Fighting for Flight by Jb Salsbury Read Free Book Online Page A

in a
Band-Aid. His hands are surprisingly gentle for their size, and I
wonder how many women have felt their tenderness in better places
than their hands. Thousands would be my guess. My stomach twists
with painful jealousy.
    “You’re good at this. I guess you’d have to be in
your profession.”
    “Yeah, I get a lot of practice.” He finishes with my
hand and throws out the wrappers.
    I want to thank him for taking care of my wound.
I’ve been on my own for so long I don’t remember the last time
someone took such care with me. The gratitude I feel for his
kindness makes me want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him. Gratitude, yeah right, that’s what I’m feeling. Instead, I
change the subject.
    “What got you into fighting? Were you a wrestler in
high school?”
    He clears his throat. “No, I started street fighting
first.”
    With his knuckles on the workbench, he drops his
head for a moment before bringing his eyes back to mine. For the
first time, there’s sadness there.
    “My dad died when I was twelve.” The words come out
forced, like he’s not used to the feeling of them on his lips. “I
became the man of the house way before I was ready. I started
getting in fights at school, getting in trouble all the time. My
mom,” he pauses to run both hands through his hair, “she was
destroyed when my Dad died. I just made things worse.”
    His dark eyebrows furrow over his deep-set eyes as
he looks past me.
    “At fifteen, I got busted while kicking some kid’s
ass at a park by my house. The cop pulled me aside and said that if
I didn’t get my shit together I’d end up in jail. He told me I
could use my anger to better my life.” He shakes his head with a
wistful smile. “It didn’t make sense at the time.” His last words
are said under his breath.
    He’s next to me physically, but his eyes are far
away. “He gave me the address of a Boys’ Club, told me they taught
karate, jiu-jitsu, boxing—stuff like that. The way I saw it,
beating the shit out of people wasn’t doing anything but making my
mom cry. May as well take his advice.”
    He shrugs and his eyes meet mine, no longer
troubled. He studies my face
    “I’m sorry about your dad. You must really miss
him.” I know the feeling. Although, how can I miss what I
never had? I banish the thought as soon as it forms.
    “Yeah, he was cool. He worked hard, but found time
to throw the ball with me or get down on the floor with my sister
and play Barbies.” His lips upturn warmly and his eyes go soft. “He
was a big guy as you can imagine, so that was no small task.”
    My heart swells with appreciation that Jonah was
able to experience a good dad, even if only for twelve years. The
fact that he has good memories to carry with him is more than I
could hope for. “He sounds amazing.”
    “He was.”
    “How did he die?” The question is airborne before I
realize the boldness of my intrusion. I drop my gaze, immediately
wanting to take it back.
    Silence fills the space between us, sucking the
oxygen from my lungs. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal
question. Knowing someone for three days hardly constitutes this
type of soul exposing confession.
    “I’m sorry, it’s none of my—”
    “Hit by a drunk driver.”
    I meet his gaze and almost stumble backwards at the
agony in his eyes. He’s not angry. He’s heart broken. My eyes burn
and I swallow hard.
    “He was killed instantly. I was so pissed off. It
seemed so unfair. I thought if I could beat the shit out of
someone, make them hurt as badly as I was hurting, I’d feel
better.” Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath. “Didn’t
work.”
    My hands itch to soothe him with my touch, even if
only to grab his hand and let him know I’m here and that I
understand.
    According to the local media, he’s a private guy. He
never exposes information about his family or personal life.
Sharing that with me took a lot of courage. For all he knows, I
could run out and sell his