Losing Her Read Online Free

near my house and on the little league team my mom had eagerly signed me up for. My buddy Ian and I were in the cafeteria, waiting to get food, when Lee Carroll, a kid that had gone to middle school with us, started telling his friend he was going to get Kendall Bosse to blow him. I didn’t have any feelings for Kendall other than a strange sense of responsibility stemming from the fact that she was my neighbor and David still made every effort to talk to me. I warned him to shut up. His response was to tell me that if I wanted a turn, I’d have to wait in line. Then he turned to ignore me and said maybe the youngest would join in too. It wasn’t jealousy I’d felt; it was disgust. Ace had been twelve and in seventh grade.
    I hit him.
    He came at me, muttering a slew of promises to beat my ass. He didn’t stand a chance.
    After that, there were several occasions where Lee or one of his friends would seek retribution. It wasn’t that I was a prodigy fighter, or even the strongest kid in my class, I just had a lot more practice in knowing how to deliver punches and more importantly, how to avoid receiving them. My brothers were to thank for those important lessons since we pretty much fought anytime there was a disagreement. The intensity of the fight told you if something was a big deal or not. If they took an easy shot, it meant they were just being a pain in the ass. If they scrapped and hit to break the skin, it usually meant it was important for one reason or another. Though sometimes with Billy it just meant he was tired of losing.
    He got his height from Mom’s family, so by fourteen I was already taller than him, and a whole hell of a lot faster. Hank had six years on me, and like me, was built like our dad—tall with a broad chest. We worked out a decent amount, but building muscle was easy for us. My friend Justin that started varsity as a freshman with me could throw a baseball like a slingshot—I’d never seen anyone with his kind of talent—but he was a bean pole, with muscles barely visible under his skin. He’d scarf donuts, pizza, and everything else he could get his hands on, trying to bulk up.
    After winning numerous fights with Lee and his friends, word had traveled through parties and baseball about me being a fighter, and soon people wanted to fight me for nothing more than the desire to see if they could beat me. It earned me some heckles from the guys and a few phone numbers from the girls.
    Later in my junior year, I got jumped by four guys from another school. We were at an away game and I had run inside to take a piss, completely oblivious of the group of assclowns that were following me until they were on top of me. One was on my back, another locked around my elbow like a dog in heat, and another had punched me in the stomach, successfully knocking the air out of me. I hadn’t realized that there’d been a fourth because a guy from the opposing team, who was actually classmates with the dicks, had punched him in the face and impressively broke his nose.
    He helped me get free from the others and then turned to me, his top lip busted open and his brow glistening with sweat, and said, “I thought you’d be tougher.” Then laughed.
    “Sorry to disappoint you,” I replied, smiling because I knew he was being a pain in the ass and he’d just put his neck on the line helping me when he could’ve just as easily walked the other way.
    “Try not to make a habit out of it,” he said, offering me his hand. “I take it you’re Miller.”
    “Max,” I said, gripping his hand.
    He nodded and his smile grew like I’d just passed some invisible test. “Wes, Wes McCleary. I hope you know I won’t be helping you out on the field. I intend to whip your ass today.”
    “That’ll make the victory taste sweeter.”
    He laughed again, this time louder. A couple of girls walking by called out to him and pulled his attention away long enough I could get my hand back. Coach was going to be pissed