Intheannexofthe dojo, a kickboxing class was in full swing, the sound of thudding feet and coaches yelling instructions bleeding over into the Gi class Mick and I taught together.
Even though it had been several weeks since I’d seen Paxton, I couldn’t shake a feeling of dread and anticipation. These weekend classes were a welcome distraction from the anger and confusion swirling through my thoughts every day.
It didn’t help that “Neverstorm” had been the most requested song on the radio ever since their local concert. In the car, in the grocery store, and even here, in the other classes, it blared through speakers, taunting me with the words, as if daring me to deny Paxton spoke to me through his song. If possible, I switched it off whenever I could.
“Good job, class,” Mick said. “Push a little harder. Winners don’t win by quitting. Come on, one more set.”
I walked through the kids, correcting forms when needed, offering praise at those who obviously gave it their all.
Once we released the class, Mick and I grabbed bottles of cleaner and began scrubbing the mats.
“Mick?” I asked, spritzing the surface of a mat. “Do you remember Paxton Ross?” I wasn’t sure why I asked him this question, but I paused and glanced over at him.
“Yeah, he was the guy who lived with you for a few months, right?” His blond hair fell over his eyes and he absently swiped it away.
“Yep. That’s him.” I moved to the next mat and sprayed, the scent of cleaner strong.
“Hmm. If I remember correctly, you dumped me for him.” His voice held a note of amusement.
I leaned back on my calves and gave his upper arm a light punch. “Oh come on. You and I are better friends than lovers. Besides, you play for the other team, too, unless you and Justin aren’t together anymore?”
He grinned and a delicate blush spotted his cheeks. “I’m kidding with you, and yeah, Justin’s still putting up with me.” He wiped a crease. “Why’d you bring him up?”
“He’s got a band. I think they’re going to make it big, likeViktor Farrowbig. They were the opening act for Macabre Maniacs a few weeks ago. I had no idea who they were when I went with Angela and Viktor.” I switched out my dirty cloth for a fresh one and stood, stretching my back. “When I saw Pax, it was as if my heart broke all over again.”
Mick sat back and rested on his outstretched arms, his eyes watching me. “And why do you think that is?”
“Because I loved him.”
“Wrong.” He smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Youstilllove him.”
I threw my wet cloth at him. “Bullshit.”
He easily ducked under the sailing rag.
“I thought I loved him, at one time, but—”
“So you hate the boy you once knew?”
Paxton’s haunted blue eyes haunted me. He’d been so terrified of having to live on the streets again, of ending up like his dad. The kid had been forced to eat from dumpsters.
No, no matter what, my heart couldn’t hate him.
“I thoroughly dislike the asshole.” I grimaced, wondering why the hell I’d even felt the need to talk to Mick about Paxton, why I continued to think about him weeks after he obviously was walking a new path, one that never had a place for me, except for what my family and money could do for him.
“Terri,” Mick said, his hand landing on my shoulder. “You can love someone even though you don’t like them. Look at your family.” His eyes softened. He’d always been a good friend.
“Gee, thanks Professor.”
“Maybe you need closure on that part of your life. If you get things off your chest, tell him how he made you feel, and then try to forgive him, I think it wouldn’t hurt so bad.”
I nodded, mulling his suggestion.
The Terri Kingston who’d been bullied at school died the day Paxton had left. I hadn’t cared any longer what the kids thought, what Mom thought about my body, or how I dressed.
One thing I could be thankful for was the lesson Paxton Ross had taught me: I didn’t belong in a box. Something good did come out of our relationship, even if it had been one-sided.
“Mick, you’re a fucking genius.”
