by Carol Lynne
It was as if Lucky was speaking a foreign language. Dray had never known a fighter who didn’t get off on the fans that came with winning. “Without the crowd, you won’t be able to fight at the level you deserve. I’m not saying you have to kiss their asses, but you need to at least try to smile and wave to them. Play up the win, get them fired up, and the UFC will take notice.”
“You sound like Brick,” Lucky grumbled.
“You should listen to him. Brick’s the best, but he can’t get you where you need to go. Only you can do that.” Dray hoped he wasn’t pissing Lucky off. “When’s your next fight?”
“I’ve got Indianapolis in two weeks. If I win that one, I might get a shot at a title fight.”
“I remember seeing you in the crowd when I was fighting. You were pumped, animated and always had a big smile on your face. When you get to Indianapolis, I want you to imagine you’re one of the fans. After the fight, throw your arms up like you used to and cheer. Hell, it doesn’t matter what you say, the crowd’ll be so loud they won’t hear you anyway. All they care about is that you’re having as good a time as they are.”
“I’ll look stupid,” Lucky argued.
“No you won’t. Trust me.” Dray hoped he was right. “In the meantime, I need you to make sure Brick sees a doctor about that cough.”
“Yeah, that’s some nasty shit. He spits stuff up all the time. Really gross.”
“Promise me you’ll get him in there, no matter what you have to do to make it happen.” Dray refused to tell Lucky what he was most afraid of. His uncle had died of lung cancer four years earlier, and Dray wouldn’t wish that kind of death on his fiercest enemy. He tried to soothe his fear by telling himself that Brick had never been a smoker, but just as quickly, he was reminded of all the smoky arenas he’d fought in. “You’ll let me know what the doctor says, right?”
“Me? Shouldn’t you ask Brick to do that?”
“Brick won’t tell me the truth and you know it,” Dray pointed out.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Lucky agreed. “Okay, I’ll call ya.”
“I’d appreciate it. Talk to you later and think about what I said.”
“Of course I will.”
“Good. Later.” Dray hung up the phone and smiled. Lucky’s voice was a lot deeper than he remembered. He sat back in his seat and opened the browser on his phone, wondering what the fans really thought of the fighter.
As soon as he typed Lucky Gunn into the search engine, a series of pictures popped up, all of them either videos of Lucky’s fights or candid shots of him with his arm around a woman. It didn’t escape Dray’s notice that a different woman seemed to be in each photograph, most of them with big tits and fake smiles.
He shook his head, knowing he was simply torturing himself for no other reason than to push thoughts of Lucky from his mind. How pitiful was he that he’d fallen in lust with a man on a screen.
A headline caught his eye, pulling his attention away from the bimbos. He clicked on a link titled ‘The Ice Man is Coming.’ What the hell? A mixed martial arts enthusiast who’d attended several of Lucky’s matches had written the article. It talked about the lack of emotion in Lucky, despite his winning record.
“Shit,” Dray groaned, knowing the fan was right. The article went on to say that by the time Lucky made it to the pros, he’d be devoid of all emotion, giving the UFC and the spectators an Ice Man for a contender. It also questioned whether the fans and the industry were doing Lucky a favor by supporting him at all and begged Lucky to seek professional help.
The damn thing was written by someone who obviously seemed to care more about the man than the fighter, something that warmed Dray’s heart. He considered reaching out to the author. Unfortunately, if the guy had followed the sport for long, he’d know exactly who Dray was and what had forced him out of the MMA world.
Dray turned the phone off and tossed it in the seat beside him. Before he could start his truck, the twink from earlier walked out of the bar alone. Dray rolled down his window. “Get in.”
Brandon stopped walking and smiled. “Change your mind?”
“Something like that.”
* * * *
Lucky tossed the phone onto the bed before swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. He walked three steps and opened the small refrigerator to retrieve a breakfast sandwich out of the pint-sized freezer.
“What’re you doing? I thought we were going out,” Sid said from the doorway.
“I’m over it,” Lucky replied, closing the door of the microwave. He set the timer before turning back to Sid. “I think I’m gonna stick around here and work on my upper cut.” The phone call with Dray had left him anxious, and he knew if he didn’t do something to soothe his nerves, he’d do something to get himself into trouble.
“That sucks. It’s one thing for you to still live in this rat hole, but not even Brick expects you to train twenty-four hours a day,” Sid argued.
“This isn’t about Brick—or you—so drop it.” He opened the steamer trunk at the foot of his bed and withdrew a clean pair of workout shorts. Without waiting for Sid to leave, he stripped out of his jeans and T-shirt.
Sid’s barb about the storage room where he still lived bugged him, but he wouldn’t give his buddy the satisfaction of discussing why he chose to stay at the gym instead of getting his own place. His bank account was healthy enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to spend it. Instead, he continued to clean The Brick Yard and live on the small salary Brick could afford to pay him. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that the storage room was the only real home he’d ever known. The roach-infested apartments his mom had rented had never been home, simply because he’d never felt welcomed.
He scanned the room as he sat on the bed and reached for his shoes. Although Brick had eventually moved most of the old junk out to give Lucky more space, it was still tight, too tight for a man to call home, but it was.
“You’re pathetic,” Sid grumbled, pulling a joint out of his coat pocket.
“Don’t light that shit up in here,” Lucky warned. It was one thing for Sid to get high but another for him to disrespect Brick by doing it inside the building.
Sid put the joint between his lips before retrieving his lighter. “You gonna stop me?”
Why the hell? Does Sid have a death wish? Lucky got to his feet and stalked toward his friend, hands fisted at his sides. “You know what this place means to me, so, yeah…I’ll stop you.”
“This fighting shit has gone to your head.” Sid spun around and walked out of the room. “Call me when you pull your head out of your ass.”
Lucky watched from the doorway until Sid had slipped out of the back door. It was getting harder and harder to hold onto Sid, but who else did he have other than Brick? “Fuck!” He bent over and tied his shoes. The need to fight was so strong that he’d nearly punched his only real friend. The microwave beeped, but he was no longer in the mood to eat.
He left the safety of his room and looked around the dark, empty gym. Christ. He felt so incredibly alone. For a brief moment, he considered calling Briley. She wasn’t what he considered a girlfriend, but she was fun to hang out with and more than willing to fuck whenever he needed it. No. Pussy definitely wasn’t what he needed.
Instead of taping his knuckles, he grabbed a pair of black gloves. He was used to fighting bare, but the UFC required the thinly-padded gloves be worn during a match. Brick had told him he needed to get used to the UFC rules, but Lucky had resisted because he knew if he allowed himself to want the UFC too much, it would hurt that much more when it was taken away. So far, he’d done well to keep the other half of himself buried, but he also knew it would only take one time with the wrong man to destroy everything. It was the reason he’d never allowed himself to give in to his desires.
He started with the speed bag to warm up. The monotonous rhythm always soothed him, allowing his mind to empty of everything that continued to press down on him. His fucking waste of a mo
ther was up for parole in a week and bad son or not, he prayed she didn’t get it. Pound. Pound. Pound. The sound and movement mesmerized him as he concentrated on the black swinging bag.
The one and only time he’d tried to visit his mom in prison, she’d refused to see him. Just as well. He’d only gone in the first place because Brick had told him he should. Lucky didn’t remember what had happened after he’d left the prison and met up with Sid. All he knew was that he’d woken in a hotel bed with three women, a hangover and an ashtray of marijuana roaches. Evidently, he’d been quite the stud—or so Sid had told him. By the time he’d arrived at the gym, looking like he’d been run over by the pussy train, Brick had been furious and had refused to speak to him for three days.
Lucky dropped his hands and took a step back. The speed bag wasn’t doing it for him. He sat on one of the weight benches and removed his shoes and socks before taking his frustration out on the wall mounted heavy bag. With each combination of punches and kicks, he began to feel his anxiety ebb.
Brick’s health was a problem that Lucky had tried to ignore. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the old man, just that he didn’t want to face the possibility that something was seriously wrong. Brick was more than a boss, landlord or trainer, he was the only one to ever show him an ounce of love.
“Fuck!” Lucky yelled to the empty gym as he continued to beat the hell out of the bag.
Chapter Two
Lucky sat across the table from Briley, who was busy trying to decide what to order. He didn’t bother with the menu since he never ordered from it. The cook and owner, Mac, was a sports nut who’d followed the fighters coming out of The Brick Yard for years. It helped that Mac’s Diner was right next door to the gym.
“The usual?” Trish, the waitress, asked.
“Yeah.” Lucky pulled his phone out of his pocket while Briley ordered. He still didn’t know why he’d asked her to meet him. Probably something to do with the fact that he didn’t want to be alone. “You mind if I step outside and make a call?”
Briley picked up her own phone and started scrolling through it, something that usually annoyed him. “Not at all,” she said without looking up.
Coat in hand, Lucky scooted out of the booth and headed for the door. He retrieved Dray’s number and waited. It wasn’t a call he looked forward to, but one he couldn’t put off any longer.
“Hey,” Dray answered.
“You gotta minute?” Lucky walked around the side of the building to shield himself from the brutally cold Chicago wind.
“I’ve got twenty of them until my next appointment. What’s up?”
“I took Brick back to the doctor yesterday. According to him, the doc said it was bronchitis, but I’ve been around too many dirt bags to know when someone’s lying to my face. So, I called the doctor this afternoon.”
“Did you find out anything?” Dray asked.
“No, something about privacy laws.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Lucky agreed. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to talk to Dray. Between the deep raspy timbre of Dray’s voice and his perfectly muscled body, Lucky hadn’t stopped dreaming about Dray since finding him in the shower with Vince.
“You still there?” Dray asked.
“Yeah,” Lucky replied. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do but watch him and wait for him to open up.”
“The food’s ready,” Briley said, rounding the corner.
Lucky nodded. “Give me a sec.”
She smiled and disappeared back around the side of the building.
“You with someone?” Dray asked.
“Yeah. I’m having dinner at Mac’s with a friend.” Lucky didn’t feel the need to qualify his relationship with Briley. Hell, he didn’t even know if they had a relationship. Briley was a cool chick who liked to fuck and cuddle on the couch as they watched movies. Never had he thought he’d be the kind of man to cuddle, but she’d shown him how comforting it was. He wasn’t expected to talk or pour out what the hell was bothering him. All Briley wanted was for him to hold her.
“Christ, I haven’t been to Mac’s in years. Is it still as good?” Dray asked.
“Same old Mac’s.” Lucky grinned. Although Brick had kept him out of trouble and had given him a place to sleep during his teenage years, it had been Mac who’d fed him most nights. He still remembered Mac knocking on the backdoor of the gym on the nights Lucky slept over. He’d never been sure if Mac stopped by daily or if Brick had informed him when Lucky needed a place to sleep, but Mac had never failed to drop off leftovers. There’d been many times when Mac’s generosity had been Lucky’s only meal of the day.
“I’d tell you to say hi for me, but I doubt Mac would give a shit.”
Lucky’s eyebrows drew together at the troubled quality of Dray’s voice. “You know that none of us think badly of you, right? I mean…what went down with the fans was one thing, but the folks around here thought of you as family.”
Dray made a noise Lucky couldn’t decipher. “I tried to tell Mac goodbye and he was so pissed he refused to talk to me.”
“You shittin’ me?” A combination of anger and disbelief filled Lucky. He couldn’t believe Mac would do something like that, but he was sure as hell going to speak to the old man about it.
“No, but I don’t blame him. He fed me like he did you.” Dray chuckled. “You didn’t think I knew about that, did ya?”
“You’re the one who told Mac when I was spending the night in the storage room?” Lucky closed his eyes and turned to face the wall of the building. He had no doubt his emotions were clearly visible on his face.
Dray chuckled again. “No, that wasn’t me. Brick always left the front window light on when you stayed over. It was different with me. The first time Mac gave me food was after I showed up at the gym to work and passed out from hunger before I could do my job. Brick marched me over to Mac’s and bought me the first steak I’d ever eaten. Mac took one look at me, shook his head, and informed me that a diner has a lot of prepared food left over at the end of the night. He made it clear that I was to stop by before going home to pick up some of the food that would go to waste.” He sighed heavily. “I fed three people with that doggie bag. Thanks to Mac, me, my mom and my little brother Frankie never went to bed hungry.”
Although Lucky felt better knowing he wasn’t Mac’s only charity case, he began to wonder if Jax, Brick’s youngest employee, was also on the receiving end of Mac’s generosity. An ache started in Lucky’s chest at the thought of Jax needing a safe place to sleep and being unable to take refuge at the gym because Lucky was too afraid to move on. He knew from Brick that Jax’s mother had taken off years ago. Maybe Jax needed the safety of the gym as much as Lucky had. “Has Brick told you about Jax?”
“Yeah, and Leon before that. Brick can’t turn away someone in need,” Dray replied.
Leon? Lucky remembered the skinny African American kid who used to sweep the gym and handle the laundry, but Leon had been a brainiac who’d earned a full-ride scholarship and had taken off for college as soon as he’d graduated high school. “What was the story with Leon?”
“Why don’t you already know?” Dray asked.
“I don’t know.” Lucky felt like the biggest piece of shit in Chicago. “Tell me.”
“Brick found him asleep behind the dumpster one morning. After that, Leon crashed on that piece-of-shit couch in Brick’s apartment.”
Lucky swallowed around the lump of self-hatred in his throat. He was almost afraid to ask about the new kid, but knew he had to do it. “And Jax?”
“His father likes to drink, gets mad, and takes it out on Jax. He came to Brick to learn how to defend himself.”
Lucky’s nose burned as tears filled his eyes. He pounded his fist against the wall. He needed to get off the phone before Dray realized what a bastard he’d been to the kids. “Thanks for the information. I’ll give you a call if anything changes with Brick.”
“Hey,” Dray sai
d before Lucky could hang up. “Anytime you need to talk, you can call me. It doesn’t have to be about Brick.”
“Thanks.” Lucky didn’t know what else to say.
“And now that you know the truth about Jax, pay it forward,” Dray added before disconnecting the call.
Lucky wiped the back of his hand over his eyes before shoving the phone into his pocket. He went back inside but didn’t stop at his table. Instead, he walked straight to the kitchen. He found Mac standing at the grill, looking much younger than his seventy plus years. “Dray said to tell you hi.”
Mac turned around slowly and narrowed his eyes. “So he’s not dead after all?”
“He said he came in here to tell you goodbye and you refused to speak to him.” Lucky leaned back against the prep table and crossed his arms over his chest. Although Mac had done a lot of good in his life, Lucky wasn’t sure he could forgive him for being a fucking bigot.
“Dray could’ve easily taken the UFC title, but instead of standing up to the assholes who wanted to bring him down, he tucked his tail between his legs and ran.”
“The fans would’ve never accepted who he was,” Lucky argued.
“We’ll never know, will we? Fact is, he didn’t care enough to try and make them accept him. He gave up. I can’t stomach a quitter,” Mac said, before turning back to the grill.
“It isn’t easy to admit who you are, knowing the people you care about won’t accept it,” Lucky mumbled.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, kid, and in the meantime, apologize to your girlfriend for making her eat alone.” Mac glanced over his shoulder. “Now get the fuck outta my kitchen.”
* * * *
Instead of going home with Briley, Lucky headed back to the gym. As he’d assumed, Jax was sitting in the laundry room doing his homework. “Hey,” he greeted from the doorway.
