“Nobody Can Beat Me,” the Black Belt Boasted — Until a Single Dad Entered the Ring
Chapter 14
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William didn't make eye contact. He dragged his dead leg down the narrow, fluorescent-lit aisle. He grabbed a plastic gallon of whole milk. He grabbed a cardboard carton of large brown eggs. He turned toward the register, then stopped. He looked at the frozen food cooler. Behind the fogged glass were cheap boxes of generic popsicles and frozen microwave dinners.William opened the glass door. He bypassed the generic brands and grabbed a box of double-fudge ice cream bars—the expensive ones. He carried the items to the front counter and set them down.The clerk scanned the barcodes with trembling hands, keeping his eyes glued to the register screen to avoid looking at William's face. "16.80," the clerk mumbled.William placed a $100 bill on the scratched laminate counter. The clerk stared at it, verified it wasn't counterfeit with a quick swipe of a yellow marker, and nervously counted out $83.20.William shoved the bills into his pocket, grabbed the plastic grocery sack, and limped out into the humid night air. He climbed back into the truck, every movement a brutal negotiation with pain. He handed the plastic grocery sack across the center console to Maya.She looked inside. She saw the milk. She saw the eggs. Then, she saw the bright blue cardboard of the ice cream bars. They hadn't had real dessert in the apartment since last Christmas."We still have to fill out that permission slip for your field trip," William said quietly, pulling the gear shift down into reverse. "80 dollars, right?""Yeah," Maya whispered. She looked at the box of ice cream. She looked at the heavy bag of cash resting on the console. Then, she looked at her father. She didn't see a victorious fighter. She saw a tired, broken man who was holding the pieces of his life together through sheer, unadulterated stubbornness.Maya unbuckled her seatbelt. She leaned across the cramped space of the cab—being incredibly careful not to touch his bruised face—wrapped her small arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled like old sweat, dried blood, and industrial copper. She held on tight.William froze. The pressure against his cracked ribs was agonizing; his breath caught sharply in his throat. But he let go of the steering wheel. He brought his heavy, calloused right hand up and rested it gently on her back, pulling her just a fraction closer."I got you, kiddo," William whispered into her hair. His voice finally cracked. "I always got you."He held her while the engine rattled and whined beneath them. He ignored the relentless throbbing in his knee; he ignored the sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Tomorrow, the alarm would go off at 4:30 a.m. The radiator would probably still clank, the world would still be heavy, and the work would still break his back. But tonight, they had milk. They had ice cream. And for the first time in a very long time, they had a margin.William shifted the truck into drive and took his daughter home.