In the past, my days had been carefully planned, my routine regimented. I’d wake up two hours before leaving for work, drink a protein shake, and would do roadwork. A run around the neighborhood was my ideal—north on Morris Avenue, then over to Jerome, past Yankee Stadium, and around once again. On a good day I’d run it twice, but I hadn’t had a good day in a while. After that, I’d go home for another shake and a shower and head to Concourse Cabs to start my shift, or down to my super to see if he had any extra jobs around the building. Sometimes I was lucky and I had time in the day for both.
Unless the cab company was crazy busy or I got stuck in traffic, I made it home by five o’clock to refuel, take a power nap, and then jog to Cadet’s gym to do my boxing workout and spar from seven to ten, when they closed. I’d been on that same cycle for years, since graduating high school, and I had no idea why it was suddenly running me ragged. No matter how much I tried to pace myself, I couldn’t keep up. Every day I grew wearier and ended up half-assing a workout or a run or a fight in the gym, and it was starting to show.
The uppercut I’d just taken to the jaw was evidence of that.
I’d known Luis Ramos for eight years, since we’d both been kids talking excitedly about the Silver Gloves Nationals, and it was the first time he’d ever knocked me on my ass with one punch.
“Damn,” he said, paused in his southpaw stance. “You okay, man? I didn’t mean to fuck you up to that degree.”
A laugh rang out obnoxiously from outside the ring. I ignored Bronson. He was a glorified Ramos groupie and didn’t even know it. Even Luis rolled his eyes. He had a smart mouth just like his friend, but at the end of the day he was here to put in work. Not start fights or be a clown like Bronson.
“I’m wonderful.” I sprang to my feet, bouncing back like I hadn’t just been knocked the fuck out, and tried to get back in the game. “Let’s do it.”
Luis hesitated, looking from me to Tony, and shrugged.
“All right, then.”
We circled each other, him leaning in and me dodging, trying to act like my ears weren’t ringing and my head wasn’t fuzzy from the blow. The humiliation had warmed to a simmer of anger, and it was fueling a need for redemption. And I didn’t give a damn about my own ego—it was Tony’s that’d be wounded if the other trainers heard that his golden boy was slipping.
Luis faked a right hook, but then went for my body with a left jab. I danced out of the way before nailing him with a two-punch combo to the side of his face. Footwork on point, and response time sick despite my tearing eyes. I bounced in place, fists up, and scanned Luis for a new opening. That was when Tony’s voice cracked across the gym.
“Hold up.”
I frowned down at him but didn’t relax from my stance. “Time?”
“To hell with time. You were done when you landed on your back.”
My mouth automatically opened to argue, but I snapped it shut and dropped my hands. As Luis went to talk to his own trainer, Tony hopped up to the ring and ducked beneath the ropes. He was fifty-five, but in better shape than guys nearly thirty years his junior. Basically who I aspired to be.
“This is getting to be a problem,” he said, gravelly voice pitched low. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you walked out early the other day, but you show up worse than you were before.”
I inhaled, trying to steady my breathing. “I’ll get it together, Tony. I swear. I’m not going to let you down.” It was the wrong thing to say. I knew it as soon as it hit the open air, but his expression turned furious. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” he said, getting louder. “And I know you’re doing this for the wrong goddamn reason.”
“I’m doing it to win.” I was so used to having to say it to him that it was almost beginning to sound convincing. Almost. “This tournament means everything to me.”
“Yeah, because you want to prove to the world that I can train a champion and if you win, you’re hoping to get noticed by some promoters so you can finally start making money to pay off Hana’s tuition.” There wasn’t a hint of mocking in Tony about those two facts, but his shoulders were stiff and his eyes glittered. “I know your plan is to go pro, but you’re not doing it for you.”
With a slow sigh, I pulled off my gloves.
“You wouldn’t give a damn about this tournament if you weren’t trying to help Hana and m—” Tony broke off, but I could see the shape of the word me on his lips. And he looked as heartbroken as he was angry. As he was disappointed. “You’re a pleaser, Valdrin. And God help me, I love you, but being a pleaser won’t get you through a tournament, and it won’t get you on the Olympic team. It won’t get you sponsors so you can go pro. You need to change your mindset or come up with another plan for your life.”
I flicked a frantic glance around the gym. Mostly everyone was doing their own thing, but two people were paying attention to me—Luis and Bronson. Bronson flipped me off. I had no idea what the guy’s problem was with me. Maybe because he worked out at the gym but wasn’t part of a team? It wasn’t my fault he sucked.
“I’ll be better,” I insisted, looking away from Bronson’s sneering face. “You can count on it.”
Tony wasn’t convinced. He jerked his head at the ropes and turned on his heel. “Come with me.”
“Ton—”
“Come with me.”
Keeping my face impassive, I shot Luis and his trainer, Keith, an apologetic frown. Luis looked exasperated, and Keith just glared as if I was wasting his time. Which I was. And I felt like shit about it, but I still followed my trainer to his office. It was cramped and dark like the rest of the gym, but there was clear pride in the meticulous way he kept it in order, and in the framed photographs with him and dozens of Golden Gloves and Olympian boxers from the past two decades.
“Sit down.”
I hesitated for long enough for him to snarl, and then I complied. My heart rate was slowing, and the roar of adrenaline in my body was fading, replaced by a sinking feeling that this conversation was about to go very wrong.
“These are the facts, kid. Luis wants this more than you. Guys five years younger want this more than you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, those are facts.” Tony shoved a cigarette between his lips but didn’t light it. He knew I hated smoke just like he knew I hated alcohol. “You need to reconcile this, Val. There are people out there who are born with a drive to win. To be number one. Those guys are not always the most disciplined, or the nicest, and they’re not always going to go about getting what they want the way you or I would—”
“So you’re saying I’m not a winner?”
Tony kept going, talking over me. “—and then there’s guys like you. Like me. Guys who like helping other people.” He jerked a thumb at his own chest. “Guys who spend every evening training kids with no parents or direction, or who get bullied and beat up on the walk home, or whatever the fuck, even though I don’t get paid for doing it. And then there’s another type of guy—one who lets his pride get in the way of taking easy money, like a fancy job with a six-figure salary designed just for him, because he’s too loyal to his mother.”
“Tony, that ain’t the whole story and you know it.”
“Refuses the easy money,” he repeated, scoffing. “And then spends the next few years destroying his body by working it to the bone trying to do everything and asking no one for help after his mother’s life insurance policy all goes on his sister’s second year of college.”
I wanted to tune him out. To focus on the sound of the gym through the flimsy walls—the tap of the speed bag, the satisfying thump of the punching bag, and the damp packing sounds of gloves connecting with flesh. I could also hear the little kids who trained in the evenings and talked big about who they would be when they got older. They never aspired to be a guy like me. A pleaser. Because damn if Tony wasn’t right.
Hunching forward, I pressed my elbows into my thighs and buried my head in my hands. “What do you want me to say?”
“I wanna hear you admit what I just said.”
“That I’m a fucking loser?”
“If you’re a loser, then I’m one too,” Tony barked. “I said you’re doing this for reasons other than a drive to win. You got heart but not the ambition. And those’re the facts of the matter.”
My fingers curled to fists. “Is this your way of saying you’re done?”
“No, dumbass. It’s my way of telling you to get your shit together and figure out your priorities, or I will be done. Yeah, I want you to win, but I’m also not gonna be the one helping you to run yourself ragged.”
“Hana is my priority. My only priority.” That sentence tasted like a lie, because Ashton immediately popped into my head. “I can’t not help my sister, Tony. And that magical job with the big salary you keep bringing up doesn’t come without strings. It was always meant as a bribe.”
There. I’d said it. The first time those words had left my mouth to anyone besides Hana. For the past year I’d withheld from everyone, Ashton included, the real reason why I’d refused to consider that job at TTC—even after I’d drained my bank account at the start of Hana’s fall semester. And now that it was out in the humid air of the gym, I wished I could take back the words.
For all that Ashton said he wanted me to take a short cut with the cushy job offer, I never wanted him to learn the real reason his father had made the offer.
I called Hana on my way home, and she managed to beat me there. As usual, she’d found a magical way into my apartment. I was going to have to talk to the super about falling for her sweet smiles and innocent eyes every time she wanted a favor. There would eventually come a time when I didn’t want her barging in. A time when I actually found someone to date, as unlikely as that was in the near future.
“How’d you get here from Fordham so fast?” I asked as I locked the door. “It takes me ten minutes to get here from the gym.”
Hana brushed a kiss to my cheek without having to strain. We’d been eye level since ninth grade, although that was where our similarities ended. She was curvy and fair, while I was brawny and olive-skinned.
“I was already on my way. Figured it was a good time for us to have a chat.”
“Uh-huh.” That never sounded good. “Is it another lecture about my lack of a romantic life? Because then I can tease you about you and Matt pretending you don’t want to go steady.”
“Ha. No, but somewhat close.”
I had no idea what she was alluding to, and I wasn’t sure I had the patience to wait until she said it. When I stood there, hands poised to unzip my jacket, and stared, Hana laughed at me.
“Come on. I brought takeout from the new Thai place. You clean up that face, nice shiner by the way, and then we will feast.”
Feasting sounded great, but uneasiness took hold of me. Instead of looking forward to spicy noodles and spring rolls as I gave myself a quick scrub down, I was left wondering what she was going to say. Having two people demand to have serious conversations with me in the same evening did not bode well.
We sat down on the floor around my coffee table and turned on the evening news for no reason other than background noise. When we’d cracked open plastic containers and I’d satisfied the beast screaming for food in my stomach, I broached the topic.
“Is something going on at school?”
She cocked her head questioningly. “What would be going on at school?”
My never-ending paranoia about money had been hissing to me for weeks, wondering if the check we’d sent to cover the rest of her tuition had bounced. But instead of planting the seed of that worry in her head, I shrugged. “Maybe you don’t like your new classes. Or your major. Or maybe I need to go fuck someone up?”
Hana snorted. “No, brother. You do not need to go fight someone for me. Between the job and classes, I don’t have enough time to speak to people and make enemies out of them. Although, my roommate is starting to irritate me with her boxer fetish. She wants you bad.”
“How can she want me that bad? She saw me the one time when I helped you move in.”
“That was apparently enough.”
“Ha. Well, tell her sorry. That’s not gonna happen.” I stopped picking the beef out of the sea of noodles and shoved my plate away. “If it’s not about school, then what’s going on? I had a shitty night and I’m having doom-and-gloom scenarios play out in my head.”
“Trust me, it’s nothing serious. Just . . . odd.” She licked the tips of her chopsticks and dropped them into her container. “Dylan Townsend called me.”
My eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that scumbag want?”
“Whoa! That is a strong reaction. What did he do to you?”
Besides trying to whore Ashton out for his stupid cell phone company? Nothing.
“He’s not very nice to Ashton,” I said flatly. “So he can die.”
Hana nodded slowly, dark eyes focused on me as she likely tried to fit my reaction to whatever he’d said to her on the phone. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d reach out to her after so many months, but it definitely wasn’t a good one. If it had anything to do with Ashton, he’d have come to me. Unless . . .
“He didn’t bring up me working for him again, did he?”
“Actually, he did. But that wasn’t the only reason he called.”
“For Christ’s sake.” My fist came down on the table, and the containers collectively jumped. Soup slopped over one of them and spilled. “Why is everyone harping about this job lately?”
Hana dabbed at the mess with a napkin. “What is wrong with you tonight?”
“I told you I had a bad night,” I snapped. “Everyone is— Just . . . I just have a lot on my mind.”
“That’s fine, but I can’t talk to you if you keep yelling and snarling and spilling soup.”
Exhaling loudly, I let my head thud against the cushion behind me. I closed my eyes and tried to think about something good. Like a hot shower and sleep, or a long run, or that night in the car with Ashton and the feel of his gentle fingers sliding over my skin. I wished he were here now, because no one could bring me down to earth and soothe the knots better than him. When he wasn’t caught up in the world he’d been thrust into as a child model, he was the most attentive friend anyone could ask for.
“He called claiming to be worried about Ashton,” Hana said after we’d sat in silence for nearly a full minute. “He asked if you still looked after him.”
The urge to snarl was strong, but I took a deep breath. Then another.
“Did he say it in those words, or did he ask if we still see each other on a regular basis?”
“He said it in those words,” she confirmed. “‘Is Valdrin still looking after Ashton?’”
“And you said?”
“That I didn’t know, because I don’t know. When we’re together, you spend all your time evading my questions and distracting me by asking every detail about my classes.” Hana scooted closer to me. “Anyway, he said he’d seen a picture of you at Ashton’s house and wondered about it. I guess he wants to make sure you’re still in Ashton’s life?”
“Bullshit,” I said. “That’s not what he’s doing.”
Hana frowned. “You’ve always been a positive influence on Ashton, Val. You were the only normal person in his life for as long as I can remember. Especially when he was modeling.”
“Because we’re friends. Not because . . . because I just want to look after him. I care about him as a person, not a fucking task.”
I felt sick as I said it. There had been a point in time when Ashton had been a task, and I no longer wondered whether Dylan knew about that aspect of our relationship even though their father had sworn to keep it secret. Maybe even Mackenzie knew. The possibility was nauseating, but the idea of them telling Ashton made me want to drive to their mansion on the Upper East Side and kill them both.
“Listen, I have the feeling Dylan wants me away from Ashton. Not the opposite. He’s trying to use Ashton to get this deal, and I’m sure he’d know that I’m against it.”
“Use him?” A quizzical look quickly shifted to dawning understanding. She flushed with anger. “Dylan is a bastard. How can he treat his own brother that way?”
“Because all he cares about is himself. Ashton is a means to an end, and he’s obviously bought the bullshit image the media has painted of Ashton over the years. If he took a few minutes to stop and actually talk to Ashton, he’d know this is the worst possible thing he could ask him to do. And Ashton is only doing it because this is probably the first time Dylan has shown interest in him. Or made him feel needed or important. But Dylan doesn’t care.”
I remembered Ashton’s expression as I’d turned and walked away from him, and cringed. I’d been so torn up about my failure to respond to his calls when he’d reached out about this very situation that I’d left when he’d likely wanted to talk. I now had zero doubts he was trying to figure out why I charged myself with taking care of him. Why I’d done it for so long.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I blinked and refocused on Hana. “Sorry. I spaced out.”
“It’s okay.” Her smile was tight and worried. “I asked if you were still taking care of him.”
“Hana, I already said it’s not like that anymore. I’m not his . . . keeper. Or his shadow. If I spend time with him, it’s because I want to.” I looked down at my container, but I didn’t have an appetite anymore. “It’s complicated. To have him in my life means I have to watch him do things that make him feel terrible inside, and it kills me that I can’t do anything to stop him. Sometimes I want to just . . . stay away.” It wasn’t the entire story, but I’d never told Hana about the intimacy I’d shared with Ashton. I’d never known how she would take it.
“It used to hurt me too,” she said. “But these are his choices. And he’s an adult. Are you just going to walk away because you can’t handle being unable to protect him?”
I could. And sometimes I considered doing just that. Beyond keeping my distance so I didn’t fall deeper into the infatuation that had been steadily building since our teenage years, I sometimes considered fully walking away. No longer feeling the burn of jealousy when he uploaded pictures of himself hugged up with someone else. No longer having the weight of guilt on my shoulders because there were so many secrets between us.
Unfollow his social media accounts, keep myself from responding to his calls, and cut him off completely. Simplify my life. Focus on my training. Stop wondering what he was doing, and who he was with, and whether he was okay. Even as I went through the list, I knew it was bullshit. I could never stop thinking about Ashton, and I would never stop missing the quiet moments when it was just us and he was a devastatingly beautiful force of nature that had calmed just for me.
“No, I can’t walk away. I care about him. That’s why I want to knock Dylan’s teeth out.”
Hana patted my arm. “Thatta boy. Now tell me this—who else has been asking about the job at TTC? I thought you’d already turned it down.”
“I did,” I said, relieved that she hadn’t changed her mind about supporting my decision. “But everyone thinks I’m overworking myself with the cab and maintenance and boxing, so both Tony and Ashton asked why I won’t consider it.”
“Because it’s devil money?” She shook her head. “Sometimes I think you should tell Ashton the real reason his father made you that offer.”
My heart seized. “No.”
“Val . . .”
“You can’t tell him,” I said, sitting up so quickly my knees slammed into the coffee table. “Please, Hana. He trusts me now, and it would ruin everything.”
She didn’t look convinced. “I have more faith in him than that. And it’s a big secret to keep. It’ll be worse if he finds out from someone else.”
Like Dylan. Or Mackenzie. Or from Mr. Townsend himself if the old bastard ever hopped off his yacht long enough to return to Manhattan.
“Someday,” I said. “But he’s in a bad place right now, and I’m not gonna drag him down even more.”
Hana’s face clouded over, and we sat together in silence until I stood to clean up our leftovers. By the time we were done, and I’d switched topics to interrogate her about her fall classes and her not-so-secret crush on Matt, it was late enough for her to let me drive her back to Fordham. I walked her to her dorm building, then sat for a long time after I returned to my car. It wasn’t until my phone pinged did I snap out of my daze.
An Instagram notification had popped up—Ashton had posted a new picture.
I was not surprised to see a full-body shot of him in front of a mirror holding two different outfits—one of his customary black slip dresses and a shirt with metallic geometric patterns—with his hair streaming over his shoulders like a golden waterfall and his expression twisted with exaggerated confusion. The caption read: New club opening tonight in Meatpacking! Do I go classic or punk rock math wizard?
I snorted and pulled up my text messages. After staring at our previous exchanges from the night I’d gone to get him in Long Island, I tapped out a sentence.
Valdrin: Hey. im sorry about the other day.
Ashton: It’s fine! :-)
Valdrin: No, its not. and you dont have to pretend. Im sorry I walked away from you. It wasnt what a good friend would do. You would never walk away from me.
Ashton: Well, that’s because I’m a better person.
Valdrin: Ha. You just might be. Anyway, just wanted to clear shit up and make sure you knew that. Behave yourself tonight.
Ashton: And how did you know I was going out?
Valdrin: Instagram . . .
Ashton: :-) :-) :-)
Valdrin: Okay, cya.
Ashton: Waitttt! Do you want to come with me? It’s a new queer club, but that’s okay right?
Valdrin: Cant. I have to tighten my schedule or my trainer will drop me.
Ashton: Oh wow. You know I hate when you fight, but can I do anything?
Valdrin: No, not really.
Ashton: :-(
Valdrin: Look, im gonna be busy but I dont want you to hesitate to call me when you need me. Ever. Even if you think it may turn into me being overprotective. I may go AWOL for a while so I can focus, but you can always reach out to me.
Valdrin: You mean a lot to me and I dont like to see you hurt. Its why I get that way. But if you need me, call me. Always. Okay?
Ashton: Okay.
Valdrin: Have fun tonight.
Ashton: Unlikely, but thank you. I wish I could see you.
Valdrin: It wont be like this forever. I just cant fuck with partying and staying up all night and all that shit.
Ashton: I get it.
Valdrin: Good. Talk soon, ok?
Ashton: Okay. Love you.
Valdrin: Me too.