by Olivia Chase
“So, do you like sports?” Ramona asks him. “Phoebe here is an event planner for the big boxing tournament in town.”
“Yeah?” His eyes sparkle as he looks at me. “I’ve been to a few of the most recent matches. What do you think about Beckett? Looking forward to seeing how he does against Gunner. I think it’ll be a good fight.”
“I think he has a good chance,” I say generically. “So what do you do?” I ask to change the subject. I don’t want to think about Hale. Hearing this man talk about him is a knife in my heart.
“I work in finance,” he says. “I’m a financial planner.”
“Ramona works on the radio,” I say. Suddenly I want his attention off me. I’m not ready for this. I’m uncomfortable.
“Oh?” He looks at her. “Well, that sounds interesting.”
Our drinks arrive. Thankfully, Ramona has picked up on my discomfort and is leading the conversation. Turns out Dave has pets, so they get to discussing animals. I drink quietly, offering a couple of comments here and there but letting them take the lead.
My head starts to hurt. I’m tired. I just want to curl up in bed and go home. I know Ramona meant well, having me meet her here, but I don’t want to get out there and date again. I fell hard for Hale, as stupid as that is.
I make an excuse and leave. Ramona offers to come with me, but I wave her off and order her to stay. Seems like Dave has transferred his attention to her and is getting flirty—better that way, anyway.
Once I’m home, I drink a bunch of water, pop two ibuprofen, and crawl into bed. Despite my fatigue, it still takes me far too long to shut my stupid brain off and stop thinking about him.
My stomach is a riot of butterflies.
It’s the night of the big event—the final fight of the tournament. Hale versus Gunner. The auditorium is packed. Diane is walking around looking smug as hell, pleased with the turnout. No doubt she’s taking full credit for it. Like it was a one-woman show or something. Ugh.
I’m so nervous I’m shaking. Not just because I’m anxious about seeing Hale, but because I’m wondering what’s going to happen with the fight. The last one was a close call. And I could tell he wasn’t happy with that. How is he going to do tonight? And should I even care? After all, we’re not seeing each other anymore.
A thought that crushes me bit by bit.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll get through tonight. Finish this job. Then we’ll move on to another event. Hale will be out of my life, and I’ll be able to forget about him. We were a bad match anyway. Never would have worked out.
We have different perspectives. Different beliefs. I have to let him go. Stop thinking about how he made me feel alive, beautiful. Desired. But he also has a lot of darkness in his life, a lot of anger. I can’t live with that.
The crowd is getting riled up. Ready for the final fight. I saw Gunner in the back room earlier, being praised by his fan club, told how amazing he is and how he’s going to destroy Hale.
Speaking of, where is he?
The fight is supposed to start in twenty minutes, and there’s been no sign of him.
Diane walks over to me, a frown on her face. “Have you seen him?” She’s giving me a knowing look, one that sees right through me. Shit.
I shake my head. “I’m sure he’ll be here. He knows it’s today.” There’s no way he would have forgotten.
The minutes tick by. And then the announcer is ramping the crowd up, declaring that it’s time for the fight. Did Hale slip in without me noticing? Where the hell is he? I can’t help the anxiousness flooding my system. Something isn’t right. He should have arrived by now. Did he get in an accident? Did it somehow slip his mind? I have a hard time believing that.
The fight is delayed; no sign of Hale yet. The crowd is growing restless, some people chanting his name, others booing it. Diane’s face is thunderous with anger. I can feel the tension rolling off her.
He isn’t going to show.
After another few minutes, the announcer declares that the fight is cancelled. Gunner is the winner by default, since Hale forfeited by being a no-show.
The crowd is disgruntled, angry at the lack of a fight. People start throwing popcorn at the ring as they exit the auditorium. This isn’t going to go over well. Attendees were expecting a match. No doubt Diane is raging.
A fact that is confirmed as I watch her stomp over to me. “Where the fuck is he?” she barks at me.
“How should I know?” I lob back. Not like I’m not on edge here…after all, I’m partly responsible for the success of this event. And having it end in a forfeit? Not exactly a money-maker. We’re going to lose revenue on this.
She grabs my elbow and tugs me close. Her eyes are hot and hard on mine. “I can’t help but wonder what part you played in him not being here tonight.”
I stiffen and jerk out of her grasp. “What?”
“I’m not stupid.” Diane rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard the two of you were an item. And you fucked it up and caused me to lose my potential golden goose.” I can hear the disdain dripping from her voice. “If you’re going to fuck the fighters, at least be subtle about it. Don’t shit where you eat—first rule of business.”
I’m so mad I’m shaking. How dare she? “You’re going to blame this on me? I didn’t have anything to do with him pulling a disappearing act. Maybe he just decided he didn’t want to work with you anymore.”
Diane’s eyes fly open, and she points at me. “You’d better watch yourself, Phoebe.”
“No, I’m tired of watching myself.” The words are flying out of me now. I can’t fight them back anymore. For far too long, I’ve bitten my tongue. “You’re a user, Diane. You don’t care about people—you just care about what they can do for you. You used me, and you used Hale. Not to mention you’re a rude person and a terrible boss. I quit. I don’t want to work for you anymore. I’m done.”
Diane is just staring at me in shock, likely because she’s never heard me speak up once to defend myself. But I’m done. I’m tired of being crapped on by her.
I spin around and leave the auditorium. I’m no longer shaking. I’m steady as I key the door to my car and drive to my apartment. Finally I made a decision that’s good for me. Stood up for myself.
Screw her. Vindication about how poorly she treated me makes me feel light-headed, buoyant in a way.
And the crazy thing? The most ironic thing of all? Until meeting Hale, I wouldn’t have had the guts to stand up for myself like this. Being with a fighter made me a little bit of a fighter, too.
I have no regrets.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how I’m going to find another job. But I’ll figure it out. I’m strong. Independent. It’s about time I start doing the right thing for me.
Hale
I sit on the bench in the police station, head in my hands, staring at the floor. My stomach is a mass of knots. I’m waiting for the officer in charge of Smith’s case to come out and talk to me.
Part of me can’t believe I’m here. That I’m going to rat my father out. Even my brothers, with their defections from our family, never went this far. Would they have done this if they were in my situation? Given who they are now, how they’ve changed…I imagine they would have at least considered it.
I know why I’m here though.
Not just because it’s the right thing to do. But because my loyalty to Butch was part of the reason I lost Phoebe.
The woman I’ve fallen for. As crazy as it sounds, as quick as it’s been, I’ve fallen for Phoebe, and I fucking lost her because I was an idiot. Because I stuck to my guns over something that was tearing me apart.
Instead of going to the fight, I’m here, doing what I need to do.
“Hale Beckett?” An officer comes to stand before me. He’s about ten years older than me, with a thick black beard and bushy eyebrows. “Come back here, please.” He leads me into an office and has me sit across the desk from him. “So, I understand you’re here to make a sta
tement about the incident involving Smith Beckett, is that correct?”
“Yes.” I settle my hands in my lap.
One massive brow raises. “And I suppose it isn’t a coincidence that you and him share the same last name?”
“He’s my cousin.” I can’t help but think about Smith lying on the hospital bed, wounded because my father decided that nothing else mattered more than him getting what he wanted. My heart thuds hard against my ribcage. If Butch knew I was here, he’d kick my ass. Or more.
“So. Why don’t you tell me what you know about the incident?” The officer flips open a notebook, pen in hand, and looks at me with expectant eyes.
So I give a clear and concise statement about Butch, how he came in early in the morning covered in blood, with a knife. Him bagging up the clothing and weapon, which he hasn’t disposed of yet. His confession to me about what he did.
The officer is taking notes as I speak. “Do we have permission to search your residence for this evidence?”
Here’s the moment where there’s no going back. Once they come in the house and find the clothes and knife, Butch is fucked. I should feel more guilt about turning on my own father. I should, but I don’t. Butch doesn’t give a shit about me. He cares about money, about his own needs.
He doesn’t care about family. Not anymore.
He committed a heinous crime against one of our own, even if it was someone he was estranged from. Smith deserves the closure. And frankly, so do I. I don’t want this hanging above my head for the rest of my life. Knowing what my father did to a family member…I can’t live with it anymore.
“We’d like you to come with us,” the officer says. “To show us where the clothing and weapon are hidden.”
I give a curt nod. “But as I said, I don’t want him to know it was me.” God only knows how Pop would react to find out his own son turned on him. Would he send out a hit man against me? The sad thing is, I don’t even fucking know. He’s not the man I thought I knew. He’s someone else. A stranger.
A man unworthy of trust.
We go to the house. The officer comes inside—no one else is home right now. Butch already said he was going to be hanging with friends tonight at Fugitives, so I know not to expect him, and Axel is working the shift, since I was supposed to be at the fight.
I lead the officer to Butch’s room, show him the hidden panel in the back of the closet. That’s where Butch always hides shit. He thinks we don’t know, but we always did. We’re not stupid.
He slips gloves on and grabs the bag. Opens it gingerly. Then he grabs his walkie-talkie and puts a call in. “Where did you say he is now?” he asks me after chattering with the operator at the station.
I give him the name and address of my bar, which he repeats to the operator, who is sending backup.
He gets off the line and eyes me. “Are you going to contact him to warn him?”
The question is so stupid that I’m insulted. “I just fucking led you to evidence that my father tried to commit murder. You think I’m going to warn him about it?”
“Just had to ask,” he says, hold up his hands. “In the meantime, if you don’t mind, we’ll stay here and wait to hear from the officers going to arrest him. Just to make sure he doesn’t get tipped off.”
I huff a low sigh. “Whatever. I’m going to the kitchen to get a beer.” I stalk toward the fridge and crack open a brew.
What is Axel going to think?
I haven’t talked to him much about this. I didn’t tell him about Butch stabbing Smith, so as not to drag him into it, but he is aware that our father has a vendetta against our cousins. But beyond that…I don’t know how he feels. If he knew I ratted on Butch, would he be disgusted with me?
I shouldn’t care. I know I’m doing the right thing.
Meanwhile, the officer is collecting the evidence, and taking his time going through Butch’s room looking for anything else of interest. I can’t seem to fucking care. I just sit on the couch and drink my beer. All I know is, Butch was wrong with how he handled this shit. We might be thugs, but we still have honor. Stabbing a family member is fucked up. Unacceptable. Smith didn’t deserve that.
If Pop could have been happy with the success of Fugitives, none of this would have happened. But no, he had to be vengeful.
I bite back a bitter laugh.
Would Phoebe be proud of me for rolling over? It doesn’t even matter. She wants nothing to do with me. I scared her and her whole family when I went to her apartment. Yes, her uncle was a total douche…but I shouldn’t have lost my shit.
There are better ways to handle my anger.
Shame fills my chest. She’s right. I need to get my shit together. I’ve been handling all of this wrong. No wonder she doesn’t want me. I’m fucked up. Phoebe deserves better than me, that’s for sure.
But at least I’m taking a step in the right direction. I’m not going to let this shit twist me up anymore. I want to live a clean life. Not be under the thumb of a man who really doesn’t give a shit about me.
It’s hard to admit, but he doesn’t.
The officer’s walkie-talkie buzzes, and he murmurs some stuff to it. Then he turns to me. “Okay, Butch Beckett has been arrested for suspicion of attempted murder. He will be detained for questioning, and the evidence you’ve led us to will be analyzed by our crime lab. In the meantime, I request that you stay in town and not leave. We may have further questions for you.”
I give a weary nod. I’m fucking exhausted. My bones ache. I just want to curl up in bed and sleep for days. But I can’t. Not when I know Axel is going to have questions. He doesn’t know what is going on—I kept him out of this for his own good.
When the officer leaves, I close my eyes and breathe heavily. Stare at the ceiling blankly. I don’t know what is going to happen now. What will become of my father, of our family, of any of the things we’ve done. I just know that what he did was wrong, and I can’t be a part of it. Can’t protect him from his crime. And even more, I don’t want to.
“Hale?”
The voice of my half brother, Axel, rouses me from sleep. I sit up from my position on the couch and roll my stiff neck. Fuck, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here. My muscles ache. “Hey,” I murmur, clearing the sleep from my throat.
Axel sits down in the chair near the couch and eyes me. “Did you hear what happened?”
I sigh. “Yes.” I don’t want to incriminate Axel in any of this, so I already decided to keep silent on being the one to turn Butch in. Not to mention it’s a complicated enough situation. Now we have to figure out where the fuck to go from here.
Axel scrubs his jaw. “Our family is no more. Scattered to the wind. Nothing is what it used to be.”
The pain in his voice makes me feel a twinge of guilt. But I know I did the right thing. This isn’t about preserving our family. It’s about justice. About the fact that for once in my life, I did the right thing. And I can feel fucking good about that. “I know it feels bad, but it’ll pass. You and I have survived this far. We’ll make it.”
Axel gets up to grab a beer then sits back down. Opens the bottle and takes a swig. “I don’t know what to fucking do anymore. Nothing feels stable or sure.”
I sigh. “I know.” Scrub my jaw and eye my half brother. He looks so much like us, despite having a different mother—Butch knocked his mom up shortly after ours left. Admittedly, my older brothers and I never accepted him, not fully. He wasn’t one of us. A bastard child, half Beckett, the product of our father being horny and lonely.
But Axel has been here this whole time. Through all these tribulations, us trying to get Outlaws back, starting our own bar, through each of my brothers dropping off one by one, Axel has been part of our crew. Not complaining. Just doing his part.
Proving himself.
Seeing him so dispirited makes me feel a little bad, especially since the more I realize that we’re free, the more invigorated I feel. Butch is going to go to jail, likely for a long, long time. He
fucked up his parole by attacking Smith, and that means he’s going to be screwed.
I won’t have to deal with him anymore. Won’t have to worry about the stupid shit he wants to do for revenge.
I have ideas. Plans. And I can focus on them now without the stress of Butch, or of boxing, hanging over my head.
The crazy part is, I don’t even feel a little bad that I skipped my last fight to win the tournament. I only feel bad that I didn’t get to see Phoebe.
I sit up straight and face Axel. “I decided to stop fighting.”
He eyes me with surprise. “Wait, what? Why would you stop when you made it to the finals?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my legs. “I’m just…I’m fucking done. Fighting hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”
Axel is eyeing me like he has no idea who I am. “So what do you want to do?”
“I’m going straight. No more fighting, amateur boxing or otherwise. I want to focus on Fugitives. Officially partner us with Outlaws. Maybe turn us into the restaurant side of the business, and have Outlaws as the bar.” It’s something I’ve been chewing on for a while now.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares at me. “Why are you telling me this now?” he finally asks.
I’m sure part of him is wondering if I had any part in Butch being arrested. I won’t tell him that, though. I don’t want to dump that on his shoulders. But I can see the confusion and frustration in his face, how he’s trying to cope with the sheer lack of information and deal with what’s going on. I owe him an answer. I just don’t know how much I want to actually confess. Do I tell him about Phoebe? How she changed me, made me see that the life I was living was unhealthy?
I don’t even know if he’ll understand. Especially given our previous disdain for our brothers and how they abandoned our family for women they fell in love with. Not that my situation is the same. I lost her, and I’m realizing just how deep the wound is now.
I clear my throat and struggle to find the right words. “I… Look. I’m trying to adapt to the situation. We need to move forward and figure out our game plan if we’re going to survive.” It sounds cutthroat, and I suppose it is. Best answer I have for him right now.
