Chapter 11: CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dwight pounded away at the large punching bag hanging in the corner of the gym. His knuckles were raw from the constant, powerful contact, but he did not stop. He could not stop. He imagined the face of her children’s father and drove his fists into the leather. The sound reverberated around the gym and nervous eyes glanced at him. He didn’t care. How dare she berate him like a child for Sandra, when she was practically making out with Thomas? The rage he had felt last night was new for him. He had wanted to kick his ass. The images rushed to his mind: her smooth thighs against Thomas’s hands, her soft face twisted with pleasure as he stroked her, her full lips dancing against his. He jabbed the bag so hard that it almost spun around itself. He grabbed it, leaning his head against it, his breath ragged and heavy.

He hadn’t slept that night. He kept dreaming about her arms wrapped around that punk’s neck and he would sit up wildly. He was disappointed in her. He had expected her to be able to keep Thomas in a position where he knew for certain where they stood. He tapped the bag lightly and leaned against it as it rocked. Sweat poured down his body and he walked over to the bench where his water bottle was. The cold liquid filled him, and he could almost feel the steam rising from his body.

Sandra had been calling just about every day, leaving threatening voicemails and profanity laced messages. She’d even gone as far as to have papers sent to his house and job. He knew Savannah to be different in that aspect but his trust in her was wavering. Oh, he knew it wasn’t fair because it was the exact same situation, but it still bothered him. He had fallen in love with a woman who he was not sure was over her ex. Taking another swig of his water, he headed back over to the punching bag.

“If it ain’t Joe Frazier!” The voice was scratchy, indicative of a lifelong smoker. Dwight glanced over his shoulder. He met the eyes of Smee, the owner of the local gym. Dwight had discovered the small gym about ten years ago and with his help, it had gained the attention of the city and grew. Dwight punched the bag.

“Hey Smee.” He replied drily, punching the bag in the area where the ribs would be on a person.

“Let me guess. It’s a woman.” He smiled, leaning against the column next to the bag.

Dwight just looked at him and did a three-punch combo. He could feel the eyes of the older man looking at him, but he kept his eyes focused. He was sweating so hard now that it leaked into his eyes. He tried to continue by blinking back the burn. Finally, he jabbed once more and walked over to where his things were on the bench. He gulped the water down in huge swallows.

“You don’t have to answer. I know I’m right. The last time you beat on my bag like that, you were breaking up with Sheila…no…um... Sarah… no… it was—" The old man stammered.

“Sandra.” Dwight frowned at Smee. He reached in his duffle bag for a small towel and raked it across his face. “Watch it old man.” He growled.

“Oooh. I better be quiet.” He feigned fear and put his hands in front of his face as if to ward of some attack. “You wouldn’t be all bent out of shape if you didn’t love her.”

“I do.” He replied softly. He turned to Smee. The older man wore a thick beard that had long since turned gray. He was tall and muscular, his years of training as a boxer still evident by his thick arms and muscled torso. Dwight did not divulge his private life to just anyone. His adolescent years had taught him such. But Smee was a different kind of guy. He came from the streets, where your word was everything. So, when he gave it, it was as good as gold.

“Savannah.” He paused.” Her name is Savannah.”

“Savannah, eh.” Smee rubbed his beard. “I knew a Savannah once. A long time ago. And she was a fox. How about yours?”

“She’s beautiful all right. But the father of her kids is hanging around. I’m not sure if she is completely over him or not. But I have a feeling she’s not.”

“You’re a single father. You should know what it’s like to have to stay connected with someone that you would rather be rid of. How do you know that she is just not being cordial for the sake of her kids?”

Dwight sighed. “I don’t. And that’s the part that worries me.”

“Well, I’m sure you already know what you are going to do, so there is no point in me saying anything. Just don’t make a decision that you’ll regret. Either way.” He clapped Dwight across the shoulder and headed over to where some teenage boys were sparring in the ring.

Dwight heard the faint buzzing of his cell phone and reached for it. “Yeah.”

“Well hello to you too. I know you’ve been in a funk lately so come to my cookout. There are a few people I want you to meet. Besides, you need to get out.”

After going back and forth with his uncle for a few minutes Dwight reluctantly agreed to make an appearance. He was in no mood to talk to his uncle’s stuffy friends about work. They were all enticed by the large amounts of money he managed and bombarded him with financial questions that they asked him every time he saw them. He glanced at the time on his phone and gathered his things. His cell phone rang again.

“I really don’t have time for this, Sandra.” He barked into the phone as he tossed his towel into his duffel bag.

“I know. I didn’t call to start any trouble. I’ve just been stressed out about work. And then I can’t handle the fact that another woman is touching you.”

“Sandra, we aren’t together anymore.” He sighed, exasperated.

“I know, but. Never mind. Anyway, I wanted to get together to see if we can work something out for visitation. For me and Izzy.”

After what happened with Savannah, he was being more cautious when it came to Sandra. He was still mad at Savannah, but he still wanted her. “I think I’d feel better if there was a third party nearby. My uncle is having a thing at his house. I want you to meet me there. And you can see Izzy.”

“All right. We can do this on your terms.”

Dwight hung up and hoped that he would be able to better navigate his decisions this time around. Not talking to Savannah had been hard and trying not to think about her had been even harder. Tossing his bag over his shoulder, he headed out the door of the gym, his mind racing a million miles a minute.