I nodded.
“Of course, it’s the only interest he has in me.”
I really hadn’t meant for that to come out sounding as pathetic as it did.
“Is it rent, or is something getting shut off?”
“No telling. I think it’s about the rent this time though. Mr. Riley has been by three times this week looking for him.”
Riley was their landlord. If he didn’t have a soft spot for Callie they would have been on the street a long time ago. He was a good guy, but he really didn’t like my father, and I really didn’t blame him.
“Any idea how much he owes him?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“He hasn’t worked in over a month. I don’t know if he got fired again, or if he quit, but I know he’s been here every day when he should be at work. I’m not going to ask him, you know how he gets.”
“Shit. Will you write down Riley’s number for me before I go?”
“Braxton, you can’t keep taking care of him.”
“I’m not taking care of him, Callie. I’m taking care of you. Just give me the number, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed.
“I’m going to give you some money to get some groceries too, but don’t tell him you have it. Go get them today so that he doesn’t find the money and spend it.”
“We’re okay on groceries,” she said again.
“Callie… Go buy groceries. If you need a ride, call me. Get some good stuff too. You’re still a kid, you need to eat right.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“Six more months and I’ll be a legal adult.”
“Look out world,” I said with a grin.
I was kidding though. She was a good kid and really smart. My stupid father didn’t know how lucky he was that she wasn’t pregnant or on drugs with no more supervision than she had. Once she was out of this crappy environment she was going to go far. I looked at the time then and realized it was almost eleven.
“I gotta go. What’s Riley’s number?”
I put it in my phone. Then I took five twenties out of my wallet and laid it on the table in front of her.
“Buy meat and vegetables.”
“Sure mom,” she laughed.
I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Call me if you need anything else.”
“I will, Braxton. Thanks.”
I hated leaving her there.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMMI
Braxton left the paper tickets for me and Zoe like he said he would. I smiled when I saw his little note. I did wish him luck. The last thing I wanted to watch was him get his pretty ass kicked. Our conversation had been a little stilted and awkward that morning. I think he was really embarrassed about the stuff with his dad the day before. I was sorry he felt that way. He had nothing to be embarrassed about and I wasn’t judging him at all. If anything it gave me more respect for the man he had turned out to be in spite of it. I could understand him being uncomfortable with me knowing all of that though. It was cute how his face changed when he talked about his sister. I could tell that he loved her a lot.
I had another rally to photograph that morning so I left not long after he did. I got finished long before the time for his match. It was pathetic, really. I missed him already.
How much longer could I fight the urge to give in? Ugh.
Why did he have to be nice?
I got back home in the early afternoon and I had plenty of time to get ready for the match. I told myself that I was acting like I was going on a date while I agonized over what to wear. I finally settled on pair of jeans because it had started getting cooler in the evenings. I remembered that his shorts were green so to show my support I picked out a green t-shirt and I wore my green converse shoes.
I may not be his girlfriend, but I can be his number one fan, I guess.
Zoe picked me up and we talked about her and Mike and some of her friends from the sorority on the way. It was a refreshing change from talking about me and Braxton and what was not going to happen between us for a change.
The line was long again outside and once we got in I could feel the charge of electricity that hung invisible in the air. I told the bouncer at the door when he asked about my camera that I was taking pictures for the school paper. He led us to a seat up front to the right of the octagon. I got the camera ready when I heard the announcer call the first fight. Braxton was fighting third according to the board.
The first two guys beat each other into a bloody mess. It was hard for me to tell which one won, but the referee grabbed the left arm of the one in the yellow shorts and announced him as the winner. The crowd was yelling and the guy was smiling. Blood trickled down his chin as he did and I got a great shot of that. I enlisted Zoe’s help to enter the names of the fighters into the notebook on my phone and the numbers of the photos so that I didn’t get them mixed up later.
The next two guys were the opposite of the first two. It seemed like neither of them could get a kick or a punch to connect. I don’t know if it was luck or if the guy was just well rested after dancing around for a couple of rounds without being hit, but all it took him when he did connect was one punch to knock the other guy to the floor. He didn’t have a scratch on him when I took his victory photo.
Braxton was next and before they even called his name I could feel my stomach flutter. I heard the crowd roar before I saw him coming out with his Goliath of a trainer. The music boomed and I think it was that song from that old Rocky movie with Sylvester Stallone. I could see feminine hands reaching out to touch him as he jogged by. At least he didn’t reach back, but I’m sure it had to be good for his ego to know all of those girls were dying to touch him. Although it wasn’t like he had any ego problems to start with.
I was staring at him as he warmed up in his corner. Zoe poked me in the ribs.
“Um… Aren’t you supposed to be taking pictures?”
“Shut up,” I told her, snapping one just to make her happy.
She giggled. I snapped a few more then, getting a few action ones as he did an air punch.
Braxton and his opponent who was about the same age and size as him met in the middle with the referee. He went over the rules of engagement with them and they bumped hands and went back to their corners. Then when the bell rang they both came out fighting. I was snapping photos rapidly at first, but then I got caught up in the action and once again forgot what I was supposed to be doing.
Braxton threw the first punch that connected. I heard the smack of flesh as his hand met the side of the guy’s head. I absently touched my head there and felt thick skull. I wondered how his hands didn’t hurt like hell, especially since he had smacked the wall with that same one last night. He followed that jab with a succession of punches, three in all. Each of those smacked flesh and bone as well- the other guy seemed temporarily stunned and unable to think clearly enough to move away from the next punch that he had to know was coming. He did finally come around. He and Braxton traded punch for punch and knees to the gut or the flank evenly. It was almost like watching a perfectly choreographed ballet, only a lot more violent.
As I snapped a few more pictures I could see in the zoom frame that Braxton’s knuckles were bloody. His trainer was cleaning them while he was in his corner, and Braxton was sitting calmly and chugging an energy drink. He seemed to be all in his own head. I guessed that was good. All the chaos around him would have to be distracting if he wasn’t.
The bell rang for the second round and this time things got more intense. Punches were flying again from both sides, but I also counted three kicks and a jab to the kidneys that seemed to me should have been illegal. Maybe it was. Either way by the end of that round, Braxton was looking a little less like a hot guy and a little more bedraggled. He had a cut above his left eye that was bleeding profusely. I almost couldn’t take that photo. Zoe was telling me that I should and that’s what I was here for, but watching him bleed was bad enough.
Did I really want to save it for posterity?
Instead I watched as Sam patched him up and put a bandage over the top of his eyelid to stop the bleeding. Braxton’s face was neutral throughout it all; I didn’t even see him flinch. His hands were full-on bloody now and I was starting to feel physical pain just looking at him. The crowd loved it, getting more excited with each bloody blow. The men were yelling for their favorite, most of them favoring Braxton, “the hometown boy,” and the women of course were mostly yelling for him too. I was close enough this time that I could see girls being dragged away from the cage as they ran up and tried to talk to him between rounds. One girl ran up and pulled up her shirt. Her naked boobs were flopping as she was dragged out by the bouncers. Braxton must have really been in the zone, because he didn’t even seem to notice.
Braxton’s opponent looked as torn up as he did. That was the only saving grace. When the bell rang for the third round I got a good look at the guy. The cut over Braxton’s eye was nothing compared to this guy. His trainer had tried to patch him up, but only minutes later the heavy skin that had been torn from his lid had weighed down the butterfly strips and torn them loose all over again. The poor guy looked like he was having trouble seeing past the flap of skin hanging down over his eyeball. I had to wonder for the hundredth time at least, why? Why would anyone subject themselves to this? It’s like the old adage about firefighters running into a burning building while everyone else ran away from it. Don’t most “normal’ people also run away from a fight? It made me wonder what was in him that made him want to do this. Was it really only about the muscle and the popularity, or was it about what I had seen take place between him and his dad? That would have to instill a lot of anger in a person and a lot of hurt. I heard his dad call him an awful name and I was only there for five minutes of the fight. It could also come from losing his mom at an age when he probably really needed her. Or, Braxton could be right and I should be a counselor. Jeez, listen to me. I focused my attention back on the ring.
Braxton and his opponent were dancing around each other, neither of them really throwing any hard punches yet, just a light tap here and there. I wondered if it was exhaustion or just not having it in you to feel pain any longer. I guess I was wrong on both counts. After about two minutes of dancing and dodging, eye-flap guy suddenly lunged and grabbed Braxton around the waist using his body weight and momentum to drive him backwards until Brax lost his footing and fell to the floor, hard. I saw his head bounce twice, he hit tremendously hard. The second time his head bounced up though, he used his own momentum to connect his forehead with his opponents. What the referee saw was that Braxton’s head was still moving from being taken down, and the guy on top of him who was trying to pin him down got his forehead in the way of Braxton’s as it bounced up off the floor. Whether that was the way it happened or not, only Braxton knew the truth.
The head butt may not have stung as much had it not completely ripped opened the already precariously dangling flap of skin over the guy’s eye. Blood was gushing out of the other guy’s face like a geyser. It flooded both of his eyes in a fraction of a second and that was enough to stun him so that Braxton could flip him over and take a dominant position above him. As soon as the guy’s bloody face hit the floor, everyone in the warehouse knew it was over. They were screaming and the announcer was already blaring a victory song. The noise in the old warehouse was almost deafening as Braxton pinned him. It looked like more of a ceremonial act than anything else, his opponent had already submitted.
The referee walked over and took Braxton by the arm, holding it near his elbow. Braxton stood up next to him. His gorgeous face was bruised and the spot above his eye was bloody. His knuckles were saturated with blood, a mixture of his opponent’s and his own, and the blood from the other guy’s eyeball still ran deliberately down the back of Braxton’s arm. As the referee lauded him as the winner, the crowd was going wild, screaming his name, and Braxton was pumping the other bloody fist in the air. He was smiling and I felt thrilled for him. The announcer was trying to say something about him going on to the round of sixteen, but it was impossible to hear over the wild roar of the crowd.
I swear there were girls in the audience around me that were practically swooning as they used to say in the old days. Looking at him up there to me provoked a whole slew of emotions. I wasn’t into the violence, so I shuddered at the sight of all that blood. I was sure the adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the pain of his cuts and bruises too deeply now, but I ached when I thought about the pain he would wake up with the next day. I wondered what he was thinking right then, if he was thinking at all about me. Something about the quickness of his breathing and the seductive sheen of sweat that covered his chest turned me on like nothing before. I knew he was happy, and again, I was glad for him. The things his father said had to have hurt his self-confidence whether he admitted it or not. This must have restored it.
As I stood there, subconsciously matching the rhythm of the rise and fall of my chest with his, Zoe tapped me on the shoulder.
“Aren’t you supposed to be taking pictures?” she shouted over the echoing noise.
I wanted to smack her in the head, but she was right. I picked up my camera and moved closer to the octagon, snapping photos of his face and his body as he stood up there on his pedestal, holding court to those of us who stood below him and watched in rapt adulation. He saw me at last and he winked. I giggled like a young school girl. Zoe was right, I wanted him… bad.
CHAPTER NINE
BRAXTON
I was so pumped after that fight that I probably shouldn’t have even been driving. I wondered if it was illegal to drive under the influence of adrenaline. If it was, I was clearly way over the legal limits. I was going to the round of sixteen, and I had unmistakably been the crowd favorite. I saw more naked bouncing tits than a fly in a girl’s locker room. Naked boobs are always a thrill, but what was even more exciting was seeing Emmi in the second row from the front. She looked gorgeous, as usual, but what was more thrilling than anything else was the way that she seemed to not be able to take her eyes off of me. It was kind of a turn on to watch her snap all of those pictures of me when I was announced the winner. I had to wonder if she would save a few for herself.
I was afraid I’d blown my chance the other day on our picnic, when she told me that she would only be with me if I was able to commit. I had sat there like a mute for a full minute, or more, not knowing what to say. The thought of it scared me to death, but not for the reasons that she thought. Emmi was thinking that I didn’t want to commit because I wasn’t ready to give up the endless parade of fresh meat that came my way. That wasn’t it though. I can honestly say that I would give it all up to be with her, that’s how much I like her, how much I want her. But what I’m afraid of is screwing up. What if I slip and she finds out and I hurt her the way that other guy did? Could I live with doing that to sweet, vulnerable Emmi? I wasn’t sure that I could and until I was sure, she was right. I needed to leave her alone.
The apartment looked dark when I opened the door so I thought she was already in bed or that she had gone home with her friend Zoe. The kitchen light was on though so I went in there and I found her. She had taken off her make-up and put on her little t-shirt and boy shorts that she sleeps in. She had out the bread, lunchmeat, and mustard and looked to be fixing herself a late night snack. I stopped in the doorway and just watched her for a minute. God, she was gorgeous, but the most enticing thing to me was that she didn’t seem to know just how amazing she was. She knew I was there, but took a few minutes to look up. When she did, she smiled and I think my heart skipped two beats.
“You want a sandwich?” she asked.
Even without the make-up she was still breathtaking.
“Really?” I asked her, moving closer into the kitchen. “You just watched me seriously kick some ass and you heard them say I was moving on to the round of sixteen and all you can say is ‘Do you want a sandwich?’”
; She tried to keep a straight face as she spread the mustard around on the bread, but finally she grinned and that was when I knew she was yanking my chain.
Giggling first she said, “You were awesome. I don’t even like fights but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the action. It’s kind of addictive, I think. I got some really great shots too and I missed a lot of really great ones I’m sure because I was so wrapped up in it. Thank God for Zoe or I may have forgotten about the camera all-together. I have to ask you one more favor though, I was wondering if you’re not too tired if I could get a few more of you all cleaned up for the paper?”
I leaned back against the wall and unbuttoned a few of the buttons of the shirt I was wearing. She rolled her eyes.
“I take that as a yes?” she asked, leaning back against the counter.
“Yes,” I said.
I liked the way that she didn’t let me get away with my egotistical stuff like other girls did, believe it or not. It was sexy when she put me in my place. It showed me that she had her own mind and I liked that. She grabbed her camera off the table and started taking shots. I posed for a few and for others I just stood there and enjoyed watching her move around me. She started a few feet away, but each one she shot she got a little bit closer. After a few shots she was only inches away from me and I told myself this was it. I had to have her. The doubts were all gone. This was the girl I wanted, the one that I’d been waiting for. I suddenly believed in my heart and my head that I was ready to do whatever I had to do to keep her. I reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her right up to me.
“What are you doing?” she groaned.
She was trying to sound stern, but I could feel how quick and shallow her breaths were becoming.
“What we need is a picture of the two of us, together… We need a beginning of the relationship selfie…”
She looked at me like she wasn’t sure if I was being serious or if it was a bad joke. I was holding onto her around her waist and she was looking at me with curious eyes like I was an enigma, when in truth I was a pretty simple guy. I had no layers. I wanted this girl, but not the way I usually want girls. At least not JUST the way I usually wanted girls. As I slid my hand down her arm towards the camera she held in her hand, I could feel the goose bumps that my touch put there. Instead of that making me feel cocky and arrogant like it normally did, it made me feel warm inside. That feeling spread down into my stomach and of course I wasn’t a completely reformed man… it went straight to my groin.
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