Page 69 of Undefeated

We all fight our battles differently. I choose to fight mine in the ring. My father fought his in Afghanistan and Iraq. Kace fought her battle attempting to make a relationship work that was destined to lose. We fight to form ourselves into something or someone that we naturally wouldn’t become.

We fight to become stronger.

And that strength, ultimately, allows us to continue to fight.

And the fighting builds strength and provides us with experience – until we are strong enough to stand on our own.

I slid my hand under my shirt and felt my chest. Bare. Bare of the dog tags that I have always carried as a reminder of my father and his devotion to fight for what he believed to be just, right, and moral.

I walked through the lobby to the front door and opened it. Holding the door handle in my hand, I stood in the opening. I took a deep breath and looked out into the street.

And I stepped out into the world with a mind full of new memories. Full of memories but free of the chains that have bound me for so many years.

I stepped out into the world.

Free.

KACE. Shane had been home from the hospital for three weeks. He seemed different since the trip to the hospital – in good ways. He seemed much more loving, more willing to spend time being lazy around the house with me, and had been taking time to cuddle and do girlish things with me.

Maybe the hospital was something that he needed for a long time. It was probably necessary to get his mind cleared after losing his father and grandfather in such a short period of time. He never talked to me about the trip to my mother’s house, passing out, the ambulance ride, or what the doctor told him at the hospital.

The afternoon after we left him in the hospital, he called from a restaurant and said he was done with all of his medical tests. He said whenever we were ready Ripp and I could come get him. That day in the restaurant was the last we spoke of it.

I know that something inside of him changed, because he hasn’t worn his dog tags since the day that he tore them off and dropped them on the floor at my mother’s house. Those dog tags were his life, his good luck charm, and his only real tie to his father. I think they might have caused part of the problem, because he tore them off right before he collapsed.

I didn’t really know how to treat it, so I placed them on the kitchen counter for him to pick up whenever he was ready. That night, they were gone. He didn’t wear them, but I knew he took them from the counter.

The next day, while Shane was showering, I accidentally threw away my driver’s license when I was cleaning out my wallet. As soon as I realized it, I dug through the trash to try and find it. When I did, I saw the chain in the trash. I reached into the trash and pulled at the chain, and found the dog tags attached, wrapped in paper to hide them.

I have put them away until he wants or needs them. I don’t want to mention them and make him upset if he doesn’t want to talk about it. I know whatever reason he is upset has to do with his father, and to him that is a delicate subject. I don’t want to upset Shane, not now.

I just want to enjoy him the way he is.

“Babe, where are you?” he asked as he walked in the door.

“I’m in here,” I answered from the living room.

He walked in to the living room holding a sack in his hand. His boots were clean and polished, and he was wearing a new black hoodie.

“Look,” he said as he held one foot forward for me to see.

“They’re clean. They look good. I like your new hoodie,” I said as I looked back and forth between the cooking channel and his clean boots.

“No, babe. They’re new,” he said.

“You bought new boots?” I asked as I turned off the television.

“Brand fucking new,” he said.

He has changed.

“Holy cow. Where’s the old ones?” I asked as I stood from the couch.

“Trash. I tossed ‘em. Got a new hoodie, too,” he said as he slowly turned in a circle.

“I love it, it looks comfy. The old one?”

“Trash,” he responded.