Chapter 33
Would you wait for me
when I gotta leave
Could I ever be everything you need
If I promise you my love
Could that promise be enough
Oh would you wait for me —Would You Wait for Me, Brett Young
Jacob
Huge thuds carried across the wooden floor of the stage from each fist, Emmett slammed into the heavy bag Paul held for him. The heavy bag station and the speed bag station were setup on opposite ends of the stage.
I gave the speed bag right-handed jabs, listening to the rhythm the bouncing leather made, ricocheting between my fist and the square metal-base it dangled from. I phased in my left fist, increasing the pace when for the hundredth time, one of my jabs missed, interrupting the motion and leaving the black and red orb bobbing from its hook chaotically.
Shit!
My focus was shot since I started practicing, and I could hardly maintain a sweat.
The one-minute-rest signal beeped. Glad it finally did, I dropped my fists, feeling frustrated. I shook my arms out then rolled my shoulders, pacing in small circles and waiting for the three-minute bell to ding again. I skimmed the main floor below me and considered giving up the speed bag and moving to another activity that took less attention.
Seth and Brady shadow-boxed in the corners of the gym. Embry and Quil tossed the medicine-ball back and forth as hard and as fast as they could. Coach was instructing Jasper and Jared as they sparred each other in our mock ring. Sam and Collin were jumping rope, teaching some little guys to do it right. A few other men lifted weights.
Eyeing the vacant exercise mats used for push-ups and sit-ups, I decided I wasn't up for bodywork, either. I waited the rest of my speed session out, doing nothing.
Across from me, Paul's neck was corded, and his sweat-damp face was stained with color from trying to keep the bag mobile for Emmett, which appeared to be a workout. I smiled. Emmett loved to throw power shots. Watching him pound the bag, it occurred to me. Nearly two years passed since I'd last seen him fight. It had also already been a year since I'd seen any of the others in the ring.
It sure would be nice to watch everyone fight again. It was another good reason to stay in La Push.
The interval buzzer sounded, and this time, a lot of the guys grabbed their gear and headed out. No matter. I didn't mind practicing alone when I didn't need a training partner.
Ben set no rigid practice-schedule for our club members. We just knew he'd be at the Center to train us between the hours of five and seven, six days a week. The rest of it was up to us. If we came, we came. If we didn't, we didn't.
I arrived at practice an hour late for the third time in a row. Coach knew what I needed, so he immediately called me over to spar with Paul. Once sparring was out of the way, I continued working-out, but I was only going through the motions. I couldn't seem to get into it. I felt just too not-in-the-mood for practice.
Before practice, Bella and I spent time at Second Beach, alone. If I let my mind go there, which I did, we spent time at second base, too. The memory made me grin. This only excited me so much because it was Bella. At seventeen, I was no stranger to sex, and I wasn't striving for it in the first place. It's just that in heated moments my hands sometimes got ideas of their own. I controlled myself super quick. Our difficult situation would become more complicated by rushing sex into the mixture just because I was leaving. More importantly. Because I was leaving, it would complicate everything.
Would I even leave if we started having sex? Probably not.
I drenched my mind in that freezing reality whenever she acted as into what we were doing as me, because then it became almost impossible to put the brakes on.
I'd never been the pressuring type, and Bella was extra-special. She was too important to risk damaging our new relationship by taking it too far, too fast. If I stayed, who knew what would happen... and how soon? That scenario troubled me as much as it excited me. On second thought, it troubled me nowhere near as much as it excited me.
The bell dinged again.
I forced myself to the red floor mats and knocked out sets of push-ups and sit-ups. Here, all I needed to focus on was getting through the burn until I reached the desired numbers I was striving for.
I promised her I'd stay an extra week, and now we only had eight days left together. I wanted to stay for the rest of the summer. I hated to leave. Things were going great between us; I didn't want it to end, and I thought she felt the same. But earlier, before I dropped her off at home, she told me she didn't want to carry on a long-distance relationship once I left. I didn't know what to think about that. Surprised, I just nodded and said, "It's up to you."
What the hell? But what else was I supposed to say?
Obviously, she didn't trust me anymore. Which was a crock of shit, because what happened between us the last time wasn't totally my fault. I wondered how big of an argument we'd get into if I brought that up. Arguing would be such a waste of time. If I stayed, there wouldn't even be a need to argue.
I realized I'd lost count when my abs screamed for mercy. Stretching my arms over-head and pressing my back flat against the mat, I let the pain ease before tackling another set.
All during practice my mind repeated, thinking about what we had been doing, thinking about what she said, thinking about staying, thinking about leaving, thinking about losing, and just thinking about her. And losing. I couldn't allow myself to lose. I needed to win.
I might have been able to get on board with the idea if she told me why. She might have told me why if I'd asked. Or if my big heavy foot wouldn't have slammed down on the gas pedal after she'd shut the door and stepped away. I didn't even recall saying goodbye to her. I glanced back through the review mirror. She was just standing there, staring. A dick move. I shouldn't have behaved that way. But under the circumstances, I wasn't in the greatest of moods.
I understood where she was coming from. Long-distance relationships just didn't last.
Maybe that was enough of a reason to end it. Another guy might jump for joy having a clean breakup with his girlfriend before he left. No strings attached, and no blame because it was her idea to boot. If it had been another girl, I would have been the guy to jump for joy. But she wasn't another girl. She was Bella. And she was once again a part of my life. I wanted to keep it that way. I just got her back and didn't want to let her go again.
Maybe this was an ultimatum. Her way of getting me to stay. How much sense did that make? Because when summer ended, we'd be right back with facing a breakup.
I stopped to rest my abs again. I half-assed my workout, and I knew it. Flipping over, I knocked out another couple of sets of pushups, trying to earn a decent sweat.
She seemed serious about her decision. I didn't doubt it's what she wanted. Was it even fair for me to convince her otherwise when I was the one choosing to leave? Maybe I had no right to disagree with her.
Sections of yellow overhead lighting darkened, dimming half the room. Quickly completing my pushups, I got to my knees, reading the clock. It was five past seven. The rest of the guys entered the hallway leading to the locker room.
Old Ben retrieved gloves, ropes, hand-wraps, and other training materials, setting them inside a plastic tote he was carrying around with him.
Practice was over.
I wanted to go back to Forks to see her, just to be with her more. Make up with her if we were fighting, since I wasn't sure. What I didn't want—was to think about us breaking up anymore. Was it necessary to force the issue with her? I didn't think so. Thinking it over for a day or two more was the best bet, anyway.
Feeling a sudden burst of energy, I jumped to my feet and guzzled down the rest of the water in my squirt-bottle, then rolled the mats and took them to the corner where we stored them. I decided to help Ben clean up before I showered. The tribal community board got hairs up their asses if we didn't keep the building tidy.
Not looking at me, his raspy voice asked, "You feeling all right today, Jake?" He headed over to collect the training gloves I left on the stage by the speed bag.
"Yeah, I'm feeling great," I said, catching up so I could carry the tote up the steps for him.
"You didn't look so great during that second round." I took the container from his hands. "You let Lahote work you into the corner fairly easy tonight and even let him give your coconut a good pounding before you showed up in there."
I stifled a laugh. "It didn't hurt."
A drop of his jawline emphasized disappointment before he looked away and started up the stairs. I had pretty much just pissed on the fundamentals he'd been teaching me for years. I should have known better than to take his concern so lightly. "Keep your hands up and protect yourself at all times," I recited. "Sorry, Ben. I won't let it happen again."
He bent down and picked up a hand towel lying beneath the heavy bag, then shuffled toward the curtains to pull them closed. "You got something going on with you, son?" Then, informing me as if he were telling me something I didn't know, he said, "Because your head wasn't in it tonight. Your body was here, but you. You were somewhere over in... cuckoomonga for all I know."
I couldn't tell if he'd said Cucamonga that way on accident or if he believed it was the way they pronounced it.
"Nope, nothing," I said, heading to the storage area behind the folding bleachers at the back of the stage.
Along with his eyes, the weight of his question pressed on me the entire time. Guilty, I sifted through the plastic box in search of a heavy rope, deciding to stay awhile longer and give him a little more effort since I made it obvious.
Now that he was asking, I wanted to know what he would think if I didn't go back to California as planned. Spotting my favorite jump-rope, I dug it out from the bottom of the barrel, then slid the box behind the bleachers, ready to talk. "Coach, you know how we decided training with a bigger boxing club would be better for me?" I asked as we reached the bottom of the steps.
He glanced at me. "Who did?"
"Ah... we did." I motioned between us with my hand.
When it appeared the conversation didn't register to him, I reminded him of what he said. "It was in the locker room in Mesquite after I lost. You told me you won Regionals your first time there because so many boxing clubs existed back then. You said training was better down south because the clubs were bigger. There were more competitors to develop... your skills..." I trailed off, confused when he shook his head.
"Is that really why you're going to California, son?" His tone was one of surprise.
"Yep."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I never meant to give you the impression that's what you needed to find success, Jake."
"What do you mean?" I scratched my sweat-damp scalp as he clarified the conversation from his point of view.
"I talked about myself in that instance, son. I told you how I won the regional championship.
"Remember now... I advised you to develop more physically, and there would be no stopping you. See, Jacob, your greatest strength is your ability to figure out your opponents. Pick them apart, so to speak. You analyze them early, adapt quickly, and counter them efficiently. And that, son, is a skill you can't teach anywhere. It just comes naturally for you."
Dubious of his assessment, a corner of my mouth curled. While I appreciated the superhero vote of confidence, I worked hard in that ring every single time, and it was never that easy. "You make it sound like I can't lose."
"The potential to lose is always there. What I'm telling you is this. It doesn't matter how many boxing-styles you fight between now and Nationals. Come tournament time, your opponents will be new to you. You'll still need to pick them apart and give them everything you've got."
"So, you're saying that I don't need to go?"
"I'm saying that while I can't guarantee you'll take the whole damn thing, I can guarantee whether you stay here or go south—if you put your heart into your training and your level of fitness, you'll do great."
"Then how come you didn't mention this to me before?"
"You didn't ask my opinion and shouldn't ask it. It isn't my place to tell you what to do. Because what you believe will work best for you—will work best for you." His eyes narrowed and his expression took on a more serious cast. "But you can't cheat yourself during practices." He gave a stern glare. "I can't stress that enough, Jake. You'll run into individuals as talented as yourself. And you need to be physically ready. I had an agreement with Coach Garrett to keep you in tip-top shape this summer. But after what you've been showing me this week, I'm not sure I can. So, we passed the buck. We had a conference call with the training manager down there, and they're expecting you. Looking forward to having you, too. Seems they got one of their own attending Nationals this year. Kid by the name of Alec, I believe."
"I know him! He's a Super Welterweight. We sparred a lot last summer. He went toe to toe with me every time. He's tough."
Ben reinforced his beliefs. "You're talented and you're driven, son, and as long as you stay focused—no matter where you are—you will find success."
"My girlfriend said the same thing pretty much." Showing him the rope in my hand, I said, "I know what you're saying, Coach, and I'll jump rope for about thirty or forty minutes, maybe run some laps before I call it a day."
He looked satisfied. "Let me know if you need me to make another phone call. If you change your mind about leaving, that is." While I unwound the heavy rope, he asked, "Girlfriend, aye? I thought that's where you've been hanging out."
I wondered what he thought he knew. "Where's that?"
Laugh lines appeared on the fragile skin near his eyes, coinciding with a mischievous smirk. "Like I said before, 'cuckoomonga.'"
Before I could respond, he turned, jiggling the building keys in his right hand and repeating with quiet laughter, "Cuckoomonga." His boots clicked along the old asbestos-tile flooring on his way across the gym. I always wondered why he wore cowboy boots to practice.
Eyes focused straight ahead of him, he said something so low, I barely heard him. "Hanging out in cuckoomonga so much might not be the best idea."
Whether he meant for me to hear him at all wasn't clear.
He ought to know, and he just had to remind me of it as soon as I thought I decided. I lifted my voice. "Ben, were you really afraid to fly in airplanes back then?"
He paused his steps, answering me without looking back. "Still am."
"But you flew to Mesquite last spring to watch me fight in the championship?"
"And I'll do it again," he said, resuming his steps.
I grinned; he was just like my grandpa.
After he left, I didn't even last ten more minutes. My stomach growled, and I had to eat, didn't I? Quickly coiling the rope, I decided to call Bella, tell her I was sorry, and ask her to come out with me. I figured a few more days in cuckoomonga couldn't hurt.
To be continued next chapter...
