by Emilia Finn
“Do you hate me, Bubbles?”
“What?” I surge up straight and toss my phone aside so I can swing my legs to the floor. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re stuck in this hell! Your favorite part of the week is cooking and cleaning. You would sell your soul to be noticed by a dance company that would pay you to dance, but you can’t do that either, because if you’re noticed, you’re exposed. And it’s not like I can afford lessons anyway. It’s literally the only thing you want, and I can’t give it to you.”
“You provide me with a home to live in, a bed that keeps me warm, and food to fill my belly. That’s more than enough.”
“You pay half the rent! I literally can’t even keep up without your contribution.”
“And I would be homeless without yours.” I slide off the edge of my bed and kneel in front of my brooding brother. “We’re a team, remember? You owe me nothing.”
“We’re a team,” he grits out, “and for your tenth birthday, all you asked for was to go to the ballet.”
“What are you bitching about? We went!”
“We snuck in,” he volleys back. “Through the back door, in the dark, where no one could see us.”
“We still watched the damn ballet. Don’t you remember?” I rest on my knees and press my hand to his. “It was Sleeping Beauty, and it was so beautiful. The dancers were… and the choreography… and the costumes… and…” Swelling emotion makes it impossible for me to form full sentences. “Ugh! It was all so wonderful. You don’t remember?”
His scowl lessens for every second he stares into my eyes. His flicker between mine, and soften, until finally, his lips curve up into a crooked grin. “I remember. You were star-struck. The dancers were practically fucking on the stage, and you were watching their feet like they were made of gold.”
“They were not fucking,” I huff. “And yes, I was watching their feet. It was all so perfect.” Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment, I study his eyes. I see that guy from when I was ten, my exceptionally tall, overly skinny, pimple-faced, seventeen-year-old brother. “You made my dreams come true that day. How you got us in there doesn’t matter to me, because I still got to watch. I still got to feel that magic. And the best part of all?” I smile for him. “You were there. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it if I was there alone.”
“I fell asleep.”
“You’re such an asshole.” I snatch my hand off his and go back to sit on my bed. “Uncultured swine. You wouldn’t know quality dancers if one punched you in the face. And if I could have one thing, no limits, no fear of failure?”
His eyes eagerly follow my every move. My every expression.
“Apart from watching a dancer punch you in the face?” I grin when he rolls his eyes. “I’d be the choreographer for something like that. I’d write these stories in my head, I’d choreograph them, I’d teach them to my students. And then…” I pause and smile. “I’d sit front row, center, and watch what I created. I like dancing, I like being onstage, but most of all, I want to watch others perform the routines I taught them. Wouldn’t that be amazing?” I whisper. “Wouldn’t it be magical?”
Will slowly pushes away from the drawers and knee-walks to my bed. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he wraps his arms around my stomach and hugs me so tight that his shoulder almost chokes me, and my head wrenches up. “It’s not over till it’s over, right? You weren’t destined for this life, Bubbles. Which means it’s my job to get you out.”
I bring my arms up and wrap them around his shoulders. “I don’t want out unless you come with me. Just like the ballet, it’s not something I want unless you’re right there holding my hand.”
Pulling away, he sits back on his haunches and shakes his head. “Your codependence is unhealthy.”
“Nobody asked you. Now, are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
“I’m sure.” Climbing to his feet with a grunt, he chucks my chin and grins. “I had a loaded pizza before I left work.”
“Oh man,” I sigh. “Pizza sounds amazing. I had a Pop-Tart.”
“A meal worthy of an athlete.” He rolls his eyes. “Real healthy, Bubbles.”
“Excuse you, dough-head. You had pizza.”
“There are leftovers in the kitchen.”
“Get outta my way!” I dive off my bed and sidestep my fighter brother with an odd mixture of MMA and ballet steps that make him laugh. I skid in the hall, stomp on a stray domino, and skip-hop the rest of the way into the kitchen until I slide on the floor and nearly knock the pizza box to the ground for the rats to consume.
Jamie
Stacked Deck
It’s weigh-in day, and seeing as I know people who know people, I know for a damn fact William Quinn is on the draw. Which means I wake up early to get my training session out of the way, I shower, shave, I even comb my hair, which is basically unheard of, and, wearing my best sweatpants – because hell, chicks like those – I make my way to my family’s gym and plant my ass on the stool at the front desk.
I arrive at nine in the damn morning, despite the fact folks aren’t set to weigh in for a few more hours.
Back at the house, I guess none of us are supposed to bring up the fact Bean didn’t come home last night – it would seem Mac now knows how my sister feels about him – and instead, I ate breakfast with my mom and an exceptionally tense dad. Jimmy Kincaid’s baby girl is growing up, and he knew whose bed she was in last night – the whole damn town knows! – but since he’s distracted with that, and Smalls is distracted with the fact today is weigh-in day, I was able to eat my breakfast, sneak out the front door with only my mom noticing my hair, and now I claim this chair and the list of names of who’ll be walking through the door over the next few hours.
I tap my pen against Will’s name over and over, a constant tap-tap-tap so the blue from the plastic lid transfers to the white paper and leaves behind an odd Morse code that may or may not spell Cameron.
“Baby?” Mom pokes her head from the hall into reception. “You wanna come spar for a bit? Daddy needs to work off his energy.”
I burst out in belly-bouncing laughter. “There is no way in hell I’m squaring up for that, Mom. Are you insane? Bean stayed with a guy last night for the first time ever, and you want me to spar with Daddy?” I sit back and shake my head. “I’m not your sacrificial goat today. Sorry.”
“He’s going to vibrate through the roof! He’s going to explode.”
“Not my problem. Tell Uncle Bobby that Daddy said he’s a shitty fighter. That’ll fix it.”
For a second, she shakes her head in denial, a “no way is he that manipulatable,” but then she grins. “That’ll work. He’ll pound on B, and the rest of us will live another day.”
I toss my pen down and wink. “Solid plan, Isabelle. Now scoot.”
“Isabelle?” Instead of walking away, Mom steps into the room and folds her arms. “You want to square up to me, son? Or do you wanna use the name you’re supposed to use?”
Shrinking, smiling, I murmur, “Love you, Mommy.”
Laughing at my lack of spine, she comes around the back of the desk and hugs me from behind. “When did you grow up, huh?” She rests her chin on my shoulder and sighs. “You were a toddler just last week, I swear.”
“Time goes too fast.”
She groans. “It sure does. Now you’re bigger than me. You wash your own clothes. You stay out sometimes, and I can’t say anything about it.”
Unlatching her arms from around my stomach, I spin in my seat and pull her back in again so we hug front-to-front. “I’ll always be yours, Momma. Doesn’t matter how old I get.”
“You’re eighteen.”
“Yes I am.”
“You kiss girls.”
I snort. “Sometimes. When the girls are exceptionally pretty or witty.”
“And when you find a girl that is both pretty and witty?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
Mom pulls bac
k, out of my embrace, and rolls her eyes. “You’re such a strange boy, I swear.” Bringing a hand up, she cups my cheek and stares deep into my eyes. “You’re so much like your daddy, it makes me sick.”
My shoulders bounce with laughter. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’d have the world believe you’re some kind of womanizer. You don’t care at all that people think you’re a dirty slut.”
“Mom!” I gasp. “Language.”
Her lips twitch into a smile. “But you’re a romantic. And you don’t break hearts on purpose.”
“Pretty sure, as my mom, you’re legally obligated to think the best of me in all situations.”
“Not all of them. Like, I know you were with the twins when the pet food factory blew up.”
My eyes widen with surprise. “What?”
“I told the cops, too. I wasn’t going down for harboring a criminal.”
“Mom!”
She puffs her cheeks, lets the air out on one fast exhale, and blows the hair out of my eyes. “I love you, baby. Criminal tendencies and all.”
“I love you too.”
“Are you excited for next week? It’s your turn to step up.”
“But I’d have to fight Mac to win.” I shrug a single shoulder and look down into my hands. “I don’t wanna be that guy.”
“Someone’s gotta fight, baby. He can’t win if he has no opponents.”
“Iowa put him down last year,” I murmur. “It was brutal.”
“And Mac holds no grudge. It’s a sport, honey. It’s just the way it is, and if Mac finds out you’re going soft on him, there’s gonna be trouble.” She leans in and presses a kiss to the patch of forehead she just uncovered. “It’s gonna be okay. We knew this when we started the tournament. We have to fight people we know, we have to beat them to win. And throwing a fight isn’t acceptable.”
“Would you have fought Aunt Kit for a title?” I lift a brow. “Really, Mom?”
“I never had to. Different weight divisions.”
“Not the point,” I growl. “Would you have fought her?”
“I sparred with her a lot.” She flashes a playful grin and cups my cheeks. “Do you know how many times I kicked your aunt in the head? It was so much fun watching Uncle B panic.”
“So cruel.” Laughing, I wrap my arm around her hips for one last side hug, but when I turn back to my desk, I’m struck frozen. In shock. Immobile. “Cam?”
She stands across from me in perfect blue jeans that are an exact color match for her eyes. High-top Converse, and an inch of leg showing between the white canvas and the blue denim. She wears a slouchy sweater, has a kink to her hair, like maybe she plaited it before bed and left it loose this morning. Her bow lips seem fuller than I remember, sensual and welcoming, but maybe that’s my mind playing tricks on me.
After a week of hounding last year, I finally got the kiss I had dreamt of. We found the electricity I knew – I knew! – would be there, and then she walked out of my life with nothing but a wave. No number left behind, no plans to call me, nothing but cold dismissal and half of my heart.
She’s aged in our year apart. Not in a bad way, but in a way that somehow tends toward exotic. Her hair looks to be the same length, but her eyes are a little sexier. Her lashes stretch out and flick up to frame the blue. They curve up and make me think of a wild cat. She had the same eyes last year, but this time, they seem to know more. They’ve seen more.
She lost some of her innocence this past year.
Her cheeks were in no way chubby last year, but this year, they seem more defined, her jaw, a little more chiseled. Her lips are as dark red as natural coloring allows, the bow in the middle more pronounced.
Her chest is a cup size larger. Her hips, a smidge wider.
Oh, how a year can change a body.
“Um…”
She seems to be in shock too, surprised to find me here despite the fact she damn well knows this is my family’s gym. She might have spent most of the week last year thinking I was the lowly cleaner, but she walked away knowing my name. She knew where to find me, how to contact me if she was so inclined.
“You didn’t call me,” I growl. “You ghosted.”
Her eyes flicker between me and my mom. “Uh…”
“It would have been easy.” I pick up my tapping-pen and begin hitting her brother’s name again. “It would have been as simple as Google, or fuck, Cam, I’m on Facebook too. You weren’t curious?”
“Stand down.” Will steps through the door and stops so his shoulder rests against his sister’s. He’s never far from her, so it’s not surprising he walks in now, only moments after her. Last year, he was going to kill me with his bare hands for even looking at her, but this time, either he’s mellowed out with age, or the fact my mom stands nearby has him on his best behavior. He might be an asshole, but he has a firm grip on not disrespecting the Roller women. “We’re here to fight, Kincaid. Not to fraternize.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I stand from my stool and glare into Cam’s eyes. “I wasn’t hard to find, Cameron. I made myself visible.”
“Which should have been hint enough that I’m not interested. Um…” Her eyes flick to Mom as she does a tiny little curtsy. “No disrespect, Mrs. Kincaid.”
“I am not my son’s pimp. And not all women must trip over themselves to date him just because he crooked a finger.” Stepping out from behind the counter, Mom approaches the brother-sister duo and offers a hand. “Will. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you, Mrs. Kincaid. Thank you for accepting my application for a second year. And, ya know…” He clears his throat. “The buy-in. I appreciate that.”
“We all saw what Kyle Baker did to you last year. Your very next fight, you were out. That was on him, and therefore, we felt obliged to offer you another shot.”
“Not obligated.” He lowers his chin. “But appreciated.”
Smiling, Mom turns to Cam and offers her hand. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with you last year, but I know you’re Will’s.”
“Mrs. Kincaid.” Cam takes my mom’s hand in both of hers. She encloses it, stretches her fingers along my mom’s wrist in a full caress, then she releases her with another little curtsy and drops her hands into her pockets. “Thanks for having us. Will has been training extra hard this year, so here’s hoping that pays off.”
“We’ll know by fight night, wont we?” Mom cups Cam’s cheek for just a moment, smiles, then backs away. “I’d better move along. My husband is having a moment, and needs direction before he ends up killing someone. But it’s good to see you both. I hope this year, we can talk a little more.”
“Gracious offer,” Will says. “Considering so many fighters want your attention during fight week.”
“Yeah, well…” Mom smiles. “It’s like your sister, I suppose.”
Will furrows his brows. “Ma’am?”
“Lots of admirers. My son included. Doesn’t mean she’s obligated to spend her time with those she doesn’t want to.” Mom turns to me and lifts a brow. “Be good.”
I grin. “Always, Mommy.”
“Mmhm.” She exits the room and leaves me all alone with two Quinns. Either she trusts Will not to kill me, or she doesn’t love me the way she swears she does.
But either way, I’m here, and Cam’s here, and damn.
“You’re so beautiful, Cam.” I bring a hand to my heart. “I swear, I was planning to be mad because you didn’t call me. I was so set on being a dick and trying the whole ‘treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen’ thing. But I look at you, and that’s all gone. You’re so fucking pretty, it hurts.”
“Kincaid.” Will takes a menacing step forward. “I’m trying to be cool about you. Swear I am. She’s grown, she’s smart, and you’re not an old pervert. But boy, my hands itch to strangle the life out of you.”
“I just want you to see me.” I peer into her beautiful eyes and plead, “Was it seriously so easy for you to leave a year ago and forget?”
>
“I don’t even know you!” She throws her hands up. “I thought you were a random, creepy guy that works for the Kincaids. Then you were the random creepy guy whose last name is Kincaid. But no matter your job or last name, I still don’t know you!”
“I asked you out to dinner. That’s the time people typically get to know each other.”
“I don’t want to go out to dinner that you paid for,” she huffs with pride. “I refuse.”
“So you pay,” I volley back. “Fuck, woman, I don’t care who pays. Though if you tell my daddy I let you get the check, he’ll whoop my ass. So please don’t do that.”
“I don’t want to go out to dinner with you! You’re crazy. We’re strangers.”
“We’re destined.”
She looks on the verge of an explosion. A frustrated, head-popping explosion. “You’re missing brain cells! You can’t say things like that when we don’t even know each other.”
“Hence,” I drawl, “the fuckin’ dinner. Why is this so hard to compute?”
Screw Will. Now Cam takes that menacing step forward and bares her teeth. “You can’t just pick a girl out of a crowd and expect her to fall in line. We are no longer expected to bow down just because a man says so.”
“I’ll bow.” I offer my hands and stare into her eyes. “If that’s what you need, I’ll bow.”
“Fuck,” Will says in awe. “Kid’s lost his mind.”
“I don’t want you to bow!” She slaps my hands away. “I want you to not creep me out every time I enter a room.”
“Creep? Really?” I come around the desk and meet her so our toes touch. “Are you creeped out, Cameron? Or are you so intrigued that you’re begging for permission to say yes? You can’t give me a regular yes, because damn, you have your pride. But you’re curious. You’re gonna spar with me, back and forth, you’ll argue, but you’ll thank the gods when I randomly turn up with hotdogs. Because then you get to eat with me, but you didn’t actually have to agree with it.”
“I don’t even like hotdogs.” She turns to her brother and snags his arm, then she turns back to me and shoulder-barges her way through reception and toward the hall. “Stay away from us, Secretary. We’re here for a single week, then we’re out, and you can go back to eating hotdogs with the blonde.”
