by C. M. Lally
After putting everything away, I glance at the clock and see it’s a little after midnight. I’m exhausted but not sleepy. Great. I need to make my ass go to bed because tomorrow is Sunday and it’s my day off from everything. I don’t do my training routine or my chores, and I don’t work at my job. I usually go out and about and explore the surrounding neighborhoods, but tomorrow is special.
Tomorrow I’m hiking with the girls in the Francis Marion National Forest. It’s a fundraiser we’re doing to raise money for kids whose families can’t afford summer camp. It’s going to be a good change to my regular routine, and the weather girl said it won’t be so hot and sticky with a Tropical Storm moving in later in the evening.
I’m looking forward to it.
I fall into my nightly routine like a mechanical zombie. The process of the ritual makes me sleepy, and I finally crawl into my new clean sheets. I never knew 800-count Egyptian cotton would feel like satin against my skin, so soft and relaxing. An hour later, though, I’m still not asleep. No matter how hard I try, Kol’s face keeps popping up in the darkness of my eyelids.
I stretch and roll onto my side, still feeling the stiffness of this morning’s training session. Yeah, I need a day’s break from him. His incessant hollering, “No, do it again. No, again. No, not like that. No, that’s borderline cheating. No, you’re too soft. No, no, no.” I couldn’t get one simple yes. It doesn’t seem to be in his vocabulary. A few times he barked at me, then growled like a Doberman behind a fence waiting to bite me when I made a move.
I hate him.
He’s always negative, and his constant scowling is annoying as hell. I mean c’mon. We live and workout on a fucking beach daily. Granted it’s not the islands of Hawaii, but it’s still sand, surf, and sun. We get to do what we want when we want, and with a passion for it like nothing else. And he can’t find one reason to smile? He’s an ass with a resting bitch face.
I glance at the clock. It’s 1:15 am, and I’m wasting my zzz’s on him. Fuck that. I turn on Netflix and find a movie that I don’t like so I’ll fall asleep.
My phone alarm buzzes after a while, waking me up with bleary eyes and a mouth full of cotton. Linda must have put too much salt in the casserole. My mouth is as dry as the Sahara. I rub the sleep from my eyes and push the alarm off. 5:30 am came way to quick, ripping me from a perfect dream.
Within the hour, a car horn beeps outside my window. I slurp the remaining milk from my cereal bowl, grab my bag and keys, and run downstairs to meet the girls. I was the last pick up stop on this tour of low-budget, high-maintenance women.
We may look like glamour girls with our nails painted, our hair slicked back into Kardashian ponytails, and our brand name hiking clothes, but I can assure you, everything came from the bargain shopping bin. We call ourselves the ‘Bargain Bin Bitches.’ We all attempted college, but it wasn’t for us. Each one of us felt that we weren’t getting real-life knowledge for the exorbitant amount of money we, our parents, and even Uncle Sam, were shelling out.
We coupon, we shop sales, and yes, we scour Goodwill for some mighty fine, used shit. And there is nothing wrong with that. We save money to spend money on our hopes and dreams, because someday— it will matter beyond our wildest imagination.
The entrepreneurial spirit nipped at us, so Leanne and Candy went to trade school and have successful businesses in the beauty industry. Angie gathered all her learned knowledge from working the farm with her grandparents and now has her own Agricultural business. And me, well, I’m going another route. I’m branding myself and am still finding my way amongst these talented women, but I know the WEC or the UFC is waiting for me to break out. Time and experience are all I need, and, of course, a fighting chance.
“Hey, Ladies,” I sing-song to them as I throw my bag in the trunk that Leanne popped open for me.
“Girl, where did you get those Merrell Hikers? And in purple to boot. Damn, I’m jealous,” Candy squeals as I hop in the back with her. She pulls one of my legs up at an awkward angle to check them out.
“Umm, should I tell her?” addressing Leanne and catching her face in the mirror.
Leanna laughs and princess waves at her from the rearview mirror. “I caught them on sale at TJ Maxx and gave them to her as an early birthday present.”
“Why didn’t you give a bitch a heads up?”
“Well, they only had a size 6.5, and you and Angie wear a size 7.5. Sorry. She gets the prize for having smaller feet. And I knew she’d love them for her birthday.”
“I’ve worn them everywhere. They are as comfortable as my nightgown and bathrobe.” Candy pouts for a brief second before putting my foot back down to the floor. Jealousy stings sometimes, so I give her a quick hug.
“Speaking of comfortable,” Candy clears her throat to gain our full attention, “Dave and I broke up. The long distances and time spent apart were killing us. His trips were getting longer and the distance further apart. I was getting needy and clingy. Two words I never want to be. I was also getting distrustful, but shhh, we won’t talk about that. So I ended it.” She sits back and relaxes her head on the back of the seat.
“Awww. I’m sorry, hun. I liked Dave, but if you’re okay, I support you.” I grasp her hand lying on the seat between us and squeeze it tight. She unclenches it for me to hold, but squeezes it back in acknowledgment.
That’s got to be tough for her, but like she said— women don’t ever want to feel needy and clingy. We want to be equal partners in a mutually beneficial connection that’s loving and supportive. When the balance is off, the relationship is chaotic, and that’s not healthy. Some people aren’t good communicators or fixers, and some are unwilling to try. Others will give it a shot or two but revert back to their old ways out of convenience or habit.
“It’s okay. I’ve got the dogs to keep me company. And besides, all that traveling and eating out was causing the pounds to increase. I’m going to start hitting the gym and find me a healthy man.”
“Didn’t you start at a new gym? I could join you?”
“No, you don’t want to come to Rebel’s. One, he’s kind of an asshole, and two, the gym is an MMA gym specifically, so it won’t have everything you need. You need a Planet Fitness.”
She gives me a strange look out of the side of her eye. “Perhaps I’d like an MMA gym. It sounds different and fun. I could learn to box and kick. They say that’s a great cardio workout. Orrrrr, maybe you’re hiding someone special there and don’t want us to know.” She pinches my leg, and I slap her hand away. When I look up, Leanne is eyeballing me from the mirror and Angie has turned around in her seat to stare at me.
“What?” I don’t know why the attention is all on me.
“You don't deny it. So you must have a man at the gym,” Angie says accusingly, crossing her arms.
“There are about twenty plus men at the gym. They are all ripped and six-packed, and NOT MINE.” I stress my last words until my voice cracks.
“I’m not convinced,” Leanne says from the front, narrowing her eyes at me in the mirror. “The voice crack sounded intentional and forced.”
“Yeah, I’m with you on that. There’s something there. We have a four-hour hike to find out what.” She slaps her hands together and rubs them like there’s a juicy story to pull out of me.
“I have two men I work with there. One’s an old man named Lou; he’s my trainer. Then there’s ‘The Enigma.’ He’s my mentor and sparring partner. He’s also a fighter on the rise.”
“Ooh, ‘The Enigma.’ I could use a little mystery in my life,” Candy laughs, nudging me with her hand against my thigh. I pull it away before she can pinch me again.
“He’s the King of Assholes, and you are not allowed to date him. It would be weird for me. Please stay away from my gym.” I look her straight in the eyes when I say it. I’m serious about this. He’s off limits to my friends. I have four hours to convince her of this.
Chapter Seven - Kol
HONK. HONK. HOOOOONK. “C�
�mon, Kol. I know your ass is awake. You’re the only one I know who wakes up before the roosters.”
Damn it. If he wakes my neighbors, I’m gonna pile-drive him into the cement. I kick the front door of my building open. I watch him swallow hard at the icy stare on my face. “Will you shut the fuck up? The horn wasn’t necessary. The thirty text messages you sent this morning, with responses might I add, tells you I’m awake.”
“Making sure you’re up and ready to go help the boys out.” He smiles at me with that stupid lopsided grin he’s got as he gets into the driver’s side. I throw my bag in the back seat and get in beside him. This is not a great way to start my morning off. I’m grumpy now. God help him if he tries to talk me to death on the way there.
Shawn has always been my favorite foster brother, although I’ll burn my lips off before I let him know it. He’s a good guy, and one hell of a fighter when push comes to shove. That’s the problem; it has to come to shove. He never initiates, and because of that, he spent many nights banged up and bleeding from losing his fights. The banged-up part came from the underground fight. The bleeding came from Max Porter.
Shawn Porter is a lover, not a fighter. In high school, I watched him win pussy after pussy with that smile and charm of his. And no one hated him for it. He charms men and women alike. He could talk for hours to a five-year-old and a ninety-five-year-old, it makes no difference to him. He’s that good of a guy.
His glass is always fucking full.
My glass shattered years ago during a nasty fight with some kid from the hills. His affluent parents loved him so much, they gave him everything he ever fucking wanted, except their time. He came looking for a good fight.
His money ensured they gave him a fighting time, and by sheer luck, he picked me out of the crowd.
All the money being passed back and forth was going toward me, The Enigma. Max had started that name the year before. The crowd cheered my nickname so fucking loud, I couldn’t hear the buzzer when it went off. He came at me like a psycho, demon-possessed. I countered every move, and that pissed him off even more. He had a dark side to him that was reckless and dangerous.
He also didn’t know the hell and fury I had locked up inside me. It’s still there, even more so now that I know better. Age has not tempered it in the slightest, but the quickness in which it rises has slowed considerably.
All is fair in battling within the underground. We cracked each other’s skulls into the concrete, the utility poles holding up the lights and even a few people in the crowd. The fight dragged on for more hellish minutes than I care to think about until it hit me. They wanted us to fight to the finish. I was seventeen and didn’t care at the time what was next in my life. I was about to age out of a system that didn’t give a shit about me. I know Max and Carrie Porter didn’t care. They’d just apply for another male child to foster.
He had me in a choke hold from behind. We were lying on the cold, cement floor, and I was slowly twisting my body sideways to kick out from him. He squeezed my neck tighter, and all I could think to do was headbutt him, so I did. His thick, meaty arms loosened and I jumped up, turning to prepare to counter his next move. But he was motionless, as still and silent as the crowd now. I had killed him.
Finally, someone from the back of the crowd started shoving people side-to-side to get through the throng of onlookers. Max yells, “Kol, let’s go. Now.” I wipe the blood from my eye and nose and rub it on my pants, as I stare down at his ripped chinos and Air Jordan’s. He was shirtless like me, but his purple Calvin Klein’s peeked out over his loose waistband. Max grabbed my hand and pulled me with him through the crowd. They were running, not wanting to get caught at the scene of a murder.
We all jumped into the back of Max’s truck and high-tailed it home.
“You take a shower and clean up. Bring me your clothes to burn. This never happened.” Those were the last words I ever heard Max Porter speak to me.
Shawn pulls into the Francis Marion National Forest and drives toward the big ‘Welcome’ sign the volunteers must have hung up. And I thought we’d be too early. As soon as we step out of the car, we hear Tommy barking orders into a megaphone. Jesus Christ. I bet the squirrels and chipmunks are pissed as hell with that ruckus he’s got going on.
Tommy walks over to us looking older than his years. His paunch gut tells me he slams back too many beers before bed. “I put us at the sign-in tables. It’ll be good to have our faces front and center with sponsoring this event. Other than that, find something to do. The hikers should start arriving in an hour or so.”
Tommy goes off in one direction, and Shawn goes off in another. Yup, just like the Porter boys. We can only stand to be in each other’s company for so long before the memories start to creep in. It’s always been best to keep it short and as non-awkward as possible when together.
I spot some teenagers having difficulty with setting up the sign-in tables, so I offer my brute strength as help. Within the hour, we have it all set up and ready for the event to begin.
The hikers start to arrive, huddling up with their teams or meandering the area as individuals. We all take our seats at the table and declare registration open for business.
I flip through the roster and see that we have over twelve hundred hikers listed. Fuck me. This event keeps getting bigger and bigger each year. If they all sign in, that’s over $18,000 to send low-income kids to a summer camp through The Boys and Girls Club of America. Holy shit, that’s amazing!
This is how big Shawn’s heart is. He’s the one that started this. He’s the one that named it after the boy I killed.
“Hi. Welcome to the Brent Baxter Hike for Hope. Your name please?” I say that a few more hundred times to strangers before I finally hear a voice I know.
“You know my name, Jade Cantor.” She sighs, annoyed with me. Her friend behind her elbows her to be nice.
“You’re wrong, as usual. I only know your first name. You’ve never shared your last name with me.” She blatantly rolls her eyes and clenches her hands into fists. “Now, Miss Cantor. Here are your registration packet and safety bag. It contains hand sanitizer, a map of the forest and its trails, a few bandages and a light snack. Please verify this is a good number you can be reached at in case of an emergency?” I hold the clipboard out to her with my finger pointing to her cell number.
“Yes. That’s my cell.”
“We have you all set to go. Please remember to check in at each checkpoint, and you must check out before leaving the forest today. Each trail ends here. We need to ensure that each hiker makes it home after the event.”
She grabs the bag from my hand and utters,”Whatever” as she walks away. She’s in a pissy mood today.
“I’m so sorry about Jade. She’s not normally like that. Hi, I’m Candy Morrison.”
“Hi Candy. Welcome to the Brent Baxter Hike for Hope.” She smiles a sugary, sweet smile that makes my toothache. “Here are your registration packet and safety bag. It contains hand sanitizer, a map of the forest and its trails, a few bandages and a light snack. Please verify this is a good number you can be reached at in case of an emergency?” I hold the clipboard out to her with my finger pointing to the number listed.
“Yup, that’s definitely my cell number. Feel free to use it later.”
“Please remember to check in at each checkpoint and, like I told your friend, you must check out before leaving the forest today. Each trail ends here. We need to ensure that each hiker makes it home after the event.”
“Yes, Sir.” She salutes me, smiling a toothy grin and pushing her chest out to catch my attention. I look to the next person in line to keep it moving. I’m not here to pick up women.
After a short speech from Tommy to remind them of why everyone is here and to be safe, Shawn cuts the ribbon in front of the trailheads, and off they go.
Within an hour or two, people start coming off the trails, either done for the day or to complain about some practical jokers messing around on the trails.
They didn’t think they were with the event, so Shawn calls the Park Ranger office to notify them. We get busy checking people out of the event for the day. Everyone seems to be having a good time and enjoying the beautiful day for a hike and a great cause. Minutes turn into hours as a steady flow of people complete the hike.
We pack the last of the rental equipment up into the truck, and a volunteer comes running at us, hollering Shawn’s name.
“Shawn. Shawn, we have a problem.” She’s out of breath by the time she reaches us. Her labored breathing coming in short bursts. “We have four people who haven’t checked back in yet. The event is over, and it’s getting dark under this canopy of trees.”
“Start calling their numbers and see if anyone answers. Pull the rosters from the checkpoints and let’s try to gauge their last known location,” he instructs. He pulls his cell out and calls the Park Ranger office again to inform them of the situation. He looks at Tommy and me. “Looks like we'll be here a little longer tonight.”
“God damn it. I’m already tired and hungry. This is fucking insane.” Tommy throws a granola bar at me from one of the extra safety bags.
“There, that should hold you over.”
Within a few minutes, a few rangers show up. We greet them and hand them the list of hikers. “So, we have four women lost in the woods. Do we know their ages or descriptions? Do we know if they’re capable of handling the terrain?”
Another ranger asks, “Does anyone remember checking in these women?”
We all look at him with tired eyes. “Not really. We checked in over twelve hundred people today,” Shawn replies.
The one lifts up this walkie-talkie and radios back to this office. “Contact the local Sheriff’s office and get driver’s license pictures on a Leanne Springer, Candy Morrison, Angie Herrera, and Jade Cantor. I assume they are from South Carolina.”
“Did you say, Jade Cantor?” My voice bellows. ”I know her.” I’m going to kill her.
