by A. S. Teague
Breccan spits juice, and I’m forced to dive out of the way to avoid being hit by flying pulp.
He grabs a napkin and wipes his mouth. “You must be fucking kidding.”
Ignoring his response, I turn to my brother. “Tripp.”
“Fuck, no. Whatever you’re about to ask me, the answer is fuck. No.”
Shooting to my feet, I lean across the table. “Don’t be an asshole. I need you to represent him.”
He jumps from his seat. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No! I don’t see what the problem is.” I glance back and forth between them, but neither man says anything.
Finally, Tripp sits back in his seat. “Look. I know he’s your boyfriend and you like him––”
“Love,” I interject.
Tripp raises his eyebrows. “Love? You love him?”
I smile proudly. “Yep.”
“Does he know this?” Breccan asks.
“Yep. He’s in loooooove, too.” I exaggerate the word. “I mean, you can’t blame him, really.”
Tripp hangs his head and mutters, “Jesus help that poor guy.”
I grab my napkin and throw it at him. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Okay. Well, congrats on being in love and all of that sappy shit. Like I was saying, I know that you love him. But, Mouse, we can’t work with him.”
“What do you mean you can’t work with him? We already work with him,” I ask defensively.
“No, Reb, he works at our gym. But we can’t represent him.” Breccan replies for Tripp.
I raise my eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. I keep my mouth closed for fear of saying something that would screw up Ryker’s chances.
I knew I would be met with some resistance, which is exactly why I picked up breakfast from their favorite restaurant on my way home from Ryker’s and then schemed a way to get them both to my house right away. I had a slight pang of guilt as I typed out the message that said someone was breaking into my living room, but I reminded myself that it was for a good cause. I figured that, after I fed them, they’d forgive me.
“I don’t understand what you two are saying,” I say, turning my head back and forth between them.
Tripp glances over at Breccan and then clears his throat. “We can’t train or represent a known drug abuser, Reb.”
My stomach drops as what he said registers. For a few tense moments, we just stare at each other.
Finally snapping out of it, I explode out of my seat, shouting, “He didn’t take those fucking drugs!”
“He tell you that?” Breccan asks.
I pause. “Well, no.”
“Sorry, sis.”
“Sorry nothing, Tripp Toler. I’m done being nice and trying to kiss your ass. You’re going to represent him.”
He laughs, and the sound just pisses me off further.
“Stop laughing! This isn’t funny. There’s nothing funny about Ryker’s career being over because of something he didn’t do! You know he lives in Churchill Gardens?” I shriek, my throat growing raw with each word.
“Fuuuuuuck.” Breccan murmurs. “Churchill? Dammit.”
I round on him. “Yeah. The worst fucking neighborhood in the entire state. And he’s living in a fucking dump with his gram because he was accused of taking drugs.”
“Listen, that sucks. Really, it makes my stomach hurt to think about. But he wasn’t just accused of it. He tested positive for them. He took them.”
Tripp’s placating tone grates my nerves, but I take a deep breath in through my nose to calm down before I speak again.
“Tripp. He did. Not. Take. Them.” My teeth are clenched so hard that I worry that I’ll break them. “He won’t even take Tylenol for a headache. I’ve offered him pain relievers at least three different times and not once has he ever accepted. Every time telling me he doesn’t like pumping poison into his body! And his gram said that he’d never do it, either. So, no. He hasn’t told me that he didn’t take the drugs. But I know him, Goddammit. And I know he didn’t do it.”
Breccan comes over and places his hands on my shoulders. Silently, I plead with him to believe me and give Ryker a chance.
He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this.”
My stomach flips.
“You get Ryker to come talk to me, tell me straight to my face he didn’t take any drugs, I’ll train with him. You know when his suspension’s up?”
I haven’t had the chance to do any research on it. I shake my head. “Finding out’s at the top of my to-do list, right below talking to you.”
He nods, and I reach up onto my toes and kiss him on the cheek.
Then I whisper, “Thank you, Breccan. I love you, you know that?”
He musses my hair. “Gotta get home and let Sidney know that you’re not dead. She’s gonna kill you. Ya know that, right.”
Shit. “Tell her I’m sorry?” I ask weakly.
He lifts his chin and then clasps hands with Tripp before making his way to my front door.
Once I hear the door click behind him, I try a different route. I bite my cheek hard enough for tears to spring to my eyes and then squeeze them shut. Turning around, I let out a fake sob and say, “Tripp, please. Please do it for me.”
A single tear rolls down my face, and I sniffle, all while he stands there with his lips pursed together.
“Please, big brother?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Cut the crap. I know you’re faking,” he barks.
I scowl. “Fine. Just fucking say you’ll do it, and then get out of my house!”
“You drive me fucking crazy. Fine. If Breccan agrees to train him, then I’ll represent him.”
I jump up and down, clapping my hands together.
He strides into the kitchen and returns with the to-go container of monkey bread. “I’m taking this with me.”
“Hey, that’s mine!” I whine, but it’s a small price to pay for his agreement.
After following him to the door, I give him a hug, chuckling to myself when he refuses to return the gesture. Then I assure him, “You won’t regret it. Promise!”
He trots down my front step.
I shout, “Love you. Mean it.”
Climbing into his car, he flips me the bird and then peels out.
I slam the door and rush to my laptop, plotting out the next step in my plan.
The morning after our fight and subsequent make-up session, I woke to an empty bed. Gram relayed Rebecca’s message and assured me that she’d been fine when she’d left, that I had nothing to worry about. But she’s been acting strangely at the gym for the last few days, and I am worried she is having regrets.
I walk into the gym, surprised Rebecca isn’t here. Tripp is in the corner, his nose stuck in his phone, though.
“Hey, man,” I call out to him. “What’s going on?”
He glances up and lifts a chin in my direction before replying, “Not much.” Waving his phone in the air, he grimaces, “Lady problems.”
I nod and saunter over to him. “Hey, you talk to Rebecca the last coupla days?”
He looks around and then shakes his head, “No. Well, I mean yeah. But just the usual. Why? Something wrong?”
His behavior is odd, his eyes darting around, but I shrug it off and chalk it up to issues with Aly.
“No, I guess not,” I say. “We just had a disagreement a few days ago, and she’s been acting weird ever since. She snuck out the morning after, and she’s barely said three words to me since.”
He casts his gaze downward and mumbles something about a burglar.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Looking back up, he smirks. “Nothing. I’m sure she’s fine. You know Rebecca. She’s a bit crazy.”
“That she is, dude.” I chuckle. “That she is.”
A few minutes later, Rebecca rushes in, her arms full of bags. When she sees me, she shoves them into the bottom drawer of her desk
and slams it shut.
“Hey, doll.” I glance up at the clock. “A little early to be out shopping, isn’t it?”
She waves a hand in the air. “Yeah. That’s just some stuff I need for later.”
I eye her suspiciously, and her eyes widen.
When she sticks a thumbnail into her mouth and begins chewing the polish off, I ask, “Everything okay? You’ve been acting weird since the other night.” I take a step forward and, placing my hand on her hip, pull her to me. Dropping my voice, I ask, “You’re not having any regrets, are you?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “What? Of course not!” Her arms wrap around my waist, and she gives me a tight hug. “I’ve just been busy with something.”
“If you’re sure…” I trail off.
She stands on her toes and kisses me on the cheek. Still not making eye contact, she whispers, “Love you.”
I release my hold on her hips and step back. “You, too, doll. Gotta get to work.”
A bit too eagerly, she nods. “Okay, then!”
The rest of the day passes slowly, and I find myself watching Rebecca like a hawk. Aside from her limited interaction with me, she’s her usually quirky self. After stewing on it a while, I decide to chalk her strange behavior up to being swamped with charity work.
I’m in the middle of a run on the treadmill, Metallica blasting in my headphones, when movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Turning my head, I see Rebecca waving her arms wildly while she and Tripp talk in a corner.
I pull my headphones off but don’t stop running, hoping not to interrupt whatever they’re arguing about. Their voices are low, so I can’t make out anything they’re saying, but that Tripp keeps cutting his gaze in my direction.
When we make eye contact, he quickly looks away, and his lips move again. Rebecca turns, and when she catches me staring, her eyes widen.
I turn the machine off and jump off the belt before stalking over to her and Tripp. Before I reach them, Tripp waves at me and then bolts.
“Tripp, you asshole,” she hisses.
Over his shoulder, he replies, “Sorry, sis.”
She plasters a fake smile on her face and asks, “Have a good run?”
Ignoring her question, I tell her, “Locker room. Now.”
“Oh, I’ve got something to do.” She looks at her watch and then back at me. “I’m already late. I’ll call ya later.”
She tries to push past me, but I reach out and grab her arm, stopping her getaway.
“Locker. Room. Now,” I repeat, this time through clenched teeth. Releasing her arm, I turn and stalk away from her.
Her heels click on the tile floor behind me as she follows.
I sling the door open and see Mickey getting dressed. “Out. Now.”
He doesn’t question me, just grabs his bag and hustles through the door I’m holding open. Rebecca slips in ahead of me, and after it slams shut, I lean against it.
Crossing my arms across my chest, I command, “Talk.”
She shuffles over to one of the benches and perches on the edge of it, crossing her legs at the ankle. She stares at her hands, which are in her lap, and she spins the ring on her right hand around and around.
When she doesn’t say anything, I ask her, “You are regretting the other night, aren’t you?”
Her head snaps up. “No! I already told you no.”
“Then what the fuck is going on with you? You’ve barely looked at me in days. You’ve been too busy to see me after work. Your messages are short and vague.”
She shoots to her feet and says, “I’ve been working on something. I wanted to have it all set up before I talked to you about it.” She cuts her gaze away. “But, since you won’t let it go, I guess I’ll tell you now.” She rushes toward me and asks, “Can you let me out for just a minute? I need to get something from my desk.”
Reluctantly, I step to the side, and she bolts through the door. I stand in the entranceway, watching her as she prances over to her desk and opens the drawer she shoved the bags in this morning. She pulls them all back out and rushes back over to the locker room. Once she’s back inside, I shut the door and resume my position of leaning against it.
Rebecca drops the bags on the bench and then turns to me. Her face animated, she tells me exuberantly, “You’re gonna fight again!”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Breccan’s gonna train you, and Tripp agreed to manage you!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
She holds a finger up. “Just a minute.” And then she rummages through one of the bags she brought in. Turning back to me, she holds a robe up and beams. “Look! I had it made for you!”
It’s a gold robe with black lettering that says The Stryker across the shoulders and Team Undisputed beneath it. Beneath the team logo is a list of sponsors.
My stomach clenches as I zero in on my name on the back of the robe. Memories of my first fight come flooding back. I was too poor to afford anything with my name on it. But I handily won that fight, proving to everyone that I had what it takes. When my paycheck came through, the very first thing I did was order team apparel with my name.
I study the stitching over the sponsors’ names, and it’s obvious that Rebecca spent a pretty penny having it made. It’s far nicer than my old one, which I refused to replace out of fear of giving myself bad luck. Bitterly, I laugh at the irony of it all.
“Well? Do you like it?” she asks expectantly.
“No,” I say brusquely, my throat thick with emotion.
Her face falls. “You don’t like it? Well, I mean, that’s okay. We can have something else made.” She tosses it back on the bench and then riffles through another bag. Holding up a hat with the team logo and my name embroidered on it, she says, “What about this?”
“No,” I repeat.
“Okaaaaay,” she drawls, tossing it aside. She digs through the final bag, pulls out a T-shirt with yet a different version of the same writing, and smiles widely. “This one’s my favorite. Whaddya think?”
“No,” I tell her firmly.
She stamps her foot, “Can you say something other than no?”
My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I tell her, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Rebecca. But just stop.”
She throws the shirt she’s holding at me and shouts, “Why?”
Finally losing the little bit of composure I was clinging to, I explode. “Because I can’t go back! Don’t you fucking get that? If I thought there was a chance in hell I could fight again, don’t you think I’d be doing everything in my power to do it?”
She throws her hands in the air. “No! I don’t! Because you can go back! You just won’t.”
“I’m thirty-six years old. I haven’t trained for a fight in over two years. I don’t have what it takes anymore.” I shove my hands through my hair. “And, even if I did, I’m not what the league wants anymore!”
“Excuses. All of it. Excuses,” she snaps. “You couldn’t win a fight tomorrow, no. But that’s why Breccan is going to train you.”
“I don’t want Breccan to train me!”
“Well, he’s already agreed to it.”
“That’s humiliating!”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, give me a fucking break.”
“Not to mention I don’t have the money to pay a trainer. Or a manager.”
She waves a hand, “Well, I can take care of that.”
“The hell you can!” I shout. “I’m not going to have my girlfriend bank-rolling my comeback!”
“Jesus, Ryker. No one will know!”
“I’ll know!” I roar.
“I’ve already got several sponsors lined up, too.”
“Well, cancel them.”
“No!” she shouts.
Through clenched teeth, I tell her, “It’s not happening. Let it go.”
“This is about the drugs, isn’t it?” she asks.
Furious, I stalk toward her until my nose
is an inch from hers. “Drop it now. Take all that shit back, and forget about this entire conversation.”
I turn on my heel and, with long strides, make it to the door in less than a second. I pull it open just as Rebecca shouts at me.
“I know you didn’t take the drugs, Ryker!”
Releasing my grip, I let the door slam back into place and spin to face her once again. “You don’t know shit, Rebecca.”
She straightens her spine and takes a step in my direction. “I know you, Ryker.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she takes another step. “You won’t even take Tylenol for a fucking headache.” She continues her slow march in my direction. “There’s no way you took steroids. I don’t give a shit what they said.”
Once she’s directly in front of me again, she jabs a finger into my chest, “I don’t know why you won’t talk to me about it. But it doesn’t matter. I know you didn’t take the drugs.” She loops her arms around my hips and lowers her voice, pleading with me. “Please, Ryker. Don’t give up on this. Let me help you. Let Breccan train you. Let Tripp represent you.” She presses her lips to mine, but I don’t return the kiss.
Untangling her arms, I push her away from me. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” she asks.
I gesture between us. “This. I can’t right now. I’m taking the rest of the day off. I’ll call you later. Please, do not come to my house,” I beg before yanking the door open and rushing through it.
Tripp calls out as I cross the gym floor, and humiliated that I’ve been the object of Rebecca’s begging the last couple of days, I don’t even look in his direction.
I’ve always been prideful, maybe a little too much so. But Rebecca’s meddling has crossed the line.
Once I’ve cleared the gym’s front door, I jog to my car and climb inside. Glancing back, I see Rebecca standing in the doorway of the gym.
It’s probably cowardly of me, but I look away from her penetrating gaze and start the car, wasting no time before peeling out of the parking lot and away from Rebecca.
Ryker is being stubborn and dramatic, and I want to tell him that. I spent days researching his suspension, calling in favors, contacting sponsors. And for what? An over-the-top reaction the equivalent of a child throwing a tantrum.
