The Fight for Forever

by Meghan March

  He walks to the counter with measured steps and slides his plate and silverware across it. “Gabe isn’t just my best friend; he’s my brother. Doesn’t matter that we don’t share blood. That bond is solid. I’m not going to lose him because of you.”

  I blink twice. “Why would you lose him? I’m not following.”

  “You’re gonna want to change him to fit in with your life, and I’m not okay with that. If you can’t let him be who he is, then you need to walk away. Now.”

  Q’s words hit me hard.

  “And you’re here to what . . . threaten me into leaving him? Because I have to warn you, that’s not happening.”

  He squints at me, like he’s trying to solve an invisible puzzle on my face. “Why do you want him? Is it just for a walk on the wild side? To be able to say you brought Gabriel Legend to his knees? Is that the game?”

  I put my hands on my hips and attempt to lock down my temper, but I’m only partly successful if my tone is any indication of what I’m feeling.

  “Is that all you think your best friend—your brother—has to offer someone? A walk on the wild side? If that’s the case, first, you don’t know me at all, and second, you don’t know him as well as you think you do. Gabriel is the most honorable, intelligent, thoughtful, kind, and loyal man I’ve ever met. Meeting him, regardless of how, is the best thing to ever happen to me. I love him, and there isn’t a goddamned thing I wouldn’t do for him. What do you have to say to that, Q? Is that good enough for you? Or do you think I have some other hidden motives here?”

  He opens his mouth to reply, but I’m not done.

  “Because I’ll tell you another thing. I don’t need him. I don’t need any man. I’m strong, smart, savvy, and I’ve got boatloads of money. But you know what? I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in my life. He lights me up. He makes me laugh. He brings me joy. I love Bump, and Roux, and goddammit, Q, if you weren’t such an asshole, I’d probably love you too.”

  I shrug, realizing my guts have officially been spilled. “Eventually,” I add quietly with a sniffle at the end, clueing me in to the fact that I’m near tears with my speech.

  From the doorway, someone breaks into a slow clap. I cut my gaze over Q’s shoulder as he spins around. Joanie stands there with a wide smile and shimmering eyes.

  “Thank God, because Gabe deserves someone who sees him for everything he is. And, Marcus, you need to get your head out of your ass and stop pretending there’s something wrong with what they’ve got. They love each other. End of story.”

  Q shifts from facing his mom to me again. “I misjudged you. I owe you an apology, Scarlett.” He holds out his big hand.

  “You don’t owe me anything, Q. But I’ll take a hug.” I open my arms, and he steps forward and embraces me like a real friend.

  “Whoa. Whoa. What’s going on here?” Gabriel’s voice comes from the doorway behind Joanie. “Q, you better not be trying to snake my girl.”

  Q releases me, and I step back toward the sink, feeling like I’ve just racked up a major victory. My gaze locks onto Gabriel’s blue eyes.

  “I told Q he was an asshole, and he apologized. We’re all good now.”

  The corner of Gabe’s mouth tugs upward, but before he lets it fully spread across his face, he turns to Q and asks, “You sure?”

  Q turns to face him. “You did good with this one, brother. I approve.”

  Gabriel shakes his head. “Didn’t ask for it, but I’m glad you’re starting to see what I do.” They hug, slapping each other’s backs. “But you better get out there and see if your dad needs CPR after the Jets fumbled that ball. I’ll help Scarlett with the dishes.”

  “Oh no, you three go and watch the game. I’ll finish up in here. Scarlett, you’ve done more than enough.” Joanie waves at the drying rack full of clean dishes. “Please. I insist.”

  “It was nothing. Thank you for an amazing meal.”

  Gabriel holds out his hand and I walk toward him, but as I do, his phone rings.

  He pulls it out of his pocket, looks down at the display, and up at me and Q. “It’s Johnson. What the fuck would he want now?”

  “Maybe he’s going to apologize for leaving you high and dry while he coached Bodhi?”

  Thirty-Four

  Legend

  I consider not answering the call, but curiosity gets the best of me.

  “You got Legend,” I say in greeting.

  “That’s some real low shit, Gabe. I didn’t think you’d take a shot that dirty,” Johnson says in reply. Even though I don’t have him on speaker, he speaks so loudly that everyone in the kitchen can hear him, and Q’s head jerks back.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? What dirty shot?”

  “Trying to take out Bodhi’s knee so he can’t fight. I never would’ve thought I’d see the day. I feel like I don’t even fucking know who you are anymore. First, shutting down Urban Legend without so much as a warning. Then pretending like you’re legit—even looking the part too, with that rich chick you’re parading around town, and now this? Yeah, I’m real fucking glad I’m not in your corner.”

  My brain is running riot, latching onto each statement with confusion, because I don’t have any idea what Johnson’s talking about.

  I start with the first part. “Someone went after Bodhi? Is he okay? Can he still fight?” I ask, not sure whether I’m going to get an answer out of the pissed-off coach, but I figure it’s my only shot to understand what the hell is going on.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

  Scarlett curls herself into my side, and I wrap my arm around her waist.

  “Ron, I don’t fucking know. I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about. I’m at a fucking barbecue in Jersey. Been here all afternoon. If someone came after Bodhi, it sure as shit wasn’t me. I got a whole yard full of witnesses if you want to talk to them.”

  “I don’t give a damn if you’ve got a convent full of nuns vouching for your whereabouts. You could’ve paid someone easy.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to take out Bodhi? I need this fight, Johnson. Think for a goddamned second.”

  “I am thinking, and all I can figure is that you’re trying to pussy out of this fight. You’re afraid you’re gonna lose, so you’re trying to save face. If Bodhi can’t fight, your club still gets paid as the venue. You take part of the gate. You don’t need to risk your ass getting handed to you in the cage to cash out.”

  I can see where he’s coming from, but he’s totally wrong. “I got nothing to gain by Bodhi getting hurt, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I have everything to lose if he can’t fight.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Q says, holding out his hand for the phone.

  “Is that your Puerto Rican sidekick? He got the same alibi as you?”

  “Yeah, that’s Q. And it’s his family’s house we’re standing in right now.”

  Johnson huffs. “Let me talk to the prick.”

  I hand the phone over, even though I don’t really want to.

  “What the fuck happened?” Q asks him after he taps the speaker icon on my screen. “And drop your accusations for a hot fucking second so we can discuss this like adults.”

  “Bodhi was leaving practice. Someone came out of the alley and went after his knee with a pipe like he was Nancy fucking Kerrigan. I saw the whole thing. Big dude. Black hoodie. Face covered. Could’ve been either of you.”

  Q rolls his dark eyes and takes a deep breath before he flies off the handle too soon. “It wasn’t. We were both here.”

  “Then someone you paid.”

  “You know damn well that isn’t like me, and it doesn’t make any sense,” I say before Q can speak. “You know I always bet on myself. That’s exactly what I’m doing here. I need this payday, Johnson. Taking Bodhi out doesn’t do shit for me. I need him in the cage where I can beat him and cash in on the odds.”

  Johnson g
oes quiet for a few seconds. Joanie shuffles her feet beside me, and I have to wonder if she’s holding her breath.

  “If it wasn’t you, then who?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want the fight to happen,” I say quietly.

  “Yeah, and who the fuck would that be?”

  Q and I lock eyes.

  “Rolo. Rolo’s got nothing to lose, and he doesn’t want this fight happening. Not legit, anyway.”

  Johnson’s growl comes over the line. “If that piece-of-shit motherfucker went after my fighter because of some beef he’s got with you, then this is still on your head, Legend. You fucking fix this, or I’ll tell everyone it was you.”

  Scarlett squeezes my arm.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  “Cover Bodhi’s expenses at the hospital. They’re letting him out soon. His knee is gonna be fine, just so you know. And we’re not letting this stop us. He’s going to beat you. You know he would’ve last time. You just got lucky.”

  Hearing that out of my old coach’s mouth is like a dull knife to the back.

  “We’ll cover his medical costs. But only because I’m a decent guy. This isn’t my fault. If this was Rolo, then he’ll answer for it, but I’m not taking the blame. You start that rumor, then we’re going to have some real problems, and that’s on top of the fact that you bailed on me and went straight to the enemy. I never did get a straight answer on why that was. You care to fill me in here, Johnson?”

  He goes quiet for a minute. “I got bills to pay, and he offered me a piece of the purse.”

  I tighten my hold on Scarlett. “Good to know your loyalty has a price tag. Tell Bodhi to heal up quick. I’m not winning because he’s injured. I’m winning because I’m a better fucking fighter than him.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Johnson says before ending the call and leaving the four of us standing in the kitchen, staring at one another.

  “Do we need to call a lawyer?” Joanie asks, lines bracketing her mouth.

  “No.” I meet Q’s nearly black eyes. “But we gotta go find Rolo and figure out what the fuck is going on here.”

  Thirty-Five

  Legend

  I left Scarlett in Jersey with a kiss and a promise to be careful. Then Q, Hal, and I headed out to track down Rolo.

  The first two gyms we hit were a bust. No one had a fucking clue where he was. The third, the gym near my club in the city, turned up a little information, but not much.

  “He moved out of his apartment a few weeks ago. Crashed on my couch for a couple nights,” one of the fighters Rolo was promoting tells us. “I don’t know where he’s living now, though. He says he’s setting up a big fight for me, and I’ve been training hard.”

  “He give you the name of who you’re fighting?” I ask the kid who looks half-terrified after we cornered him.

  “Nah, man. No names. You know how Rolo is. He keeps everything close to the vest. Doesn’t want to put the word out until something is solid.”

  Fucking kid doesn’t have a clue that Rolo is probably hustling him. Word at the first two gyms was that he hasn’t put together a fight in over six months, and most of the guys there don’t take him seriously anymore.

  “Thanks, man. We appreciate the info. You see or hear anything from Rolo, tell him Gabriel Legend’s looking for him. He knows where to find me.”

  His head bobs eagerly. “Of course. You want me to call you too?”

  “Sure. Give me your phone.” He hands it over, and I type my number in and call myself. “You got my number. You see anything or hear anything, call me.”

  “It’s a real honor to meet you, Legend. If you’re really putting fights together at your club, I’d love a shot at getting on a card. I put on a real good show. Knockout power, but I can grapple too. Been wrestling since I was eight.”

  I give the kid another look, but with a different eye. He’s shredded. Looks like he could step into the ring at any moment and be ready. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Jeremiah Knowles. I can fight lightweight, welterweight, or middleweight. Whatever you need, man. I always make weight.”

  I pull out my phone and tap the missed call on the screen. “I’m saving your number, kid. Keep training. Come to Legend in a few weeks, and we’ll talk.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. It was an honor, sir.”

  Q snickers as we walk out of the gym. “I’m surprised he didn’t hit his knees and ask if he could suck your dick too.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. It was an honor, sir. I’ll swallow, sir,” Q says in a singsong voice, and I punch him in the shoulder. It doesn’t stop his ribbing, though. “Pretty soon you’ll have a whole stable of hopefuls who’ll be begging to call you Daddy.”

  “Again, shut the fuck up,” I tell him as we approach the SUV, where Hal is standing by the passenger door at the curb, watching the sidewalk and the gym.

  “Actually,” Q says in a normal tone, “what if you did have a bunch of kids like that who wanted to fight under your banner at the club? We could actually make a go of this, for real.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him as Hal opens the door to the back seat for me. “You really think that’s a good idea? Sounds like a fuck ton of work to me.”

  “I bet there’d be good money in it. They’re all hungry. I bet there are twenty of them dying to ask you the same question that kid did, and we haven’t even hosted a fight yet.”

  I hop inside and think about what Q said as he climbs in beside me. Having a roster of young guys who think I can give them their big break wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  “Maybe. But, first, we gotta find Rolo and get through this fight. Then we’ll worry about the future.”

  “Where to next, Gabe?” Hal asks from the driver’s seat as he shuts the door.

  “Rolo’s old girlfriend’s place in Harlem. She’s gotta know something.”

  A half hour later, we roll up in front of a barely half-decent apartment building.

  “How about I go up with you this time?” Hal asks, looking at the entrance dubiously. “I don’t want to let you guys get too far out of my sight. Not if Rolo’s running around with pipes and taking out fighters.”

  “We can handle ourselves,” Q says, but I’m with Hal on this one. I made a promise to my ladybug that I’d be safe, and I aim to keep it.

  “Come on up, Hal.”

  Q looks at me with his dark eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

  “What? I promised Scarlett I’d be safe.” He knows I don’t take it lightly.

  My best friend shakes his head. “Can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Being careful with two weeks left to go before a fight this big? Yeah, I’m a real fucking pussy. Besides, I thought you two buried the hatchet this afternoon.”

  “I’m not calling you a pussy. I’m surprised you’re finally taking your personal safety seriously. It’s gotta be a first.”

  I meet his dark gaze. “I got a hell of a lot to look forward to now, and I’m not letting some fight promoter with a grudge take it away from me.”

  He slaps me on the back. “Fair enough, man. Fair enough. Let’s go.”

  Thirty-Six

  Scarlett

  An unknown number flashes on the screen of my phone, and I don’t really want to answer it, but for some reason I do.

  “Hello?” I say hesitantly, fearing that I’m going to be talking to the troll who’s been terrorizing me on social media. But I’m wrong. Totally and completely wrong.

  “This is a collect call from the Manhattan Detention Complex. Do you accept the charges?”

  What the hell? Did they arrest Chadwick?

  My mouth drops open, and somehow I manage to get out the word yes.

  As soon as I do, there’s a click and a familiar voice comes on the line. “Oh, thank God you answered the phone. Shit, Scarlett, I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Flynn? What the hell are you doing in
jail? Jesus Christ. Did you get arrested for—”

  “It was all a misunderstanding,” she says, interrupting me before I can finish my thought. “And no, it’s not what you think. I went out with the wrong guy, and we ended up at a party . . . anyway, that’s not important. Can you come bail me out? Please? I really don’t want to call my mom because she’ll never let me live this down.”

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” I ask as my mama-bear protective instincts shift into overdrive.

  I’m getting concerned looks from Q’s family, but admittedly, it sounds bad.

  “I’m fine. I promise. I just really need you to make bail for me. Jail is seriously gross. And dirty. Please get me out of here, Scarlett.”

  “Okay, okay. Tell me exactly where I need to go and what I need to do, and I’ll be on my way.”

  It’s a first for me, being called to bail someone out, but I suppose this should also fall under the heading of #LifeIsMessy. Also, possibly a new one—#FirstsForScarlett.

  Flynn rattles off the information, and I commit it to memory before telling her I love her and hanging up. I flip open a note on my phone and am typing it all out in case I forget something, just as Big Mike comes over to the lawn chair where I’ve taken up residence while he watches yet another football game.

  “Everything okay? You sounded upset.”

  “My stepsister needs me to bail her out of jail, and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

  “Oh shit.” He whistles with a toothpick still hanging out of his mouth. “She must be a spitfire too.”

  “She’s something, all right. I need to call Gabriel and tell him what’s going on, but I don’t want to distract him from finding Rolo.”

  “You can call him on the way. I’ll take you. This ain’t my first rodeo with bailing punk kids out of jail.”

  I stare up at the man, who looks like a bear compared to his much leaner son. “Really? Because I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”