Relentlessly Reckless

by Lucy Covington

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  That’s when I realized he was holding my hand. He must have realized it too, but he waited an extra second before letting go. Was it on purpose? Like so many things that had happened lately, I couldn’t tell what it meant. Did he like me? Or was it totally innocent? And if Carter was interested in me, how did I feel about that?

  Justin.

  I hadn’t thought about him in probably half an hour, which must have been some kind of record. I hadn’t gone that long without at least having a passing thought about him since that night at the frat house. But there he was again, popping into my head at the exact moment I was thinking about the possibility of another guy.

  “Can you stand up?” Carter asked.

  I nodded.

  He put his hand out, and I slipped mine back into his palm. His grip was strong and steady, and he held onto me as I took a few steps.

  “See?” he said happily. “You’re going to be fine.”

  I nodded.

  “Now come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to work.”

  He went to pick up the clipboard with Devorah’s name and information about her visit on it, and as he grabbed it, I happened to quickly glance at the page. I noticed that under Adverse Events, he hadn’t written anything.

  “Hey,” I said. “You forgot to write down the side effect Devorah reported to you.”

  He frowned. “She didn’t have any side effects.”

  “Yeah, she did. The tightness in her chest, remember?”

  “That’s not actually a side effect. We don’t know that it’s related to the medicine.

  It could have been caused by any number of things.”

  “But it would be an adverse event, wouldn’t it?” I continued, not wanting to anger him, but still fairly certain I was correct.

  He grinned at me. “That’s true, and it slipped my mind, I was so distracted by your little…spell.” He scrawled on Devorah’s form. “Nice catch. Especially since you were so woozy.”

  My heart swelled with pride. He was right. It was a good catch. Science, medicine, research – this was the stuff I was supposed to be doing.

  But as Carter led me out the door and back to work, I couldn’t help but think about how much I missed Justin. And how if this was what I meant to be doing, why my heart still felt so broken.

  JUSTIN

  “Holy shit,” I said, as I made my way from the gym into the locker room after practice. I was pouring sweat, out of breath, and sore.

  “You keep thinking you’re going to get used to it, right?” Jimbo said from slightly behind me.

  “Yeah.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. He’d gotten it worse than me. One of his eyes was already swollen and turning black and blue.

  “Well, you never do. At least, I never have, and I’ve been training with Quarry for over two years now.”

  “Do you ever think it might be…” I hesitated to finish the thought.

  “Too much?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Jimbo laughed. “We’re in the hurt business,” he said. “If I get tougher and meaner and able to tolerate suffering better than my competition, it’s a good thing for me.”

  “True.” I stopped in front of the showers and pulled my shirt off. My left shoulder was killing me and I had a little trouble lifting my arm up all the way. “But don’t you ever wonder if going so hard every day is wearing our bodies out too quickly?”

  Jimbo shook his head. “I’m the type of guy who wants to live fast, die young and kick some ass along the way. I don’t much worry about protecting my body for my retirement years. And if I did, I don’t think I’d want to stay in this game very long anyhow.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna hit the showers.”

  “Later, JB.”

  A moment later, I was standing in one of the stalls and letting the steaming hot water hit my head and shoulder blades, easing some of the pain. Every day, for the last couple of weeks, it had been the same. Hours and hours of rigorous, brutal training—

  culminating in the daily “sparring” sessions which were really nothing more than a series of all-out gym wars that left everybody in various states of physical pain and injury.

  I wasn’t used to it.

  Coach Jansen used sparring in a very different way than Quarry. Jansen used to have us go half-speed, light contact with headgear, and then perhaps more intensity during training for a specific upcoming fight.

  But in the new world of The Slaughterhouse, every day was one hundred percent, full-out, high intensity fighting. The pecking order in the gym was determined by who could beat the crap out of everybody else and who could take the most punishment without complaint.

  The hot water continued to beat down on my tired body. After a little more time, I shut the water off and grabbed my towel, wrapping it around my waist.

  Walking back into the locker room to change into my street clothes, I was surprised to find Virgil holding a syringe in his hand, flicking it with his finger. Next to Virgil, Tim was standing there in his boxers, with his back turned.

  A few other guys were nonchalantly changing nearby, and no one seemed much concerned.

  Virgil must have noticed my surprise, even though I tried to hide it.

  “What’s the matter, JB? You never seen a B12 shot before?”

  I walked by him and went to my locker. “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe they didn’t do B12 at his old gym,” Tim said, “which is why no one worth a shit ever came out of that place.”

  Virgil laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Good point, man. Good point.” He swiftly stuck the syringe into the top of Tim’s thigh and then depressed it.

  “Yummy,” Tim said. “I can already feel it working.” He glanced at me and winked.

  Meanwhile, I was pulling on my pants and doing my best to ignore their taunts. It had become clear to me that those two guys didn’t like me at all, and I was just fine with that.

  “What do you say, JB? I’ll give you your first shot for free.” Virgil grinned widely.

  “No thanks. I think I’ll just stick to eating clean.”

  “Right, because everyone knows how those motherfucking vegans are just taking MMA by storm.” He snickered.

  “I didn’t say I was vegan,” I replied, pulling on a fresh shirt. “But as far as I can tell, whatever I’m eating, I still knocked you the fuck out like it was nobody’s business.”

  Virgil’s smile disappeared. “Let’s do it again right now then, punk. See if you can catch me twice.”

  Tim put his hand out and stopped Virgil from moving forward.

  I didn’t even bother acting like I was going to fight. Virgil didn’t remotely worry me, and I knew for a fact he didn’t want to take the chance that I’d knock him out a second time. He’d already been humiliated and this was just some bluster to try and puff up his deflated ego.

  “Cool it, Virg,” Tim said softly. “The guy’s just a flash in the pan. I’ve seen them before. Burnout cases.” Tim looked back at me. His eyes were cold and flat.

  “Enjoy your B12 shots,” I replied, walking out of the locker room, nearly shoulder bumping them out of the way as I left. I wasn’t afraid of those guys and I certainly wasn’t interested in taking their so-called supplements either.

  I had my duffel bag slung over one shoulder as I left the gym. There were still a small handful of guys working out, grappling in the center of the blue mats spread out across the main floor. Meanwhile, Quarry stood in the cage with large pads strapped to his hands.

  A guy I didn’t know very well was punching and kicking the mitts in sequence to numbers that Quarry was hoarsely calling out. “One, three, one!”

  A series of pops echoed through the gym as the guy punched and kicked the pads.

  Quarry looked up and saw me. “Hey, JB—don’t leave. I need a word with you.”

  I stopped over near the front door. Z was sitting in a chair th
at looked tiny beneath his enormous body. He was reading US Weekly.

  I had to laugh.

  He glared up at me with fake, but still intimidating, menace. “You got a problem with my choice of reading material?”

  “Not at all. But I’m surprised you have the balls to bring that magazine in here with all these animals. They don’t give you a hard time about it?”

  “I like reading US Weekly. Sometimes I even get In Touch. So fucking what?”

  I shrugged. “Hey, I don’t care. To each his own.”

  Z nodded. “You been doing good work since you came here, man. I been watching you.” He flipped lazily through a few pages of his magazine. I doubt he could read that fast—but then again, Z was an enigma. Maybe he was a speed reader too.

  “Thanks for noticing. I’ve been busting my ass.”

  “Just stay focused and don’t get pulled in too many directions. This game will eat you alive if you’re not careful.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  But then Z looked up and saw Quarry heading toward us.

  “Just remember what I said,” Z replied, and then returned to reading his magazine in earnest.

  Quarry showed a big, toothy grin as he drew near. He was wearing a Slaughterhouse t-shirt and black shorts. His wiry frame was bathed in a light sheen of sweat, and his stony face was as intense as always, despite the smile. “The Barbarian at rest,” Quarry said, clapping me on the shoulder and squeezing until it almost hurt.

  “That’s me,” I said, feeling a little awkward.

  “I just got some news,” Quarry said, his expression turning serious, “and I wanted to check in with you right away.”

  “Okay…”

  “You’re familiar with Uriah Burns?” he said. “Apparently he trains out of your old gym.”

  “I know him. Yeah.”

  “You think you can beat him?”

  I hesitated for a split second. “Yes.”

  Quarry’s eyes searched mine. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” The truth was, I felt a niggling little doubt about Uriah, and I wasn’t even sure why.

  “Good. Because he was supposed to have a fight this Saturday and his opponent dropped out with an injury. Drew Ellis called me and asked if you’d be willing to take the fight on short notice.”

  “This Saturday? Wow, that is short notice.”

  “But you’ll do it.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” He nodded his head, pleased. “Drew Ellis is going to come and watch the fight, and he’s promised me he’ll give a three-fight contract to whoever wins. I’m betting it’s going to be you, JB.”

  “That’s a good bet.” I smiled, but inside my stomach was churning a little bit.

  Quarry threw his arm over my shoulder and guided me away from Z, who appeared to be too interested in US Weekly to bother listening to our conversation.

  “Now that it’s settled, there’s one other thing I wanted to mention to you.” His voice dropped to a lower register, almost a whisper, as he walked me to towards the corner of the gym, away from everybody else. “I’ve heard from some of the guys that you aren’t taking any supplements.”

  I looked at him. His face was too close to mine and I didn’t really like it. I could smell his breath, a mix of mint and coffee and something else. Something kind of rotten.

  “I don’t take any supplements, just eat a clean diet.”

  Quarry withdrew his arm and came around to face me. “Clean diet? Like all the booze you drink and the fast food you eat?”

  I shrugged. “It’s worked for me so far.”

  He crossed his arms and glared at me, his craggy face growing stern. “If it’s worked for you so far, that’s because you’re young and talented and you’ve been facing shitty opposition. Now you’re moving up to the big leagues. Do you think the top fighters in the UFF drink beer five nights a week and eat Egg McMuffin sandwiches every morning?”

  “Probably not.”

  “And they do other stuff, too—stuff that takes them to the next level. They take supplements.”

  “What kind of supplements?”

  “Whatever kind we recommend here at The Slaughterhouse, the place you signed on to train.”

  “And what do you recommend, Coach?”

  He smirked. “Don’t get pissy with me, JB. I’m telling you how it is here. You’re not any different from anybody else. Be a good soldier, get with the fucking program.”

  I thought for a long moment. Quarry was watching me with a guarded expression. The tension between us was growing, and I knew that if I continued to defy his prescription, something was going to blow. And I didn’t want to have to walk away from The Slaughterhouse—I’d only just started training there. “Okay,” I said, softly.

  “I’ll get with the program, then.”

  His expression morphed into one of pride as he nodded his head at me. “That’s what I like to hear, JB. You’re taking a tough fight on short notice, dropping your ego and getting with the program. I think you’re going to go very far in this sport.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “My name’s still Quarry,” he laughed. “Now get the hell out of here.”

  I turned and left the gym, a storm of emotions and thoughts going through my mind. My first thought as I walked out the door was that there was no way in hell I was going to start shooting steroids to try and get an edge on the competition. But nobody needed to know that just yet. I would pretend to play along until I got my fight deal with the UFF.

  The next thing that weighed on my shoulders was taking a fight on just a few days notice—and on top of it, I was fighting Uriah. He wasn’t going to be an easy out for me.

  Sure I thought I could beat him, and I definitely wanted to fight him at some point. But it would have been nice to get some time to train and prepare a strategy for his strengths and weaknesses.

  I didn’t relish the idea of getting in the cage with such a difficult opponent without knowing I was in peak condition.

  But sometimes, in this game, you had to take your chances and I couldn’t turn down an opportunity that could lead to a professional career.

  It would have been nice, I thought, to talk to someone about everything I was going through. For some reason, Lindsay popped into my mind. This was ridiculous for any number of reasons. First of all, Lindsay knew less about fighting than just about anyone on the planet. Secondly, we hadn’t spoken in weeks. And I’d experienced the sleepless nights to prove it.

  I stopped a few feet away from the gym and pulled out my cell, checking to see if there were any calls or texts.

  Admit it, you’re checking to see if she called.

  Okay, so maybe I was hoping she’d tried to get in touch with me. And maybe I was going crazy from lack of sleep. Each night, I climbed into bed a little more tired than I’d been the night before. And each night, I was convinced I was exhausted enough to fall asleep, despite the insomnia that had come over me since I’d stopped talking to Lindsay.

  But so far, it wasn’t getting better. I thought for sure that I’d be thinking of her less and less, but the reverse seemed to be true. If anything, she was in my thoughts more than ever before. I missed her. I wanted to talk to her.

  Then call her.

  I couldn’t do it. I figured that this was the worst part of it. This was the beginning, and if I could get through these early days, eventually the pain would lessen and I’d accept the plain fact that Lindsay and I were simply not meant to be together.

  “Hello, earth to JB? What planet are you on right now, anyway?” a voice called.

  I came to my senses and saw Brooklyn grinning as she walked in my direction.

  She was wearing tight jeans, a revealing pink tank top, and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head. She could have been a model or a movie star, if I hadn’t known better.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, caugh
t by surprise. I hadn’t seen her since the night of Quarry’s party.

  “Uh, in case you hadn’t realized, this is my father’s gym.” She stopped a foot or two away from me. I could smell her perfume.

  “Yeah, I’m aware of that.”

  “You don’t seem all that aware of anything right now,” Brooklyn said, flipping her hair. “I was watching you the last couple of minutes and you were just staring off into space the whole time.”

  “Stalk me much?”

  “Take drugs much?”

  “I don’t take drugs,” I said. Unlike some people at your dad’s gym, I wanted to say.

  Brooklyn sighed. “Maybe you should. I think you need to relax.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  She cocked her head at me and smiled an enigmatic smile. “Maybe we both need to relax. You want to grab a drink or something?”

  I thought about it. Brooklyn was squinting at me as the sun shone on her face from overhead. There was no doubt that she was incredibly attractive, sexy even. And I was pretty sure she was smart—but she was also the boss’s daughter.

  And then I thought again of Lindsay. For a moment, a giant ache overwhelmed everything, and I felt like I would do anything to have Lindsay be with me right now instead of Brooklyn.

  Suddenly, I knew I had to do something to get over Lindsay once and for all—get past the sleeplessness and the desires, the regrets that I never even kissed her. “Hell yeah, we should grab a beer,” I said. “And I know just the place to go.”

  ***

  O’Doyle’s was almost never crowded, and today was no exception.

  We found Big Timmy out front, ready to greet us—a pound for me, a gentle handshake for Brooklyn. As we walked inside, he gave me a thumb’s up on my choice of companion.

  Once inside, I wondered whether we should sit at the bar or not. Taryn was bartending, and it occurred to me that she might get annoyed at me for bringing female competition around.

  But Taryn wasn’t usually like that, so I opted to take the risk and sit at the bar.

  Surprisingly, Brooklyn and Taryn hit it off almost immediately, and Brooklyn was completely at home in O’Doyle’s, watching the Red Sox and tipping back a pint and bitching about stupid shit that only locals cared about.