Montaine

by Rome, Ada

“I’ll come with you.” I hopped from my seat. “I could use some coffee too.”

  She nodded and glanced at Trent.

  “I’ll hold down the fort,” he said with a thin smile.

  A few minutes later, Esmeralda and I stood in front of the coffee machine, watching as a stream of dark liquid dripped into a white paper cup.

  “So, what’s on your mind, Kat?” She turned to me, her head cocked to the side.

  “What do you mean?” I had offered to accompany her on the coffee run with the thought of confiding my discovery of Hades’ true identity, but the words stalled in my throat.

  “You were very quiet back in the room. You jumped out of your seat at the chance to come get coffee. Is there something you want to tell me? Are things ok between you and Trent?”

  She reached for the cup and handed it to me, pressing the button for another dose of the bitter brew that immediately began to drip into a fresh cup. I poured a thimble of cream into mine and stirred it with a wooden stick.

  “Things are great with Trent. I mean, I think things are great. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell with him. In any event, that’s not exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m pretty sure I know who Hades is.”

  “Are you serious? Who is he? Why haven’t you told Trent?” She blew over the top of her coffee and ventured a tiny sip, immediately recoiling from the heat.

  “I’m afraid to tell Trent. I’m scared of what will happen if I do.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  I hesitated. Esmeralda had a right to the truth. But I needed to balance that right with my solemn promise to keep all of Trent’s secrets.

  “There was a guy from Trent’s past,” I began. “He and Trent had a violent run-in during their college days. I can’t really say any more than that. The guy has a reason to hold a grudge against Trent. I think that guy is Hades. He’s come back for revenge. The things is, Trent has an even bigger reason to want revenge, especially after what happened to Oscar. If I tell Trent who Hades really is, I know he will seek revenge. I won’t be able to stop him. No one will. And I’m terrified that, if he does, one of them will not survive.”

  She nodded slowly and took a small sip of coffee, one arm crossed over her stomach and supporting her other elbow.

  “I don’t want any more violence. I don’t want any more bloodshed,” she said with a deep sigh. “I just want Oscar to wake up. I want him to be safe and to get better. I don’t want Trent comatose in the bed next to him or in jail or dead. I can’t stand any more of this.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She bowed her head. I wrapped an arm around her back.

  “I know, Ezzie.”

  A sob broke from her throat and echoed in the empty hallway. She swiped a few tears from her cheeks.

  “Don’t tell him,” she said decisively. “It may not matter. He may find out anyway. But revenge won’t bring Oscar back to me. It won’t change a thing for the better.” Her eyes, damp with tears, met mine. “Don’t tell him, Kat.”

  I nodded and sipped my coffee. We returned to Oscar’s room in silence.

  Chapter 17

  CONFERENCE ROOM. 9:30. CONTEST WINNER ANNOUNCED.

  The email blazed across our screens in the early hours of the following Friday. I’d worked around the clock the prior weekend to finish my story, running up and down the island of Manhattan and across the outer boroughs to complete my interviews.

  I certainly didn’t think that I would win the contest. The magazine housed a tremendous amount of journalistic firepower. I was simply a novice intern. Nevertheless, I was proud of my writing. I thought it captured an angle of the fighting world that rarely came to light. It was exactly the kind of human interest piece that I hoped to establish as a foundation for my future sports journalism career. I also hoped that Trent approved of my work. I valued his opinion tremendously and wanted more than anything to make him proud.

  “You coming, hotshot?” Tony slapped my shoulder with a small notebook and perched on the corner of my desk.

  “To the meeting? We still have another fifteen minutes.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I want to get a good seat up at the front. That way, Trent can easily hand over my trophy.”

  “Well, aren’t you cocky all of a sudden? What’s with this burst of confidence? Is it the magic of new love?”

  I gathered my hands under my chin, tilted my head in a swooning gesture, and batted my eyelashes. Tony blushed to the tips of his ears.

  “Nah, I’m just kidding. I like my story, but I don’t think it’s cover-worthy. We’ll see, I guess.”

  “That we will, my friend.” I pushed my chair back from my desk. “Alright, let’s go grab those seats.”

  We joined a trickle of staff headed toward the conference room. Approaching Trent’s office, I heard Kill’s shrill voice and Miklos’s subdued murmur. In the instant that I passed the open doorway, Trent looked up. He leaned over his desk, his fists resting on the surface and his arms stretched straight, roped through with tense muscles. Kill and Miklos stood on either side of him. Trent’s expression flashed a momentary anger. One corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smirk as our eyes met. I stopped and smiled in return.

  A huff from Kill drew my attention. He sneered at me, his raised lip revealing a sharp yellowish canine.

  Tony tapped me on the back, a signal to keep walking. We entered the conference room and chose two seats near the front. My hands fidgeted with nerves, alternately smoothing the skirt of my sea green sundress, adjusting the sideways ponytail that trailed over my bare shoulder, and twisting my tiny pearl stud earrings.

  “Nervous, are ya?” Tony poked me in the ribs with an index finger.

  “Quit it, you jerk.” I flapped his hand away. “No, I’m not nervous,” I lied. “I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this contest.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Kat.” He winked. “I might make you eat those words later.”

  “So, anyway, Romeo,” I said with a coy lilt to my voice, “are you still hush-hush about your relationship with Marcie? How are things going? She won’t tell me a thing.”

  “Really?” A worried shadow crossed his face. “Does she usually tell you about the guys she dates?”

  “In excruciating detail.” Sensing his anxiety, I backtracked. “But those guys were disposable. I think she likes you. It’s different.”

  He smiled. “Good. I think I like her too. That’s a secret for now, by the way. I have a reputation to maintain.” He popped the collar on his polo. We both laughed.

  The seats filled up in groups of twos and threes. A steady undercurrent of anxious chatter surrounded us on all sides.

  “Secret, huh? You expect me to keep your secrets, buddy? Fat chance.”

  Trent appeared in the doorway. The room fell silent. He carried a stack of papers and slapped them onto the metal tabletop. Kill and Miklos followed close behind. Trent faced the room in a commanding stance, his feet spread wide apart and his arms crossed over his chest. The thin coating of stubble over his cheeks and chin leant him a slightly dangerous aspect, as did the tight contours of his black t-shirt. His hair was slicked back from his forehead. His eyes glinted a cool sapphire blue as he scanned the room from one side to the other.

  “I see you all got my email,” he rumbled in a deep bass.

  Light laughter bubbled from the periphery. Looking around at my fellow writers, I saw others with fidgeting fingers and nervous ticks.

  “One month ago, I presented you all with a challenge and an opportunity. Some of you rose to the occasion. Some of you did not.” His head swiveled in my direction. My heart sank with dread. “Miklos and I poured over your submissions during the past couple of days. We were unanimous in our choice.”

  He paused, gazing around the room. When I lifted my palms, I saw that they had left wet sweat prints on the table.

  “Now, I must say that I am not surprised by the winner,” he continu
ed. “I already knew that this person possessed incredible talent.” I glanced quickly at Kill. A smug grin stretched across his thin lips. “But I was still blown away by the quality of her work.”

  At the word “her,” a smattering of heads lifted to attention around the room. Faces turned as a realization began to dawn on the all-male audience. I stayed rooted to my seat, too shocked to move, my throat parched. Can this actually be happening? Is this a dream? As if reading my mind, Tony pinched my forearm and chuckled.

  “So, Miss Raney, I would like to offer you my heartfelt congratulations.” Trent held out his hand. “You won. Your story will be featured on the cover of KTFO magazine.”

  “Th—thank you,” I stammered.

  I placed my shaking hand in his iron grip, a current of passionate electricity flowing between us in that instant of contact. Our eyes locked for a weighty moment.

  “You earned it,” he whispered.

  Tony began a slow clap that quickly grew into a vigorous round of applause from the assembled staff. I smiled shyly and nodded in acknowledgement. I was still too stunned to register any kind of a coherent reaction.

  “Well, that’s fucking rich.” Kill’s snarling voice sliced through the applause. He rose from his chair, his hands clenched into tight fists. He face was a mottled canvas of pinks and reds. His pale eyes gleamed metallic. His sunken chest heaved with each ragged breath.

  Trent spun on his heel. My pulse quickened, pounding in rapid drumbeats in my flushed temples. The audience stilled their clapping hands and stiffened with tension.

  “Do you have something you’d like to say, Mr. Killigrew?” Trent exuded a cold and lethal calm.

  Kill stood transfixed with rage for a full minute. His labored breathing echoed in the still room, the rough inhale and exhale of a furious and cornered animal.

  “This is bullshit,” he seethed.

  “What exactly are you referring to as bullshit?” Trent stepped closer until they were almost nose to nose.

  “This contest. There’s no way she wrote the best story. Look at her! She’s not a journalist. She’s a piece of fluff. You only named her the winner because you’re fucking her. I know it. You know it. Everybody in this room knows it.”

  “Do they?” Trent turned to the crowd. “How many people here are under the impression that I’m sleeping with Miss Raney? Raise your hands.”

  No hands went up. Trent turned back to Kill.

  “Well, Mr. Killigrew, it looks like you’re the only one who holds that mistaken belief. And for your information, you lost the contest because your story is the work of a narcissistic hack of thoroughly mediocre abilities. I have carried you this far. I will carry you no farther.”

  “Be careful what you say, Trent.” Kill’s eyes burned with a white-hot fury.

  “No,” Trent said simply. “I will not be careful with you. Not anymore.”

  “I can cause you a lot of pain.”

  “I know. I’m not scared.”

  The two stared at each other across the table. Trent maintained an air of calm detachment. Kill radiated a boiling rage.

  With a clatter that reverberated loudly in the strained hush, Kill knocked his chair against the steel table. He stomped to the door and slammed his palms against it, sending it crashing into the opposite wall with a vicious thwack. He stormed from the room, head thrust forward in a charging posture. His heel clicks echoed in the hallway in a steadily decreasing volume.

  “Does anyone else have any helpful comments regarding the contest, Miss Raney, or myself?” Trent stood in the center of the room with his hands on his hips. He slowly shifted his gaze around the rectangle of faces in an open challenge. A few people bravely met his eye. Most stared at the table, their notebooks, or the floor. No one spoke.

  “Well, then.” He relaxed his arms and clapped twice with a sound like the snaps of bursting firecrackers. “Good job, everyone. This meeting is dismissed.”

  ***

  “Cheers to Kat Raney, America’s newest up-and-coming sports reporter. This is only the beginning.”

  Trent held a beer bottle over the slick, polished black table that was dotted here and there with pools of water from our chilled drinks. I clinked my own bottle against it. Marcie and Tony did the same.

  “I’m so proud of you, Kitty Kat!” Marcie sat on the edge of her seat, leaning eagerly forward. Tony’s hand rested calmly on the small of her back. She wore a tight sheath dress in an electric blue fabric flecked with sparkles. Her purple eyeshadow spread dramatically to the sides like butterfly wings.

  “I’m proud of you too, Kitty Kat.” Trent winked.

  He gave no impression that the morning altercation with Kill still weighed on his mind, but I knew better. Kill had been his best friend for fifteen years. No one could easily put aside that kind of betrayal.

  “Seriously, Kat!” Marcie gushed. “I knew you could do it. You should thank me. I’m the one who convinced you to apply for the internship, remember?”

  She turned to Trent, whose lips curled in amusement.

  “Kat lacks confidence.” She broke into a sing-song falsetto imitation. “Wah wah wah. I’ll never get the internship. He’ll never pick me. I shouldn’t even try.” She swallowed a long slug of beer. “Bullshit,” I told her. “Yes he will! And by the end of the summer, he’ll be in love with you too! Looks like I was right after all.” She sat backwards with a satisfied nod. Tony slipped his hand away just in time to avoid having it crushed against the seat back.

  I choked on a sip of beer and covered my mouth with a napkin. Trent merely raised his eyebrows.

  “Well,” Tony interjected. “I will happily add my congratulations to the mix. I didn’t stand a chance against you, Kat.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” Trent clapped him on the shoulder. “Your story was great. It wasn’t an easy decision by any means.”

  Tony beamed with the admiring affection of a younger brother. “Thanks, Trent. That means a lot to me.”

  The club pulsed with life around us. Waitresses in strappy black cocktail dresses balanced silver trays of martini glasses, filled to their brims with jewel-toned liquids in reds and blues and greens. A nearby table of men in open-collared shiny shirts and thick gold chains, their hair hard-slicked into helmets, broke into riotous laughter. One of the men clutched the waist of a waifish girl whose knobby knees and frightened expression reminded me of a lost fawn. The man tilted his chin in Trent’s direction and spoke in a foreign language while his mates shot covert glances at our table.

  This was my first real taste of the thrill and danger of Trent’s celebrity. The long line of partygoers outside had eyed us with interest from behind a barrier of velvet ropes as we’d sailed through the club’s entrance. The girls, rail-thin and glistening, struck poses in their tiny strips of stretched fabric and sky-high stilettos. Their eyelids, coated in smudged layers of black liner, lowered with a predatory intensity. They reminded me of jungle cats on the prowl. I clung tightly to Trent’s arm, feeling hopelessly out of place in my simple sundress and flats.

  “Trent!” a voice had shouted from the sidewalk. “Trent, over here!” I’d turned just in time to catch a blinding camera flash that obscured my vision behind a thousand stars as Trent gripped my hand and pulled me through the doors into the dim and throbbing interior.

  “So, how long has this been a thing?” Trent held his beer bottle by the neck and poked the end at Tony and Marcie. They glanced at each other.

  “A week or two?” Tony said with uncertainty

  “Already forgetting your anniversary. Not a good sign.” Trent shook his head.

  Marcie tousled Tony’s hair and kissed him on the temple. Trent’s hand dropped onto my knee and edged up my bare thigh.

  He leaned over and spoke into my ear. “I’m a little surprised that you got Ezzie to talk to you so freely. I never realized that she was so opposed to Oscar’s fighting. I wouldn’t have pushed him into it if I’d known.”

  “It’s hard
to be the one on the sidelines.” I ran my hand along his sturdy forearm. The glare of a single overhead bulb struck his tattoos, lighting them in vibrant hues.

  I wanted to say more, but the words caught in my throat. It’s hard to stand by and watch a person that you love get hurt.

  As if sensing my unspoken sentiment, Trent lifted my hand and pressed my fingertips briefly to his lips.

  “Marcie.” It was a familiar voice with a slow drawling cadence. Marcie’s eyes bulged wide. Her head whipped to the left, where Vaughan leaned casually against a railing.

  He wore a ratty t-shirt that looked shredded by claws across the front. His long hair flopped in a curtain over his face. He stood with one arm draped over the shoulders of a girl who hugged his midsection and rested her head of bleached ringlets against his chest. She wore a thin triangle of crimson fabric over her breasts, held in place with strings across her naked back, and a flared black leather skirt that ended just below her crotch.

  “Hello, Vaughan.” Marcie’s tone was tired and dismissive. She placed one hand protectively on Tony’s leg and wrapped an arm around his waist.

  “How have you been?” Vaughan flipped his hair and ran his fingers slowly up the bare flesh of the girl’s spine. She giggled and cooed into his neck.

  “I’ve been great,” Marcie replied. “Looks like I can’t say the same about you though.” She shrugged.

  “What do you mean?” His eyes had the dull focus of the heavily drugged. His jaw hung slack.

  “Well, you’ve clearly been digging around in the trash.” Marcie jutted her chin toward his date and flashed a winning grin, her wine red lips stretched taut.

  The girl opened her tiny mouth and stamped her foot like a petulant toddler. She lunged at Marcie, but her shirt snagged on one of Vaughan’s navel piercings. We all received a brief and unwelcome glimpse of her pale, bulbous breasts as they swayed from side to side and squeezed between polyester threads like a pair of strangled water balloons.

  “You bitch!” she squealed in a furious chirp.

  “You skank!” Marcie laughed. She sipped her beer and plunked the bottle onto the table.