by HJ Bellus
“Come with me.” Mom grabs her arm and guides her to the second guest bedroom. I moved all her stuff in there. She refused to sleep in her bedroom, and I can’t blame her.
I pack my truck, pretty sure it’s going to permanently smell like sweet rhubarb pie. The girls are still huddled up in the bedroom. I drain a bottle of water, go to the bathroom, take a piss, and dash some cologne on.
“You ladies ready?” I holler.
“One second,” Mom responds.
More like five minutes later. Mom bounces in the kitchen with a beaming smile. It’s the first one since Dad passed. She’s tried faking a few, fooling no one.
“Now that’s how you go to a rodeo.” Mom plants her hands on her hips.
Mack rounds the corner. My jaw goes slack. Hells to the fucking yes. She’s still in the simple black sundress that hits her right above the knee. The groups of freckles on the top of her shoulders are highlighted with the skimpy straps. It’s when my gaze roams down her body that my dick throbs to life. Her lean, tan legs, which are my favorite part of her, are paired with a rocking set of cowboy boots.
“Your dad gave those to me a few Christmases ago. Only wear them on special occasions because they’re that fabulous. And I’d say your first rodeo is one hell of a special event.”
Turquoise flecks scatter across the top of the boots, matching the turquoise cross dangling in Mack’s cleavage.
“Upstairs now.” I snag Mack by her hip, tugging her to me.
“No, get your ass out to the truck,” Mom shouts.
“Language, young lady,” I taunt her.
“Oh, shove it up your ass. I have to beat Kathy to the booths. The greedy sucker is always trying to get her claws into mine even though I’ve had dibs on it for years. I don’t think she’ll ever get a clue that no one can stand her baking.” Mom slings her brown leather purse over her shoulder. “Your dad always went down there a few hours early to stake a claim.”
I smile, remembering this. He was one proud man when it came to his wife’s cooking. Little reminders like this one keep popping up, and they’ll be the good memories I’ll keep close of my dad.
We all rush out to the truck. A Johnny Cash song blares on the way to town. The windows are down with the warm evening breeze flowing through. All of us tap out the rhythm. The parking lot is already filling out, sending Mom into a tizzy.
“I’ll drop you and Mack off at the gate and pack your shit in.”
“Okay.” Mom grabs the door handle. “And Trick, be prepared.”
“For what?” I ask.
“You’re a hometown legend. People are going to go crazy tonight.”
The truck barely stops before Mom’s out, tugging Mack behind her. They jog toward the row of booths.
“This is my home. Always will be,” I whisper to myself.
Watching the two women I love race to a damn pie booth clears all the haze in my head. I want this with Mack. The small-town life raising kids and selling pies at the local rodeo. My fighting days aren’t over yet, but when they are, I’m coming home.
Mom was right. She had to fight Kathy off her booth. Mack had her back, chirping in when needed. I can see these two becoming a deadly combo the longer they hang out with each other. It took five trips to the truck to get all my mom’s shit to her booth.
That was the end of my job. After moving one stack of pies, and getting my hand slapped, I step away. I manage to get to the beer garden and back without anyone stopping me. I don’t miss all the inquisitive stares and hushed whispers. I polished off one beer by the time I got back to the stand and tossed the flimsy plastic cup in a trash can.
Mom steals my other beer, so I head back for three more and pay a little boy to pack back a huge lemonade for Mack. There’s already a mile-long line at Mom’s stand. My chest swells with pride. I sneak into the booth and settle in a chair, sipping on my beer. I placed the fresh beer next to Mom as well as Mack’s lemonade next to her.
I watch the time and proudly announce we sold out of pies in thirty minutes.
“That was insane.” Mack plops down on my lap, and Mom takes the seat next to me.
I crush the plastic cup and toss it behind me, sipping on a new beer. I should slow down. The beer works its magic, dulling my frayed nerves.
“We make one hell of a team,” Mom says with pride.
“Yes, we do,” I agree.
“I love it here,” Mack adds.
It cements the idea of making this town our forever one. We eventually venture out for food. It seems people feel more comfortable approaching me with my mom at my side. We’re stopped several times before we get our burgers and fries ordered. The greasy food was perfect to soak up some of the beer. Mom brought over another two rounds for us.
“Trenton.” A hand lands on my shoulder.
That voice is the last one I wanted to hear. I’d hoped like hell I wouldn’t have to face her while here. I twist on the bench to see Libby. My high school sweetheart. The girl I thought I once would marry. She hasn’t changed much. Unfortunately, she’s prettier than years ago. Her body has filled out. Her tits, which used to be my favorite part, are even bigger. Libby’s blonde curls swirl around in the wind, and her model-like face beams at me.
“Libby.” I jerk my chin.
“I heard you were in town.” She goes in for a hug.
I awkwardly pat her back and pull away as fast as I can. Libby takes the liberty of sitting across from me right next to my mom. Mom was never the biggest fan of Libby, and that must still be true since she doesn’t even offer a fake greeting.
“Sorry to hear about your dad.”
Bullshit, I think to myself but only nod my head. Libby rattles on about her life. It seems perfect, which only leads me to think she’s covering up something. She’s married and has two kids. She got her dream of being a rancher’s wife.
“We watch all of your fights.” She reaches out, placing her hand on mine. “We are so damn proud of you.”
I go to pull back my hand. Mack acts fast, reaching over and grabbing Libby’s hand, removing it. “Hi, I’m Mack, Trick’s girlfriend.”
“Oh, sorry.” Libby has the nerve to giggle.
Mom leaves the table. It’s what she does when she can’t hold her tongue any longer—she exits the situation.
“There’s a dance tonight after the rodeo. You should totally swing me around the dance floor like the good old days.”
I sigh. “Libby, not happening. We might go to the dance, but there will be only one woman in my arms, and that’s not you.”
She tucks her chin to her chest.
“I’m not trying to be mean here, but you’ve now disrespected my girlfriend three times, and I don’t stand for that shit.”
When Libby glances back up, her bottom lip quivers. An action that used to be my undoing. I’d crawl on my hands and knees and grovel like a son of a bitch. I was never in love with this woman. I was in love with the idea of it. Mack would never pull that shit on me.
“See you around, Libby.” I stand and gather our plates.
I end up signing several autographs on the way to the rodeo arena. My name’s even announced at the beginning. I rise to my feet and take off my hat, giving the crowd a wave. There’s a moment of silence for my dad directly after that. Mack clings to the edge of her seat during the whole rodeo. Mom and I share several laughs at her innocent comments while sipping beer.
“Up for the dance?” I ask.
Both women shrug, and I take that as a yes. Mack can’t dance worth shit. We spend most of the time laughing our asses off. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran begins playing. We spend the entire time kissing and swaying our bodies.
Mom switched over to water the last few hours and told me to keep drinking. Gonna regret the hell out of it in the morning. I’m cornered by a group of high school friends. We shoot the shit. The entire time I’m caught up in their lives that consist of divorces, children, and layoffs. I keep Mack clutched to my front. Never attended a clas
s reunion. This is as close as it comes. Funny how Marcos was the stud in high school and now is a pot-bellied construction worker with a smoker’s cough. Still one hell of a guy, though.
“There you are,” Libby slurs, sauntering over to us.
When she’s three feet away, she trips over her own feet, sending her drink sailing toward Mack. I jerk her away but not fast enough to dodge all the liquid.
“Oopsie.” Libby covers her mouth, not hiding the smile behind it. “I’m here for my dance.”
“Not happening,” I grit out.
“C’mon, Trick, we have a history that needs to be revisited. Saw the way you checked me out earlier.”
“Go sober up, Libby.”
She plants a hand on her hip. “Cannot believe you’re going to turn me down.”
“Believe it,” I cut her off.
A few of the guys try their best to shoo her off. Libby isn’t having any of it.
“Really? Her?” She waves the red plastic cup in the air. “She’s trash compared to me.”
Mack rips my hands from her waist and gets up in Libby’s face. “The only trash I see here is you. You are a married woman, with two children at home, begging for a fuck from Trick. That screams trash. I suggest you leave us alone.”
“Or what?” Libby spits at Mack’s boots.
Real fucking mature. I step up to break the two women apart, putting an end to this shit show. I’m not fast enough. Mack cocks her arm back and lands a stiff punch to her jaw. Libby stumbles back. She’s grabbed by a few men and hauled off.
“Shit that hurt.” Mack wrings out her hand.
I shake my head. “That was hot as fuck. Let’s get home now.”
“The loft. I want one more night up there.”
“Deal.”
Hand in hand, we find Mom chatting with some friends. Thank God she makes her goodbyes in a hurry. She’s tired and ready to be home. I grab her hand, walking in the middle of the only two women who own my heart.
The sounds of the band grow muted as we near my truck. A lone dove swoops in front of us, its white feathers bright in the darkness of the night. I’ve never lived a more perfect day.
Chapter 28
Two Years Later
The Vancouver Daily
November 16th
It’s with a sad heart that Trick, The Country Boy Brawler, retires from the MMA scene. The injuries he sustained in the octagon a week ago nearly left him on death’s bed. The medical reports look promising, but one thing is certain—he’ll never return to the ring.
His wife, Mack, along with his mother at her side, has thanked the community for the outpouring of love. Trick gave it his all in the match. The Devil’s Sinner has had his rights stripped away from him by the association. Criminal charges are pending.
He took Trick down with a brutal blow to his face. This is where it’s suspected Trick’s retina was detached. The referee called the fight then and there. It didn’t stop Sinner from gripping Trick’s head and twisting it with a brutal force. His neck injuries haven’t been confirmed yet and are the most serious of all.
Boss, Trick’s Coach and the King of Diablo’s Throne, was slapped with a twenty-thousand dollar fine for jumping in the ring and surprising Sinner with a swift uppercut. It wasn’t the only punch he got in. His son-in-law, Cruz, and the renowned Jag eventually got Boss under control as Trick was carried out of the cage on a stretcher. Criminal charges have been filed against Boss.
There’s been a fund set up on our webpage. The outpouring of love for Trick has blown us away. There’s something to be said about a loyal, quiet country boy from Idaho.
The city of Vancouver is behind you, Trick, rooting you on for the fight of your life.
Joe Medino
Chief Editor
Epilogue
Mack
“If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”–Mother Teresa
The Idaho breeze tickles my face. The birds chirp their anthem, and the chatter of my family fills the air. A circle of white plastic lawn chairs encompasses my backyard. Some are empty while others are filled with loved ones.
I wince in pain and clutch my side. He’s a kicker. Just like his daddy. I lift my legs up in the air and cringe at the sight of my swollen feet. They’re hideous and look as bad as I feel. Pregnancy isn’t a cakewalk between my sciatic nerve flaring up, heartburn, and pissing myself twice a day. Thing is, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
“Hi, Cheetah.” Dexter pats my protruding belly.
“Not Cheetah.” Felix shakes his head. “It’s hot dog.”
The two mini Jags continue arguing over what’s in my belly. Just like their daddy, they are non-stop chatter. They have the vocabulary of a six-year-old. It’s no shock considering who their dad is.
“They bothering you?” Sunni takes a seat next to me with her baby girl cuddled to her chest.
Even though she swore up and down she’d never have sex with Jag again, it happened. In fact, it took place the day the doctor cleared her. The whole gym heard them.
“No, they’re cracking me up.” I take sweet baby Nicole from her arms. She’s all Sunni.
“Are you ready for your little guy?” Sunni asks.
“So ready. Only one more week until we get to meet Trenton William Jameson.”
“Momma.” Belle waves to Layla from the back of my horse. Trick leads Sue in circles. He’s going to have one hell of a time getting her out of that saddle.
Belle remains the only child and the reigning princess of Diablo’s Throne. She has everyone wrapped around her finger. The echoing sounds of fists connecting with a punching bag float out of the barn. Jag and Cruz are getting in a training session.
Trick works out in the barn every morning. It took a piece of his soul the day he was told he’d never be able to fight again. It was the darkest of days I’ve experienced, and that includes my childhood. To witness agony and loss in the man you love only does one thing, and that is destroy you. Alice was my rock, pulling me through each day. That match is one that haunts my nightmares. To this day, I wake up in a cold sweat, my chest heaving, and the first thing I do is reach for Trick. My trembling body doesn’t calm down until the beat of his heart soothes the palm of my hand.
Call it a sixth sense, but I had asked him to cancel the fight. At the time, he laughed it off and promptly shut me up with his superb bedroom skills.
The moment his towering frame flailed back on the mat, my heart ceased to beat. Blood poured from his face. It wasn’t the worst of it. Devil, known as Sinner, pounced on him. The gym had fallen silent. The cracking of Trick’s neck echoed off the walls. Everything else that happened was a blur. Boss rushed into the cage, raining hell down on Sinner. He gave him what he deserved, and even through all the criminal charges, Boss never backed down or made one single apology.
The endless nights in the hospital worrying about Trick’s vision and neck nearly killed me. It was Alice who kept me held together. Boss has never once regretted his choice, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he’d do it again. That fact alone is a hard pill to swallow because he was stripped of his rights to coach. He still trains fighters at the gym, but Cruz has stepped into Boss’ shoes as head coach.
It’s ironic how college brought us together and pulled us through a nightmare. Trick had to spend a few months in the hospital after Sinner attacked him in the ring. I’d lie in his bed, and we’d get homework done. It was a bit tricky when I went to a few professors to ask for work to be completed online but left that up to momma bear Alice to get the job done. It took time, but we both have fancy diplomas that sit side by side on the fireplace mantel.
The day Trick was able to walk into the gym on his own was surreal. His brothers formed two lines, which he walked through. As he passed each one, they give him an encouraging slap on his back. It was the moment he saw his name in bold block print painted on the walls of the gym that he broke down. He didn’t even try to hide it. Trick let all t
he pain and remorse go. And you bet your sweet ass his brothers were there to pick him up.
Those same teal letters are painted in the calving barn. I had a local artist paint them right above the loft. It’s Trick’s legacy and one that deserves to be honored each day of our life. He’s my hero. The man saved me, and even though he’s not a fighter anymore, I see it in him every single day. He fights for love, family, and pride. There’s not one other man I’d stand beside for the rest of the days of my life.
After finishing out the semester, and once Trick was medically cleared, we came home. We never get the chance to miss our Diablo family since we see each other once a month, rotating who visits who. It hasn’t been easy on Trick. He misses training in the gym something terrible. It was his life for years. A handful of rowdy high school boys here in town magnetized to Trick, and in a natural chain reaction, he has been training them. They go in front of the school board next month in hopes of getting a boxing club started up again. Seems fitting since Trick’s dad was once the hero of that club. He may not have been the best to show his love to his only son, but his legacy lives strong and proud and will never die.
The pieces of the puzzle, whether they be jagged, tiny, or missing, have been laid in place for us. The transition was worth it, but it wasn’t an easy journey.
The purple petunias dance in the soft breeze. It brings a smile to my face. They were Gene’s favorite. Trick plants a bed of them every year to honor his memory. He passed in his sleep six months to the day after Trick’s dad died. Our world shifted, as did we with the changes. We stood steady by each other’s side through it all.
Layla joins us, taking a seat on the grass, giving both twins cherry red popsicles and a packet of candy. They squeal and plop in her lap.
“Dammit, Layla, that’s going to stain the ever-loving shit out of their outfits,” Sunni groans, trying to get the treats from the boys. She fails miserably.
“Paybacks.” Layla pops out the word.
We love to spoil the shit out of each other’s children. It’s our way. Jag started the tradition, and it’s not about to die off anytime soon. Jag has paid his dues time and time again. He’s been depantsed and overruled as a father courtesy of Layla. And until this day, she’s held being peed on by his twins over his head. The video hasn’t been exposed yet, but I can guarantee when it is, it will be in a big way. It’s quite entertaining. Trick and I are smart enough to keep our mouths shut, letting the two of them have at it.
