I look up at him in surprise.

“Don’t look so surprised. Whenever your dad was in here hitting me too hard it was always because of your brother. It figures that he might be an issue for you, too.”

I sigh, consider evading. But I hate keeping secrets. And these days that really feels like all I do. I’m keeping secrets for Pops around the house. I’m keeping secrets from Eliot about who I am. Adding Raoul to the list just seems like unnecessary torture.

“Jack may or may not have created a situation that I am now paying the price for.”

“What kind of price?”

Raoul is five-foot-five on a good day, maybe a buck-twenty after Thanksgiving dinner. But right now there’s a metallic glint in his eyes and I could swear he just grew by an inch or two.

“No, no. Nothing like that. He didn’t get me in trouble with the law. Or with anybody scary or anything. I’m just out here lying to cover his ass.” I occupy myself with the last bits of tape on my gloves. “To somebody I really don’t want to be lying to.”

Raoul opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, the door to the gym swings open and three strapping young gents pile inside.

“I gotta get going,” I tell Raoul. “Got stuff to do.”

“Go easy on yourself,” he tells me and I can see from the look in his eye that he really means it. That’s the medicine he’s prescribing. You’re not a punching bag. Come to the gym if you need to beat something up.

I give him a nod, quickly wipe down my gear, and lock it back into my locker.

I’m halfway home when I see Eliot Hoffman up the block. I knew this might happen, considering how close we live to one another. My heart lurches sideways, and even though he’s walking away from me, I still cross the street to get further away from him. He’s got a to-go coffee in one hand, and I can tell from the fancy paper cup that he went to that one café that has the five-dollar almond croissants and the Instagram-ready baristas. I bet they flirt with him relentlessly as they hand over his latte. I bet they put on lipstick just so they can leave a kiss on the side of his cup. He probably scores a new number every morning.

He stops at the intersection and glances behind him. I’m so glad I crossed the street because he would have seen me otherwise. Well, he’d have seen the me that isn’t me. I mean, he’d have seen the me he knows me as, not the me he doesn’t know I am.

Are you confused yet?

I am.