Harold only made it some fifty feet before collapsing for the last time. Dean walked to within a step of the man. He could smell death...blood, urine, and adrenaline mixed together, and clicked on the camera once again. He then bent over and backed away while still videoing the bloody lump on the sand. As he retreated in the awkward position he thought of the shot, thought how great it looked, and thought Tarantino would be proud.
After Eck and Dean were gone and before the wolves and vultures descended, Harold lay waiting to die and thought of Dana. He hoped she’d be okay, would be able to hold things together.
He thought of Sherry and Amanda, that night with the Chinese food at his office. The day he met Sherry. Their wedding day. She was so beautiful. The first time he saw Amanda play soccer. The night at the hospital when he first held tiny Amanda in his arms. How she smelled strangely like vanilla and something else, maybe lavender.A hard lump now formed in his swollen throat.It may have been worse than any pain Eck and Dean inflicted, and at the thought of his daughter he choked out a low sob.How he wished he could see them, hold them both one more time.
Chapter 21
Rodrigo glanced at Bretten. “I know the douche bag said he was sorry and he’s going through a bunch of crap, but I still got a bad vibe about him.”
Tristan sat on the edge of the boxing ring. He drank his water and appeared lost in thought, oblivious to his surroundings. Jed and Marty sipped coffee and sat in a folding chair visiting with Whit. Newcomb lounged on the mat stretching out a perpetually stiff back muscle.
Brooke and Doc walked in side by side, and in a voice that was a good imitation of the older man she bellowed, “Alright, let’s get settled down. I want to welcome everybody—”
“You are such a pain in my ass, Brooke Simms,” Doc said.
Everyone laughed at her spot on imitation and Doc pressed on. “Alright, let’s settle down, I...” he paused when he realized he was saying the exact same thing as Brooke. “I just want to say that it is very good that you all could make it this morning.”
The group busted up at his feeble attempt to change his usual words. All except for Tristan, he wanted to, but couldn’t even bring himself to smile. He spoke to his father last night. His dad didn’t even sound himself. Hollow, weak, nothing like Tristan remembered.
He’d planned on going to see him this weekend, but after the call decided to move it up. He was leaving after the morning training session. A session he thought would do little good because his head wouldn’t be in it.
Doc continued. “Lately we’ve talked about searching for success and what success meant. Today I’d like to start with the other side of the coin. This is a harsh business and we can’t be successful all the time, not even close. I’m curious to hear how do you deal with failure?”
The group talked on the subject at length. They discussed the emotions that accompanied losing. How losing was really the result of many other failures. Improper training, inability to reach potential, a lack of knowledge, fear, all were seen as paths to failure, especially when the difference between winning and losing was razor thin.
There was a lull in the discussion and Tristan, who had not yet spoken said, “There is also the ultimate loss, death. It is something we have to think about in this sport. It’s hard on us and takes its toll. It has taken its toll on my dad. I know I’ve been an asshole lately. Well probably I am most of the time, but my father’s really sick. He isn’t going to live much longer.”
Tristan paused. “Yeah man, Brooke told us about it after the deal with you and Bretten,” Newcomb said. “We’re sorry to hear about it.”
Tristan looked around the room and then squarely at Brooke. “You told them, what the hell is wrong with you. I told you in confidence.” Tristan’s eyes turned hard. “You’ve been screwing up my life for a long time now Brooke. I don’t care about your bullshit sob story, and you’re at least part of the reason he’s about to die. I should have never dated you and he should have left you in the fucking alley.”
Brooke looked as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Don’t talk to me that way Tristan, you have no right.”
“And you had no right!”
Bretten pointed at Tristan who was now standing. “That’s enough. This isn’t helping anybody.”
For the first time ever the Thursday morning group was falling apart. Tristan raised his voice. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be here. I should be with my father,” as he spoke he walked toward the front door. “You remember him, Brooke? The one that pretty much saved your life.”
Tears formed in Brooke’s eyes, but she kept them from spilling onto her cheeks. The tinted windows shook as Tristan slammed the front door. Whit followed.
Doc looked around the room at the stressed faces. “Well does anybody want to say anything?”
Some shook their heads and others just looked at each other. There wasn’t much left to do but cut the group short and get to training. Everybody had lost their desire to talk.
Chapter 22
Bear waited impatiently for Bretten to come to the phone. He knew it would take some time even though he told the girl he absolutely had to talk to him right away. On the other end of the line Whit’s gym was easing into the daily routine. The fighters warmed up and the coaches prepared for the training session. Finally, Bretten made his way to the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hello Bretten, Bear here, how are things going?”
“Well actually they are a little wild right now. Your boy Tristan is having a rough time because of his dad and taking it out on whoever he can.”
“Taking it out? What do you mean?”
“First he freaking attacked me while we were grappling, and then about thirty minutes ago he went off on Brooke and stormed out of here.”
Bear envisioned his world crumbling because of the events unfolding at Whit’s. “I’ll make sure and call him when I’m off with you.”
“I’d be careful. He might try to come through the phone if you say the wrong thing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, I’m calling because I have some really interesting news.”
“What kind of interesting news?”
“SRV fights wants you to replace Mason Grimes and fight Adrian Davis for their welterweight title in eight days!”
Bear was met with a long silence. “You there Bretten?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m here. Seriously? For the title? What about Champions of the Cage?”
“Neither contract is exclusive. You can fight in both because of the wording I ensured was used.”
“How much are they offering?”
“Five thousand with a five thousand dollar win bonus.”
“That sounds really good Bear.”
“It’s not bad, but you put on a good showing and it won’t be long before it seems like chump change. Davis is a very good fighter. Let me give you the rest of the particulars then you can talk it over with Whit.”
They spoke for a few more minutes and Bretten hung up with his head still spinning. By the time he returned to the wrestling mat Whit was back, but Tristan was nowhere in sight. Bretten made his way to his coach. “Do you think I’m ready to fight Adrian Davis in eight days for the SRV fights belt?”
Whit raised his eyebrows and searched Bretten’s face to ensure he wasn’t blowing smoke, maybe an odd way to try and lighten the mood.
“Absolutely no way you’re ready to fight him.”
The words stung. In his head he’d already accepted the fight, but if Whit said no he would turn it down. The man continued. “But you weren’t ready to fight Kim in Korea and you came within inches of beating him, so I say let’s get ready over the next week then drive down I-35 and get a belt.”
Bretten pumped his fist. “Yes, that’s what I was hoping to hear.”
“Call Bear and let him know. I’ll talk to Doc and we’ll get busy on a game plan.”
Bretten headed for his phone and on the way was stopped by Rodr
igo. “What’s going on bro?”
“Nothing much, except I’m fighting for the SRV Fights belt next week.”
Rodrigo’s offered the same face as Whit only a moment before, and then said, “Sweet.”
Chapter 23
The sidewalk was marred with cracks. In spots it dipped or jutted when it was supposed to remain smooth. Brooke and Bretten walked along the crumbling path. Above them the wind whistled through the tree branches that offered an almost unbroken leafless cover.
Brooke’s brown hair was pulled tight into a short pony tail and she absentmindedly turned the two DVD’s over and over in her hand. She’d liked the action flick more than the romance-comedy.
Bretten ran his hand over his own much shorter dark locks and broke the silence. “So you want to get a couple more movies?”
“Might as well, what else are we going to do? Probably help to take your mind off next weekend anyway.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” He paused and tugged on his shirt tale with his thumb and forefinger in an effort to work up courage. “Something else that’s been on my mind, and you don’t have to tell me, but what’s the deal with you and Tristan, and all that stuff he said?”
Brooke glanced toward the leafless branches and beyond them to the gray sky. She’d tried so hard to leave the terrible emotions of her childhood behind, tried to push Bretten away, but here she was. She didn’t answer right away, just kept staring at the grayness.
“I don’t know what happened,” Bretten continued, “but I’m not going to judge you, no matter what.”
After a deep breath Brooke said, “Fair enough,” stepped over a rough patch in the sidewalk, and began telling Bretten things she never planned on telling him.
“Early on I lived in a pretty normal house. My dad worked in a factory making replacement parts for heavy machinery, the same one his dad worked in, and my mom stayed at home. We didn’t have much money and the house was small, but it suited us fine.”
“Okay, so far I see no problems.” Bretten smiled.
“It was fine until my dad was laid off. The economy was great if you were in the information age, not so much though if you were stuck in the industrial age, and that was where my father was. He didn’t have any skills. He never even graduated from high school; quit his senior year to go work with his dad. He searched everywhere for something that would keep us afloat, drove all over Northeast Kansas from Topeka, to Kansas City and everywhere in between.”
“He couldn’t find anything? What about your mom?” Bretten asked. “Did she start working?”
“That’s when the trouble really started. She wanted to look for a job, but got sick. I mean really sick. We were already stretched thin. My dad took her to the doctor and she was in the hospital for a few days with severe pneumonia. She was given shots and medicine and told she should get better.
“The combination of no insurance, no money, my mom being so sick, with all of it my dad was unable to pay the mortgage. I remember it clearly. Like two days after my ninth birthday we were out of the house with nowhere to go. No relatives, no help, we were on our own and my mom was still sick. We pulled out of the driveway and I stroked the mane of the stuffed pony my parents got me for my birthday, my only present that year. I whispered in its ear, ‘It’s going to be alright.’”
Still hand in hand they’d made it to the Redbox outside of the store. They sat down on an old wooden bench covered in flaking gray paint that flawlessly matched the sky. The light from the store kept the approaching night at bay. They sat just inside its glow. “So was everything alright?”
Brooke really didn’t want to continue, but then again she wanted to tell Bretten, and this scared her. She hadn’t let anybody get close for a long time. She pulled a piece of the paint off the bench and rolled it between her fingers before flicking it to the ground.
“Not even close. We just drove around looking for any way to make a little bit of money. My parents kept hoping they’d get help from the state. They’d applied for assistance, but the process was slow. My dad had only been out of work for a few months.”
“Sounds like you guys really were on your own.”
“Totally, my dad would find an odd job here or there. He’d help a crew paint a house, or build a fence, anything for a few bucks. But those were few and far between. Pretty soon, in between those jobs we sat on corners and begged for money. It was surreal. Not long ago everything was fine and now we were reduced to begging for our existence.”
“Jesus, Brooke, I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry.”
“We made our way to Kansas City because my parents figured it would be easier to find something there. They talked of saving enough to get an apartment so I could finish out the school year. But my mom was feeling worse instead of better. She was out of medicine. We had no money, no place to go, nothing.”
“Did you take her to a hospital?”
“No, you see my dad had grown more and more frustrated. Became distant, didn’t talk, he was always frowning with a far off look in his eyes. One day we sat in our only possession, the old minivan, and my dad said he was going out to scrounge some food. He kissed me on the forehead and I remember the words exactly, ‘I’m sorry about this Princess.’ I thought he was talking about the whole situation. But he didn’t come back that evening. My mom was in pain, asleep in the back. I tried to help her and waited for my dad. He wasn’t back the next morning and I was scared. He wasn’t back that evening either and my mom was so sick, chills, burning up. I could tell she was in horrible pain.”
“My God Brooke, he left just like that.”
“I guess. Either that or something happened to him. I still don’t know to this day. Strangely, I’d like to think something happened to him. Anyway, I was hungry and figured my mom needed some water and maybe something to eat, so I left the van. I stayed in the shadows and made my way to a convenience store with bars on the windows. A group of men stood on the sidewalk, smoking and drinking liquor. I thought I must’ve fit in because they barely gave me a second look.”
“Why didn’t you ask anybody for help?”
“I tried, told the fat slob behind the counter. He looked at me and yelled, ‘Get the hell out of my store.’ I grabbed a handful of candy bars and a bottle of Sprite and ran for the door. He was quicker than I thought and grabbed me as I started to push it open. I twisted and part of my raggedy shirt ripped off. I spun again and tumbled into the parking lot. The drinkers laughed as the man screamed behind me, but I guess he was too lazy to chase me for such a small amount of stuff, either that or he knew better than to leave the store.”
Brooke paused for a second and Bretten noticed her eyes were moist. He squeezed her hand in his and rubbed it with his other. She continued. “Scared to death I made it back to the van. I tried to wake my mom. Told her I had some food and something to drink, but she wouldn’t wake up. Finally, I choked down a candy bar and cuddled up beside her. I was exhausted from everything and fell asleep fast. When I woke it was still dark, but I could tell it was almost morning. Then I realized my mother felt cold. I shook her, tried to wake her again and again, rested my ear against her chest listening for her heart. Nothing...”
Brooke stopped, unable to say more. Bretten stared at the woman he now knew he was crazy about and saw that nine-year-old girl, saw the moment as if it happened only hours ago. He had a lump in his throat but managed to say, “I don’t understand. She passed away...from pneumonia?”
He could only imagine she had a lump in her throat too, but she wiped a tear from her cheek and plunged on with more courage than he knew he could muster if the story was reversed. “As far as I can tell, when I was a teenager I looked into it, the pneumonia made her susceptible to bacteria in the blood. And that is what actually took her.”
“So you were on your own all of a sudden. What did you do?”
“I panicked. I ran from the car screaming for help from one street to the next. I blindly turned into an alley and ran into two o
f the men I’d seen at the convenience store. One of them grabbed me and looked me up and down. He said he’d remembered me from earlier and that a young little thing like me shouldn’t be running the streets. He said, ‘Something bad might happen, like you could get raped.’”
“Brooke, please don’t tell me...”
“No, it didn’t happen, but it would have. The other one laughed and said something like that wasn’t a bad idea. I tried to run but they trapped me up against a dumpster. I started to scream and realized that nobody would hear me. One of them grabbed my wrist and the other ripped at my shirt. I tried to fight saying no, no, no, no over and over. The one who had my wrist started tugging on my jeans. I was completely terrified, and then a back door opened.
“A man with short gray hair and muscular tattoo-covered arms stood in a tank top and shorts with no shoes. He held a couple bags of trash and I could tell he was trying to process the scene. I gasped. ‘Help me, please help me!’ And before I got out the please he’d dropped the bags and was on top of the men. He punched one then kicked the other, and then picked up and slammed the first into the concrete. I was sure he was dead because he just laid there not moving. He then punched the one he’d just kicked and jumped on him. In a matter of seconds that man was motionless too.”
“I’m confused. Who was this guy?”
“I was confused, too. I’d curled up into a ball against the wall. He swept me up and carried me through the door he’d come out of a moment before. He led me down a hallway into a dimly lit room. It smelled of sweat and I realized it was some kind of gym.”
“So it was Scott Holmes? He saved you and that’s how you came to live with him?”
“It wasn’t quite as simple as that, but yeah that’s pretty much how it happened.”
“I don’t understand then, how did you guys have a falling out?”
“There’s more to the story, but let’s get a couple movies first. I didn’t want this, but needed it, needed to tell you.”
Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book Two) Page 8
