The Fight Within (7 page)

Oh, this hurts!

He had an urge to bite his own damn fist to stifle a lust-filled scream, and didn’t miss her reddened complexion, as she no doubt fought for a way out of the awkward ordeal. It sure as hell wasn’t his intention to turn her down.

“Yeah, I can understand that,” she said in a resigned tone but keeping the smile, though now it was at half-mast.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Coach Mahoney!” Lance called out as he drew closer, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Hi, babe!” she shouted with exaggerated enthusiasm, no doubt grateful for the ‘out.’ She took her boy in her arms, leaning low to kiss the top of his hair. When she rose, Sean was there waiting. Slanting in close to her, he whispered ever so quietly in her ear,

“…If I weren’t the coach, and you
weren’t
his mom, trust and believe, I would’ve taken you up on your offer before you could even get the damn words out.” He loved how she reddened once again, this time the expression paired with one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen.

See, Kyle? I’m not a jackass…

“Hey everybody!” he shouted out, taking a few steps away from her. “Tomorrow, Coach Davis needs you on the field at 5:00 sharp. Great job tonight!”

He said goodbye to his team, waved and turned on his heels to race home. He had an online exam in less than an hour, and hoped and prayed he’d do alright on the damn thing. His anxiety knotted up inside him, twisting about as if made of cheap yarn in his gut as he reached his black Nissan Altima and slid inside. As he pulled away from the curb, he wished he could duplicate himself, morph into a few clones so he could get everything done in record time. In less than seven hours, he’d have to be up at the crack of dawn, ready for work. For a moment, he felt sorry for himself. Had the whole damn world paid him a visit, perched on his shoulders, bearing down ready to shit a ridiculous load upon him, as if he didn’t already have enough trouble? But then, just like that, he pulled out of the dark deliberations, and gave himself an internal pep talk.

Look, you’re almost done with school, your bills are paid, this little league shit is just for fun—and at least you’re helpin’ somebody.

He hated how Kyle’s words still stung long after the delivery, and he’d kept thinking about them from time to time each day that passed. He always considered himself a generous guy—the one that would give his shirt off his back to others. He’d been told by his big cluster of friends that he was a bighearted person…but was that just compared to
them
? Truth was, he realized time was slipping by, and he wasn’t taking chances anymore. He wasn’t living, he wasn’t dreaming big. He stood stuck, trapped, and worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until Kyle called him out on his egotistical ways. The whole world revolved around him, just like a baseball spinning in the air, but he seemed to have blinked one second too long and missed the entire beauty of it all. He sat there in that car for a bit longer, thinking about the shit he wanted in life, and how now he was 34, and still trying to figure it all out.

This is fucked up. Maybe my ex-girlfriend was right…maybe I am childish…

Maybe Kyle was right too. Maybe I’m selfish, only thinking about my own needs and myself…

This made a hell of a wake-up call. He pulled himself out of the funk once more, and concentrated on the here and now.

Your damn team won again…

You still appeal to the ladies. That’s a damn plus. You just got hit on by a babe for God’s sake, and she actually looked like somethin’ and may have even had a good head on her shoulders.

He nodded to himself, agreeing with his thoughts as he mentally patted himself on the back.

He was good, yeah…everything would be just fine, right? No one said the road to reaching goals would offer a smooth ride. Matter of fact, it seemed the more he drove, the more dips, turns and curves he encountered.

I just need to be grateful there is a clear, definable path in the first damn place. It could be worse. What if I didn’t have a map?

He turned the key in the ignition, and headed on his way…

*

“Brian.” Treasure tossed
the ivory and red-checkered dishtowel on the nearby kitchen table. “I told you to be home by nine. What time is it?” She sucked her teeth as she leaned back against the pantry counter and crossed her arms and ankles. The boy had been trying her to the tenth degree, making a mockery of her rules, her judgment, and her laws of the damn house. “I
said
, what time is it?!”

The tall, lanky boy with skin the color of a snickers bar and loose, wild, curly hair gripped the straps of his navy blue backpack that hung slack along his body. The damn thing looked as if he were in the midst of removing it, letting it fall to the floor. He smirked and clicked his tongue against his inner cheek as he peered down at the ground, his dark brown eyes turning into sleepy slits.

“This isn’t funny. Is something funny, Brian?” she snapped. Weeks of his insubordination, sassy mouth and disrespect had come to a head. The workweek sucked. Matter of fact, very little had gone right in the past few days at all. Home was supposed to be a haven, only her own child was making it hell.

“Nah…” He laughed lightly, exposing an off-white wad of gum pushed to the side of his mouth, then smacked on it a time or two.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you!”

He slowly raised his head, and his cool, cocoa colored eyes, devoid of concern and care, focused upon her as if she were a mere image conceived from his imagination. Her heart skipped a damn beat, and then another. Inside of his heated glare she saw and felt hatred conceive and emerge. It drifted off his core like a wave of heat, skirted across the room in a zigzag snake like fashion, and bit her smack dab in the soul. She’d never seen her own flesh and blood regard her that way. His words could’ve never been so cruel, but his look upon her, one of regret, disdain and angst, made her feel as if she were losing her first born, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Regardless, she stayed the course, refusing to let him off the hook.

“It’s 10:43. I got home ’round 10:32.” He held onto his sly smirk—held on so tightly to it, one would think it was permanently adhered to his damn face.

“Brian, I’m tired of you treating this house, my rules and me like some game. You’re grounded this entire week, and the upcoming weekend, too!” She turned away, facing the sink as she prepared to wash the dishes.

“What?!” he yelled out, suddenly showing emotion, giving a damn. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, I can’t? I just did!” She cast him a heated glare from over her shoulder. “Now go do your homework and I mean,
only
homework. No Facebook, no Pitter, no—”

“Twitter…”

“I don’t care what it’s called! No video games, nothing!” She completely stopped what she was doing and faced him, scratched the side of her nose then extended one slightly wet hand, palm up. “And give me your phone.”

He scowled at her once again, then his expression softened in perplexity. It was as if he were nestled close to the prickly flesh of bewilderment. His expression reminded her of the one Mr. Owens had, as if her words suddenly caused him to require the services of a translator.

“You heard me, hand it over!”

“This is so stupid! I
hate
living here with you…dealin’ with this dumb ass shit!” He slicked his hand into his pocket, gripped the thing, and tossed it onto the table.

“
What
…did you say…to
me
?!” she said between clenched teeth as she approached him in jerky movements. Her entire body shook while she wrestled with the temptation to smack him clear across the room, force him to land in the backyard, pushing up daisies from her angry might. He looked back down at the floor, refusing to repeat the declaration.

“Don’t you
ever
use that language with me again!” Her voice vibrated as she pointed in his face, only an inch or two away from his nose. “And just for
that
outburst, instead of your phone being returned in a few days, as I had originally planned, I will have it for the rest of this week and toss something else I bought,
here
?! You’ll find yourself with nothing in your room, not even that bed. All that will be there shall be
you
! Now get out of my face, and take the trash out!”

His full lips parted and his dark, thick brows dipped so low, they formed the letter ‘V’ across his scrunched up forehead. He turned and stormed away as she rotated back toward the sink, gripping the edge of the counter. Her knees slightly trembled, and she flirted with the possibility of collapsing from emotional exhaustion, right then and there. An angry tear escaped her eye as she plunged her hands in the water, meticulously going over a small glass as her daydreams and worries married one another, creating a mental collage of unwanted odds and ends with dashed hopes and aspirations swirling around them like wounded moths to a dying flame.

I’m so very tired…

She sniffed, trying to keep more tears at bay.

I can’t be that boy’s mom and his daddy, too…I just can’t.

After a few moments, she’d finished her evening chores and poured herself a glass of Sojourn Sellers Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir, all the way to the silver trimmed rim. Leaning against the kitchen wall, she heard several doors opening and slamming as Brian undoubtedly slung his frustrations around, along with the plastic, industrial gray cans lined against the curb of their Larchmont Manor home in Westchester County. There was no way she could afford the place on her Interior Designer salary alone, regardless of her excellent wage. The alimony checks kept them going. As far as her work, it was her dream. She’d been doing her job as a contractor for years, establishing herself, letting the world know that she could turn their shabby dive into something classy and chic. Unfortunately, life wasn’t so easy to revamp and decorate…

Life could get messy. Dirty. Unkempt and vile.

As part of the divorce settlement, she was able to keep the family home, and all essential bills associated with the property, paid on a monthly basis as her top notch high powered attorney ex-husband moved to Manhattan and settled into his elaborate bachelor pad…with many of her one-of-a-kind designs. She’d spent practically every single cent she’d squirreled away years later getting a decent advocate to protect her from the influential man. Jackson was a shark of a lawyer, and few wanted to tangle with him, let alone touch the details of the man’s divorce. However, with the assistance of her best friend Erin’s connections, she’d lucked out and found an attorney that not only took her case, but also seemed to delight in the opportunity. Jackson hadn’t expected such a turn of events, and much to her surprise, he stopped fighting and threw up his hands, stating he didn’t want to take their children through anything else. She knew better; he simply wanted to save face. Regardless, the ending proved bittersweet.

Treasure settled into a cream colored chair in the parlor, crossed her long legs, and took delicate sips from her wine glass, her favorite burgundy silk robe cool against her skin. Her nerves were so wound up and tight, trying to find any semblance of a peaceful existence seemed damn near impossible. Her daughter, Asia, was settled in her bed, fast asleep no doubt, and Brian was now back inside of the house, making as much noise as humanly possible to let her know
just
how much she was detested at that moment in time. She shrugged her shoulders and took another sip from the glass, hoping and praying that tomorrow would be at least slightly better than today.

Hey, it never hurt to dream big…

*

Larchmont Manor stood
eighteen miles away from reality; at least that was what Sean believed as he wrapped his grubby gloves around a tin trashcan filled to the brim with the odds and ends that rich people no longer wanted. It wasn’t that far from Midtown, Manhattan, nestled between ‘Rich People Privilege’ Drive and ‘Money To Burn’ Boulevard. The place was particularly known, however, for a Yacht Club that boasted of extreme exclusivity. The place was surrounded by water, lending way to a bunch of aquatic sport fanatics who made a lot of money and spent it just as fast. Overpriced historic shops and eateries that pretended to be kissed by small town charm made his blood boil. It was one big fucking lie. The place reeked in his mind, and it wasn’t because of their rubbish.