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It’s after three in the morning. It’s pitch black up here, except for whatever my headlights touch.
I ended up fighting three guys and I laid all of them out.
On the way to my truck, four drunk fuckers tried to start shit in the parking lot with me, but they quickly dispersed once I grabbed their leader by the throat and tossed his ass onto the concrete.
All in all, it was a good night.
My pulse slows as I slide a cigarette out of my pack and put it to my cracked bloody lips. I light it and inhale deep, watching as the swirling smoke lit up by the blue lights on my dashboard fills the interior of my truck.
I imagine the smoke filling my insides which always feel so damn hollow, and then I exhale long and slow.
My truck approaches the bend up ahead with the steep cliff a few feet from the dirt road.
After every Fight Night I imagine gunning the engine and flying off it. Ending the pain. Going out in a fiery explosion of glory.
Ah, who am I kidding? There would be no glory. Just an old sad dead man in the woods with no one to grieve him. No one to even notice he was gone.
My foot gets heavy on the gas. The truck speeds up. My pulse races.
I squeeze the steering wheel and grit my teeth, going faster, faster…
“Fuck it,” I mutter as I yank the wheel at the last moment. My tires skid through the dirt, launching rocks and pebbles over the cliff before they catch and I whip around the bend.
I shake my head—heart pounding—as I continue driving up to my house.
This mountain has hardly anyone on it. Only six houses scattered around the huge base and the one higher up near the summit, which is mine.
“What the fuck is this?” I whisper when I pull into my long driveway and spot an old beaten-up car parked in it. Washington plates.
Robbers. Criminals from the city. They must have come up here thinking we’re easy prey.
Boy, did these fuckers pick the wrong house.
I’m flushed with heat as I squeeze the wheel, getting excited for round two.
And that’s when I see her.
She walks into the shine of my headlights, waving shyly.
The anger vanishes. My mouth drops. My heart stops.
I slowly hit the brake and put my truck into park as I watch her with my body humming.
It’s her.
It’s Ruby.
I’d recognize those beautiful blue eyes and that shy innocent smile anywhere.
What is she doing here? What is happening?
The only thought that makes sense is that I must have missed the turn. I must have flown off the edge of the cliff and this is heaven right here.
She’s my angel come to greet me.
I stare at her in awe.
But then my hand drops down and the glowing cherry of my cigarette burns my thigh. The pain makes me realize that this is actually happening. This is real.
I swallow hard, crush the cigarette in the ashtray on my dashboard, and step out of the car with goosebumps sliding along the back of my neck.
I can’t stop staring at her. I can’t take my eyes off her angelic face.
“Ruby?” I ask in a low shaky voice. “Is that you?”
“Hi, Jack,” she says, suddenly struggling to hold back tears. Her chin quivers and I slam the door of my truck and race over.
“Come here,” I say as I swallow her in my big arms, holding her against my chest. I wonder if she can feel how hard my heart is pounding. “You’re safe now, baby girl. You’re with me.”
Her body shakes and she lets out a deep sob, melting into my embrace as I hold her like I’m never going to let her go.
“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head and wiping her cheeks when she finally pulls away. “It’s the first time I cried… I just… I saw you and it all came gushing out.”
I let her go, but my hands are trembling with the need to hold her again. My whole body is aching.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, not knowing what I’m going to do if she’s not. “What happened?”
That’s when she notices my face. “Are you okay?” she asks with a gasp. “What happened to your face?”
She reaches for my cheek but I flinch away from her touch. Shame hits me harder than Goliath ever could. This is what her father gave her life for.
This monstrosity of a life.
Drinking, smoking, fighting—She had to grow up without a father for this.
“I… got into a car accident.”
My cheeks burn with shame. I hate myself. This is a new fucking low.
She looks at my truck—the headlights still burning—and scrunches her forehead up in confusion when she sees that it’s in perfect condition.
“It was at work.”
I hate myself for lying to her, but I just can’t let her know how much of a fuck up I am. How pathetic I’ve become.
