“Brooklyn Shaw wants me to coach her? The Brooklyn Shaw? ‘Eden Bauer is an overrated, weak champion’ Brooklyn Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“Called Jin Mr. Miyagi, called you a cashier, Brooklyn Shaw?”
“That’s the one.”
“Why the fuck would she want to train with me?” I’m not even as mad as I sound. I’m too confused to be mad. “Is this some kind of joke? Is she mocking me?”
Laila pauses for a long time before she speaks. “I hate the woman, but no, I don’t think she’s mocking you. I didn’t speak to her directly. It was her father who called.”
“You talked to Samson Shaw?”
“Yeah, I did. Man, he’s a smooth talker. He says everything leading up to the fight was just business to get big pay-per-view numbers and she never meant for you to take any of it personally.”
“Hah.”
“He said you’re the champ, and you’re the only one to ever beat Brooklyn, so there’s no one better for her to train with. He thinks she can learn a lot from you. She just accepted a fight offer with Julia Mendez. They want you right away.”
“I see.” I still feel like I’m waiting for the punchline.
“I’m not saying you should do it, but if it matters to you, he did sound sincere. And he offered a truckload of money.”
“How much is a truckload?”
“It pays for the renovation and then some.”
“Whoa.” I sit forward a little despite myself.
“And that’s just to get you to let her through the door. Then you get ten percent of any of her winnings too.”
“That’s crazy. Why would he do that?”
Laila dips her head to the side. “I think he knew it was going to be a tough sell, and he didn’t want you to be able to say no. They have that Shaw money, so they can. They want her to go down as the greatest of all time, and they think you can take her there.”
“Jesus.” I can’t picture Brooklyn Shaw in Emerald Tiger. It’s an absurd image. Trying to conjure it just lands me with a vision of her standing an inch from my face telling me what a fraud I am. I can’t buy that it was all a show, but why not? People do it all the time. It does raise PPV numbers. We did both get paid way more because of it. She was so over-the-top the whole time it did occur to me it was fake, but does that even matter? Can I let someone who disrespected me and my family into my gym?
“What do you think?” I ask.
Laila raises her eyebrow and shakes her head. “That’s not my call, Eden.”
“I’m asking.”
“I don’t think she deserves you. But I do think you deserve this.”
Is it some kind of poetic gift from the universe? Brooklyn Shaw breaks my neck and steals my career, then hands me another? The bond between a coach and a martial artist is a sacred one. I’d be testing every limit she has and guiding her not just in how to win, but to protect herself. I’d be intertwined in her mental state, emotions, dreams, and health. The trust requirement is too great a canyon to leap and the stakes too high.
“I can’t do it.”
Laila stares at me for a long moment. I half expect her to ask if it’s my final answer, but she finally nods.
“I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll just tell Samson Shaw no.”
I laugh. “Do you need me to do it?”
“No, no.” She shoves her palm toward me on a straight arm. “I’ve got this. Watch.” She clears her throat. “No, Samson Shaw, we won’t be bought. Wow, what a power move. I like it.”
“It’s not a power move. It’s just the right call.” I hope it is anyway.
Chapter Twelve
Being rid of all the contraptions on my head and neck feels like a thousand pounds off my shoulders, but being able to move through the world freely again feels like a thousand pounds off my soul. My doctor isn’t a jerk like the ER doctor I saw, but he does keep telling me to take it easy even though everything in me is screaming to exercise around the clock and figure out what normal is going to be now. He allows me to start working my way back into teaching, and a little exercise as long as I don’t try to be a hero about it.
Still, getting back in shape has to start somewhere, so I pop my headphones in and head for the back door. As soon as my shoes hit pavement, I start a slow jog. Running in this area isn’t the best idea in general. People have been scolding me about driving to a real path rather than running the streets, but the Hudson River Path is close enough I can’t be bothered to drive to it even when I do use it. I thought my lack of fear of these streets was because I’m close to the community and don’t expect them to hurt me, but now that I can’t defend myself, it’s clear it was never that. I’m on edge in a way I haven’t been in years, scanning all around me.
I shake myself for being a coward. Doing this during the day is already a concession. I usually prefer to run at night. There’s something about hearing your own breath in the quiet dark, feeling the coolness of evening air against your skin. I used to run ten miles a few times each week. Now it only takes a quarter mile for my limbs to feel heavy and clunky. By a half mile, my lungs and throat burn, and my heart rate is easily over one fifty. Jesus, it’s even worse than I expected.
The thing about running is that if you can convince your body you’re not listening to it, that your mind is stronger, it will eventually cooperate. I enjoy that battle, but I’ve never had to fight it so soon. I’m only a mile from the gym when my neck’s protest to activity escalates from tightness to pain and spasm. I cuss under my breath and slow to a walk. Everything in my nature wants to shove it into a corner, but my instructions are to let the body win right now. I can’t imagine even touching what I used to be capable of from this place.
I stretch my neck as I walk, soaking in the familiarity of the businesses, friends laughing in front of their busted houses, and the sound of tires peeling across the street. A mile and a half in, my heart rate has been down for a while, but my neck shows no signs of improvement, so I start heading back on the next street over.
I’m cruising down the road just a few blocks from the gym when I hear thumps and hollow clangs. I try to spot the source and notice a dumpster on the side of an old sign shop with someone standing by it. My head is stuck in an involuntary sprinkler motion that sends pain crackling out as I do a quadruple take. The person by the dumpster has an arm raised, offering a hand to someone who’s inside. And of all bizarre things, the person is Brooklyn Shaw. I squint, still not convinced this could be what it looks like, but there she is, in all her muscled glory. As I stare at the strange interaction, I slowly realize Brooklyn isn’t the only face I recognize. The hand she’s holding belongs to Mateo. Relief and confusion battle for control.
How does she know Mateo? Does she know him? And what in all hell is he doing in a dumpster?
“Hey!” I say. They must not hear me because neither looks. I jog the half block to them. I’m almost there when Mateo jumps out of the dumpster with her assistance. I catch up in time to hear them laughing. They’re laughing? I stop next to them and plant my feet firmly in an awkward social paralysis. Brooklyn looks every bit as flabbergasted to see me as I am to see her. I force myself to speak.
“What the hell is going on?” I look from one to the other, undecided on who I’m even asking. “Where the hell have you been?” to Mateo. “And what are you doing here?” to Brooklyn. “And what are you doing in the dumpster?” back to Mateo.
Brooklyn holds up a hand. “Whoa, easy. You know each other?”
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, surprising myself a little with my aggressive tone.
“I was on my way to see you.” She sounds testy too now, the smile she shared with Mateo gone. I can’t compute why she would be on the way to see me as if it were a normal thing.
“What? Why?”
“To talk you into training me.” There’s no edge now. It’s just matter-of-fact, with surprising confidence. “I heard you sa
id no.”
“I did.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because it’s an insane idea,” I say.
“You still mad I said you were overrated? You obviously proved me wrong. I’m the one who has to swallow my pride. What do you care?”
“You’re disrespectful. I don’t want it around my kids. They see enough of that.”
She scoffs. “Oh, what a load of crap.”
Mateo’s eyes have turned to saucers soaking this in. I don’t have time for this conversation, and he doesn’t need to see it. I ignore her retort and turn to Mateo.
“What happened?” I ask. “I’ve been worried about you.”
He looks at his feet and shrugs. “I got fired. I can’t afford my dues.”
“You don’t have to, Mateo. I want you in class. You know you can always come to the dojang.”
He shrugs again, unable to look at me. I can feel the shame weighing down his head, and it breaks my heart. I brace both of his arms. “You are more important than any dues, Mateo. I could never afford mine either.”
“You couldn’t?”
“No. Now what the hell were you doing inside that dumpster? Did someone put you there?”
He shakes his head.
“Hiding?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I was hungry.”
“Oh, kid.” I want to crush him in a hug, but it’ll embarrass him. I take in Brooklyn at my side all over again. She’s in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, but it must be one of those two-hundred-dollar shirts that only appear to be plain, because she looks incredible.
“And you saw him in the dumpster and just decided to help?”
“Shocking, I know,” Brooklyn says. “Look, I promised your dude here a burger. You want to come?”
My emotions are cascading and churning like the bottom of a waterfall. Just seeing Brooklyn sets off a twinge of distaste and anger, but that doesn’t mix well with the involuntary affection I feel toward her for pulling my sweet Mateo out of the trash and offering him friendship, no questions asked. Regardless of my inability to make sense of her, I’m not ready to lose track of him again.
“Sure.”
“Perfect.” She looks a little surprised, but she leads the way to the burger joint across the street. We get a table and order a truckload of food. Brooklyn and I ask for appetizers and shakes in addition to burgers for everyone. I can’t tell if she genuinely eats a ton or if she’s in sync with my plan to order more than enough food to ensure Mateo gets his fill without worrying about the cost.
When the food comes, he shovels fries into his mouth at a staggering pace. Brooklyn and I sit quietly, exchanging loaded glances until he slows down enough to have a conversation.
“You been going to school?” I ask.
“Sometimes.”
I can’t bring myself to scold him. I know how stupid school feels when your world is falling apart. I want to know how he got fired, but I can’t quite ask him. I feel like it’ll imply he did something wrong when really it makes me crazy he’s even working and that a boss would fire a kid who’s clearly in such a desperate situation. But then, a lot of the kids around here are like Mateo.
Brooklyn seems to notice I’m stuck and jumps in. “How old are you, Mateo?”
“Twelve.”
“How long you been training with Eden?”
He shrugs. “Two years maybe.”
“That’s good,” she says. “You stick with that. And stick with school. Going sometimes isn’t going to get you out of here.”
“Nothing’s going to get me out of here.” He’s not a cynical kid. Whatever’s transpired in the past weeks has left a mark.
“Hey.” She grabs his hand with an urgency that makes him jump a little. “Whatever you tell yourself is true, becomes true. Don’t say that shit unless you want to be here forever.”
He nods reluctantly.
“You like martial arts?” she asks. He nods again. “You want to be a fighter?”
“I’m not good enough.”
“What did I just say?”
“But I’m not strong,” he says. “And I can’t even buy my own food.”
“I see,” Brooklyn says in a near whisper. Her deep brown eyes fill with such warmth and sadness she looks like an entirely different human. “But Eden just told you she couldn’t pay her dues when she was your age. And you know what? I couldn’t buy my own food when I was a kid. Didn’t stop us. It doesn’t have to stop you.”
“Whatever, you’re lying. You’re a Shaw.”
“Look it up, Wikipedia. Hand on the bible.”
“But why?”
“What do you mean why? Because we were poor, dude. We lived in Brazil then. What do you know about Brazil?”
“They’re really good at Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”
She smiles and fist bumps him. He laughs as he returns the gesture. The sound is magic. “We are really good at Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, but we also have some of the most dangerous cities in the world, and my family lived in one of them. When my dad opened up his Jiu-Jitsu school, he put every penny he’d ever won in competition into it. For the first few years before it started to take off, we couldn’t afford anything. Not even food. My oldest brother, Nicolau, got tired of being broke, so you know what he did?”
Mateo shakes his head. I know she’s not even talking to me, but I’m inexplicably honored she’d let me know anything personal about her. She’s so unexpectedly sweet with him. Brooklyn, sweet?
“He started robbing businesses,” she says. “Know where he is now?”
“Jail?”
“That’s right. Now, he had money for a minute. He brought us all presents and food. He was the man. But look at him now. And look at us now. He could’ve done what I do. He could’ve been the best of us, but he didn’t believe there was a way out. He started hanging around the wrong people and stopped training with us. By the time he gets out of jail it’ll be too late for him to compete. You understand what I’m saying to you?”
He nods. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You have to surround yourself with the right kind of people. Don’t disappear on the ones who’re trying to help you. I’m not saying your life isn’t rough, but you hit the jackpot in one way. You have one of the best fighters in the world just down the street trying to look out for you, trying to train you for free. You know you’d be crazy not to show up for that, right?”
He breaks into a smile and looks over at me. His shoulders finally relax. “Yeah, I know.”
“All right, then.”
“Hey, Brooklyn?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“You think maybe you could show me some stuff too? Like a Kimura?”
“You like Kimuras, huh?” She smiles at him, then glances at me. “Well, I don’t know. What do you think, Eden? Should I come by the gym?”
Mateo spins to me with excited, innocent eyes, and Brooklyn smiles out of the corner of her mouth, looking pleased with herself. Jesus, that’s checkmate, and she knows it.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, you can come by the gym and show him some stuff.”
“And us?” She points from herself to me a couple of times.
“Come by tomorrow morning, and we’ll talk about it. No promises.”
She smiles a sneaky smile, like I’m not supposed to see it. “Fair enough.”
Chapter Thirteen
That the Shaws show up in style should not be a surprise to any of us, but I can’t help but laugh at the black Escalade that rolls up to the Emerald Tiger parking lot booming hip-hop. Théo Shaw emerges from the passenger seat looking slick in all black clothing to match the all black SUV. His hair is cropped almost all the way down with a series of three lines shaved along the side of his head for stylistic value. He has a showstopping smile, deep brown eyes, the body of a god, like the rest of his family, and carries the confidence of a champion.
Then, the puzzling Brooklyn Shaw emerges. She wears her hair natural
with its beautiful thick curls a few inches long and shaved sides with some stenciling a bit more elaborate than Théo’s without getting over-the-top. She’s wearing a white sleeveless shirt and jeans. Her eyes are hidden by black sunglasses, but I feel them on me through the glass panel entryway just the same. She laughs at something Théo says to her, and her face lights up.
I can’t help but examine her as she approaches the door, her body, her posture, her walk. She moves with relaxed power, casual purpose, like a tiger. My stomach twists as she gets closer. The bell on the door jingles as she and Théo walk in. Laila, closer than I am, greets them first.
“Hello,” she says. “Glad you could make it out. I’m Laila.”
Théo and Brooklyn each nod and shake her hand, awkwardly spitting out their names as if they haven’t had to introduce themselves in a long time. They probably haven’t. I knew Théo’s name was pronounced without the h, but the way he says it still sounds a little different, richer, than when most people say it. Théo turns to me wearing a smile, but I feel the heat of resentment radiating off of him. Funny, I never took time to consider that he may be mad at me. Between all of Brooklyn’s trash talk and how badly she hurt me, I never bothered guessing how the legendary Théo Shaw feels about the way I knocked out his baby sister.
“Eden.” I hold out my hand for him to shake. Théo doesn’t break his smooth demeanor for a second. He slips his hand into mine and squeezes my upper arm with the other hand in an unexpected gesture that warms me to him instantly.
“The one and only,” he says. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Eden.”
“You as well.” I try to form some kind of compliment, anything to indicate that I realize and appreciate who I’m talking to, but everything that runs through my head is asinine, and soon the moment is gone.
Brooklyn steps closer and finally takes her sunglasses off. Her striking brown eyes grab me. I’m impressed with the confidence with which she can hold my gaze. I expected uncertainty or guilt or at least a little self-consciousness, but I see none of that.
The Clinch Page 9
