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“No, no.” He shifts on the couch, facing more toward me. “I meant you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it still affecting you. It’s okay for this to be, I don’t know, triggering.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’s right. Haven’t I gone over this kind of stuff in my psychology classes before?
“I’d like to work on this. To not freeze up if something were to happen.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I’m sorry to waste your time like this.”
“It’s not a waste. I…” His knee bounces for a moment before he places a hand on it to stop it. “I like hanging out with you.”
I sit up straighter. What? Why? All I do is continually embarrass myself in front of him. “I don’t think anyone’s ever outright said that to me before.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I…” Now it’s my turn to pause. But if I told him about my mom, I can tell him this, too. “I had trouble getting close to people after, you know, everything that happened. I only really started opening up again when I got into college. I wanted to reinvent myself. To be a different person.”
He nods. “I understand that. Wanting to be different.”
He feels the same way? “What do you wish was different?”
He shrugs, scratching at his elbow. “Just… expectations, I guess.”
What kind of expectations does he have?
“Does this have anything to do with you asking about college info?” I ask as the thought occurs to me.
His gaze cuts to me. “I knew you were smart, but damn.”
My cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. “Is your dad pressuring you to go to college but you want to box instead?”
He gives the slightest shake of his head. “The opposite, actually.”
Interesting. “He doesn’t want you to go to college? But you do?”
He folds his hands in his lap, clenching his fingers together. “I want… the chance, at least. Dad kind of mapped out what he wanted for me a long time ago.”
“What does he want you to do?”
“Pro boxing.”
“And you don’t want that?” He was so amazing in the ring, though. And Lexie said he’s good enough to go pro.
His lips purse. “Don’t get me wrong—I love boxing. But it’s not something you can do long-term. I would have maybe fifteen years tops before my body’s run into the ground. You see it all the time. Punch-drunk syndrome’s a real thing.” He shakes his head sadly. “And then what would I have? No other skills. I’ve put my whole life into fighting and have nothing left. I don’t want that.”
“It’s smart to take your future into account. Have you explained it to your dad?”
He grimaces. “He doesn’t listen. He just points to my uncle. As if everyone can open their own boxing gym when they retire.”
“Would you want to do that?”
He shrugs. “That’d be cool as shit. But who in their right mind would give me a loan to do something like that? I… Damn.” He slumps down, shoulders curling forward. “I didn’t mean to rant about this.”
“I don’t mind listening.”
“No, I’m supposed to be helping you out with self-defense stuff.”
“And I said I’d help you figure out college stuff. This is part of that.”
