out, he’ll move back in and take what little Ma and Scarlett have left. Then when he goes—as he always does—he’ll leave them broken-hearted. Again. And I won’t be there to stop him.
By the time Javier ducks under the ropes and steps into the ring, my focus is scrambled. Callie, Dad, Hayden Chapman. I breathe deep, try for control. If I don’t have it I’ll be on my arse in about five seconds.
We meet in the middle and touch gloves.
‘First blow?’ he asks.
I shake my head. I need more than that. ‘Knockdown.’
Javier doesn’t argue.
We spar, circling each other. He’s taller, stronger and faster than me, but I am beyond pissed off. I can’t be fucked using the tactics he’s taught me. I strike, aiming for his face. He deflects easily. My glove scrapes the side of his head.
He glares. ‘Don’t mess the hair.’
I strike again, trying for the slight opening under his arm. The connection of leather on skin echoes in the dusty space. He gushes air, hunching slightly. I follow up with a combination of left and right, but his defences are back in place.
‘What happened?’ he asks.
I answer with another attempted head shot. A wild swing I’d usually be ashamed to try.
He punishes me. Kidney, gut, mouth.
I stumble back, blinking. Drag my hands up to protect against the knockout blow. Hit the rope, bounce back.
Another blow. Solar plexus.
Air smashes from my chest. I claw it back. Haul oxygen into starving lungs. The black creeps around the edges of my vision. I blink, still trying to breathe. If my eyes close I’m done.
I lick at my lip and taste the salty tang of my own blood.
Move. I force heavy legs into motion.
Each breath is a harsh victory, each moment I remain upright a delay and a chance.
I dummy to hit him, trying to work Javier backwards and gain a couple more seconds’ reprieve. The jab hits a bicep and bounces off. I swing again. My lungs are burning. My arms are on fire. Swing again. The hammer of my heart drowns even my gasps for air. Another swing.
He steps forward with the smooth motion of the beast I fight every single day. There’s a rush in my ears and I watch him strike. Right, left, right. I see each one coming but can’t force my sluggish limbs to move fast enough to do anything about it. The last punch is perfectly placed.
My ears ring.
I sway back, open to the killer blow. He doesn’t take it. Doesn’t need to.
Thump.
I’m on my arse.
He crouches over me. ‘Are we done here?’
‘Yes.’
He shakes off a glove and holds out his hand to pull me to my feet. ‘Now, we talk.’
I laugh. Each vibration through my body is a mini-jackhammer. ‘Give me a minute.’
He does. Slumped on the ground, feeling every hit, I watch as he crosses to the shower room. I still haven’t moved when he returns a few minutes later, showered and dressed.
Without a word he helps with the gloves and when I drag the helmet from my aching skull he takes that too. He’s breaking his own gym rules about cleaning up after yourself when he wipes both of them off and puts them away.
He tosses me a towel, grabs us each a drink and waits for me to join him at the small table next to the ring.
I sit opposite. ‘Thanks.’ Drinking hurts my mouth and I move my jaw from side to side gingerly. ‘I think you’ve broken something.’
‘I doubt it.’
He’s right. I’ve had enough bouts in the ring to know that I won’t even have a bruise to show tomorrow. ‘Still hurts like hell.’
‘Wasn’t that the point?’
It kind of was. I sip at the drink, allowing the lemon fizz to soothe the ache in my head. Javier waits for me to talk. I’m not getting away from here without an explanation, but he won’t rush me.
When I’ve drained the last drop, I can’t put it off any longer. ‘Dad’s up for parole.’
‘When?’
‘Could turn up today for all I know. I need to be around.’
He takes that in. ‘How was the visit to the police station?’
‘Waste of time. I’ve got no evidence.’
‘Get some.’
‘Yeah, because it’s that easy.’
He slides his chair back and stands. ‘I didn’t say it would be easy. Easy is for suckers.’ He leans over the table, forcing me to look up to meet dark eyes. He’s intent. More threatening than he ever was in the ring. ‘If it was my family, I’d do anything.’
‘There’s a girl who saw what happened, but she has no reason to support me.’
He sits again with a grin. ‘Then you need to give her one.’