Page 13 of Win You Over

Holden

A cool breeze sweeps through the abandoned warehouse, the smell of the ocean mixed with the scent of sweat and something rancid, like rotting meat, probably soaked into the floors of what was once a thriving meat market.

Outside it's drizzling, and after having refused the offer of a lift here with Remington, instead taking the bus and walking with Theo, my hair and clothing are both damp – a mix of rain and sweat from my first fight of the night.

In the ring opposite me, Remington grins, his lips parting to show off the blue of his gum shield.

His chest glistens beneath the fluorescent lights as he bounces on his heels, sweat trickling down his abs.

Not for the first time in the past week, I find myself staring at his body, my heartbeat ringing in my ears the entire time my eyes are locked on him.

I’ve always thought I was straight. More because it’s what I thought people expected me to be rather than a belief I truly had in myself.

If I’m honest, I don’t really know that part of myself or what it means to be with someone, regardless of their gender or sexuality.

Too much of what is required to be in a relationship – intimacy, vulnerability, trust – scares me.

Can I be straight and still admire his body?

Like the way his abs curve under smooth golden skin, dipping into deep grooves at the waistband of his athletic shorts?

Or the way my skin breaks out in goosebumps when he leans in while we’re working on something together?

I think so. I think it’s human nature to admire beautiful things and Remington Langford is without a doubt, beautiful. Conceited, but beautiful nonetheless.

My attention is snapped away from my wayward thoughts when the ring announcer steps into the ring with us, goes through the usual spiel, and directs us to knock fists and start fighting.

The first few seconds go by with very little contact – both of us sidestep the other with near perfect precision.

We both want this win, possibly more than we’ve ever wanted it before.

There’s this niggling in the back of my mind that says I was a fool for taking his bet.

Theo’s lack of confidence tonight hasn’t helped, but I am, as I always have been, determined not to back down.

Even kings topple. It’s only a matter of time and persistence before that day comes.

Remington pounces forward, like a cat on the attack, and I block his advance with a jab to his jaw that has him shaking his head but not retreating. Instead, he moves forward again, arms raised as he punches out at me before delivering a roundhouse kick that connects solidly with my hip.

He’s fighting hard tonight, his determination to win fuelling him, but I’m fighting harder.

In this ill advised bet, I stand to lose so much more than he does.

Not only would I miss out on the lump sum he put on the table, but my defeat will have me stuck in his company, in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, for two very long weeks.

I cannot afford to lose.

The impact of Remington’s kick causes me to stagger, my body so high on adrenaline and the sheer will to take him down that I don’t feel any pain.

He advances on me again, and I move out of his path before jolting my body forward.

He lifts his arms in defence, but I duck down, delivering a series of punches to his stomach.

Behind the buzzing in my ears, I hear the crowd boo as I get my arms around him and sweep my leg behind his knee, bringing him down to the ground with me.

Remington hits the mat at our feet, releasing a puff of breath that brushes my cheek as I collapse on top of him. Using my lower body, I cage him to the ground while my upper body pulls up, my arms raised, ready to rain down and finish the fight.

This is it. This is my moment.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, Remington’s foot latches around mine and I have a fleeting second to regret my positioning as he bucks his hips, rolling us both until he’s on top of me, his frame pressing me down to the ground.

He anchors us both to the mat with his hips, then sits up and lands a few blows to my left side.

My mind screams at me to fight back and I lift my arms, but as I do, Remington stretches his body over mine, grabs my wrists, and pins them to the floor above my head.

The feel of his hands on me is familiar in a way that cools me to the core.

It’s a whisper of a feeling I’ve worked for years to bury.

Inside me, something snaps, the flood walls holding back the reminders of my past shatter, leaving me bare, raw, vulnerable.

Not my wrists, please no, no no, my mind screams as he squeezes tighter. Please let me go. Memories flash by in super speed. Laughing, jeering faces that have my stomach sinking and the fight bleeding from my body – gone as quickly as smoke fading into nothing.

I’m no longer in the ring with Remington. I’m in the forest again, the hard ground digging into my back, a cool breeze wafting against my exposed chest as I silently cry. A scared little boy with no way out.

Something flashes in Remington’s eyes and they soften at the same time his grip on me loosens, and he lifts his hands, palms open, as if to show me he’s not a threat.

Slamming my eyes shut, I breathe through the panic, reminding myself that I’m not back there.

I’m here, in a dingy basement, in Maine.

Safe. I’m safe. Only when I feel Remington’s body lift off of me, do I open my eyes.

Still on my back, my hands now balled into fists against my aching chest, the ring announcer looks between the two of us, then takes Remington’s arms, lifts them and declares him the winner.

The crowd goes wild, Finn jumping in to pat Remington on the back and hand him a towel. Remington doesn’t take his eyes off of me as I pull myself up and retreat to the edge of the ring where Theo is waiting.

“You okay, Hold?” he asks. “What happened out there?” I shake my head, and take the bottle of water he offers.

My eyes meet Remington’s again and I’m hit with a wave of embarrassment, my already heated body burning hotter all the way to the tips of my ears.

I duck my head to break our stare. Remington is not just looking at me, he’s reading me, assessing me, and I think he sees all my broken, scarred pieces.

And that is far worse than losing the fight and his bet.

“Here.”

I startle at the voice behind me, frantically zipping up my jeans from where I was taking a leak in the alleyway outside the warehouse.

Theo is still inside, talking to someone he knows from the cafe, and I’ve taken myself off to nurse my wounds alone.

The alleyway is quiet and deserted and though it smells like piss and rotten food, it’s the solace I need.

I turn around to find Remington, his bright blond hair sticking up on all ends, one hand in the pocket of his grey hoodie and the other held out towards me, holding a thick brown envelope.

A purple bruise is forming where I got him on the jaw and while there is some satisfaction in that, shame and disappointment override all other feelings coursing in my blood.

“Take this.” He thrusts the envelope at me. Looking down at it, I shake my head.

“It’s all the money I’ve won this year. It’s yours,” he says. My eyes meet his and I wish I hadn’t met his gaze because gone is the cocky, arrogant Remington. Replaced with the most human version of him I’ve ever seen, empathy and compassion burning brightly in his ocean blue eyes.

Looking over my shoulder and then over his, checking we’re still alone, I shake my head again.

In the warehouse, someone has turned on loud, thumping music and it floats out the windows and into the night air, the beat matching the rapid racing of my heart.

“I…” I hesitate and clear my throat, my heart rate spiking as I look at the envelope and then back at Remington.

“I didn’t win.” My voice sticks in my throat, the words coming out fractured and far too quiet.

Taking a step closer, Remington pushes the envelope to my chest, his hand holding it against me.

“And I don’t feel like I won either. I saw the look on your face at the end, Holden. You stopped fighting me because you were afraid.”

I take a step back from him, slapping away his hand and causing the envelope to fall to the ground.

Shame and embarrassment stir together in a cauldron of anger, making my body shake.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and will myself to calm down.

My hand skims the side of my shorts, reaching for my knife, remembering all too late that I didn’t bring it outside with me, having left it in my bag that Theo is holding.

Instead, I clench my hand into a fist, my nails biting into the soft skin of my palm.

One of the many downsides to being bullied is how other people besides the bullies treat you.

Like you’re damaged, fragile, not capable of standing on your own feet.

My mother hid me from the world, keeping me off school until we left the UK.

No one visited me because who would? I had no friends left.

And on the few occasions I ventured out of the house, the pitying looks and whispered gossip from people who didn’t know a fucking thing about me, had me wishing I’d died in the forest that day.

Now Remington is looking at me in that same way, and I fucking hate it.

Pity is like a slow acting poison, killing the person I’ve worked hard to become, one glance at a time.

What’s worse is he doesn’t know my story.

Between the fight and now, he’s concocted something in his head that has him looking at me like I’m glass about to shatter.

Or maybe glass that’s already shattered.

“I’m not broken.”

He holds up a hand. “I never said you were, but –”

“No.” There's more power to my voice than I expected, taking both of us by surprise. Remington’s eyes widen and his lips twitch as if he’s fighting back a smile.

“You won. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

He stops fighting his smile, letting it take over his face.

“Fake boyfriend,” I say, quietly adding on the important quantifier of this sham relationship.

“Yeah? Because you don’t have to, given that –” he waves his hand towards the warehouse where it sounds like the fight night has transformed into a full on party.

I raise my hand to stop him from arguing.

He opens his mouth but shuts it again when someone calls his name and then the distant chatter of a group gets louder as all his friends descend into the alley. As they get closer, I feel the shutters come down around me.

Before they reach us, Remington bends down, picks up the envelope and hides it in the waistband of his shorts. Finn is the first one at Remington’s side, knocking his shoulder into his friend before addressing him.

“We’re getting out of here, Rem. You ready?”

Finn’s eyes narrow when they lock on to me and he doesn’t wait for Remington to reply before he’s speaking again.

“Why the fuck are you always around?” He points a finger at me. “You’ll never fit in with us, so quit trying. Jesus, desperation does not look good on you, Booker.”

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I narrow my eyes at Finn.

“Dude, chill out,” Remington remarks sternly. “Holden and I are friends. Don’t be so fucking rude.”

Finn’s mouth falls open, giving the impression of a fish out of water, and the group behind him all quieten down.

“You’re fucking with me right now,” Finn bites out.

“You expect me to believe you and loser boy are buddies? What a fucking joke.” He spins so his back is to me, one hand landing on the inside of Remington’s arm.

His touch is light. Intimate. Like maybe there’s something between them – a possibility that crosses my mind, not for the first time.

“You don’t need more friends. Let’s go, or do you really want to ditch us for him ?

” Finn tips his head towards the group and it’s like I’m watching a sliding doors moment play out in front of me.

Remington has a choice to make. Either he stays right here with me and we finish discussing this wedding date situation or he leaves with his friends and maintains the status quo.

I don’t know why there’s a sharp pain behind my ribcage, right where my heart lives, when he makes his choice.