Chapter Three

Having breakfast while his parents were around was something Nash no longer looked forward to. He felt he had more complaints recently about everything happening to him.

"When are you going to get out of the house?" His father asked for the nth time, paraphrasing the same question. In other words, when was he getting a job?

Nash ignored him. He was a fresh college graduate-three weeks out. At least let him breathe before he had to work for the next 40+ years of his life. Besides, it was a competitive world of who could sell the best lies.

Why do you want this job?

Nash would be passionate about his job as long as it was something he liked-who even likes their job- but not ardent enough to do it for some grand reason. It was all about the money. How else would he survive? But there was no way he could say that. He had to keep it professional.

"Soon, Dad," He replied, watching his salt-and-pepper head slump when Nash didn't respond. It wasn't that he didn't understand his father's concern, but he also explained that he needed some time. For now, Nash had bigger fish to fry; the only thing he was doing out of passion and a sprinkle of desperation without compensation. The plan was to meet Ace at 3 pm to settle things once and for all.

~~

They stood on the old basketball court, feet apart, surrounded by graffiti walls and rusted poles. The wind passed through them like a scene from an old Western movie.

It was their final showdown.

Nash stood with his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants, a white t-shirt to finish as he glared at Ace. He kept a smirk on his face, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the book that led them here.

"You wanna play a round?" Ace asked, looking around. "Is that why you called me here? At least bring a ball."

Nash scoffed. Did he think this was some joke? "If this agreement were a contract, I'd bring your sorry ass to court and sue you for fraud," Nash spoke. "I don't care how much I have to pay-just give me the book."

"What if I don't want to?" Ace replied.

"Then one of us is going down today. Jail or six feet under, It's your choice. If I have to fight for that book, so be it."

"Was it ever that serious?" Ace placed the book on the ground before stretching his arms, causing Nash to scream internally at his action. "Guess I'll have to sue you for assault. What I'm about to do is self-defense."

Nash knew there was a slim chance he could overpower Ace. He wasn't a natural-born fighter but was willing to go down fighting. Thanking his random workout schedule and his dedication to keeping up with exercising-it was time to put his muscles to the test. Long were his days of being breathless on a flight of stairs and risking dying before thirty. It was a long journey of giving up and starting over, but it was worth it.

Nash moved forward with steady and confident steps. "Let me get one good hit in. That's the least you could do after giving me the runaround."

"Why would I let you hit me?" Ace questioned. "I didn't dedicate myself to a skincare routine for you to bruise my face and have me break out in hives."

Clenching his fist, Nash responded, "All the more reason to punch you in the face," before lunging his fist forward. Ace blocked Nash's incoming fist, grabbing his hand and twisting it behind his back. "Argh," He squirmed in pain; lucky the pain masked his embarrassing attempt at shutting Ace up. "Let me go!"

"Why should I?" Ace asked, tightening his grip. "You'll just try to hit me again. Didn't anyone teach you that violence doesn't solve anything? And not to start fights when you can't even throw a proper punch."

"You provoke and get in fights often, don't you?" Nash spoke. "No wonder someone like you has to learn how to fight."

Ace set Nash free, meeting his eyes that glared at him. Nash rubbed his arm, feeling the ache after being in that position for so long. "Is that what you think of me?" Ace sounded, ruffling his hair with his hand.

"Did you give me a reason to think highly of you? You've been nothing but a headache. I'll remember you for the rest of my life, even when I don't want to." Nash took the opportunity to aim at the book he needed, deliberately bumping into Ace as Nash thought it was the least he could do after everything he'd endured. Thinking he didn't push him too hard, Nash turned around, seeing Ace on the ground after taking up the book.

Was Ace weak in the legs? Did he lose his footing? There's no way I pushed him that hard!

Yet, there he was on the ground. Nash no longer cares for Ace's dramatics. He had what he came for, and that equaled good riddance. "I think I sprained my wrist," Ace said, holding his wrist.

"Stop playing around," Nash looked him up and down, annoyance written on his soul. "You're not that fragile. Haven't you had enough?"

"I'm not playing this time. I really think it's sprained." Ace replied. "I landed badly on my hand after that unexpected push."

Nash decided to humor him. He stooped, clutching the book as he examined Ace's wrist. He was no doctor, but Google thought him a thing or two besides his imminent death when it was a simple cold. Signs of redness and a slight swelling made Nash question his life. Of all the things he could've done, he sprained the wrist of the guy who had it out for him. Luck was no longer in Nash's vocabulary because Lady Luck was laughing in his face at this point.

"Let's get you to the doctor," Nash said.

~~

The doctor said Ace tore a ligament, bandaged him up, and prescribed some painkillers. The silence was unbearable, loud to and from the hospital. Nash could only wonder what Ace was thinking. In the end, wasn't it Ace's fault? If he had sold Nash the book, then none of this wouldn't have happened, but Nash still had a conscience.

"I'm sorry," He apologized. "I didn't think you'd end up like that. None of this wouldn't have happened if you had sold me the book." Nash couldn't help but add.

"This is my fault?" Ace questioned, holding his wrist up.

"In a way, yes," Nash spoke. "But at the end of the day, I was the one who pushed you. So, I'm sorry." He apologized again.

"I didn't peg you as the type to apologize," Ace pointed out. "I'll take that attempt at an apology."

"At least one of us knows how to apologize." Nash was the type who didn't like to have things on his conscience. There were events from years ago that popped into his mind going: "Hey, remember this embarrassing thing?" Nash didn't want to add not apologizing to Ace to the list of haunting memories. "I don't like carrying guilt; living is a burden already."

At least, this was the last time he was seeing Ace. They started on a wrong note and ended on a hurtful note. The good thing was that he got the book. "This is goodbye," Nash added as they arrived at the bookstore. It was the last of his goodwill for Ace after what happened.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Ace said.

"Excuse me," Nash thought he needed his ear checked. "What do you mean? I got the book. Whatever this is, it's not going to continue. Unthink any idea you have in that head."

"What, you don't want to see me again?" Ace said, smiling at Nash. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again." He points at the bookstore. "I haven't finished cleaning up. And now I can't because of my hand. The doctor said-" Nash put up a hand to stop Ace.

He knew what the doctor said. He was present, and even if Nash wasn't, it was common sense not to put a sprained wrist under stress. Nash refused to acknowledge that both of them being in the same space without picking a fight like a couple of five-year-olds wasn't ending here and now.

But there goes his guilt refusing to leave him like that. It would paint him as the bad guy otherwise. Nash took a moment to thank his parents for raising him well. Despite lacking hope for humanity, Nash decided to be the change he wanted to see. What better way than to help the guy who annoyed him?

"I'll leave after everything has been cleaned and organized." Nash declared. "The rest is up to you after." Where he lacked in Luck, he'll push through with desperation, tears, and motivation just like he did for that book. It will all be over in a week.

Or so he thought.