hide things from me or protect me.”
He smiled ruefully and then said, “I do need to protect you from this. It’s not some high school vendetta. It’s a lot bigger than that.”
“Is it drugs?” Chelsea asked. She couldn’t image what it was that it would have Blue scared. He was so strong and confident and he had been to war; she couldn’t imagine anything could scare him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re really gonna make me guess?” Chelsea asked. “Just tell me, Blue. You can talk to me; you always could.” Chelsea reached out and grabbed the hand that was resting on the table. She squeezed it and didn’t let go. She was willing to wait; she would sit at this table all night if that was what it took. “Does it have something to do with your dad?” she asked quietly.
Terrance DeMarco had always been this big unspoken thing that hovered over Blue’s life. When they had been kids Blue had never let Chelsea come to his house, he had never said one nice thing about his father, and Chelsea had always suspected that there was something bad and rotten about Terrance DeMarco.
“I knew you liked me back in high school,” Blue said putting down the ice pack and looking over at Chelsea. “I liked you, too, but I didn’t do anything about it because I was worried that something might happen to you. I was worried that if my dad knew I liked you he would try and use you to get to me. I thought that if he knew how much I liked you he would know how much it would hurt if anything happened to you. He’s not a good guy, Chelsea. He’s really not.”
There were tears in Chelsea’s eyes and she couldn’t stop them as they tipped over her eyelashes and down her cheek. Her jaw ached from holding back her sobs. It hadn’t all been in her head. She remembered shared looks as they walked down the street late at night, how Blue always found her at parties and at lunch at school. There had been so many moments when they had been so close to kissing, but then something had pulled him away. He had wanted her as much as she had wanted him. But Terrance had kept them apart.
“What did he do?” Chelsea asked, choking back tears.
“He’s a betting man. It started with cards and then moved to sports. One day his bookie told him about the sport that real men bet on. It wasn’t baseball or football; it was fights. They were off the radar and underground; there were no referees or penalties just two men in the ring and the last one standing wins. My father liked the fights; he liked them a lot. But then he became frustrated with the fighters. He thought they were too weak, they didn’t train hard enough, and they quit too early. So he started training me. I had my first match at fifteen, but I didn’t win one for three months.
For three months I marched into that ring and got the shit kicked out of me. But my dad wouldn’t let me quit, so it was either get better or die. Then I grew a couple of inches and baby fat turned into muscle and then I got really good. I fought for years in those pits. That’s where my father made all of the money he used to open his own shop. He made a mint from the bets and the ticket sales and I never saw any of it. I fought for years and there were men who didn’t walk out of the ring; they were carried out and it didn’t look like they were breathing. My father would never tell me what happened to them. It got bad, it kept me up and night and I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So the day I turned eighteen I packed a bag and joined the military. I haven’t been back since.”
Chapter Nine
What was she supposed to say to that? How could she respond to something so horrible? There was nothing she would say that wouldn’t come out as some trite and terrible cliché and Blue didn’t need that. But what did he need? What could she give him that would make up for the horrors of his childhood?
Parents are supposed to
He smiled ruefully and then said, “I do need to protect you from this. It’s not some high school vendetta. It’s a lot bigger than that.”
“Is it drugs?” Chelsea asked. She couldn’t image what it was that it would have Blue scared. He was so strong and confident and he had been to war; she couldn’t imagine anything could scare him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re really gonna make me guess?” Chelsea asked. “Just tell me, Blue. You can talk to me; you always could.” Chelsea reached out and grabbed the hand that was resting on the table. She squeezed it and didn’t let go. She was willing to wait; she would sit at this table all night if that was what it took. “Does it have something to do with your dad?” she asked quietly.
Terrance DeMarco had always been this big unspoken thing that hovered over Blue’s life. When they had been kids Blue had never let Chelsea come to his house, he had never said one nice thing about his father, and Chelsea had always suspected that there was something bad and rotten about Terrance DeMarco.
“I knew you liked me back in high school,” Blue said putting down the ice pack and looking over at Chelsea. “I liked you, too, but I didn’t do anything about it because I was worried that something might happen to you. I was worried that if my dad knew I liked you he would try and use you to get to me. I thought that if he knew how much I liked you he would know how much it would hurt if anything happened to you. He’s not a good guy, Chelsea. He’s really not.”
There were tears in Chelsea’s eyes and she couldn’t stop them as they tipped over her eyelashes and down her cheek. Her jaw ached from holding back her sobs. It hadn’t all been in her head. She remembered shared looks as they walked down the street late at night, how Blue always found her at parties and at lunch at school. There had been so many moments when they had been so close to kissing, but then something had pulled him away. He had wanted her as much as she had wanted him. But Terrance had kept them apart.
“What did he do?” Chelsea asked, choking back tears.
“He’s a betting man. It started with cards and then moved to sports. One day his bookie told him about the sport that real men bet on. It wasn’t baseball or football; it was fights. They were off the radar and underground; there were no referees or penalties just two men in the ring and the last one standing wins. My father liked the fights; he liked them a lot. But then he became frustrated with the fighters. He thought they were too weak, they didn’t train hard enough, and they quit too early. So he started training me. I had my first match at fifteen, but I didn’t win one for three months.
For three months I marched into that ring and got the shit kicked out of me. But my dad wouldn’t let me quit, so it was either get better or die. Then I grew a couple of inches and baby fat turned into muscle and then I got really good. I fought for years in those pits. That’s where my father made all of the money he used to open his own shop. He made a mint from the bets and the ticket sales and I never saw any of it. I fought for years and there were men who didn’t walk out of the ring; they were carried out and it didn’t look like they were breathing. My father would never tell me what happened to them. It got bad, it kept me up and night and I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So the day I turned eighteen I packed a bag and joined the military. I haven’t been back since.”
Chapter Nine
What was she supposed to say to that? How could she respond to something so horrible? There was nothing she would say that wouldn’t come out as some trite and terrible cliché and Blue didn’t need that. But what did he need? What could she give him that would make up for the horrors of his childhood?
Parents are supposed to
Similar Books
