Saved (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book)

by Naomi Niles

  “Where are you from, Braxton?” asked Aardman.

  “Texas.”

  “You seem very taciturn today.”

  Bruce grinned shyly. “I don’t know what that means, Coach.”

  Randy and I both laughed.

  Aardman seemed to have realized he wasn’t going to get any more out of him, for he turned to us and said, “Braxton Savery—nineteen—youngest in a family of five—and by all accounts, his mother makes the best baklava in the state.”

  Braxton leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “It’s true.”

  “Braxton and Bruce, are you ready for this?”

  They both nodded, Bruce eagerly and Braxton with tranquil solemnity.

  The two men climbed into the octagon. I don’t know what was so different about this match—maybe Bruce’s tragic history or Braxton’s innate magnetism—but I couldn’t look away. For a moment, they circled each other calmly. Braxton flashed a confident smile, faking a lunge that sent his opponent scrambling back, and laughed lightly.

  “I don’t know who I’m rooting for more,” confided Randy. “I’d take either one of them over the other guys—or anyone we saw in Orlando, for that matter.”

  Right as he said this, Bruce pounced like a snake, battering Braxton with a rapid-fire series of perfectly executed jabs to the head. Amazingly, Braxton didn’t once flinch; he absorbed the blows like a punching bag and even managed to land a blow to Bruce’s chest which momentarily knocked him off his feet. There was a ferocity to his punches that suggested some longstanding personal grudge. He fought with the tenacity of a man who didn’t particularly care if he killed his opponent outright.

  It was almost a relief when the fight ended. Braxton managed to level Bruce with a well-placed blow to his nose, pinning him to the ground until Bruce surrendered in humiliation. Randy, ecstatic, rose to his feet in applause.

  “That was tremendous!” he shouted. “Tree-men-dous!”

  High on his victory, Braxton paced around the octagon with his arms raised high in the air. Oddly, Bruce didn’t seem particularly upset at having been defeated. Instead, he raised himself up on his elbows and grinned good-naturedly. “That’s how you do it!” I heard him say. “Now if only you had had an actual crowd.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” crowed Braxton. “There is literally no one like me.”

  Meanwhile, Randy stood shaking his head.

  “Just look at him,” he murmured, half to himself. “He’s compelling, charismatic, funny…” Turning to me, he added, “Jaimie, I think we may have found our guy.”

  And we had.

  Chapter Seven

  Braxton

  After the fight, blood still surging in my ears, I ran over to Nick.

  “Did you see that?” I asked, trying and mostly failing to keep my voice low. “The dude loved me! I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of reaction from anyone important.”

  “Well, don’t get too excited just yet,” said Nick. I held out my hands so he could unwrap them. “We still don’t know who he’s going to pick, if anyone.”

  “Are you kidding me? How could he have been that excited about my win and picked anybody else? I guess you must not have seen what I saw.”

  Nick shrugged. “Either that or you’re blind,” he said, “because there’s a capital-g Girl standing about twenty feet away, and she can’t take her eyes off you. Now, I’m not in the habit of giving personal advice, but if I was you, I would hit that.”

  When I thought I could risk it, I turned to look where he indicated. There next to Carruthers stood a woman with light reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes set with long lashes. She was pointedly staring at a clipboard she held in front of her, smirking slightly and red in the face, a blue cardigan wrapped tightly around her thick body.

  “She’s not bad-looking,” I said to Nick. “I never much cared for curly hair on a girl, but she somehow pulls it off.”

  Nick scoffed in exasperation. “Your problem is you’re looking with your brain and not your body. That girl is a stone-cold fox.”

  “I guess, maybe, from a certain point of view…” Nick, sensing that I was teasing him, slugged me in the shoulder and laughed.

  I followed him into the gym, where I drank an entire liter of lemon-lime sports drink and wiped myself down with a towel. Bruce had disappeared shortly after the fight ended, and I hadn’t seen him since. He seemed surprised and a little disappointed that I had beaten him.

  “Can I ask you a question?” asked Nick, changing into a pair of red running shorts. “Have you ever been with a girl for longer than six hours?”

  Shaking my head, I tossed the empty container of sports drink into a waste bin. “No, I don’t see the point. Why would you stay with anybody for longer than that? The way I see it, you get what you want, and you get out.”

  “I guess. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  “Not particularly.”

  It was plain from the tone of my voice that the conversation was over. Sensing my irritation, Nick shrugged and turned back to his locker.

  Of course, there was more to it, not that I would ever have told him. In high school, I’d once gone to a teacher for advice about a girl I was crushing on. I could never forget his response: “Whenever you feel yourself beginning to fall for a girl, just picture her intestines.”

  “Her intestines?” I said blankly.

  “Yeah. Just think of her insides and how her skin is holding her together and how beauty doesn’t extend below the skin.”

  I was over that girl in a few days. And my subsequent crushes had all been equally short-lived. People—men and women, even the best of them—were just bags of meat. A woman was a creature of blood and hair and skin and fingernails and weird smells, and she was doomed to die just like everything else. There was a curse over creation that none of us could escape.

  I was just leaving when Coach came into the room. Motioning behind him with one thumb, he said, “Savery, I need to see you in my office.”

  He left. I turned to Nick, who gave me a significant look. “That could either be really good,” he said, “or really bad.”

  But after my performance in the octagon that morning, I had a hard time believing it boded ill. “What could he possibly have to be upset about?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wants you to find yourself a girl and settle down.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  I found Coach waiting for me in his office.

  “Yeah, have a seat.” He waited for me to sit down, then reached into his desk and pulled out a bag of almonds. He offered me a handful, which I thought it unwise to refuse. “Listen: in a minute, if it’s alright with you, the president of FAF is going to come through that door and say some words that I think may be worth your attention. Are you ready?”

  I nodded, my blood beating in my ears like thunder. “Yeah, Coach, I’m ready.”

  Coach nodded, looking satisfied. “Let’s go ahead and bring him in, then.” He made a waving motion with his hand, and Carruthers walked into the room accompanied by his personal assistant, still carrying her pen and clipboard. She passed right by me, and I could smell the scent of vanilla and lavender wafting off of her.

  Carruthers shook my hand excitedly, like a ten-year-old boy meeting a movie star idol. “Boy,” he said, “that was some fine fighting you did back there. I’ve been in this business for a while, and it’s not very often these days that a brawl has me on the edge of my seat.”

  “Bruce and I, we’re the best,” I couldn’t resist interjecting. Coach cringed a little but said nothing.

  “Yeah, you really are,” said Carruthers. “For about half the match, I really thought he was going to beat you, but then you somehow rallied toward the end. Let me just say: I could not in a million years do what you did out there—either of you. He would’ve had me pinned to the mat within seconds, begging for mercy.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m the fighter, and you’re the president.”

  Car
ruthers laughed. “It’s a fair point. Some of us were made to sit behind desks. But I was just telling Jaimie how impressed I am with your showmanship and charisma. Not only are you a talented fighter, but you’re funny and just fun to watch. You’re the kind of guy I want to see on my TV looking back at me.”

  Based on the direction of the conversation, it seemed like he was about to make me an offer, and I could barely contain my excitement. You spend years of your life working toward a day like this, and then it finally comes.

  “Glad you liked it,” I said aloud.

  “Yeah. Hmmm.” He paused, as though deliberating, and a hush fell over the office. “I’m really gonna have to think this one over.”

  A feeling of disappointment sank into my stomach like lead. Think it over? What did he have to think over?

  I was reminded of the warning Nick had given me right after the fight ended. Now that the initial excitement of the fight had ended, he was beginning to have second thoughts. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “I know you probably thought Coach was giving you a lot of hype about me,” I said. “But I’m really as good as he says.”

  “I know,” said Carruthers genially. “I could tell. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaimie’s mouth twitch. Feeling irritated, I said to her, “I mean, have you ever seen anyone better than me?”

  She raised one brow and kept writing in silence.

  “You’re good,” said Carruthers, “I won’t deny that.”

  “And that wasn’t even my best fight. I don’t know if he told you this, but in the past year, I’ve never lost a match.”

  “I think it would be more accurate to say you’ve never been beaten by an opponent,” said Carruthers in a sterner voice. “There have been multiple fights in which you were disqualified for violations. Letting your temper get the best of you and whatnot.”

  A feeling of panic gripped me. Apparently, Carruthers had been studying my record. At one point, he must have been really serious about hiring me, but now he was having second thoughts.

  “Yeah, I—I know all that,” I said, beginning to lose my cool. “But the thing is, that was almost a year ago. I’ve atoned for my mistakes. It’s been ages since I’ve bitten anyone, or thrown a chair, or pulled hair, or gouged someone’s eyes…”

  Carruthers nodded. “Well, that’s good to hear. It means you’re a man who receives correction.” He rose from the chair, looking first at me and then at Coach. “As I said, I’ll need to sit on this one for a day or two. Maybe talk it over with my assistant. I want you to know, whatever decision we come to, that I was extremely impressed with your performance this morning, and I’m sure you have a bright future ahead of you.”

  But of course, those were just words. I only had a bright future if he gave me one. “Thanks, Coach—I mean, Mr. President, sir. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you.”

  “Yeah, absolutely,” said Carruthers absently, and he and his assistant left the room.

  The moment they were gone, I exploded on Coach.

  “What was that all about?” I nearly shouted. “Why is he stringing me along like this?”

  “It’s not because you’re not talented,” said Coach calmly, helping himself to a handful of almonds. “I think he just has some concerns vis-à-vis your past conduct and anger issues. There’s a reason you spent six weeks last summer in anger management—namely because the police said if they had to come out here again, we would all be in trouble.”

  “My temper is completely under control!” I yelled, resisting a strong urge to slam my fist down on the table.

  “Yeah, for sure.” Coach didn’t seem particularly invested in Carruthers’ decision one way or the other.

  While I paced the room trying to calm down, the door opened again, and Jaimie walked back into the room.

  For a moment, my heart leaped in anticipation: I really thought she had come back to tell me they had reached a decision. “Wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” I said.

  Jaimie smiled unconvincingly. “Don’t get too excited,” she said as she approached Coach’s desk. Holding up her pen, she added in a quieter voice, “I just came to get this.”

  I was at a loss for words as I watched her walk out the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Jaimie

  By the time we reached the parking lot, it had begun raining, and the sidewalk was cluttered with innumerable wet leaves. I could sense Randy had something he wanted to say, but he waited until we were both in the car.

  “That was really something, wasn’t it?” He glanced through his rearview mirror at the mostly empty parking lot and the overcast sky. “We are about to have a tough, tough decision to make. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I think I’m leaning one way, but I’d like to hear what you think.”

  I was quiet for a moment, watching a stray dog scurry across the parking lot toward the shelter of a striped awning. “Of the six guys we met today, I think Bruce and Braxton—is that his name?—were easily my favorites.”

  “Mine too. I’d like to pick at least one of them.”

  “Bruce is more subdued and soft-spoken, but he would also be less volatile and more reliable. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to cause drama. Braxton would be… What’s that phrase you use?”

  “High risk, high reward?” said Randy.

  “Yeah. He’s like a comet who would capture everyone’s attention for a moment but is just as likely to flame out in spectacular fashion, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.”

  “True.” Randy started the car. “But at the same time, it might be worth the risk. It’s true that he hasn’t been to jail in over a year. He seems to have really gotten his act together.”

  “Yes, but how long is that going to last? I’ve known guys like that, and their demons have a way of resurfacing.”

  “No, I think you’re right about that. Where do you want to eat, by the way?”

  “Oh, anywhere is fine with me.”

  He turned onto the highway. “I think you’re right, but I can’t shake how much I just like the guy. Like you said before, Bruce would be the safer pick, but he’s more mild-mannered. And right now, with our support just barely holding steady, I’m not sure a safe pick is what we need. You think about a guy like Muhammad Ali—he was intense, volatile, frightening at times—but you couldn’t look away from that guy. He had star power, and that’s what Braxton has, and that’s what interests me even more than his fighting skills.”

  I didn’t say anything for a moment. Randy seemed to have his heart set on Braxton, and it wasn’t going to be easy trying to talk him out of it. “So it’s between the two of them, is it?”

  “Yeah, or we could keep looking—but I don’t know, I just had a good feeling about them. Call it a hunch, I guess.”

  “I’ll admit to being more gripped by their fight than by anything I’ve seen in a while,” I replied. “Maybe we could just put those two in an octagon again and watch them go at it.”

  “Not a bad idea,” said Randy as he pulled into KFC. “Maybe I’ll have more clarity once I’ve eaten. It’s almost noon, and I didn’t have anything for breakfast but a cup of coffee.”

  “Randy,” I said, not in a mean way, “you really need to take better care of yourself.”

  “I know, but I just get so busy. You know how it is.”

  “I do.” I hadn’t eaten anything that morning, either.

  The inside of the KFC smelled of chicken and grease fat. At a table a few seats behind us, a woman was buckling her son into a high-chair and trying to explain that they couldn’t go to the park that day because it was raining. Randy ordered us a family bucket and sat down across from me looking battered and tired.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Jaimie,” he said sadly. “This is one of those times when I wish I was more decisive.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” I opened the carton of gravy and poured it o
ver my mashed potatoes. “Maybe you should do what I do when I’m debating whether I should ask a guy out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Make a pros and cons list.”

  Randy took a brown paper napkin from the dispenser and scribbled out a list. But by the end, he was no closer to making a decision than before. He sat looking it over with an unsatisfied air.

  “I think in the end I’m just going to have to pick one. I don’t see any other way around it. Maybe we could have them fight to the death.”

  “I think that would just make things harder for us,” I pointed out. “Legally speaking.” At the table behind us, the woman was now begging her son to eat his chicken.

  Randy breathed in deeply. “You know what I do when I’m in a situation like this?”

  “What do you do?”

  “I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m alive, that I exist.”

  “Does it help?”

  He nodded, already brightening. “It really helps.” Dipping his chicken wing into the gravy, he added, “Sometimes I think it’s a miracle that anything exists, rather than nothing. And then that we get to be here in this world for a few years—it’s the greatest miracle of all.”

  “I didn’t know making decisions like this stressed you out so much.”

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t both excellent. If I could, I would’ve hired them both on the spot. I liked them that much.”

  “Here’s what I do in situations like this.” I shoved my plate away and placed the bones back in the box. “I close my eyes and ask myself, ‘Which boy would cause me more regret if I had to say no?’”

  Randy shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of chicken lard and fried skin. Finally, he nodded and said, in a voice that was barely audible over the screams of the boy at the next table, “Braxton.”