Page 30 of The Vow

Jesse looked at me. I shook my head slightly, warning him to stay on Cable’s good side. “Um... a baby.”

Cable let out a grumble that had nothing to do with his addiction to Raisin Bran. “How about we wait to break out the cigars, kid.”

“Sure, boss.”

“And I thought I told you to stop calling me that? Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t call you Jesus Christ. I call you boss.”

I often wonder how Jesse even managed to get a girlfriend. He’s a good kid, but he’s clueless, and not because he’s had too many brutal beatings. I decided to intervene. “Can we start now, or what?”

“Damn straight, we can,” Cable said. “Okay, boys. Time to become men.”

I tried to focus. There’s nothing I want more than to win. In the days, and weeks leading up to a big fight, I routinely stare at my reflection in the mirror like I would my opponent – with determination, and confidence. That conviction is waning, because all I can think about is Alex... and the monstrous, purple bruise on her thigh.

Eleven

“Here.”

Alex was sitting in her usual spot on the opposite end of the couch. She was jotting down notes, like the one she left taped to the bathroom mirror this morning:

We travel beyond the city limits to the place we first met. The Ferris Wheel sits frozen; its steel garters, rusted. Youthful cries are suspended on air. The majestic carousel has ceased its endless ride to nowhere, but our love, it spins eternally.

NO. I see where you’re going, but it’s too depressing – Pip

I was beginning to enjoy this little game of hers. Samples of her writing were like appetizers, and through her words, I discovered truths about Alexandra Adams.

“Your little black book?”

“Take it,” I said, offering her a glimpse into my world.

Flipping through it, her smile grew. “It’s not a little black book. You write?”

“I try,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m nowhere near as talented as you are. It’s mostly just memories from my past.”

“Why are showing me this?” My handwriting borders on illegible. Reaching over, she picked up my reading glasses from the coffee table. It was the first time I’ve seen her wear them and she looked incredibly sexy.

“I want you to trust me.”

“But who you date is none of my business. If it was a little black book, I mean.”

Her words stung. I wanted it to be her business. Going against every unspoken rule in the Bachelor’s Guidebook, I admitted, “I’m not dating anyone.”

I was being tortured. Something I did at some point in my life came back to haunt me, but finally, she spoke, and the Masters were proven wrong. Sometimes, the greatest expressions need only a few words. Or one word.

“Good.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

No one knows who started The Secret Society of Married Boxers. They communicate using cryptic messages. Decoded, one of those messages involves hearing loss. If a husband disagrees with his wife, or she is talking nonsense, the husband feigns hearing loss and blames it on previous blows to the head. Apparently, many boxer’s marriages have been saved thanks to lies and ignorance. Although there’s nothing wrong with my hearing, I struggled not to ask Alex to repeat herself, but I didn’t have time to say anything. There was a knock on our front door that sounded vaguely familiar.

“I’ll get it,” Alex said.

“If it’s Jehovah's Witnesses, send them to Nick’s place.”

“Hi,” I heard Alex say.