by Carol Lynne
“Yeah,” Lucky acknowledged. There had never been an openly gay UFC fighter, and he doubted there ever would be. It was a brutal sport, both inside the cage and out. “I get it.”
* * * *
Lucky’s friend, Sid, passed him a cigarette as they walked toward the gym after school. Most days he went home first to check on his mom, but after hearing the rumors about Dray in school, he knew he had to go to The Brick Yard. It had been three months since he’d overheard Dray and Vince in the shower and he hadn’t uttered a word about it.
“What’s up with the fag? Did you ever catch him checking out someone’s ass?” Sid asked, taking the cigarette back.
“Dray’s not like that.” Friend or not, Lucky wouldn’t let Sid bad-mouth Dray. It hadn’t been Dray’s fault Vince had fucking sold him out. He wondered how much a man’s career was worth. Had Vince even warned Dray before selling the photos to the entertainment rag?
“You seem awfully defensive,” Sid accused. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Fuck you.” Lucky elbowed Sid in the stomach. “Dray’s a damn good fighter, the best that’s ever come out of The Brick Yard.” He shrugged. “I just feel bad for him and Brick.”
Sid stopped walking when they were outside the mass of photographers that had camped out in front of the gym. “I told Cassie I’d meet her at the diner. Later, dude.”
“Yeah.” Lucky ducked down the alley to the back door of the building and let himself in with his key. He passed by Brick’s office, wondering if he should knock or get right to work. Although Brick was a tough old bastard, he suffered from high blood pressure on a good day, and no way was the hoopla surrounding Dray good for him.
“Brick?” Lucky knocked but didn’t immediately enter.
“Later, kid,” Brick yelled.
At least if Brick answered, it meant he was still alive. Lucky stowed his backpack in the storage room before getting to work by wiping down the exercise equipment. The members were supposed to do it after using them, but, like the towels, one in four thought they were too good to clean up after themselves.
“Did ya hear?” Flint, one of the fighters, asked.
“About the pictures? Yeah.” Lucky didn’t want to talk about it to anyone but Brick.
“Two of his sponsors have already cut ties with him.” Flint shook his head and nodded toward Brick’s office. “They’re in there trying to salvage the fight on Friday, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Shit.” Lucky picked up a few stray towels. “Talk to you later.” As much as he usually hated the chore, escaping to the quiet of the laundry room sounded good. Before the news had broken, he’d been close to talking to Dray about being gay. Despite the realization that men definitely turned him on more than women, he didn’t completely rule out fucking either sex. He knew that made him bisexual and not gay, but it didn’t make him straight either.
“I thought I might find you in here,” a deep voice said from behind him.
Lucky turned to find Dray standing just inside the room. Dray’s light green eyes were normally breathtaking, but now they were red and swollen as if he’d broken down more than once that day.
Lucky dropped the towel into the washing machine. “I’m sorry about what’s going on.”
“Yeah, well, that’s my fault for trusting someone like Vince.” Dray leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “I’m leaving,” he announced.
“What?” Lucky took a step toward Dray. “You mean you’re going into hiding to get away from the reporters?”
Dray shook his head. “I’m finished with fighting, so I’m moving back to Kansas City.”
“You can’t just give up.” Lucky gestured toward the front of the building. He couldn’t imagine the UFC without Dray. Worse, he couldn’t imagine The Brick Yard without him. “They’ll get bored and go away if you give them some time. You’ve worked for years to get where you are. You can’t just let them run you off.”
Dray stared at the floor. “It’s not the reporters or the sponsors that are running me off.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s the fans. They’re pissed. I know some fighters might be okay with being hated by the fans, but I’m not one of them. If they’re not behind me, I can’t do this.” He pushed off the wall. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor.”
“Anything.” Lucky took a deep breath, trying like hell to keep his emotions in check.
“Take care of Brick. I love that old sonofabitch.” Dray dug into his pocket and removed a slip of paper. “Here’s the phone number to my cousin’s tattoo shop. If anything happens, you can probably reach me there. If not, Berto can get you in touch with me.”
“There’s nothing that says you can’t come back to see Brick,” Lucky pointed out.
Dray shook his head. “I can’t stand to see the disappointment in his eyes. I know I fucked up.” He met Lucky’s gaze. “Do yourself a favor and don’t make the same mistake I made.”
Did Dray know? Lucky nodded.
“Sex, no matter who with, isn’t worth giving up your dreams for. Remember that,” Dray said before walking out of the room.
Lucky stared at the closed door long after Dray had gone, promising himself he’d never forget his idol’s departing advice.
Chapter One
Eight Years Later
“Dammit, boy!” Brick yelled. “Get your head out of your ass!”
Lucky blinked several times as Brick smeared more Vaseline over the newly-opened cut on his left eyebrow. “I’m fine,” he mumbled around the mouthguard. His opponent in the amateur match, Jake ‘Lightning’ Boone, had a better record and was higher ranked, but in Lucky’s opinion, the guy’s heart wasn’t in it.
“The hell you are. We both know your power’s in your fists. You can’t use your best asset if you let this joker engage in dirty boxing.”
Lightning was a clinch fighter, someone who preferred to hold his opponents too close to land punches. The prick was good at using his elbows to inflict injury, thus the cut above Lucky’s eye.
“I’ll finish him this round,” Lucky declared. He needed the win. His record was good, but not great. Definitely not good enough to get the UFC’s attention.
Brick slapped Lucky’s chest before sending him back into the cage for round two. He stared at Lightning and knew the next three minutes meant everything. Four more wins and he’d have a shot at a title match—something he wanted more than anything. He’d given up too much not to succeed in the damn sport.
“I’m taking this,” he told Lightning.
Lightning smirked as much as the mouthguard allowed, but despite the attitude, the fire in his eyes had been snuffed at some point since the fight began.
Lucky waited for the referee to signal the start of round two. Do it. He took a deep breath then landed two power punches to the fucker’s nose and an uppercut to his chin. Lightning’s eyes rolled back and like a giant redwood, he toppled with a loud thud.
Lucky stared down at his opponent, wondering why the victory didn’t feel as good as it should have. At twenty-four, he was already behind a lot of fighters due to the time he’d taken off to deal with his mom’s legal shit and subsequent incarceration. Each knockout was a notch on his belt.
Lightning’s crew shoved Lucky out of their way as they raced to their fighter’s side.
Lucky barely acknowledged the referee as his arm was lifted, signaling the clean win to the cheering fans. He needed the wins, loved the challenge of the fights, but knowing his victory was another man’s loss bothered him. It was always the same and something that drove Brick crazy. The passion Lucky felt for the sport went beyond the wins, and he was sure the guys he fought—at least some of them—felt the same way.
Staring out at the crowd, Lucky couldn’t help but see them as the people who had turned their backs on Dray—who was still the best fighter Lucky had ever followed. He refused to give those same people the power they’d held over Dray.
As Lucky watched Lightning’s crew get him to his feet, he had the overwhelming feeling that he’d just beaten the last of Lightning’s passion out of him. He stepped forward and held out his hand. They may have been opponents in the cage, but he knew Lightning was a good man, too good to be helped from the ring, bloody and defeated.
Lightning stared at Lucky’s hand for several heartbeats before taking the offered gesture. “Well done.”
For some reason, Lucky felt the need to offer the man encouragement. “They don’t call me Lucky for nothing.” He knew it was a lie—he was a damn good fighter—and by the slight smile on Lightning’s bloody face, he knew it, too.
* * * *
Dray put the DVD into the player, but held off on starting it. He knew what was on the disc, but he still didn’t understand why Brick continued to send him copies of Lucky’s cage matches. It was a sick hobby, but he couldn’t stay away from it. No, that was a lie—one he’d told himself a million times. It wasn’t the sport that still held him, but the fighter and the old man in the corner.
After moving his recliner closer to the fifty-inch television, he took his seat and pressed Play. The quality of the video was a little grainy and without sound but good enough for him to get a decent look at Lucky. He still couldn’t believe the muscular fighter on the screen was the same skinny teenager who’d once heard him fuck Vince in the shower. Vince. Dray shook his head. Falling in love with Vince had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Vince’s betrayal had broken something in him that he doubted could be repaired—not that he hadn’t tried at least twice a week since returning to Kansas City. His dick worked better than ever. It was his heart that was still stone cold.
His gaze was glued to the screen as Lucky disrobed. Fuck. The man’s body was perfection. Dray stared at the creamy-white skin of Lucky’s torso. The first time Brick had sent him a DVD, Dray had been surprised by Lucky’s lack of ink. He wondered when Lucky had changed his mind about getting tattooed and why. Glancing down at his own arms and hands, he shook his head. There were few places on his body that didn’t have art. Ink had always been his way of expressing his pain and after the life-altering affair with Vince, he’d gone crazy.
His eyebrows furrowed as he returned his attention to the fight just in time to see Lucky’s opponent clock him with an elbow. “Get the fuck away from him,” he yelled at the television, scooting to the edge of his chair.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. During the minute between rounds, the camera only zoomed in on Brick and Lucky once and only for a few seconds. Still, he could see the anger on Brick’s craggy face. He grinned, remembering what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Brick’s sharp tongue. Lucky appeared indifferent to Brick’s tirade, staring at his opponent instead.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked Lucky, wishing he could get an answer to his question. He hadn’t spoken to Lucky since the day he’d left him in the laundry room—not that he hadn’t wanted to.
Lucky charged back into the ring with a determined expression on his battered face. Lucky’s light brown eyes zeroed in on Lightning, and Dray had no doubt the man was going down.
Lucky came out swinging as if he was possessed, landing three punches in quick succession, felling the taller man in seconds.
“Holy shit!” Dray yelled, jumping to his feet. He reached for the phone and called Brick.
“Did ya see it?” Brick answered without pleasantries.
“Yeah,” Dray acknowledged while still watching the TV. “The ref’s just called the fight.”
“Keep watching,” Brick urged, “and tell me what you see.” He started to cough, prompting Dray to pull the phone away from his ear until it stopped.
The referee lifted Lucky’s arm in a sign of victory, but Lucky’s expression didn’t change. Although the video didn’t have sound, it wasn’t hard to gauge the crowd’s reaction to Lucky’s win. Christ. The fan reaction had always been the high for Dray, but it didn’t seem like Lucky even heard them. “What the fuck’s wrong with him?”
“Wish I knew, but it’s getting worse. He loves to fight, but I can’t get him to interact with the fans at all, and we both know the UFC loves fan favorites and winning records. Victories alone won’t get him there. He might have a chance as a villain in the sport, but he won’t even interact to earn that title. He’s totally indifferent, and the fans know it.”
“Yeah, I know all too well what part the fans play in the game.” It was the loss of support from the crowd that had cost Dray his career.
Before Brick could answer, he was racked by another series of coughs.
“You sick?” Dray asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Brick replied. “I’ve had a damn chest cold for several weeks, but I’ll get over it.”
The hairs on the back of Dray’s neck prickled. “You been to the doc?”
“Yeah, I got some antibiotics a week ago, but they haven’t kicked in yet.”
At Brick’s age, pneumonia was the first thing to come to Dray’s mind. “Maybe you should go back and have him check you out?”
“No time. Lucky’s got another fight in two weeks, and I’ve gotta find a way to make him break out of his shell.” Brick cleared his throat. “I’d hoped you’d talk to him. Give him some pointers.”
Dray fell back to his chair and closed his eyes. He’d lusted after Lucky since Brick had sent him the first fight DVD nearly two years earlier. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“How many fighters took the time to give you pointers when you were moving up in the ranks? Don’t you think you owe Lucky the same treatment? He’s got no one but me and that loser friend of his, who continues to tempt him with the darker side of this life.”
Dray heard the reproach in Brick’s voice loud and clear, but his attention was drawn to the bit about Lucky being tempted by the dark side. “Drugs?”
“Yeah. You’d think with his history, he’d stay away from that shit, but I’ve caught him a couple times with glassy eyes between fights. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d used, but nothing’s shown up on his piss tests.”
“Is he trying to ruin his career before it gets started?” Drugs had never been Dray’s thing. He glanced down at his ink, knowing what he’d used to dull the pain. Suddenly, his attraction to Lucky took a backseat. “Hell. Give me a minute to find a piece of paper,” he growled.
Tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear, he opened the junk drawer in the kitchen in search for a pen. “Goddammit,” he cussed, coming up empty. “I can’t find shit in this house. Just give him my number and tell him to call anytime.”
“Thanks,” Brick’s reply was cut short by another round of coughing.
Dray winced. “I’ll do this on one condition. You have to promise you’ll go back to the doctor.”
“I will. Lucky could really use a friend beside that little fucker Sid,” Brick said, his voice sounding wheezy.
Dray hung up and wondered what he’d agreed to. He’d planned to stay in that night, but with thoughts of Lucky churning around inside him, he changed his mind.
* * * *
Dray was leaning against a wall in the back of his favorite bar, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced down at the twink giving him a decent blowjob and pulled out his cell. Shit. He considered not answering Lucky’s call, but decided he owed it to Brick.
“Hey,” he answered, sticking a finger in his ear to block out the obnoxious music. “Can I call you right back?”
“Uhhh, sure,” Lucky answered.
Dray ended the call before burying his fingers in the twink’s hair. He held the younger man’s head still while he fucked his throat, searching for a release that was just out of reach. Closing his eyes, he pictured Lucky’s lips wrapped around his cock, and within seconds, he shot his load, coating the twink’s throat.
Resting his head back against the wall, he reached for his zipper. “Thanks,” he panted, “but I need to go.”
“W
hat?” The twink got to his feet. “It’s early.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got a phone call to make.” Dray felt bad that he didn’t know anything about the guy. “What’s your name?”
“Brandon.” He dug into his back pocket and handed Dray a small, pale blue card. “That’s got my phone number and email address on it.”
Dray glanced at the business card, printed simply with Brandon’s name, phone number and email. For fuck sake. How many of the damn things did Brandon pass out in a single evening? He shoved it into his pocket to be polite but had no plan to use it.
With a smile, Dray kissed Brandon’s cheek. “See you later.”
Once he was in his pickup, he called Lucky back.
“Hey,” Lucky answered. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you or something?”
After years of hiding who he was, Dray no longer attempted to lie. “I was getting a blowjob.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” Lucky replied.
Dray found it interesting that Lucky didn’t seem shocked or appalled by the confession. He’d had inklings that Lucky was gay—or at least bi—but he’d never followed up on the feeling. “No big deal. It wasn’t that great.”
Lucky laughed. “Now that’s a damn shame.”
“Tell me about it.” Dray’s nerves began to settle at the ease of the conversation. “I watched your last fight earlier. Good job. That uppercut is a killer.”
“Thanks. Grappling is my weak point, but I’ve been working on it.”
As he sat there, staring through the windshield at the front door of the club, he realized he had no idea how to get Lucky to open up to the crowd. “Let me ask you something. Do you enjoy fighting?”
“I love it,” Lucky answered.
“All of it?” Dray pushed.
“Well, no. I like the training and the actual fighting, but once the bout’s over…”
“You shut down?” Dray offered.
“No.” Lucky sighed. “Not really shut down, but let down. Don’t you dare tell Brick this, but most of the time, I couldn’t give a shit if I win or lose. It’s the fighting that excites me. Standing there listening to the crowd does nothing for me.”
