SHANE. I’ve spent most of my adult life wanting to be in a meaningful relationship. The relationships we typically have in high school never really amount to anything meaningful, and I didn’t look at my high school relationships as being anything but relationship curiosity. To think as a high school student we have any idea of what we want, need, or really desire in a life-long mate is ridiculous at best.

I had a relationship as an adult for several years with Tina. She and I were inseparable. She spent all of her spare time with me, and I did the same with her. She even spent considerable time at the gym watching me train. I suspected we would get married and spend our lives together. Being around her made me feel as if my life was in order.

One day, she came home and told me - with much excitement - she had been accepted into the Navy. I was beyond shocked. After a lengthy discussion, I found out she had been trying to pass the entrance examinations for a few years. She never bothered to tell me her desire to join the military - and after the relationship ended, it seemed cheap and worthless.

Since the relationship ended, I have had no desire to actively pursue any form of a female companion. I figured I’d spend the rest of my life focused on boxing and being single. I expressed no desire to be in any form of a relationship since Tina, and I have had serious doubts this would ever change.

Meeting Kace was refreshing and strange at the same time. I have never met a woman who immediately possessed my thoughts the way she did. Even after meeting for the first time in the parking lot, I found myself thinking about her often. I wondered if she was happy, safe, and most of all - single. Seeing her for the second time when I went to pay my insurance made me wonder about our meeting being fate.

My grandfather always told me God puts people in our lives for a reason. It’s our responsibility to recognize them for what he intends them to be to us. Some people are bad, and we need to recognize them as such. The bad people or events in life allow us to have an accurate means of measuring the good – a basis of comparison – the difference between good and evil. Other people are good, and may have something to offer us – to make our lives, minds, or basic understanding richer. If something or someone is presented to us once, we will often dismiss it as being nothing more than happenstance. If that person or situation is presented twice, it is God slapping us in the face and telling us to pay attention. It is fate.

I believe in fate.

Looking through the window toward the office building, I took a drink of my water. As she began to cross the street, I felt my heart race. I stood up and watched her cross the street. Smiling, she waited for a break in traffic. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, heels, and a tangerine colored sleeveless top. Clearly and without any effort whatsoever, she defined beauty as she gracefully ran across the street in her high heels.

As she hopped over the curb and onto the sidewalk, she rubbed her hands on her skirt. Her hair appeared to be naturally blonde, and bounced as she walked down the sidewalk toward the door. As the bell which hung over the entrance chimed, I sat back into my seat.

I leaned forward in the booth and turned her direction. As she made eye contact, I waved. She smiled and slowly walked my direction. She was simply adorable.

As she approached the booth, I stood from my seat and inched between the table and seat toward the aisle. I stood in the aisle, looked down at my raggedy boots, and glanced up at her. Standing about a foot in front of me, she rubbed her hands on her skirt and stared into my eyes, smiling. Slowly, she raised her right hand between us, and waved. Not certain if she could speak intelligibly or not, I pointed to the other side of the booth.

She stepped away from me and walked to the other side of the booth.

“I got you a bottle of water, sit down. Relax,” I said softly.

She placed her purse in the seat and slid into the booth beside it. She twisted the lid off of the bottle of water and took a long drink, raising her eyebrows and focusing on me as she did. As she placed the bottle and the lid onto the table, she took a deep breath.

“Hopefully,” she smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulder

“My mouth and brain will stay,” she paused.

“Connected,” she smiled as she exhaled.

I pulled my hands from my hoodie pockets and lightly clapped. She rested her elbows on the table and patted her hands together in a mimicking fashion until I stopped. When I stopped clapping she placed her hands in her lap and smiled.

I pressed my forearms onto the edge of the table and leaned her direction, “You’re adorable.”

Without speaking, her mouth formed the words, thank you.

“Just in case you get mixed up with your words - one tap always means yes, two means no, remember?” I said.

“Okay,” she laughed.

“Would you two like to order?” the waitress asked.

I held my index finger in the air and focused on Kace, “Give us a few minutes, please.”

“I’ll check back in a couple,” the waitress smiled.

“Okay, I’ll start at the beginning,” I took a deep breath, exhaled, and shoved my hands deep into my pockets of the hoodie.

“I’m going to guess, based on the fact that there was an empty yogurt container in the trash at your desk, and there was a plastic spoon in the container, you normally eat at your office. You probably save all of the money you’re supposed to eat out with and use it for yourself. I’m also going to guess what I thought was an iPad that your douchebag boyfriend smashed in the parking lot was a Kindle. And the Kindle in your purse was one you bought to replace the one that he smashed,” I took another breath.

“And you probably read as much as you can - to dream. To dream of what could be. You live through the characters in the books you read, and it allows you to have some form of solace, or an inner peace in your otherwise worthless existence of a life with the douchebag,” I paused and looked at Kace.

Her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open, she stared at me, speechless.

“He’s controlling, isn’t he?’

She nodded her head like it was on a spring.

I shook my head from side to side and pulled my hood over my shoulders. As I pressed my hood against my face, I clenched my jaw.

“Are you…” she looked up at the ceiling and tilted her head to the side.

“Mad…” she paused and took a short shallow breath.

“At me?” she said softly.

This woman was the definition of beauty. Clearly. She also possessed every quality which made her as adorable in regard to personality anyone could ever wish for. Even through her little speech problem, she maintained a smile and a positive attitude. I wanted to crush the asshole that was abusing her.

I shook my head slowly and accidentally growled.

Just a little.

“No, not at all. I’m sorry. It makes me angry when I find out someone is abusing a woman. Well, women, kids and old people - people who are incapable of providing much resistance. I couldn’t even tell you how many women I have talked to who are just like you. The eating at work, saving money, hiding things for fear of getting in trouble,” I paused and rolled my eyes.

“You’d be surprised at how many women are in relationships just like yours. It makes me sick,” I clenched my jaw in anger.

A slight frown washed over her face. Obviously she had become embarrassed.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said as I pulled my hands from my hoodie pockets.

She shook her head from side-to-side.

Loudly, she tapped the table twice.

“You want to talk about this?” I asked.

She tapped the table once.

“How long have you been with him?’

“Sixteen,” she responded.

I shook my head, “Ever been with anyone else?”

She shook her head slowly and took a drink of her water.

“You guys ready?” the waitress asked.

I looked at the waitress and turned toward Kace. She nodded and smiled.

“Turkey sandwich on,” I paused and looked at Kace.

“Wheat,” she said.

“Two turkey sandwiches on wheat bread – add a salad to each. With vinaigrette on the side please. Thank you,” I smiled.

“Dressing on the sandwich?” The waitress asked.

I looked at Kace.

“Light mayonnaise, please,” she said softly.

“Same,” I said.

“Okay, just a few minutes,” the waitress said.

“You feeling less nervous?” I asked.

“It’s weird. Yes, I am. When you ordered the dressing on the side, I think I realized you’re human. I don’t know, I just immediately felt comfortable. It was like my insides sighed. Would you have ordered light mayonnaise if I hadn’t said something?” she asked.

Wow, she speaks.

“Yes, I would have,” I responded.

She sighed softly and smiled.

“You’re beautiful, Kace. When you’re lying in bed tonight, remember that. You’re beautiful,” I looked into her eyes and said.

She smiled.

“You are?” I asked as I motioned toward her with my right hand.

She shrugged.

“Beautiful,” I said again.

“You are?” I asked.

She slowly smiled.

“Beautiful?” she asked softly.

“Let’s try this again,” I said.

“Kace, what are you? Describe yourself to me?”

“Beautiful,” she responded softly as she smiled.

“You certainly are. Don’t forget it, okay?” I said, nodding my head once sharply.

She nodded and took a deep breath.

“So, he’s controlling. He’s abusive. He slaps me. He hits me. He yells at me, chokes me, he tells me I can’t leave the house. Let’s see,” she paused, looked out the window and bobbed her head up and down along with the music playing.

“He monitors my text messages, phone calls, spending, and tells me I’m a dirty slut and a whore,” she turned and looked back in my direction.

Her eyes were welled with tears, but none fell.

I gritted my teeth and tried not to show my anger. People like Kace’s husband made me develop an anger only fed by action or resolving the situation. When I box, I often tell myself my opponent is abusing a woman. It allows me to become at peace with fighting someone who hasn’t really done anything to deserve the beating they are about to receive.

“Have you cheated on him?” I asked.

“Oh heck no,” she said.

“You’re not married?” I asked.

“No, thank God,” she shook her head and wiped her eyes.

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked.

“I suppose so,” she paused.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, I moved here two years ago from Compton, California. I bumped into you at the drug store. Then I saw you again at the office across the street. I couldn’t get you off of my mind. It’s as if you were pumping through my veins, like you had infected me. Meeting you once might have been an accident, maybe happenstance. But meeting you twice, it’s fate. I don’t know where this will end up, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to find out,” I reached into my hood and rubbed my hair with my hands.

“Yeah, Austin is a huge city. I suppose running into me twice would be almost impossible. So, you came here from Compton? Isn’t that like the ghetto?” she asked.

“My father was an active duty Marine, so I lived with my grandfather. He had lived there for decades and refused to move. But yeah, it’s the ghetto. It kind of made me who I am, I suppose,” I pushed the hood off of my head and rubbed my hair with my fingertips.

“Here’s your lunch,” the waitress said as she sat the plates down.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said as she stepped back from the booth.

The waitress looked at me and smiled. She was tall, thin, and probably in her mid-fifties. Her skin was very tan, probably from the countless hours she spent after work relaxing in the sun. More than likely she was single and r4ecovering from a relationship similar to Kace’s. Most of the older waitresses in diners seemed to be. As I returned the smile she turned and walked away.

“So is your father out of the military now?” Kace asked.

“No, he was killed in Afghanistan doing what he loved; fighting,” I said.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her hands cupped over her mouth.

I looked out the window.

“Don’t be. He begged to go back, each time. He knew nothing else. He couldn’t make sense of being here in the United States after his first tour. I think it was the only way he could make the war seem like it was right or just. Anyway, he died doing what he loved,” I turned from the window and focused on her face.

“So, can you leave him and go live with your parents?” I asked.

“No. He hasn’t let me see either of my parents for years. My relationship with them has deteriorated. He hates both of my parents. I think they hate him,” she said as she picked up her sandwich.

She was so matter of fact about everything - like it really didn’t matter. This piece of shit of a human being had manipulated and controlled her to a point that she really didn’t realize everything he had done to her.

“He doesn’t let you see your parents?” I asked, shocked at this statement.

“No,” she responded, shaking her head.

“He doesn’t let you. Interesting. What’s his name?” I asked.

“Josh,” she responded after finishing her bite of sandwich.

I shook my head and unzipped my hoodie. The more I thought about this guy, the hotter it seemed to get.

“What are you, Kace?” I asked.

She looked at me with a confused look on her face, and then appeared she had a revelation.

“Beautiful,” she grinned.

“Yes you are. Don’t forget it, okay?” I asked.

She nodded and blushed slightly.

“Now back to Josh. I’m going to call him Buster. I had a friend in Compton named Josh. He was a pretty good guy. From here on out, I’m going to call him Buster,” I said as I reached for my sandwich.

“Buster,” she laughed.

She studied me and smiled, “I like that. Well, you know what I mean. Yeah, Buster. It fits.”

“So are you a personal trainer or something?” she asked.

“No, I’m a boxer,” I responded as I handed her a napkin.

She smiled and slid the napkin beside her plate. Her teeth were snow white and perfectly shaped.

With my index finger, I pointed to the corner of my mouth and then to her face. She raised the napkin and wiped her mouth.

“Light on the mayonnaise,” I chuckled.

“Excuse me, did you say boxer? Like, you box? What do you do for work?” she asked, her face filled with wonder.

“I box. I’m a fighter, it’s what I do,” I responded.

“Oh God,” she responded.

Quickly, she stood from her seat and stared at me.

“What?” I asked as I stood up.

“Bathroom. Bye,” she stammered.

Hurriedly, she pushed herself out of the booth, and ran toward the bathroom.

Feeling somewhat confused, I pulled the hood over my head and sat back down. I started thinking of Kace, her boyfriend, and a way to get them apart. Ultimately, it needed to happen. Whether Kace ended up with me, alone or with someone else did not matter. Getting her out of the abusive relationship she was in did.

“Is your girlfriend okay?” the waitress asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend, but I think so, why?” I asked.

“Oh, she just ran to the bathroom like something was wrong,” she answered.

“Well, I think she just had to go really bad,” I chuckled.

“Need anything else?” she asked as she pulled the bill from her apron.

“No, how much is it?” I asked.

“$21.30 with the salads,” she responded, looking at the receipt.

I leaned forward and removed my wallet from my pocket. I flipped through the bills, and removed a fifty dollar bill.

“Here you go, keep the change,” I said.

“Uhhm, this is a fifty,” she said, showing me the bill.

“I know. Keep the change. And thank you,” I said as I nodded my head and sat back down into the seat.

“Oh God. Wow. Thank you,” she said, smiling.

Her teeth glistened.

“Certainly,” I nodded and pulled my hood off of my head as I spoke.

As she turned to walk away, Kace slid back into her seat.

“You alright?” I asked, laughing lightly and shaking my head.

She nodded excitedly.

“What happened?” I asked.

She pointed at me.

“What?” I asked.

She clenched her fists and acted as if she was throwing punches slowly at the center of the table.

“Boxing? Me?” I asked.

She nodded.

I remembered what she said about getting nervous, and the fact it embarrassed her to speak. I felt bad about making her nervous. Some people simply aren’t cut out for the violence associated with the sport.

“I’m sorry if I made you nervous, I didn’t mean to. It’s all I know. It’s my profession, not a hobby,” I said apologetically.

She shook her head and once again began to throw fake punches slowly at the center of the table.

Somewhat confused, I looked at her and thought about what she had written down earlier.

When I get nervous or really excited the words don’t come out in order. It’s embarrassing. I’m sorry.

“Excited?” I asked.

She nodded her head repeatedly and shook her fists.

Here’s my opportunity to seal the deal.

“Well, I can’t wait to beat Buster’s ass, make you mine, and take you to a fight. You’ll love it, I’m undefeated. Never been beat,” I bragged as I pulled my hoodie over my shoulders.

I stood in the booth and tossed my hoodie in the seat beside me. Now standing in my ribbed tank top, I flexed my pectoral muscles and slowly sat down.

“It’s hot in here. Do you think it’s hot in here?” I asked, scrunching my eyebrows.

Her mouth open wide, she nodded her head sharply as she stood. She inched her way out of the booth, and turned to face me. In somewhat of a daze, she stared at my chest and biceps for a split second, and took off in a dead run for the bathroom.

I turned and looked out the window at the office where Kace worked and chuckled to myself.

I suspect she was considering what was in her best interest. Most women in her position merely needed a little shoulder to lean on through the course of change. After the fact, they almost immediately realized it was something they should have done long before. For them, making the initial move was difficult to do without assistance and encouragement. I intended to provide both.

Now I needed to figure a way to get rid of Buster and convince Kace it was what was best for her.

I felt as if someone was behind me, and I turned to face the aisle. As I did, Kace picked up my hoodie and tossed it over the table to her seat. She slid along the seat of the booth until she was against my arm. She turned and looked up at me and smiled, resting her head on my bicep.

As she leaned against me, I noticed she was about a foot shorter than I was.

I love short women.

And the thought of beating Buster’s ass.