Dad always made time for us boys, even though he worked crazy hours and travelled. Anytime he could, he would play ball with us, or just hang out and talk, man to man. Or in our case, man to boys. He wanted to make sure that we knew of how to take care of ourselves, so he put us into mixed martial arts. It really taught the three of us strength, agility and focus. In addition to the MMA, Dad felt it was important for us to serve in the military to learn discipline. Both Carter and I enlisted at the age of eighteen. I served four tours and Carter two, in the Special Forces, with each tour becoming more difficult than the last.
Deacon opted to stay back and fight in the cage. MMA was and is in his blood, fueling his passion. I sit on the edge of my bed to pull on my socks, remembering being in the barracks when I got the call saying there was an emergency at home. Both Carter and I had been allowed to use our Sergeants office as we called home, my hands shaking as I dialed. Both of us had thought about the fact that there was always the possibility that Mom and Dad would have received a call about us, but we’d never thought the roles would be reversed. I’d put the phone on speaker, both Carter and I standing with our arms across our chests, with similar frowns furrowing our brows. We’d reached dad who was beside himself with worry.
Seems that Deacon had gotten himself into trouble somehow managing to piss off the wrong people Deacon wins his fights seemingly without trying, often betting on himself to make some extra cash. Well he had put down a large chunk of cash on himself, raking in a ton of money. The guy who lost had been their “ringer” and he was embarrassed he’d been taken out TKO. The guys who’d had to fork over the cash waited out back till the gym was empty and they jumped him, beating him senseless, to the point where he was lying in a coma. We’d been granted two weeks leave to see family and Deacon. We were going to sign our extension that was coming up soon on our contracts, but we were needed at home. We were all ready to head back to finish out our duty, but dad called in a favor. With his history in the CIA and Special Forces, I learned not to ask questions, but I was thankful we didn’t have to leave Deacon’s side.
I slide my feet into my shoes and grab a tie, pulling it under the collar of my dress shirt. I smile as I think of Deacon and Carter. We are so alike in so many ways that it’s fascinating for outsiders. We can communicate with one another with just a look or a glance. I smirk as I remember our “secret language” we had made up. Each letter of the alphabet had its own symbol, and for years that’s how my brothers and I communicated. It used to frustrate our parents to no end.
Mom especially, since she was our primary caregiver. She had to rule with an iron fist, because it was mainly just her on her own with three unruly boys. Dad travelled so much for work that we saw him infrequently. While we missed him we knew that he loved us, and still does, and Mom is great too. She always knew the right thing to say or do for us to learn and listen. She’s still like that, so approachable. I’m sure she breathed a sigh of relief once she made it past our teen years. I swear her hair turned grey overnight. Of course, I’ll deny that I ever said that. As far as I know, Mom has always been blonde. Mom was and is great. She raised us right. All three of us are good, strong and respectful men. Men with integrity.
I take one last look in the mirror, making a minor adjustment to the blue silk tie now knotted around my neck. My suit is a soft grey color with a slimmer cut to the legs. I pull the jacket around my shoulders, buttoning it up. All I need is my wallet and keys and I’m ready to go, grabbing them from the bowl by the front door. I hop into my truck and start it, while I push the button to automatically open the garage door, allowing the bright sunlight into the dark garage. I pull shades on my head and fiddle with the stations till I find one playing music I like. I pull out of the garage and to the end of my drive, ready to pull into traffic.
In the past year my brothers and I opened an MMA gym called King Cage. Connor, our childhood friend handles all the daily duties and does accounting for the firm as well. We trust him implicitly, so when he made some recommendation regarding our new applicants, we advised him to just handle it. He’s managed to find applicants for several instructor positions. Connor suggested we add on hot yoga and regular yoga to the gym, and to have a physiotherapist and massage therapist on staff to handle any injuries that may arise. It’s great that we have Connor, but I really think it needs to be one of the three of us to head it up and then Connor report to that person. If it were up to me, I think Deacon should be the one to run it. MMA is his passion, not security. Although he can’t fight anymore due to the brain injury he sustained in his beating, he is still very active in the MMA community, still training up and coming fighters and mentoring the youth program. I think Carter would agree with me.
I smile to myself with pride with how far we have come with King Cage. Then smile even wider because the gym isn’t our first business, but rather our second. We also own and operate a security company, King Securities. We offer investigative and protection services to a variety of clients. This company is my baby, my passion. I’m thankful I have the support of both Deacon and Carter because I couldn’t do this without them. Mom and Dad have been great too, helping us in any way they can. We grew up living modestly, so we don’t need things, or a lot of money. We may not need it or even want it, but we have it, in spades. First off, Dad made good money working for the CIA, and saved up every dime for the three of us boys. We never lived anywhere else but in our tiny ranch style home in the suburbs, but because of their frugal ways, we had the money to start up not one, but two businesses. Mom and Dad think we’re taking too much on, running two companies, but it’s what we want. We had hoped to open a third business, specializing in Custom motorcycles, but I think it’s too much. At least for right now. Maybe in a few years we’ll be able to manage, but for now we’ve got two companies that are essentially new. It’s exciting and daunting, but the three of us are cocky and we’ll manage it.
I pull the truck to a stop at the red light, looking out the windshield, lost in my thoughts. I think I keep myself busy, so I can stop the shit that rolls around in my brain. My childhood wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. I have to keep it from them, from all of them. It changed me, poisoned me, and made me a hard man, an unforgiving man. If they knew, it would devastate them, and I don’t want to see revulsion on any of their faces. I had thought I had come to grips with it, but then something happens, and it’s obvious that I haven’t, considering the nightmare last night. I had tried counseling at one point, but I found that talking about it wasn’t helping. If anything it was making it worse, rehashing all the sordid details. I had carried so much guilt. My body as a child had responded to his unwanted advances even though mentally I was revolted. As an adult I now know that it was a natural and physiological response, not meaning I was into it. Fuck logic, anyone who knew would only be disgusted by me. I don’t deserve a relationship. So instead, I would fight in underground cage matches, till my knuckles were bloody. I rarely fight anymore, choosing instead to teach classes to the young boys and teens that want to learn. I hope that maybe, we are helping some young boy be away from their own personal hell, whatever it may look like.
I think back to when I met Connor. My brothers and I had come upon him as he was trying to stand up to a bunch of bullies that were harassing his little sister, Sloan. The four of us didn’t back down, even though every last one of us was shaking in our boots. Connor had been so thankful for the help, we’ve been best friends since. That was around the time Carter started crushing on Sloan and we’ve never let him live that down. A honking horn startles me out of my reverie as I pull my truck through the green light, my thoughts going back to Connor and our friendship.
We used to spend our time, getting up to no good and bugging the shit out of his sister. Funny how we didn’t let anyone else get at her, but we could and did, with a vengeance. Boy she hated us, something fierce. I can picture her, with her red frizzy hair and green eyes and stomping her feet at us. As if that would get us to give ba
ck her doll, or whatever it is she wanted. I smile as I think back on that happy memory. Not all my memories with Connor and Sloan are happy. Granted, none of it was their fault. They were victims, just like I was, but I hadn’t known that then.
I notice that I’m at the office, as I pull my truck into my parking spot and park. I sit quietly, staring out at nothing.
Those events changed me, made me a hard man, an unbending man. I have difficulty with relationships, and don’t want anything permanent. I blame all of that solely on Steve.
I shake my head at my thoughts as I pull the key out of the ignition and get out of the truck, locking it behind me.
I did have one relationship back in high school, we’d dated for over a year, but she got very clingy and had too many expectations. We were barely eighteen and she was planning out a dream wedding and I wasn’t even sure if I really liked her let alone love her enough to marry her. We’d had a pregnancy scare and when it became clear she wasn’t pregnant I took that as my signal to get the fuck out of town. I enlisted that same afternoon and left for boot camp two weeks later, never looking back. I heard later on that she’d been cheating on me with another boy from school. Either way I dodged a bullet and I’m thankful every day.
That was divine intervention, clearly telling me that relationships were not for me. I prefer a one night stand, that way there aren’t endless questions and expectations. If you give an inch, they take a mile, wanting more, always taking. This mentality has allowed me to come to grips with my past and reconcile it with the now. I’m good with where things are at even though I know Mom wants me to settle down, and find that special someone. She’s itching for grandbabies, but I just can’t see me in a serious committed relationship, with or without children. I’m probably too damaged for any softness.
I can’t yield, and I don’t yield, to anyone.
“I think your mom was right, it looks better along the far wall under that gorgeous painting you guys picked up.” My mom is over helping my friend Lacey and I with decorating. We’d just spent the morning hopping from one estate sale to another and I picked up this beautiful dining set with a sideboard which indeed looks perfect under that painting.
“I think you’re right Lacey,” I say with a soft smile before turning to my mom. “Mom, as always you’ve made perfect recommendations.”
“I’m so glad you’re happy sweetheart. That’s all I want for you. To be happy.” My eyes fill with tears as I throw my arms around her neck, my throat thick with emotion.
“I’m happy Mom, I promise,” I whisper into her neck with just the slightest hitch to my voice.
I’m living a privileged life, so I shouldn’t have anything to complain about, but lately it just feels like something is missing. I can’t put my finger on it.
I live in Chicago, and I love the city because there is always a lot to see and do, but I love the country too. A mix between the two would be the “perfect” place for me. Tranquility with options. I know what you’re thinking, I’m wishy-washy. I guess I am.
I used to live at home with my mom and dad in the suburbs in a gorgeous two story home with a “gone with the wind” staircase. My dad, Alfred Peters, is a District Attorney, and my mom, Diane, she used to be a school teacher, but since I came along, she’s taken care of the household and managed his appointments. Now, she manages the household staff and attends functions with Dad as needed. Dad has always held positions of power, and as a result we’ve never been short of money, but with money and prestige comes some downsides too, like all of the crazies that come out of the woodwork. I’ve been taught to be cautious and always look over my shoulder. I know why it’s always had to be that way, I’ve been used far too many times, because of who my dad is or for our money. I’ve always stood on the outside looking in, somehow socially awkward and so desperately wanting a friend. No one accepted me for me, except for Lacey, she’s always been good to me. I shake off these thoughts and let go of my mom, who is looking at me with concern in her eyes, she knows me too well and she knows I’m lonely, wanting to meet that special someone. She pats my cheek and gives me a sweet smile.
“Well girls,” my mom declares in her soft voice, “It’s time for me to get going. Your dad is going to wonder where I am.” She lets out a soft giggle as she brushes a hand over her perfectly coiffed hair.
“You look great Mrs. P,” Lacey tells my mom, “Not a hair out of place.”
“Thanks for helping me Mom,” I tell her.
“Anytime sweetheart. Bye-bye girls.” She grabs her purse and sunglasses from the table by the front door and gives a little wave before heading out the front door.
I lean against the door frame and watch her go, waiting till she is in her car before shutting the door.
“I adore your mom, she’s so great. Think how lucky you are to have someone to confide in like you have with her,” Lacey says wistfully.
“I know Lace,” I tell her quietly, “I’m sorry you don’t have that with your mom. I wish it was different for you.” Lacey and her mom don’t get along at all. In fact, her mom acts as if she doesn’t exist and doesn’t touch base with her at all, unless it’s for money. Lacey often spent nights over at my place because her parents failed to give her the basics. She was neglected, often not eating for days. My mom felt sorry for her and would have her over as often as her mom allowed it. Every so often her mom would get angry and come take Lacey home, but whenever we could manage it, she stayed with us. She’s like a sister to me, the sister I never had. Even though we’re best friends, Lacey has always held a part of herself away from me. I try to get her to open up with me, but when she does it’s in little bits, never revealing too much of herself or her thoughts.
“Let’s grab some wine,” I say pulling her by the arm down the hall to my kitchen. I think back over the last six months with a small smile. I’ve come a long way from where I was. I wanted to learn to care for myself and make my own decisions, be my own woman. I’d been feeling unsettled and knew it was time to make some changes. I’m twenty-two years old, and up until 6 months ago, I was still living at home with my parents. I don’t know why I didn’t move out earlier as I’m not hurting for cash which makes things much easier. My trust fund kicked in when I turned eighteen, with a regular monthly allowance of three thousand dollars, which is fantastic. There is a large lump sum that is still in trust and continues to earn interest. This is locked up until age twenty-five, when I will get fifty percent of it, and the remainder will pay out at age thirty. Just because I have money, doesn’t mean that I don’t want to work for a living, and earn my own way. I’m in college and majoring in psychology with a minor in business. I plan to open my own practice, so understanding the ins and outs of business is a must. I’m almost done with my schooling, thank goodness. I’ve been part of a new “fast track” program for honor students. It’s meant lots of long, hard hours, and a lot of homework.
I pull a bottle of wine out of the rack and grab the opener, pulling the cork out of the bottle with a little “pop”.
“You’re so quiet tonight,” Lacey says looking at me with concern.
“It’s nothing,” I tell her, “Just thinking about all the hours of homework, studying and research I’ve put in.” It’s been rewarding, but not as rewarding as the volunteering I’m doing at the local shelter.
“You have definitely been burning the candle at both ends,” Lacey says with a little furrow in between her brows. “Don’t burn yourself out,” she warns quietly.
“I know Lacey, but the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight, I can’t give up now.” I’m waving my hands animatedly as I get passionate about a subject I care deeply about. “You can’t buy experience like I’m getting. You know how much I love my studies AND my time at the shelter.”
“I know hon. The people are incredible and come from all walks of life and you love them all. I get it, I do, just take care of you,” she says firmly.
“I feel selfish even thinking about ME,” I say,
raising my voice slightly, “Especially when I see how down and out those people are. It brings me to tears.” I try to lend them my ear, my time and some kind words. Mom always says I’m her sweet little ray of sunshine. She tells me that I’m naïve in the ways of the world, and she thinks it’s funny that I want to solve all the world’s ills by spreading love and kindness. I think that’s what this world is missing, the pay it forward mentality. I swear, if you give a little, you get it back and then some. I’m not as naïve as Mom thinks, I’m very much aware that the world isn’t always unicorns and pots of gold at the end of a rainbow. I see it all the time while at the shelter. It breaks my heart to see so much pain, and suffering. But underneath it all, I get a sense of strength, and perseverance despite all the hardship.
“Oh sweetheart, you’re the furthest thing from selfish,” Lacey says firmly while giving me a hug. She pulls back and grabs some wine glasses, holding hers out for me to fill up, and then fill my own.
“I hope so,” I say looking down. You know I’m just happy to be “doing”, and it feels like I’m taking the reins to my life.” I see her take a healthy gulp then nod her head at me.
Step one was getting my own place. I finally found the perfect home and I love it. It’s a tiny house, also in the suburbs, but it’s all mine.
“I remember when you told your parents you wanted to get your own place,” she says with laughter in her voice. I let out a little snort and giggle. Dad was ok with the move, only because he approved of the neighborhood. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, but he saw how important it was to me so he backed off.
“Oh man, I thought my dad was going to camp out on my front lawn,” I say laughing. Mom on the other hand fought me every step of the way, begging me to stay home. She bartered and even tried to bribe me, but in the end she relented, with many a tear shed. Of course, I had to agree to speak with her daily or she threatened she would call the National Guard, and trust me, I totally believe her. Mom would bring out all kinds of crazy if she thought her baby was hurting in any way. I snicker as I picture Mom with her pointer finger, wagging it in someone’s face as she gives them shit.
Recovered Love Page 2
