The Right Thing

I go without Seth for six days. Training and preparing for his Boston fight against Joshua Denisov has eaten up all his time, not leaving a second spare for me. The days have dragged by. I've only been able to speak with him over the phone for the shortest slices of time. The short phone calls don't satisfy me. They don't scratch my itch or quench my thirst for his company.

I've kept myself busy, running errands, coming back and forth from the hospital and my parent's house. Exhausted doesn't begin to cover it. I'm looking forward to blowing off some steam in another city since the doctor cleared Dad yesterday and Mom assures me she has everything under control.

Exhaling, I arch my back and pull my phone out from where it's wedged-between my backside and the couch cushion. I shake my feet, then let them hang over the armrest as I unlock my phone and look at the time. Seth will be here in twenty minutes. Butterflies release themselves from their gilded cages, and in their excited flutte