Love and Missiles

As I came to my senses, I suddenly realized Claire had turned and spotted me.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded right then.

I kept my head down as I answered, "Just picking up some groceries—I'm leaving now, I didn't know you were here."

Claire frowned and snapped, "Did I tell you to leave?"

Beside her, Stan chuckled as he squeezed Claire's hand, "Thanks for sparring with me, Oliver—I really don't know what to do without you… Oh, you should join us later, my match is soon. I mean, we're family, aren't we?"

Claire's lips curled into a smile in turn. "Oh, you're too sweet for your own good, Stan. But sure—we will be there to cheer for you!"

I knew I had no right to refuse, so I simply followed.

We arrived at the locker room together, where Stan opened his locker in front of us, showing us the tailor-made boxing gear that Claire had gotten him, and women's underwear.

Stan scrambled to shove it in a black bag, while Claire pouted as she gave him a playful punch on the chest.

Just from their body language, anyone could tell right away what they had been up to in that very room.

Still, Claire was soon taken aback as she saw that I wasn't reacting at all, and was somehow annoyed before she knew it.

"Stop being so distracted," she scoffed. "It's like you have someone else on your mind. Who was it? And I've been meaning to ask for a while—is that colleague who kept texting you a man or a woman?"

I slid my phone back in my pocket to stop her from snatching it away again. "It's my boss. I've been gone for days after all—work piled up and there's things he'd need to know."

Claire was clearly skeptical, but the bell rang, signalling the start of Stan's match.

She brushed past me, muttering, "I'm checking your phone when you get back."

I grunted nonchalantly in reply. I'd be gone by then anyway.

It was a full house, with Claire taking a front row seat while I sat far behind on the bleachers, though that suited me just fine—I could slip out whenever I wanted.

As it turned out, Stan's opponent really had a physique that was no different from mine.

And if I was seeing it right, Stan was fighting him just like how he had fought me.

During one of the intervals, Claire came up to me and demanded, "Go help Stan. I need to take a call."

As I went over to Stan with a towel, he flashed a mocking grin, "You really are Claire's lapdog, still sticking around after all that abuse. Or perhaps you find it exciting watching us kiss?"

I flung the towel on his face right then, but he didn't have time to snap at me since it was time to return to the ring.

After the match ended, he sent Claire away with some excuse, and dragged me to the locker room for a private talk.

As soon as the door shut, he cracked his neck and swung his fist at me, but I caught his wrist and shoved him against the wall, snorting, "Can't we just all get along? Why do you insist on starting fights?"

In reality, I had trained a little myself, and definitely stood a chance as he was already exhausted.

Still, Stan struggled against my grip, snorting as his eyes flashed violently, "Because I can't stand how Claire keeps looking at you! We've even registered our marriage, but she still keeps you around. Can't you just know your place and leave?! What's the point of hanging around as a boy toy?"

I was planning to pick up my luggage from the house and didn't really have time for his crap, but he insists on keep running his mouth.

"Did you know why she suddenly announced our marriage? When was it supposed to be her eighth anniversary with you?

"Because she's pregnant with my child! And it's been two months, while you never even got in bed with her!

"Why else is she so eager to get registered? She can't very well explain how she got pregnant, can she?"

"How does it feel being made a cuckold, huh?"

As his grin broadened, I started strangling him in frustration, "Shut up!"

"Sure, whatever you say!" He scoffed, and suddenly picked up a spray can.

As I watched him spray something white at my face, I immediately realized it was dangerous and clasped a hand over my nose and mouth with one hand, while snatching the can and hitting him in the head.

Whatever it was, he inhaled a lot of it and passed out.

I soon heard a rush of footsteps and Claire shouting, "Stan?! Oliver?"

I broke up into a run, taking a different hallway and still in a daze as I rushed home, picked up my luggage and rushed to the train station.

Claire had been texting me persistently even as I boarded.

[I don't have time for your childish games! Come back and apologize! And get a checkup after!]

I look out the window, snorting.

I then changed my SIM card and blocked her on all my social media accounts.

After all, I would never see Claire Young again.