Me + You Ebook

JULY
Prologue

Luke


The abandoned firehouse reeks of smoke and weed when I enter, momentarily stinging my eyes and producing a hazy film that envelops everyone in the large space. A demarcated boxing ring waits in the center as hordes of people push and shove around the perimeter.
They’re hungry for blood.
Popping my neck from right to left, cracking sounds ripple down my spine.
It’s only been two weeks since I’ve climbed into a ring, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like a lifetime.
This is what I’m meant to do; what I need to do.
My fingers twitch with reckless energy, my fists eager to pound on some poor, unassuming bastard.
“Dude, you made it.” Gray’s mouth twists into a grin, relief shadowing his eyes as he slaps an open palm on my shoulder. “You can get your shit together in the back.”
“Yeah.” I head in the direction of the grimy bathroom, kicking the door closed behind me. Sweeping the small space, relief fills my chest that it’s empty. No one screwing or bumping coke in a bathroom stall. Just a cracked mirror, a leaky faucet, and yellowing subway tiles.
Resting my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, I close my eyes as adrenaline hums in my veins.
You’ve got this.
Tonight is one step closer to going pro.
This is who you are.
Win tonight, train tomorrow.
Stay starving.
Uncle Steve’s face swims behind my eyelids before I block him out. Getting my head on straight is easy; I live for moments like tonight, for the fight. Besides, if I can make bank tonight, I can clear Gray’s debts, settle the bills from Uncle Steve’s funeral, and still have money to party away the despair I feel about both.
“Yo! You fucking done yet?” The pounding on the door spurs me into action.
Grabbing tape from my duffle bag, I begin to tape the lower part of my hands and wrists before stopping. “Nothing like bare knuckles.” I whisper into the quiet, dropping the tape back into my bag.
Pulling off my hoodie, I glance down at my unassuming black sweats and grey T-shirt. In life, and especially in a fight, it’s best to let others underestimate you.
Except no one will underestimate me tonight.
Even four hours from home, I know my reputation precedes me.
Twenty minutes.
In twenty minutes, this will be over.
Done.
Grey’s name will be cleared with all the sharks he owes money to.
Uncle Steve will be resting in peace.
And I’ll claim one more underground win.
“Yo, you’re up,” someone yells through the door, knuckles rapping against the splitting wood.
“Coming.” Running my mouth guard under the water from the leaky faucet, I give myself one last glance in the mirror. My face is blank, giving nothing away. My shoulders relaxed, my posture casual. No one would guess at the turmoil of rage, the cluster of anger, the need to unleash the fury circling in my stomach, flooding my lungs so I can hardly muster breath.
Twenty minutes.
“What the fuck?” The hand slams at the door again.
A roar erupts when I emerge from the bathroom, a sea of voices that carry my feet all the way to the ring. Shouts of encouragement, curses, threats, phone numbers, all of it assaults my ears. But the moment I step into the ring, I block it all out.
Silence.
My opponent has been in the circuit for a while. He’s a regular. Seasoned.
But I note the flicker of uncertainty that licks at his irises when he meets my eyes. He knows me. They all know me. They all know what I’m capable of.
Even two weeks of eating like shit and dropping my training hasn’t diminished my ability to step into the ring and own it.
Even burying Uncle Steve and holding Mom upright for the past fourteen days has done nothing to compromise my mental state.
I’m here. I’m starving. And I want this.
The ref goes through a list of rules for show; they’re never enforced. Fights like tonight rarely are stopped, even if one of the fighters is on the verge of death. And still, opponents line up for the chance to fight, for a chance to claim the glory.
Money changes hands.
Vodka and tequila glide down open throats.
Smoke burns behind my eyelids.
Fangirls clad in lacy lingerie pose provocatively for selfies, reeking of desperation, starved for attention.
My opponent stares me down, his brow furrowing.
When the bell rings, I let him throw the first punch as a bone. Circling him, I critique his style. He’s overreaching. I allow the round to continue for a full minute for the sake of the crowd. Everyone loves a good show, but I don’t have all fucking day. When I decide to stop pulling my punches, I’ll end it quickly.
He gets one solid jab in, and then I unleash the anger that eats me whole, raining jabs and crosses on him until my knuckles split and my fists slide off his face, slippery with his blood.
His body crumples to the mat in a heap of limbs, bloody cuts, and swelling bruises.
The crowd hollers and cheers.
Gray pounds my back, yelling in my ear.
Sound returns, clogging out the silence, stealing my few moments of salvation. Of peace.
Money changes hands.
Vodka and tequila glide down open throats.
Fangirls flank me.
“I’m Becca. Let me celebrate with you.” One girl in particular pushes her way into my side, curling her arms around my abdomen. I chuckle, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer, ready to mark my victory.
It only took seven minutes.
Losing my fingers in Becca’s hair, I tug and plant a sloppy kiss on her mouth. I’m ready to get into some trouble.
I’m ready to put the overwhelming loss and staggering hurt of the past two weeks behind me. For good. For forever.
The Lone Wolf is fucking back.





AUGUST
Chapter One

Emma

“Toss another pancake this way, would ya?” I hold my plate out as Mia spears a pancake with the tines of her fork and holds it as far as humanly possible from her face. It plops down on my plate in a puddle of maple syrup. Delicious. “Girl, you’re going to disappear one day if you only subsist on legumes.”
Mia blushes as I pour a generous heap of syrup over my pancake. You can never have too much sweet maple goodness, am I right?
“Can you believe today is the day?” Lila squeals, a forkful of scrambled eggs hovering below her chin. “I mean, Mia, you’re going to Rome!”
Maura rolls her eyes and coughs into her coffee mug.
Mia looks like she’s about to vomit.
Reaching out a hand, I squeeze Mia’s cold fingers. “Relax. You’re going to be a rock star. This is good for you. For all of us.”
“The college pact is everything.” Lila adds, earning another eye roll from Maura.
“I love when you speak in superlatives.” Maura quips.
Lila ignores her and ticks off the pact criteria on her fingers. “Push past our comfort zones, meet hot guys and date them, be brave and wild, have fun.” Lila turns to me, pointing a finger accusingly. “And moving forward. No more being hung up on Josh McCannon.”
“Gah! I’m not hung up on him.”
Three sets of eyes stare at me, blinking.
“I’m not!”
“Em, Josh McCannon is an idiot. Any guy, any guy Em, would be lucky to date you. And no douchebag, especially not a stupid summer fling with a guy you went to high school with, should ever make you feel bad about yourself. I hate that he made you question your worth. The pact is about embracing everything we are.” Lila rants.
Mia nods and even Maura tips her head in agreement.
Big sigh. Josh McCannon. A popular boy from high school whose path crossed with mine at a Memorial Day Weekend party in my home town. We drank too much, flirted a bit, exchanged a very sensual kiss… and continued to hook up for the rest of the summer. It was fun, and carefree, and simple in the way summer hookups are. Everything is of the moment, marking the present with more weight than it should hold in a “fling-type” scenario. It gives a girl ideas that maybe, just maybe, this summer fun could turn into an autumn reality.
And then, two weekends ago, it happened. Josh McCannon informed me, not politely either, that it was a fun thing, but he couldn’t actually date me. For starters, I look nothing like his “type.” Who knew he even had a type? Apparently, he does. His real girlfriend type is more along the lines of tall, blonde, and gorgeous. His real girlfriend type looks like Lila, which seems to be a theme in my life. However, my shorter, stockier build with a layer of chub around the middle and boring brown bangs is a definite hook-up only.
Alas, I digress.
Does it matter?
Probably not.
But after a series of put-downs from a series of guys I liked, the wind has gone out of my sails. I should definitely stop chasing guys that are out of my league. If I want to keep any of my confidence, that is.
“I know, I know.” I tell my friends just so they’ll stop talking about it. Him. The whole summer.
“I’m serious, Emma.”
“So am I, Li.”
“I’m going to miss you girls.” Mia interjects, pushing her food around her plate.
Me too.” I admit, a realization washing over our breakfast table. The four of us have been inseparable since we dormed together in a quad our freshman year at McShain University. We’ve been through every college milestone together: new relationships, breakups, drunken nights you wish would last forever, hungover mornings you wish you could die, changing majors, family illnesses, family drama, the gamut. But this semester, the start of our senior year, we’re all being pulled in new directions for the first time. Ever.
Mia is boarding a plane to study abroad in Rome, Italy. Lila is heading to California to participate in a competitive medical internship program at Astor University. Maura is staying on campus, in Philadelphia, to prepare for her final season as a member of McShain’s women’s rowing team.
And me, well, I’m about to embark on a dream I’ve had since the seventh grade. I’m interning on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC, for Senator LeBeau, from my home state, the Small Wonder of Delaware. Although now we’re known more for our “Endless Discoveries.” I’m still trying to sort that one out…
“Don’t forget to update us with emails and FaceTime calls.” Lila reminds Mia.
“Promise.” Mia runs her fork over her untouched egg white omelet.
“In four months, we’ll have the best stories to tell each other, the greatest experiences to share. Get pumped people.” Lila raises her mimosa, her blue eyes dancing. “To the College Pact.”
“To the College Pact,” we echo, clinking our glasses and sharing a smile.
Champagne bubbles tickle my upper lip as I grin at my best friends. Josh McCannon who? This semester is going to be amazing.