The Underdogs: The Complete Series

by Stewart , Kate

  “She left me.”

  “No, che didn’t.”

  “Jes, che did.”

  “It’s not nice to make fun of my accent.”

  “I apologize, but you’re pissing me off.”

  “I am a ju S citizen.”

  “I’m happy for you. We’re in the same club.”

  “Are ju always this grumpy? Ju know it’s Christmas time, right?”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  “About Christmas, jes.” He shakes his head. “Yeah, no, with dis…” he thrusts his hands my way, “disposition, dis is not good. Ju comes back when ju have a better attitude.”

  The door opens behind him, and for the first time in two years, I get a look at her. My heart slams into my chest when her mouth parts. Seconds of silence stretch as we take the other in.

  “Hey, Priss.” Despite my irritation and the obstacle between us, I can’t help my smile. René’s gaze ping-pongs between us before resting on Harper, who is still gaping at me, a mist in her eyes.

  “Lance…W-what are you doing here?”

  “Just thought I’d fly to New York to stand on your doorstep and get my nuts snipped by your roommate.”

  “René,” Harper scolds, gripping him by the arm and pulling him inside. “Come in, come in,” she says, ushering me in behind him.

  “Mami, ju know dis man—”

  She gives him a stern eye that cuts him off mid-sentence.

  René crosses his arms. “Don’t ju look at me like dis, ju came to Ju York with plastic bags and a broken heart.”

  Harper’s expression hardens as her ears redden. “Enough, or I’m calling Ricky and telling him you hated his Christmas present.”

  “Ju wouldn’t dare!”

  “I would so.”

  “That’s just wrong,” he snaps. “He got me a fiber optic angel. Who wouldn’t hate it?”

  Harper raises a brow, and he sighs. “Fine, do ju, Mami.”

  Winning the debate, she wastes no time grabbing me by the hand and leading me through her living room, past a sad excuse for a kitchen before yanking me into her bedroom. When the door closes, she throws herself in my arms, and I catch her without hesitation. Holding her tightly to me, I get a whiff of the vanilla in her hair, and I’m back, there, in Texas, in the place of then while gripping tightly the reason why I’m here, the now.

  We hold each other for several beats, neither of us speaking before she gazes up at me with a watery smile. “You know, I always knew deep down I would see you again. Someday, somewhere, I just wasn’t sure when.” It’s when she pulls away, I finally get a good look at her. Her gorgeous hair is a little longer, she’s filled out, some in her curves, some in her face. Eager brown eyes scour me, drinking me in just as greedy.

  “How, God…” she lets out a nervous laugh. “How have you been?”

  “Good, busy. I fight full-time now.”

  “Yeah, I know, I’ve been following your progress. Lance, I’m so proud of you.” She removes a few sweaters off a vanity chair. “Sit down.”

  I take the seat as she sits on the edge of her mattress across from me. Glancing around, I see she doesn’t even have a closet. Just a tall dresser and a rack of clothes sitting next to it. It’s the smallest bedroom I’ve ever been in. Much like the city, chaos seems to be the recurring theme in her corner of the apartment.

  “I’ve been wanting to message you for a while now, to tell you how proud I am. Going pro, huh?”

  “Yeah. Got my first fight in Vegas in a few months. It’s not Caesars Palace or anything but—”

  “You’ll get there. Your record is forty-seven and—”

  “Forty-eight, I fought tonight. KO.”

  “Oh my God,” she exclaims with pride-filled eyes. “Look at you,” she moves in and gently turns my head. “Barely a scratch. I’ve seen you throw. I watched a few videos. Lance, the things they’re saying about you—”

  “Shhh,” I wink, “let’s not jinx it.”

  “K,” she says easily, “but I am proud of you.”

  “Yeah, what about you, hot shit? You’ve danced your way across Europe.”

  “Yeah.” She bites her lip. “That was something else. The budget was shit, so we stayed in some pretty sketchy places. But yeah, it’s been incredible.”

  “I don’t know who’s taking those pictures and videos of you while you dance, but wow.”

  “Yeah?” She asks, seeming surprised that I’ve kept up. “Thanks.”

  We share a silence that lasts long enough for us to smile and again drink in the other.

  “So are you—”

  “What are you—”

  We’re still smiling, and I point to her. “You first.”

  “How is your family? Jeannie, Trevor? Your dad?”

  “All good. Dad’s shake has gotten a whole lot worse…but you know what? Let’s skip that part of the conversation for now.”

  She gives me a slow nod. “How long are you staying in New York?”

  “A few days, I have a fight in a week.”

  “So, you fought here, tonight? In the city?”

  “Yeah.” I’m flat out lying. Would it be so hard to believe that I came here for her? This is fucking embarrassing. Am I alone in this? Is she feeling what I am? I can’t tell. I’ll just focus on the fact she’s happy to see me. It’s enough.

  She lifts a piece of golden hair away from her neck, and my fingers itch to slide through it. “You look good, beautiful.”

  “Yeah? Thanks. You, well…” her eyes roam over me appreciatively. “You’re a monster. You wasted no time bulking up,” she gives me a wink.

  “Fighter training is a lot different from ball.”

  She bites her lip briefly before she speaks. “I’m so sorry about the draft.”

  “Don’t be. I’m better off.”

  “Really?”

  “Fuck yes, I-I,” I shake my head and dart my eyes to her scratched up hardwood floor, “I have you to thank for that.”

  “That was all you, Lance.”

  I give her a pointed look. “I think you know better.”

  “Hush,” she says. “So, tell me. What’s it like?”

  “Boxing?”

  She grabs a pillow from her bed and hugs it to her body, obstructing my view before resting her chin on it. “Yeah.”

  “It’s exhilarating. The best kind of high.”

  “They say you could be the next Sugar Ray.”

  “I’d rather be Marciano.”

  “Going for undefeated, huh?”

  “We’ll see.”

  She scrutinizes me. “You seem…happy.”

  For the moment I am, so I let her believe it. “You do too.” I stand because I’m fucking nervous and take the only space the room will allow to study the canvas printed photos that line her walls. Several of them highlight her talent in colorful costume. I get fixed on one where she’s mid-leap, the perfect picture of a prima ballerina.

  “These are epic.”

  “Yeah? Amazing what cell phones are capable of these days. René snapped that. It was cheap to print too.”

  I glance at her over my shoulder. “Still can’t take a compliment from me, huh, Priss?”

  She darts her eyes to the floor, her chin quivering.

  “Hey, hey,” I say, reaching her in one step. “What did I say?”

  She shakes her head, the smile she’s wearing a farce, her eyes glossy. “I just…it’s good to see you.”

  “You too.”

  I clear my throat. “Can I ask you an intrusive question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Sort of…” she says distractedly as if she’s in another place before bringing her eyes back to me. “To be honest, I went on a coffee date today, but it’s nothing serious. It’s new.”

  Heart thundering, I clear my throat for the second time. “So, if I’m not stepping on any toes, what do you say we spend Christmas together?”

  It’s the
n, while in wait for her answer that I see the invisible tie to her appear wrapped around my enslaved heart. The idea she might pass, along with her confession of something new has my stomach rolling.

  “You want to spend Christmas with me?”

  “Why not? I’m here. You’re here. It’ll be fun. I’ve never been to the city. You can show me around.”

  “I have a break until the day after, so yeah,” she nods and nods, her expression dazed before her eyes lift, “I’d love to spend Christmas with you.”

  “Alright then, it’s settled.” I glance at her bedside clock. “It’s late. I should go, let you get some sleep.”

  “I’ll plan it all out. What time do you get up?”

  “Early crow, around four-thirty.”

  “Lance,” she looks at the clock. “That’s like four hours from now.”

  “I’ll sleep in then and be up at six.” I give her a wink. “Just, uh, text me when you wake up.” I pass her my phone, and she takes it, her eyes darting down when our fingers touch. It’s then I see it, guilt. Guilt I would’ve loved to have seen two years ago for the way she banished me. I bat that away, my anger with her low-lying. Where it will remain. I’m not about to screw this up by punishing her. I can’t bring myself to do it yet, but oh, how I want to. What I want more is to punish her shimmering lips, rip off her sweater and leggings and fuck the hell out of her until she’s whimpering out regrets and apologies. Instead, I pocket my phone once she’s programmed her number in and head for the door.

  “I’m gonna head out.”

  “See you tomorrow?” She pipes up behind me when I open it.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll walk you out, so my chihuahua doesn’t attack.”

  “I can handle him.”

  “He was tired. Just wait until he’s had some coffee tomorrow.”

  I chuckle as she walks me to her door. The apartment quiet, my steps heavy on the hardwood. The last thing I want to do is leave, but I’m still fighting the gnawing resentment, and I need to get a handle on it before I keep more conversation with her. How she can be so completely foreign and familiar at the same time is screwing with me.

  Once on the other side of her door, I linger, as does she.

  We stare silently, time and past between us before she speaks up. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Yeah,” I say softly, before leaning in to kiss her cheek. When I pull away, I do it just a hair from her lips. “It’s good to see you, Priss.”

  She licks her lips, and her eyes slowly lift to mine. “You too.”

  “Night.”

  Harper

  Watching from my bedroom window, I wait until Lance disappears out of sight before I turn towards my bedroom door. “You can come in. I know you were listening.”

  The door bursts open, and René stands with his nightly smashed avocado face mask on in a white robe he stole from a posh hotel that Ricky took him to on an anniversary.

  “What are ju doing?”

  “I’m sitting on my bed. What are you doing?”

  “Jour going to take him on a tour of Jew York?”

  “That’s the plan.” I can’t hide my elation, and I don’t want to.

  “Mami, ju let him go for a reason.”

  “Yeah, the timing was off.”

  “And ju don’t tink it’s off now? Jour career is thriving. Ju just landed jour first solo.”

  “So?”

  “So, what ju going to do? Ju going to go to Texas and have his massive babies and trow it all to shit?”

  “No, I’m not. Stop spitting hatorade. He’s in town, and he wants to catch up.”

  “In town for Christmas? Ju don’t find that odd that he here without no family?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not going to waste time that I could spend with him worrying about it.”

  “Fine, he jour first love, I get it. But ju made a conscious decision to end it with him. Ju both have different lives. Ju told me so over and over.”

  “It’s a tour of New York, not marriage.”

  “He wants ju back. Mark my words.”

  “That’s hard to do.”

  “Chut up,” he snaps, sauntering in my room and sifting through products that he will eventually steal off my dresser. He flips a cap off my body spray. “Mmmm.”

  “Don’t you dare, I just bought that.”

  “A little spray.”

  “It’s a bit flowery.”

  “I like flowery. My parents named me René, a girl’s name,” he sighs, “what did dey expect me to do with dat?”

  “Your name doesn’t make you gay,” I say, taking the bottle from him and capping it, “your attraction to men does.”

  “Sactly, it’s a sickeness though, dese men, dey break your heart.” He gives me a side-eye I’m sure he considers subtle and is anything but. The man is shit at keeping secrets, and that’s why I’m careful with my deepest around him, but he’s all heart. And I love him like no other.

  “I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay, no matter what happens the next few days.”

  “He wants ju back,” he singsongs, giving me a pointed look while swiping some of my new balm across his lips.

  “It’s been two years,” I shrug. “Maybe he’s curious.”

  “Curious if ju still look the same naked.”

  “And would that be so bad?”

  “He broke jour heart, broke jour family up, and it made ju miserable.”

  “My father broke my heart. I left Lance so that we no longer had to suffer for it. He did nothing wrong. I’ve explained this. You want a villain where one doesn’t exist.”

  “I jus don wan to see ju in dat much pain evers again.”

  “Goes with the territory,” I say, knowing Lance leaving me in mere days will probably feel like a wrecking ball to the chest. “I chose dance, I chose his well-being. I chose my own well-being. I ended it.”

  “Okay, Mami. Jour all grown up now, I jess.”

  “Jess, I am.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Jus be careful. What about dis guy who took ju to coffee?”

  Casey doesn’t hold a candle to Lance. The flickers I felt today during coffee don’t have shit on the flame that ignited in my chest the second I saw Lance at my door.

  I shake my head, and René sighs.

  “Okay, jus know I’ll be here.”

  “You better be here, always.”

  “I jus said I will. Now, I make another mask, and pick some clothes so ju can be ready for tomorrow.”

  “No, thank you, I just want to sleep.”

  “Oh no, we doing dis.”

  The decision is final. For the next hour, I’ll be buffed and polished.

  These are the perks of having a best friend with a self-care addiction and great fashion sense. And when I say best, he’s the best I’ve ever had. He leaves the room to go hammer and nail out my makeover while I stare at the vacant chair Lance just left.

  I’ve been watching his progress closely since clips of fights started on social media. Seeing a highlight reel was just posted to his page, I watch as he knocks his contender to the ground with little effort. Two years ago, he was the most alluring man I’d ever seen. Even with evidence of a broken nose, the man is now God-like and more attractive than ever. He’s bulked up so much, I barely recognize his width, but those grey eyes and thick lashes and smooth full lips I would know anywhere. Not to mention the way they make me feel. The way I feel with him in the same space, period, is enough. Flipping through his feed, I see the location of his fight, the fight he said took place in New York. I scroll up and see the time stamp. Seven hours ago, Lubbock, Texas. Clearly, he’s not the one running his own social media page.

  And he lied. But why?

  Lance

  Brisk air slaps me in the face as I get acquainted with Manhattan. Twice I’ve dodged a cab, my focus on the view. It only took me a mile to realize how brave Harper is, how brave anyone is to try and conquer a city such as this. As for my own opinion, so fa
r, it’s the same—chaos. A clusterfuck of skyscrapers, streets filled with loud traffic, and people scattering in all directions on life’s everyday missions. It’s everything and nothing like the movies. A bit less glamorous, but I’m going to let my time with Harper here sway my final decision. I’m three miles in when I take a detour to Ground Zero. Even though I was six when it happened, I’ll never forget the panic on my parents’ faces as they watched those buildings go down. It was the first time I’ve ever felt real fear. I stand in place, staring at the memorial in awe of what those people have endured and decide it’s a plus for the city. New York is an overpopulated army of survivors who stood their ground and reclaimed their city as not one of fear, but as a place of resilience. It’s heroic just to live here. New York is full of fighters, so maybe there’s a place for me here too.

  But how can I fit in her life here?

  Is this a fool’s errand?

  My life is at the ranch, and when it’s not, it’s on the road. I dedicated myself to the purpose years ago. But if my inkling is right, maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated. Going heavyweight means I can split my time between fights. I’ll get much better pay, more leisure time to prepare between bouts. I’ll hire help at the ranch. I’ll do whatever it takes if we manage in a few days to reclaim what we lost.

  Dreams change, they evolve, because of the people in your life.

  Mine are evidence of just how drastically it can happen. But any new dream I’ve conjured up has always involved Harper, dead center. I can’t imagine her out of any scenario that won’t complete me. And I can’t will myself to forget her. I don’t want to. My motivation for being here is selfish. She may be able to live without me, but I’m convinced her asking the same of me is too much to ask of my heart, which has been slowly suffocating without her. I don’t love her any less than I did two years ago, that was clear to me the minute I saw her on the other side of that door. If she’s changed, maybe I can change to suit her. I have to believe that life is a series of truths and that some are absolute while others get too muddled amongst youth, aspiration, and ambition.

  Harper is a truth for me. What I feel for her is the truest of truths.

  It’s love, the kind that changes people, pure and simple, because she changed me by just believing me, in me, to the point she possessed a part of me. Maybe I can’t move on because I’m not supposed to. Or maybe I’m too late. Either way, I have to know.