by L. B. Dunbar
However, it was Elma who had cared for me last night. She was stepping out of my bed and coming toward me when I noticed the t-shirt just covered her ass. Bare legs poured below my t-shirt. Elma stretched to run hands through her hair one more time, and I could see a peek of pink underwear.
“You are so beautiful,” I blurted quietly. Elma froze, her hands holding her hair upward. Her blue eyes blinked at me and her lips slowly curled upward.
“You’re pretty nice to look at, too,” she replied, letting her eyes roam my body again, stopping one more time at the top of my towel.
“Let me just grab something to wear,” I said, walking toward my dresser.
“Oh, not going to strip for me again?”
I froze. I couldn’t have, although I did wake naked. Did I really take my clothes off in front of her again? She was going to think I was an exhibitionist. I had to have taken it all off unless…
“How do I know you didn’t rip my clothes off?” I teased.
“Honey,” she started in that sweet touch of a drawl, “if I was ripping your clothes off, you’d know it. And remember.” She winked at me, but I was still frozen in place. Medusa had just poisoned me with her glare, only this was a beautiful woman with a sassy mouth and tempting words. If I’d had the strength, I might have risked tackling her onto my bed and kissing her again, but I still felt shaky. I needed to lie down, but I also needed some food. Something must have changed in my expression because Elma grew serious.
“Right, well, let me go make you something to eat,” she said, awkwardly attempting to pull down the short t-shirt.
“I’ll…I’ll do it,” I struggled with clothes in my drawer. “What do you want to eat?”
“No,” she said, passing me for my bedroom door. “Lay back down. Let me take care of you.”
I brought him toast and some tea I found. After he seemed content to hold that in, I offered to make him eggs. He struggled with me, telling me I didn’t have to wait on him, but I wanted to help him. Abel wasn’t helpless, but for some reason I felt good about taking care of him. While my mother had become a burden, Abel was a treat.
“Who could refuse breakfast in bed with a pretty girl?” he teased, as he patted the space next to him while he balanced the bowl of scrambled eggs in one hand. I crawled up the mattress as his eyes watched me. His lips looked hungry for me instead of the eggs. I wanted to taste him again, but at that moment he needed actual sustenance and more rest. We both sat propped up against the wall with pillows and stared at the fish tank.
“He seems lonely,” I said. Watching as the iridescent fish swam back and forth gracefully in its tank. “You should put some other fish in there with him.”
“He’s a betta,” Abel responded around a mouth full of eggs.
“A betta?”
“Yeah, the Siamese fighting fish. He’d kill other fish in there with him,” he explained.
“I thought they were black and ugly,” I laughed, looking at Abel then staring back at the lone fish.
“Some are black and they have a reputation for being mean; the males especially. They all want to be alphas but they can’t be,” Abel sighed. There was something in the tone of his voice that made me shift sideways and look at him.
“Is that what you want? To be an alpha?” I asked cautiously. It would make sense. Abel didn’t come across like that powerful arrogant image of an alpha. He was sweeter looking, more sensitive in manner, but I sensed below the surface, Abel was a raging mess of alpha attributes. If called to fight, he was going to be able to step up.
“I guess.” He hesitated, his eyes shifted to me then focused back on the tank. “I’ve always been the second in my family: second son, second place. I’m in Cain’s shadow always.”
I sat up straighter. My stomach dropped.
“Did you say Cain?”
“Yes,” Abel sighed. “I suppose if you know fighters, you must know him.” He lowered the bowl to his lap. His voice had dropped, sounding sad, but I couldn’t focus on that. I was centered on the name.
“Cain? As in Cain…” I swallowed hard. “Cain Callahan? The Cobra.”
“Yeah,” Abel questioned, turning his attention to me. “Do you know him?” Abel’s face fell. His eyes turned a cold blue color. He was questioning me, but I couldn’t understand what he was asking.
“Oh, I know him,” I said, slowing rolling away from Abel and standing next to the bed. My heart raced. A beat in my neck pulsed in growing fury. In my mind, I knew the truth, but I hadn’t wanted to ask. I didn’t want it to be true. I had been holding out from finding the answer.
“Of course, you do,” Abel bit. “From Carrie’s, right?”
“Carrie’s?” I snapped. “You think…” I couldn’t continue. I’d never seen Cain Callahan in Carrie’s the whole time I worked there. I’d know his presence anywhere, an instinct that would vibrate through me with hatred. It wasn’t what Abel was implying I’d done.
“I don’t know him from Carrie’s. I know him from the fight.”
“Oh, right,” Abel began sarcastically. “Another fighter.” His bowl of eggs hit the top of the stand next to his bed. He wasn’t looking at me but staring at his damn fish. By now, I’d yanked off the t-shirt, uncaring that Abel could see me, and struggled to get into my dress. I’d have the walk of shame written all over me, for nothing. I wasn’t going to get anywhere near Abel Callahan again.
“Not just another fighter, but the fighter,” I spit. My hands shook so badly I could hardly button the front of my dress. After a moment of struggle, I decided to leave it open. I slammed one foot, and then the other into my cowboy boots and stood to push my hands through my hair. Abel was staring at me.
“The fighter?”
“The fighter that killed my brother.”
“Your brother?” he questioned. Recognition was slowly flooding his face, but I cut him off before reality sunk in.
“My brother is Joey Montana. Was. The Mountain.”
Abel stared at me, his bright eyes opening wider. His voice shakily spoke my name, but I was already rounding the bed.
“Your brother killed mine.”
“Elma, wait.”
With energy I didn’t have, I leapt from the bed. She was like a slippery fish. She escaped my grasp and darted out the door of my room. I was following her down the stairs, calling her name. She startled me when she stopped abruptly and spun to face me. Her blue eyes were wild.
“Don’t you…don’t you even…” her voice shook, but if I knew Elma, she wasn’t about to cry. The look of violence in her eyes told me she’d stab me with a triton if she had one. She’d spear me and eat me alive without chewing. The front door opened and slammed with enough force I could see the wall ripple. I was trapped inside my own apartment, left to flounder at what had just happened. She hated me, but I hadn’t done anything.
In the previous spring, my brother was at the height of his growing career. At twenty-three, he was the fastest rising fighter. He’d left college to train and he was the prodigy of my father, a fighter himself, Atom Callahan. Known in Ireland as a scrapper, my father crossed the seas for bigger rings in the dry desert heat of Las Vegas. There he opened a gym and trained the fighter he couldn’t be, his first son, Cain.
The uncertainty of what happened in that fight, the one Elma referenced, fueled rumors and spread gossip until the coroner ruled in Cain’s favor. A fight that was high stakes resulted in the ultimate consequences: the death of an opponent. While fight clubs and promotion groups liked to bill a fight as one to the death, the marketers never meant it literally. That fight, however, did. The Mountain went down, in the third round, on a standard right hook to the head. While both opponents were bloody from the fight, The Mountain crumbled at the blow. He was counted out and Cain declared winner before anyone noticed Montana hadn’t moved. He was dead.
The autopsy showed that Joey Montana had suffered from a concussion weeks prior, and it hadn’t healed. My father suspected Montana kept the inju
ry hidden because he needed the money. The fighter had borrowed against borrows. My father believed he was in debt from side gambles as his fights had been losing support.
Cain was distraught over the whole situation. One minute, he thought he was going to jail for murder. The next, he discovered his opponent had been a cheater. The Mountain had gambled against his own fight that night, and lost everything, including his life. The investigation took some time before Cain was cleared to return to the fight ring. He was slow to reenter the circuit. Uncle Kursch said death can kill a man. Exile had certainly changed him.
I was trying to grasp that Elma somehow blamed me for what had happened to her brother when I returned to my bed. Unfortunately for me, the scent of Elma was on my sheets. I could feel her still surrounding me in comfort from the night before. I reached for the t-shirt she’d thrown on the floor as she hastily dressed, and stared at it, thinking of the contours of a body I would never know. Cursing the gym that ruined many things for me, I shredded the shirt in half with one rip. Genesis Gym had destroyed my life again.
I didn’t see Elma the rest of the week in class. My brief illness had thrown off my workout routine, and I needed to get back on track. Not to mention, I was weak from the days off. I decided the best way to rid myself of any lingering infection, and all thoughts of Elma, was a run. Only my run took me to The Dance Academy, the dance studio where Elma worked. All the lights were off inside, minus a low overhead near the front door. I could see through the glass, and I reached for the handle to discover it was locked. I don’t know what I thought I’d find. It was too late for a dance lesson, but when I heard the loud beat of music, I knew someone was still inside.
I had to close the place on Friday. We didn’t have classes late, but we had a rehearsal for my troupe. I had auditioned and easily took Ericka’s spot with the others. I was still wound up when the girls emptied out and I told Jewels I’d lock up. I had more tension to burn. At first, I thought I needed to cool down. Maybe some basic ballet moves to relieve the stress and lower my heart rate. I wore only a black leotard and my dance shoes with a light ballet sweater tied loosely at the waist. Plie, extend the arm, watch the tips of my fingers, and curve the hand, I could hear Madame Defore, my childhood dance instructor, in my ears. I hadn’t been in ballet since I was a five, but it was like yoga for the soul. I focused on my motions, attempting to cool down and relax. I wanted my mind to let go.
Let go of Abel, that is. He was haunting my dreams. My body ached in places that longed to be touched, but shouldn’t be, by him. I was angry. He hadn’t mentioned his brother, and yet I’d almost always known. It was too much of a coincidence. The name was common enough, but the irony wasn’t. The chances of Abel being Cain’s brother just seemed too impossible. The odds did not appear favorable, or rather, it was all unfavorable. There was a war within me that Abel was Cain’s brother.
In my heart, I knew that Abel had nothing to do with Cain, the fight, or my brother’s death. In my head, I couldn’t reconcile the distinction. Lindee had tried to talk me down off my ledge when I returned home late Wednesday morning, to find my mother passed out again and some strange guy draped over her. I had called Lindee to fume.
“Elma, I don’t know why you get so worked up about this,” Lindee tried to soothe. “You can’t bring him back. You can’t change anything.”
“That’s just it,” I snarled. “Everything has already been changed.”
Lindee sighed into the phone. She couldn’t understand. She still had money, nice things, a decent home, and two parents, despite their control over her. She was secure, where I was on the edge. I didn’t know how I was ever going to pay Abel back. I had a small college fund designed by Montana, but that was depleted. I’d had my twenty-first birthday last summer and had full right to the money while I was still in school. My mother had spent the remainder of my tuition money after she maxed out credit cards. I didn’t want to quit school, but I didn’t know how I was going to keep moving forward.
I told Lindee about Abel. Who he was. What he’d done.
“What has he done, Elma? He’s Cain’s brother. He was probably here in school when the fight happened. He had nothing to do with it. Hell, Cain didn’t have anything to do with it intentionally. It was ruled an accident,” Lindee said, attempting to remain calm but struggling with her tone.
“Cain had everything to do with it, Lindee. He knew my brother was going to win. He knew Montana had more experience. The lawyer said Montana needed that fight. Cain took it from him.” When my thoughts of the lawyer returned, my mouth began to spew my frustration. The lawyer had told us that Montana didn’t have the money we thought he had. In fact, he had no money. Our house had a lien against a loan he had taken to pay another loan. His fights weren’t making the draw he once had. He had started to gamble against himself, and it was digging his debt deeper. He owed people. Big people.
“Elma,” Lindee warned. “This isn’t Abel’s fault. He doesn’t owe you anything.”
“He owes me…everything,” I snapped. I’d almost gone too far and told Lindee what Abel had done. Lindee shrieked my name into the phone.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” The concern in Lindee’s voice told me I had better not think I deserved Abel’s assistance. In my heart, I knew it was true. In my head, I couldn’t contain the debt I felt I was owed. I’d been cheated out of my life because of a Callahan.
I took another deep plie, let out a long breath, and tried to let my anger rest. It wasn’t happening. I needed to dance. I returned to my iPad near the speakers and shuffled to a different playlist. The music flooded the studio. Under dim lights, I let the rhythm surround me, caress me, and tease me. It was the arms of Abel wrapping around me. It began with the crush of his chest against mine. It was the warmth of his kiss on my lips. And I danced. My neck twirled, my hips thrust, and my legs kicked. I leapt then crashed to the floor to roll, spreading my legs in longing for him. I’d clamp them shut then split apart again, fighting my growing desire to feel him touching me. I watched myself in the mirror, on my knees, as my hands cascaded down my sensitive breasts, across the flat of my stomach, to the valley of my yearning heat. I wanted his touch on me like his kiss had been. Tender, wanting, and intense. My hands separated my thighs and the rhythm pulsed deep against my core. The music worked me and my hands flattened on the floor. I lowered to press against the hard wood, but my hips could not rest. I squeezed in needy tension and cursed Abel’s name when I heard a pounding on the door.
I fell limp for a moment, panting in aggravation as my body hummed with repressed desire. I waited a beat, hoping whoever was at the door would leave.
“We’re closed,” I muttered, as my sweaty cheek lay on the wood surface. My phone binged, then the door rattled. I went for the phone first, reading a text as I walked to the front of the studio.
Elma. Open the damn door.
I looked up in time to see Abel trying to peer through the glass that was shadowed. I stepped back into the darkened hall, hoping he hadn’t seen me. I couldn’t face him. My mind was a jumble; my body a hot mess. My phone binged again. and I jumped as it vibrated in my hand.
I saw you. Let me in.
I exhaled deeply. That was my problem. I had already let Abel in.
I crossed the entryway and turned the lock, which let off a loud crack. The door pulled outward as Abel yanked it with force. I stepped back at his haste and he relocked the door behind him.
“You weren’t planning to open that for just anyone, right?”
“What?” I stared at him, blinking in astonishment as I gripped my phone.
“You’re alone here. You shouldn’t be opening that door for just anyone.”
“I…I don’t see how that’s your concern.”
“You’re my concern, Elma,” he said, stepping into my space and forcing me back. His words surprised me. I stared at him as his bright eyes sparkled in the dim light and scanned my face. He did look concerned, for the wrong reason
s.
“I’m not your concern, Abel. We are through,” I bit, turning my back on him and heading toward the studio to collect my things.
“We aren’t anything, so we can’t be through,” he said behind me, his hand suddenly wrapping around my arm as I entered the dim studio. A typical dance space, the room was wide, one wall of mirrors, another filled with ballet barres; yet I felt trapped despite the open area.
“Exactly,” I spit as he spun me to face him. We were both panting heavily as I crashed into his chest. His sweaty appearance made me assume he had run here. I was worked up from my dance, minutes before his arrival, but I was further fueled by my anger. And desire. I was breathing him in and cursing myself for wanting the fresh air of him.
“You want to fight, Elma. Fine. Pretend this is the ring, and let’s fight. Let’s get this over with once and for all.”
He wore an open zippered sweatshirt, but he removed it hastily. The zipper practically sang as it came apart from the catch and he tossed it to the floor. I stepped back, but he stepped forward. My hand raised and he forced it to his chest. Holding my palm hostage over his heart, I could feel the rapid beat. He walked backward, keeping his eyes focused on mine. The blue: glowing like that iridescent fish in his tank. He was the fighting fish and we were about to spar. He stopped short of the speakers on a shelf.
“Turn on the music,” he demanded. He still held me captive with his hand over mine on his left pec. The warmth of his skin was seeping into mine. I found the song I wanted on my iPad and hit play. The wireless speakers filled and music projected into the room. The song could go either way: seductive or street fight. Too late I realized what the soft groans and mutterings were within the song. Abel had already pushed me back to the center of the room. When I stopped walking, he paused. He released my hand, let his own drop to his sides, and clenched both closed to fists.
