Knockout Read online

  “That’s fair.”

  I looked over at Kellen where he stood beside me in the fading light of the sunset. We were waiting for the rest of the family to come outside, dressed and ready for dinner at some fancy restaurant Laney had chosen for her birthday. Kellen’s hair was swept back and tousled slightly instead of hanging on his forehead like it usually was. It made him look older. More like my dad when he was heading off to work. The dark suit he wore probably helped too. I’d never seen him in anything but gym clothes or jeans and a T-shirt before and I’d thought it wouldn’t suit him, but it did. He didn’t look like a nineteen year old boxer then. He looked like a grown man.

  “You clean up nice,” I told him.

  He smiled over at me. He couldn’t look down at me anymore. I was seventeen and pushing six feet tall, almost eye level with him. I left Laney and my mom in the dust with their curvy 5’6” frames. Dad used to say I was a bean pole. Now I felt like the Jolly Green Giant.

  “So do you. Did you get to pick the dress?”

  I looked down at the red knee-length dress I was wearing. It was cut in a very 1950’s style with a puffed up skirt full of black tulle, capped sleeves and a big bow on my left hip. My mom had been so excited when I’d picked it, probably because it was so retro and feminine, that she’s insisted we get my hair done to match it. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon at her stylist getting my long, dark hair curled and pinned into a partial up do that was very old Hollywood.

  “Yeah, I did. Do you like it?”

  “You look beautiful. It’s very you.”

  I chuckled. “How is it me? Because it’s out of style?”

  “No, because it’s unique. Laney couldn’t pull this off,” he said, gesturing to my everything. My hair, my dark eye shadow, my bright red lips that matched my dress, my black nylons, the simple black heels on my feet. “She’s too vanilla. You’re darker. Edgier.” He smiled. “More noir.”

  I smiled back. “And thanks to you, I know what that word means.”

  “How are you doing in school?”

  “Ugh,” I groaned, looking away. “You had to bring that up.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “It’s fine. My new tutor is a douche but it’s fine.”

  “How is he a douche?” Kellen laughed.

  “He’s in the same program you were in at Weston.”

  “Higher Focus?”

  “Yeah, so he’s super smart and that’s great but he’s also this car obsessed, street racing toolbag. It’s all he talks about. He has these tribal tattoos and he thinks it makes him bad but he’s not. He’s all talk.”

  “Has he asked you out?”

  I hesitated. Yeah, he had. A couple times. I’d said no, but not because he wasn’t good looking cause he was. He just felt like a carbon copy. Like a faded out Xerox of a vivid image I had in my head. One of bright colors, glaring lights, blurred motion.

  “Oh!” I said, suddenly remembering. “I have a present for you. Wait right here.”

  I ran inside before he could say anything. When I came back out I was carrying a 24x24 canvas with the image pressed against my chest.

  Kellen’s brow pinched. “Jenna, you know I don’t do well with gifts.”

  “But I didn’t buy it. I made it. I painted it for you.”

  His face cleared as a grin spread over his lips. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Here.”

  When I turned it around so he could see the painting, my heart was in my throat. I felt so nervous I thought I’d vomit. I rarely showed my art to anyone. It was scary but exciting and I knew if anyone would understand it, it was Kellen.

  As his eyes focused on the canvas, his face went blank. There was nothing there. No hatred, no love. Nothing. I’d seen him get that expression before with Laney or my mom and it made my heart sink out of my throat, down through my stomach and collapse in a puddle on the ground.

  “You don’t like it,” I said quietly.

  He shook his head, never taking his eyes off the painting. “No, Jenna, I do. I love it. It’s… it’s incredible.”

  I smiled. “Really?”

  He scoffed. “Yeah, really. You are so talented it’s ridiculous. And this… this is me?” He looked up at me then, his eyes latching on mine and recovering my heart from the ground. “This is how you see me?”

  “Yeah. When you’re fighting, Kellen, it’s so… I don’t know. Powerful. It’s like me in this dress, I guess. It’s so you.”

  “Wow.” He looked at the painting again. “Thank you.”

  I beamed at him. “You’re welcome.”

  What I’d put on that canvas was what I’d seen that first time I watched him fight. I’d seen him do it countless times since then, going to his matches whenever dad could sneak me away, but that first time had always stuck with me. So I put it out there in an image of a man standing tall, looking down at me from the center of the ring. A light was shining behind his head, shadowing his face into near obscurity, but the eyes were there. The dark, intense eyes that were always watching. Always focused. The gloves, the shorts, the ropes behind him, they were all bursts of vibrant colors but his entire body was blurred. It was shaking, vibrating with power and energy. With life dying to explode out of him through the brightly colored gloves or the muted red shoes at his feet. He was stationary but the entire image was bursting with energy. With strength.

  With Kellen.

  “Shit, I can’t take it home on my bike,” he muttered, still looking at it.

  I shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll put it back in the house and Laney can bring it up to you the next time she visits.”

  “Do we trust her with it?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Good point. I’ll mail it to you.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Good idea.”

  I turned to head back into the house. When I got to the door, he called out to me.

  “Hey. Seriously, Jenna, thank you for that. I’ve never—I don’t know what to say. It’s probably the best present I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

  I chuckled, feeling embarrassed. “Don’t go overboard.”

  “I can’t, not about that. I’ll never—I… Thank you. I’ll never be able to tell you how much I love it.”

  “Well, you’ve got your whole life to try.”

  Dad came outside to join us not long after that. We all waited patiently for Laney and mom and when they finally appeared, the guys whistled appreciatively. They looked beautiful. Both of them with perfectly coifed golden hair, long fitted dresses that hugged their every curve and the kind of confidence in high heels that I’d never manage to achieve. They were red carpet perfect and even though I felt a little out of place in my red dress standing beside their cream and gold, I was happy.

  “Do you like my dress?” Laney asked Kellen at dinner.

  He nodded. “I do. You look beautiful.”

  “It’s my Prom dress,” she said teasingly. “You sure you don’t want to take me to the dance now that you’ve seen the dress?”

  Kellen’s faith fell into shadow. It was a subtle shift but one I could recognize easily. He was angry, but the casual air around him never faltered. If you’d looked at him then and you didn’t know him, you’d think he was still sitting in an overly stuffy, fancy restaurant on a nice summer night admiring his beautiful girlfriend. But he wasn’t. He was working on something inside, something I was worried would land them in another fight, him on his bike and the night closing in behind him.

  Suddenly Laney laughed lightly, pushing her hand against his shoulder. “Oh, Kellen, come on! I’m kidding. I understand. I’m over it. It’s fine. I’m being silly, baby.”

  I knew that was bullshit. Kellen probably did too. Just an hour before, Laney had said the words, ‘I don’t understand. I can’t get over it.’ to me as we were getting ready. But she was my sister and it was her lie and I let it go as I watched the clouds dissipate from Kellen’s face.

  “You look great,” he said, his voice deep. Qui
et.

  He knew it was her lie too. He let her have it, just like me. Sometimes that was easier than dragging out the truth.

  “Kellen, how’s school?” mom asked, smoothing over the moment.

  “It’s good. I’m really enjoying the challenge.”

  “You mean it’s tougher than Higher Focus?” I asked, feigning a shocked tone.

  Kellen grinned at me over the candlelit table. “Can you believe it?”

  “Nope. According to the teachers at Weston, Higher Focus is basically college.”

  “It was tougher than the schools in my neighborhood, but it wasn’t exactly a huge challenge.”

  I resisted the urge to throw my bread at him.

  “Jenna failed the entrance exam for it,” Laney told him.

  Now I wanted to throw my bread at her. “So did you!”

  She shrugged carelessly.

  “It’s not easy to get into,” Kellen told me. “Don’t sweat it.”

  “I’m not.”

  And I wasn’t. Higher Focus was a great program for people like Kellen looking to go to college for a million years and do something insane like be a doctor or lawyer. For people like me just looking to get released from high school hell and do something with their hands on the outside, it was pointless. I was in the ranks of mechanics, welders, and carpenters. I was dreaming of doing something my mom considered ‘lower level’ work, but I didn’t care. It was what I wanted, what I dreamed and doodled about. I wanted to be an artist. And if my mom knew that I wanted to be a tattoo artist, she’d have killed me on the spot.

  My seventeen year old body was without a blemish or scar. Mom would never let me get a tattoo but that didn’t stop me from being fascinated by them. Just like with everything, some artists were crap. Some tattoos were hideous, tasteless mistakes that could haunt a person for the rest of their lives. But some were incredible. They were works of art that made the people wearing them a walking canvas. I would see people on the beach or in the streets showing so much skin in the summer that every drop of ink on their body was visible and I would drool. If I was alone, I would stop people and ask where they’d gotten the work done. I had gathered a short list of outstanding artists in the area and it was my goal to someday gather the nerve to go talk to them. To find out how to do what they did, maybe show them my own work and ask if they thought I had a shot at doing it too.

  But I didn’t dare tell this to anyone in my family. Not even Kellen, though he was probably the only one who would understand. Surprisingly, despite his rough roots and the boxing, he didn’t have any tattoos either. That’s what made me hesitate to talk to him about it. What if he hated tattoos? What if he thought they were ugly and ridiculous? My dream was still my dream, but I would be lying if I said having Kellen frown on it wouldn’t sour it a little. Some of the glow would be gone and I wasn’t ready for that yet.

  “Well, you’ve been staying very busy according to Laney,” mom said to Kellen. “Does that mean you’ve chosen your major?”

  Kellen cleared his throat, his eyes going a little tight at the edges. It was a rare show of nerves that made my stomach churn with anxiety.

  “I have, yeah. I gave it a lot of thought and I’ve been inspired by you, Dan,” he said, looking to my dad.

  Dad grinned at him. “Really? What have I inspired you to do?”

  “Practice law. I’m setting myself up to enter the UC Berkeley School of Law next year.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” mom exclaimed. She touched dad’s arm. “Honey, isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It is,” dad said softly with a nod.

  I couldn’t read his expression. I think it was proud but it somehow looked a little sad.

  Laney squealed and hugged Kellen in his chair. “I’m so proud of you, baby!”

  “Thanks, Lane.”

  Kellen’s eyes met mine over Laney’s shoulder. I gave him a large smile, genuine and full. The tightness around his eyes faded.

  I wasn’t surprised that this was what Kellen wanted to do. He had probably known this was his path the second he chose UC Berkeley. Even though I had told him over and over again that he was a good enough boxer to make a go at joining the Olympic Team, he never pushed himself quite that far. School had come first, boxing second and while it was a smart choice for his life long term, I couldn’t understand having that much potential and not going for it. But I guess I was just a kid. I wasn’t looking down the barrel of the rest of my life like he was and maybe with that kind of pressure I’d find tattooing was a dream I’d someday look back at and laugh. Maybe dreams are just that – dreams. Something to entertain your bored brain while you sleep but when you wake up you better get down to business. You have to do what needs to be done and those dreams you worked on all night will be a light, sweet treat that you can dwell on when things get hard.

  I looked at my dad with his slightly sad expression and I wondered if he had ever dreamed of something else. If he wasn’t tasting the cotton candy lightness of it right now, remembering and wondering. Wishing.

  Chapter Nine

  One Year Later

  “No, Laney! How fucking hard is that to understand?!”

  My mom winced at Kellen’s use of language and probably a little at his tone as well, but she stayed seated. We all did. Dad, she and I sat around the table silently still as we listened to the fight going on in the living room. It had started out small enough. Just a disagreement over something stupid while we were eating dinner.

  “Did you pack another shirt?” Laney had asked Kellen.

  He paused with his fork in the air, looking down at the dark gray T-shirt he wore. “Yeah, of course. I’m here all weekend. Why?”

  “Are any of them not T-shirts?”

  “Like what? A polo shirt?”

  “Or a sweater. Something nicer.”

  “Are we going to church?”

  Laney scowled. “You have to be going to see God to dress nice?”

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Aren’t we going to a party at someone’s house?”

  “Yes, and it’s fancy dress.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I shouldn’t have to,” she said hotly. “We’re adults. Parties don’t mean beer bongs and BBQs anymore.”

  Kellen put his fork down. Hard. “If you’d told me it was fancy dress I wouldn’t have agreed to go.”

  “Well you can’t go looking like that. You’ll borrow one of dad’s ties and jacket.”

  “Did you hear me, Lane? I said I wouldn’t have agreed to go. I’m not going.”

  She glared at him. “You already said you would!”

  I glanced up to find mom and dad both sitting awkwardly, their hands on the table and their eyes on each other. They didn’t want to get involved any more than I did but we were all trapped in the eye of the storm. One that raged on for a good five minutes of anxiety ridden uncomfortable until mom quietly suggested they take it in the other room. That’s when the shouting had started.

  “You’re such a child,” Laney said scathingly.

  “I’m a child? You’re a spoiled brat.”

  “We’re not poor, Kellen. Why would I act like I am?”

  “I’m not asking you to act poor. I’m telling you to stop being such a snob.”

  “Maybe you should stop being so…”

  “So what?” he asked, his voice going low. “Say it.”

  “You’re going to be a lawyer. I know you don’t have a lot of money now, but you will. You go to that ghetto ass gym and you never wear anything nice. You drive that piece of shit old motorcycle. I try to buy you nice things but you never take them.”

  “Say it,” he growled.

  “You’re white trash!” she shouted, exasperated. “You act like poor white trash. It was hot in high school but it’s time to grow up and be an adu—Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving.” he growled, his voice barely audible to us in the kitchen. “We’re through.”

  �
�What?” she shrieked. “You can’t be serious.”

  He was. We all knew it and Laney knew exactly what she was doing when she used that term. When she called him trash. It was the hottest of hot buttons for Kellen Coulter and I shot out of my seat because I knew what was coming.

  “Jenna, sit down,” mom hissed, reaching for me.

  But I was too quick. I was already gone.

  I heard the door fly open as I ran from the kitchen. I saw a blurry image of Laney standing red faced and angry in the living room. I saw the darkness outside the open door, heard the crunch of angry footsteps on the driveway. On my way out through the foyer, I snagged Laney’s hot pink helmet from where she’d tossed it when she came inside. Kellen had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday when the ban from the back of his bike had been lifted. It was still in effect for me, but I was beyond caring at that point.

  I saw his back, broad and dark as he swung his leg over his bike. It roared to angry life, the headlight snapping on and cutting through the darkness. I barely made it to him before he lifted the kickstand and settled in.

  I threw myself against his back hard, opening my legs to slide over the back of the bike.

  “Fuck you, Laney. Get—“ he snapped, turning in his seat. His eyes went wide with surprise when he came face to face with me. “Jenna, what the hell?”

  “I’m going with you,” I told him.

  I took the momentary pause in his rage to put on Laney’s helmet.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He sighed in annoyance. “I’m not in a good place right now, Jen. I don’t want you on the back of my bike.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m going with you. You’re angry and you’re going to drive angry and it’s dark out. You’re going to drive along the coast, aren’t you?” He nodded, his eyes on mine. “Yeah, no way. Not alone. You’ll drive crazy on those curves and get yourself killed. That’s why I’m going with you.”

  “So you can get killed too? Get off the bike.”

  “No,” I said softly. “Because you’d never hurt me. If I’m here, you’ll be careful.”