“You really blew it.”
I was once again on the bench in the locker room but this time with a doctor kneeling by my side while Tony paced around us. The stitches being sewn into my face were a pinch compared to the violent constriction of my chest every time I pictured Ashton’s face.
Pale, guilty, pained, and mouthing desperately, I’m sorry.
He was blaming himself, and it was my fucking fault. I’d put it on him to walk out and run away from a homophobic piece of shit, and now he probably thought my losing was his responsibility. Because I wouldn’t have been distracted if only he’d left. I could hear it playing out in his head so clearly. It’d been written all over his anguished face.
“Doc, can we hurry this up?” I barked. When she gave me a startled look, I amended it with a muttered, “Please.”
“Hurry up?” Tony echoed. “Where are you rushing off to? Because as far as I’m concerned, we have a major fucking problem, kid. You let that spoiled little brat distract you so much that you practically threw the fight. And now where are we?”
I closed my eyes and counted the seconds until the doctor was done and this rant was over.
“Valdrin!” Tony shouted. “You’re gonna sit there silent after all this time, after all this work we put in, and not give a fuck that you practically threw this fight for some goddamn—”
“Don’t.” I opened my eyes and pinned him to the spot with the kind of glare I usually reserved for guys like Bronson. “Don’t you dare say another word about him. After what happened tonight, after he was basically assaulted while a couple dozen people looked on and did shit to help, I will flip out if you curse him in front of me.”
Tony’s face reddened. “I’m not saying what that son of a bitch did was right, but this is your problem. This is always gonna be your problem, and it never changes. You don’t keep your head in the fight. You don’t focus on the fucking win.”
“Because I don’t care!” Four words had never been so damning, and I shouted them so loud that they bounced around the locker room and likely penetrated the door. The doctor finished my eye and patted my shoulder, giving me the okay to leap to my feet and stand off against my trainer. “You were right all along, Tony. I’m good at fighting because you raised me on it after my father walked out, but I don’t care about titles or belts or fame. The only reason I’m trying to go pro is because I know you want me to, and because I don’t know how to do anything else.” The astonished look on Tony’s face made me feel like I was worth less than nothing, but I kept going even as I ran out of steam. “Right now the only thing I can think is that the guy I love thinks I lost because of him, and I would do anything to get the hell out of this building so I can go find him.”
Tony turned away and braced his hands against the wall. “I don’t know what to say, Val. I’m at a fucking loss.”
The doctor looked between us when we lapsed into a tense silence. She cleared her throat. “You should be good to go, Val.”
I nodded as she left, but kept looking at Tony. “I’m sorry to let you down like this after all the time and effort you put into me. But I know what’s important to me, and it’s not this. It’s never been this. It’s just all I thought I had. And I can use these skills for something else, Tony. I can . . .” I faltered, pushing through the pain lancing through my head and the fear coiling in my gut. “I can be a trainer like you. Maybe that wasn’t your hope for me all this time, but it’s something I can see myself doing. Something I’d feel motivated to do because I don’t give a damn about this shit for myself. I never have, and you know it.”
Tony eased off the wall and looked back at me. “That’s really how you feel, kid?”
“Be like you and train people who grew up like me?” It was the one thing I could think of for the future, even if it made me no money, that brought me peace. Not fighting.
I’d ignored the idea of being a trainer when Ashton had initially suggested it, even as parts of me had grasped at the idea while my brain shoved it away. “Yeah. You think I don’t have the ambition for myself, but I would if I was pushing someone who really wanted it. That’s what I’d have a drive for, and I don’t see a damn thing wrong with that. With being like you.”
Tony sagged against the wall, resignation evident in the slumping of his shoulders. “If that’s what you want, I won’t tell you it’s wrong. But it’s a shame to waste your talent. It’s natural. It’s in you, boy.”
“I know it is. But I can use it to help someone else who wants it more than me.”
There was so much more to say about why professional boxing, or any professional sport, wasn’t for me. The limelight, the gossip, the rampant fucking homophobia that I didn’t want to live my life fighting against, and the way the media would use Ashton against me. Or me against him. That realization was what had hammered the final nail in the coffin, and that was why I’d thrown the damn fight. Even if Luis hadn’t knocked me out, I’d have jumped out of the ring and sprinted up the bleachers in the middle of it all.
“Valdrin!”
The door slammed open, and Hana barged in followed closely by Matt. Tony straightened and ripped his forearm across his eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked, striding over to me. “How’s your eye?”
“I’m fine.” I pushed away her fussing hands and looked between them. “Where’s Ashton?”
“Gone,” Hana said, lowering her gaze. “Val, I know you told him he should leave, but I convinced him to stay and be there for you. And for me. Don’t blame him—”
“I’m not,” I said sharply. “That’s why I want to find him.”
“Calm down, man.” Matt came around and put a hand on my shoulder. “If you need to take off, take off.”
I didn’t need to be told twice, and with Tony nodding in agreement, I hurried to the door. “Hana, I can give you money for a cab—”
“Matt will drive me home,” she said.
“Good.” I flashed Tony a strained grin, and he nodded in response. “Thank you both.”
“Any time,” Matt said. “Find your man.”
The crowd was already cheering on another pair of fighters when I hurried down the corridor leading to the back door. No one noticed me hiding my bruised and swollen face beneath my baseball cap and hood until I darted through the door and barreled into Luis.
“Shit!” I snarled at the same time as he said, “Slow down, man!”
My headache intensified at the added impact. I gritted my teeth through the pain.
“You good?”
I tried to sidestep him, but he was framing the door and didn’t get the hint.
“I’m fine. You wanna get out of my way?”
Luis held up his hands. “You wanna be pissed at someone, don’t make that person me, Leka. It was a fair fight.”
“Right.” I slid past him and scanned the area with the vain hope that I’d spot Ashton’s lanky body and blond hair. “A fair fight while your buddy harassed Ashton right there in the stands.”
“How the fuck is that my fault? I already told you to beware of that dude. He’s a phobic asshole.” Luis stepped back to give me some room, but his shoulders were hunched forward as he glared. There was a defensive edge to his posture. “What, you think I planned that?”
I stopped searching the block and shot him an incredulous look. “Did I say that?”
“No, but you’re sure as shit acting like it’s my fault.” Luis stepped back again, with his hands thrust in his pocket. “Listen, I told them I didn’t even want credit for the win, but it doesn’t work that way. And then I told my boy Bronson that if he’s gonna beat up on homos he can start with me, so it’s a wrap on that friendship among other things.”
Christ. “Luis, I’m sorr—”
“Please, dickhead. Don’t try to get all gentle with me now.” He walked backward until he was on the street. “I’ve had it with this gym, to tell you the truth. I’m about to get a new trainer. Maybe fuck with some MMA. So you won’t see my ass unless you have reason to be in Staten Island. Deuces, asshole. Good luck with Hollywood. I just saw him a few minutes ago, and he was stressed.”
Instead of being grateful that I could finally escape this conversation, I chased him out onto the street. “What? Where?”
“Walking toward the subway. I asked him if he wanted a ride, but he said he was done with being rescued.”
“Thanks, Luis. Hit me up if you ever want to hang out with a nonstraight asshole.”
Surprise crossed Luis’s face. “Sounds good. See you around, Leka.”
I nodded at him and took off toward Yankee Stadium, sprinting the three blocks as adrenaline pumped the pain out of my system. Later, I knew I’d be suffering, but I didn’t have time for it now.
Ashton wasn’t on the Manhattan-bound side of the D train, or the 4 or 5. It took five minutes to check my apartment just in case he’d headed there, then I drove around looking for him in the neighborhood. He was nowhere, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, but I still felt sick. The only other option was to cross the bridge to Manhattan.
With my hands gripping the wheel and my shoulders hunched forward, I didn’t see the city lights or the rush of cars on either side of me. I had tunnel vision until I reached Ashton’s building, and thanked the damn stars the staff in his building were cool with me. I was a damn mess running into a building full of million-dollar penthouses and condos with a busted face and bloody T-shirt, but the bellhops just shot me concerned glances before ushering me to the elevator. I took it up to his floor and staggered to his apartment.
“Ashton!” I knocked on his door a couple of times, but no answer. “Ashton, please open up.”
The entire floor was silent. I pressed my ear to the door and realized his apartment was just as still. He’d probably gone back to whatever hiding spot he’d been lying low in for the past few weeks. Desperation led to me whipping out my phone and dialing up his brother.
“Funny,” Dylan said when he answered. “I was just thinking of calling you.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Where’s Ashton?”
“Lost track of him again? I thought that was why my father had you put that app on his phone.”
I closed my eyes. Patience. I needed patience. “I told Ashton about that, okay? So you don’t have shit on me anymore. Do whatever you want to get back at me for messing up your deal—”
“Actually, that’s why I wanted to call you,” Dylan said dryly. “Decker had a change of heart. He’s going through with it.”
“Oh.” Pacing the hallway outside Ashton’s place was only increasing my anxiety, but I kept doing it. “Why? Ashton refused to fuck him.”
“He did, but he also found Decker’s nephew at the youth center he’s volunteering at. That was worth more to Decker than dating my brother. And yet you wanted so badly to convince yourself he was trash, and only you, Valdrin the Paragon Leka, was good enough for Ashton.”
“Fuck you, Dylan. Decker could be a saint, and it wouldn’t matter. Ashton doesn’t want him. And you’re an asshole if you think you can decide who he sleeps with or dates or gets a cup of coffee with. An asshole and a control freak who doesn’t know the first thing about family.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Maybe you need to hear it again.” I stopped pacing. “Your brother deserves more than you. He deserves more than your entire family. Maybe being born with the last name Townsend gave him wealth and connections, but it also fucked him up more than you’ll ever understand because none of you ever took the time to get to know your own flesh and blood.”
Each word took my voice to a new volume until I was shouting in the hallway. “I took your father’s money because I thought I needed it to help my mother, because I was terrified of losing another parent. I never expected to be in love with Ashton, or for him to keep caring about me once we grew up. I didn’t think we’d have a relationship, or that we’d be in each other’s lives forever. And every day I regret taking that money because guess what? It didn’t save my mother. It didn’t do anything but make me hate myself and hurt Ashton. And I’ll never make that mistake again. I’ll never let you or anyone else in your family use Ashton against me again. And I swear to God, I’ll never let you hurt him. I love your brother. Do you understand that? I love him.”
There was silence on the other end, and the hallway was full of my erratic breathing.
“So, unless you know where Ashton is, there is no reason for us to speak now or ever again. I don’t give a damn about TTC or your deal.”
“I see.” There was another stretch of silence before Dylan quietly said, “I don’t know which hotel Ashton is holed up at, but I know he’s been volunteering at the Gateway youth center in SoHo. Perhaps you can find him there during business hours.”
That didn’t help me right now, but I gritted out a thank-you.
“Meredith Stone would likely have more insight to his current location. I’ll send you her number.”
“I would appreciate it,” I said tersely.
“Valdrin,” Dylan said before I could hang up. “Even if you’re in love with Ashton, you should consider the impact his lifestyle will have on your future career.”
“Thanks for the concern, but the only thing that’s certain about my future is that I want to be with your brother.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Val. You may not believe me, but I love my brother. I just also know the harm his reputation can do to the people around him.”
“The only harm Ashton can do is refusing to spend his life with me.”
I hung up on Dylan and counted that as our last conversation. After I got that phone number, the only Townsend I would be speaking to from here on out was Ashton. If I could find him.
Turning on my heel, I started to hurry back to the elevator but stopped in my tracks. Ashton stood in his now-open doorway with a slack-jawed expression, damp blond hair, and a silky robe barely tied together around him. Decadent and beautiful and the bloodshot cast of his eyes made him appear unbearably vulnerable.
“You’re home.” I was frozen to the spot, afraid to make a wrong move as if he’d vanish like a mirage. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” Ashton stepped to the side and held the door open for me. “Come in.”
The tension released from my shoulders. I left the hallway for the warmth of his apartment, telling myself to keep my hands to myself until I knew where I stood, but once we were face-to-face, I grabbed his hand and squeezed. He ventured a hesitant smile before moving closer to cup my jaw with his cool, dry hands.
“You look terrible.”
“Yeah. I got fucked up.” He started to withdraw his hands, but I clasped my own over his. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is. If I’d left, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“I wanted you to leave because I’m an overprotective bastard, not because I was thinking about the damn fight.” I slipped my hands down to circle his wrists, thumbs pressing against his pulse. “There’s no way you could know how a homophobe will act or when to make the right moves to avoid them.” When he looked away, I smoothed my hands up his arms to catch on the silky fabric of his robe. “And you don’t have to hide who you are, and wear baggy jeans and ball caps and shit, as if you’re some embarrassment. It’s not your responsibility to predict when something bad is gonna happen, and I’m fucking sorry I made it out like it was up to you to avoid the situation. What he did is on him, and me choosing to turn away from the fight is on me. I knew what I was doing, and I didn’t care.”
“How can you say you don’t care?” He stepped away to move deeper into the apartment, his arms crossed over his chest. “This fight was important—”
“You’re more important.”
“Just stop for a minute. You don’t have to keep reassuring me, because I know that’s what you’re doing.” Ashton sat on the edge of his sofa and looked up at me. “I heard everything you said to Dylan, and even though I was lurking like a creepy eavesdropper . . . I’m glad it happened that way. I’m glad I overheard it without you knowing I was there, because I know it’s real. You really feel those things. And it wasn’t just you saying stuff to make me feel reassured, or happy, or because you’re trying to keep me safe by encasing me in bubble wrap. And I know that’s probably annoying for me to say, but that’s what you do sometimes. And after all of this shit with the money and my father, I think it’s super likely that you could double down on keeping me safe and making amends, and I wouldn’t trust that a damn thing you said is one hundred percent true and not you just trying hard to make me feel better.”
“I’ve never lied to you.” I winced. “I mean, I lied about the shit with your father, but I’ve never lied about my feelings for you except to deny that I had them. Everything else has been real. I want to be with you, Ashton.”
“And I want to be with you more than anything, but I’m afraid of bringing you down and—”
“You’re not bringing me down,” I all but shouted. “Damn it, Ashton.”
“Please let me finish.” He took another breath. “I want to be with you more than I’ve wanted anything else in my life. I’ve loved you forever, and knowing you’ve felt the same way is like . . . is like . . . I don’t know.” Ashton painted symbols in the air with his hands. “It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time, you know? Because it means we can be together, but I’m still scared that whatever Dylan was saying to you is true. That I can hurt you in the long run because I have this ridiculous life that you’re constantly attached to by the media.”
I crossed the living room and knelt in front of him, my hands on his knees and his hands reaching out to rest on my shoulders. Every time we were close, his gaze skipped over my swollen face and the bloody stitches at the side of my eye. I knew he was dying to tend to me himself despite my stitches having already been done by a doctor.
“Do you believe I love you, Ash? Despite everything, all the stuff with your father and me hiding it, do you really truly believe me?”
Ashton swiped his thumb over the bruise on my cheekbone. “Yes.”
I smiled and winced when it pulled at my eye. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, and we told each other mostly everything and were each other’s confidant, so you should know me better than anyone. You should know that I’d never walk away from someone I fucking love because something in their life might inconvenience mine. Because you wouldn’t do that to me. You came to support me at the fight even knowing that Bronson had it out for you.”
Ashton kept caressing my face, his touch the barest whisper against my skin. “What about Tony?”
“Don’t worry about Tony.”
“But he’s right, and so is Dylan. Being attached to me will make it hard for you.”
“Maybe. But I don’t want to go pro.” I took a deep breath. “Ashton, I don’t want to keep fighting.”
He sat back in the couch, but there was no surprise in his face. He’d known all along. “Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know. Keep driving the cab? Maybe I’ll volunteer at the gym and coach kids like Matt does. Or if they don’t want me at Cadet’s, I can go elsewhere.”
Ashton sat up straight, a broad smile appearing. “Maybe you could work at Gateway if they get their athletic grant! You’d love it. It’s this LGBT youth center in Manhattan. I’ve been donating for years, but I ran into Nunzio and—”
“Wait. Don’t get distracted yet.” I couldn’t stop from returning his excited smile. “Before we start planning how to reevaluate my future, which I fucking love that you’re always thinking about how to support me, can you throw a guy a bone and let him know if he has a shot?”
“You know you have a shot.” Ashton brushed his lips to my forehead and then gently against my bruised cheekbone. “Are you sure you really want to be with me despite the paparazzi and the attention and my gross family?”
“Yes. I want to be with you, and I’ll say it a thousand times if that’s what you need.” I shook my head. “As for everything else? You’ve been dealing with that stuff for years. The only time it’s bothered me was when I was afraid of your brother blackmailing me and turning you against me.” I squeezed his hands. “So am I your sexy boxer boyfriend from the Bronx, or what?”
The trepidation that had been evident in his expression ever since I’d entered the apartment receded, and Ashton gave me one of his devilish smiles again.
“Yes. But . . .”
“But?”
“But I want to make it official.”
“Okay . . .” I sat back on my haunches. “Like how? Do I have to go buy you a fucking promise ring?”
“Do I look like a Jonas brother? No.” Ashton whipped out his phone. “I want to make it Instagram official. I took a break to get my head together, but I miss my Insta squad. And I want to show you off.” He gave me a hopeful look. “Can I?”
“Seriously, Ashton?”
“Please?” he asked, batting his long lashes at me. “I can make it official without us being stalked by annoying paps, and give a big ‘fuck you’ to the stupid homophobes that ruined your fight.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
Ashton pressed his mouth to mine, tender and warm as I parted my lips for his tongue to slide inside. The sense of rightness melted me until I was leaning against him, wrapping my arms around him, and not caring that he was angling his camera just so as I got drunk on his taste.
We parted slowly, him brimming with excitement and me stroking his hair as he glanced down at the picture he’d snapped.
“How does it look?”
I didn’t have to see it to know. “Perfect.”
My boxer lost the fight, but he won my heart! Hello again, babes, meet Valdrin. The love of my life, my best friend, and the person I trust to find me when I need finding, to lift me up when I feel down. And I hope I am the same for him. Be kind to him, kinder than the homophobes at the fight who tried to use me against him, and kinder than the media who will try so hard to tear us apart. I can’t wait to post mushy couple pictures of us for you all (and for my Insta squad to give him fashion tips, because I know you will).
xoxo – Ashton