Hometown Hero

by Cate Cameron

  “No, not self-defense. I’m not qualified for that. If you’re in a real situation, you’d fight differently than you do in the ring. More running away, probably. I do sports MMA. Like—like any sport, I guess. It’s not real life.”

  The woman nodded. “Fitness?”

  “Well, kind of. But, like, just as it happens. Really it’s—it’s a sport.” She didn’t know how else to explain it.

  Calvin stepped in smoothly. “Like if you played soccer, you’d get fit from running around, but that wouldn’t really be the point of it. The lessons would be about technique and strategy and so on.”

  Zara nodded. “Yeah. Like that.”

  The woman looked thoughtful, then smiled. “I’m going to sign up for a class. My daughter’s fifteen. She could be in the same class as me, if she’s interested?”

  “I guess,” Zara said. She had no idea what age divisions should be. She had no idea about most of it.

  “Great.” The woman nodded. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Zara had never been good with this sort of thing. The overblown reactions from fans? People screaming that they loved her as she walked out of the tunnel before a fight? It was strange, but she could handle it. But a simple, genuine expression like this? She wanted to crawl under the pile of gym mats beside her. “I hope I don’t disappoint you,” she muttered.

  The woman wandered over toward another pile of equipment, leaving Calvin and Zara standing together.

  After a short silence, Calvin said, “You’re going to get Zane out to Josh’s this weekend, right? He said he wasn’t sure about going, but he should be there.”

  It was that simple for him? He just knew what other people “should” do? Zara shrugged. “We’re going to play it by ear,” she said. That was all he was getting from her.

  He didn’t seem completely satisfied, but the other directors were clearly done playing with the new toys by then so he herded them out of the room and back to whatever the hell boards of directors did at their meetings, and Zara was left alone in the room.

  She ran her hands over the heavy bag again. She’d visited her doctor before leaving the city and been cleared for moderate activity. Not hard workouts. But it wasn’t like the bag was going to be punching back, and Zara had too much nervous energy. She needed to take the edge off. And the best way to do that was definitely training.

  It would be a good way to test out the equipment, she told herself as she started moving. It would be irresponsible for her not to work out. Yeah.

  She grinned in anticipation. It was going to feel really good to hit something.

  And it did feel good, once she got going, but it was strange to be working out alone. At home she’d have been surrounded by other people, mostly men. Her coaches had always been men, her trainer was a man, and she generally sparred and grappled with men, except for the few occasions when she could find a woman who could keep up with her. She liked being one of them, accepted into their loud, sweaty world.

  This place was too nice. She worked at the heavy bag, the sounds of her strikes clearer and more isolated than they would be at home. The air was cool and dry, the room bright. It was hard to find her determination here. Hard to feel driven, inspired.

  But she dug inside herself and found what she needed. Enough grit to leave the bag behind and begin her calisthenics. She pushed hard, trying to find out how much conditioning she’d lost during her layoff. She usually took a week or two off after a fight, but it had been more than a month this time. Sit-ups and push-ups, with all the variations of each. She was still fit, but she could feel herself dragging a little. She could do weights the next day. And there was enough room in the main gym for short sprints, and maybe she could get her trainer to send up one of the huge elastic bands he tied around her waist and made her run against. And . . .

  And suddenly she was on the ground. What the hell? Her head pounded and her stomach churned. She looked up at the ceiling, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. What she’d been doing. She struggled to sit up, and a wave of dizziness forced her back down flat.

  First she fought back the confusion, then the fear, and then the anger. She was so used to obedience from her body that this rebellion was bewildering and felt like a betrayal. Had she honestly just passed out? Was that what had happened? Her brain was—what the hell was it?

  The doctors had warned her about post-concussion syndrome, and given her lots of lectures and brochures.

  But that was for weak people, not for her.

  She sat up again, a little more slowly, and refused to acknowledge the blackness trying to creep in from the sides of her field of vision or the dull throbbing deep in her skull. She’d let her diet go to hell since she’d been on break, and she probably hadn’t eaten enough that morning. That was all. She’d been stupid to ignore proper nutrition. She knew better.

  She rolled to her knees. She was okay. She’d do some stretches, cool down properly, and she’d remember to eat more the next day.

  Everything was okay. But as she slowly leaned over to reach for her toes, her hands were shaking. And she had to shift her head a bit to the side to make sure her tears fell onto the dark fabric of her shorts, not onto the mat, where someone might see them.

  * * *

  THAT Saturday was a beautiful fall day, and Josh’s party had a great turnout. Cal ended up parking halfway down the long drive and hiking the rest of the way with a bottle of wine in one hand and a case of beer in the other. It ended up taking him about half an hour and two beers just to get to the house, not because of the distance but because of all the people he had to stop and visit with on the way.

  That was the way with the Lake Sullivan world. Over the summer, everyone put their heads down and worked their asses off dealing with the influx of tourists. Even the Montgomery clan worked harder at that time of year, although not nearly as hard as some of the other locals. There was a brief break in the middle for The Splash, a weekend-long festival celebrating all things summer, and then it was back to the grind until fall.

  Now tourism was dying down. Still steady, with people driving through to appreciate the fall foliage, but not nearly as intense. So the locals finally had time to do a little catching up.

  Josh enjoyed the conversations, but he knew he wasn’t giving them his full attention. He was too busy looking around, trying to see who was there. Well, if he was being honest with himself, he was trying to see if the Hales were there.

  And if he was being completely honest? No, he decided. He didn’t need to go that far and decide which Hale was of more interest to him right then. After all, it would be good for both of them to get out and meet people.

  He was on the steps of the house, adding a few of his beers to the big tub of chipped ice, when he felt someone bump against his side, too hard to be accidental. He looked up and saw Zane watching him expectantly.

  “You came,” Cal said, and he forced himself to look at Zane instead of peering around to find his sister.

  “Making an appearance. Could bail at any moment.” Zane’s voice was light, but his eyes were moving more quickly than usual, darting around as if he was searching for danger.

  “Not having fun?”

  Zane shrugged. “It’s a bit intense.”

  Cal tried to see the gathering through the eyes of someone who’d been in jail for the last ten years. Kids running around, screaming and laughing and crying. Women everywhere, chatting and being beautiful and smelling good. That would all be unfamiliar. And the men? Zane should be used to being around lots of men, but maybe a crowd like this, in prison, would have been potentially dangerous.

  Cal reached down and pulled two bottles out of the tub he’d just been refilling. “Want to go down to the barn, check on the horses?”

  “You don’t have to babysit me,” Zane said gruffly.

  “Okay, I
won’t. Want to go down to the barn and check on the horses?”

  Zane frowned at him for a moment, then finally, grudgingly nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  They opened their beers on the way, and Cal could see Zane’s body relaxing as they moved. He wasn’t thinking about Zara anymore, not until Zane looked over his shoulder almost guiltily and said, “Zare’s going to kick my ass.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The whole point of coming to this was to see people, and now I’m running away.”

  “You’re seeing me,” Cal tried.

  “I’ve already seen you. Lots.”

  “So we’ll take a barn break, then go back up. Or hey, can Zara drive us home? We could get sloppy drunk and drool all over everyone and then she’d want us to go hide in the barn.”

  “Nice plan, except we left the beer up at the house.”

  “That’s our timer, then. We get one beer down here, then we go back for another, do a little visiting, and run away again if we have to. Lather, rinse, repeat.”

  Zane was relaxing. It was all good. They looked at the horses and scratched the ugly brown one’s neck while he rolled his eyes in appreciation, and they finished their beers and headed back to the house.

  Cal felt good about it. He was being useful. Wasn’t bird-dogging his best friend’s baby sister. Well done. Then he saw Zara on the porch of the house, standing next to Ashley, laughing at something Josh’s shaggy dog was doing. The two of them were radiant, full of strength and beauty and youth, and Cal’s breath caught a little.

  Okay, so he wasn’t totally pure when it came to the Hales. He could accept that.

  * * *

  ZARA was pretty sure she was glad she’d come, but the whole situation was weird. “These people all hated me when I lived here,” she said quietly to Ashley.

  Ashley raised an eyebrow at her, then shook her head firmly. “No,” she said. She glanced over at a trim woman carving up wedges of a late-season watermelon. “I don’t believe it. There’s no way Aunt Carol hated you. I don’t think she’s ever hated anyone.”

  Zara frowned over at the woman. “I don’t think I know her.”

  “And most of them probably didn’t know you, either,” Ashley said. She wasn’t quite scolding, Zara decided, but she was pretty close. “I mean, you were a rough kid? Is that the problem? Big deal. Did you kill anyone, or . . . I don’t know, torture their pets or anything? Did you do anything really worth hating you for?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Zara felt like that proved how mean the townsfolk were, but apparently Ashley wasn’t going to take it that way.

  “So they probably didn’t hate you,” she said calmly. “I mean, there are assholes everywhere, sure. But I don’t think there are more of them in Lake Sullivan than elsewhere. I’d actually say there might be a few less.”

  Zara gave her a skeptical look, but Ashley just beamed back and said, “And here come two definite non-assholes now!” She stepped forward and reached her hands out to an elderly couple making their way through the throng. “You made it!” Ashley said.

  The man nodded. “Of course. I had to check in on my fishing buddy. We still have time to catch a few bass before the winter, if you’re tough enough to handle a little cold. And then there’s ice fishing . . . if you’re going to be around for The Slide, that could be your first derby.”

  “There’s an ice fishing derby?” Ashley demanded. She sounded genuinely excited by the idea, although Zara couldn’t see why.

  “Oh, my,” the older woman said. “I was worried that helping you might make his fishing addiction flare up, Ashley, but I never guessed it was contagious.”

  Ashley grinned, then half turned to include Zara in their conversation. “Mr. and Mrs. Ryerson, this is Zara Hale.”

  “Hale,” Mrs. Ryerson mused. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  The signal was subtle, but Zara made her living by reading body language and knowing what people were planning. She saw Mr. Ryerson’s tiny head shake, saw Mrs. Ryerson’s blink, and she knew the warning had been exchanged. Don’t press for more, Mr. Ryerson had told his wife. You won’t like what you hear.

  Zara straightened a little and ignored the old man. “Might be because my dad was the town drunk for about twenty years. Might be because my brother just got out of jail. Might be because I make a living as a professional fighter.”

  Another blink from Mrs. Ryerson. “It was your brother,” she said slowly. “He’s working at the community center, isn’t he? I heard about him from Andrea Thompson. She said her son’s taken a liking to . . . Zane, isn’t it? Taken a liking to him, and it’s the first time little Scotty’s come out of his shell since his father died.”

  Oh. Zara nodded a little jerkily. “Zane’s good with kids,” she said quickly.

  “And you’re a professional fighter?” Mrs. Ryerson looked . . . damn it, she looked interested. “What does that mean exactly? You make a living at it?”

  Mr. Ryerson poured his wife a glass of wine and listened as Zara explained her job. She was a bit tentative at first, waiting for the first look of disdain on the woman’s face, but it never came. Mrs. Ryerson was interested in the training, and the business side of things, and she loved it when Zara and Ashley discovered they had the same favorite photographer for promo shoots.

  Everything was just so easy. When Ashley had to go help Josh with the food, Zara and Mrs. Ryerson tagged along and were put to work, setting out huge vats of various side dishes, running around to find rocks to anchor napkins against the cool breeze that had sprung up, and whatever else needed doing.

  It was strange to be part of something like this. Something . . . wholesome, she supposed. Family-friendly, judging by the number of kids who were swarming around the place. There was a bonfire being lit, and a guy with a guitar behind him and a plate of food on his knee, clearly fueling up before producing some music. It was nice.

  She stepped back a little, away from the table and into the shadows around the house. Nice. Too nice. This place wasn’t for her. She wasn’t one of these people. They were being polite, but they didn’t really want her there. Not her. And she didn’t want them!

  A napkin blew by at her feet and she bent over to catch it. And just like that, she felt the darkness coming. She caught herself with her free hand on the ground, crouched down, and forced her vision back with just her will. She would not get dizzy here. Not with all these strangers ready to stare at her.

  She rolled backward until her back was braced against the wall of the cabin and pushed herself upright, well-trained muscles responding as ordered.

  She stood there for a few breaths, making sure she was okay, and trying to think of her justifications. It had been a weird angle to bend at. She’d had a couple beers. She hadn’t eaten enough protein that day. It was almost certainly the protein. Her body was used to getting a lot of it and she’d been slacking off. She’d have a burger and everything would be better.

  But she wasn’t quite brave enough to move over toward the grill yet. She’d just take another moment and make sure she was okay. And then she’d forget all about this little glitch.

  * * *

  THERE were a few picnic tables set up, but they were mostly taken up by older folks, or else parents trying to get their kids to eat something without spilling the food all over the ground. Most people were sitting on blankets around the bonfire, or on fallen logs and boulders a bit farther back in the trees. Calvin saw Zara perched on the back steps of the house, staring at the bonfire from a distance, and wandered over with his plate of food.

  “Warmer near the fire,” he said. The day had been beautiful, but the evening air was cool.

  “I’m fine here,” she replied shortly.

  “Mind if I join you, then?”

  “Won’t you be cold?” She didn’t sound like she actually gave a damn about his comfort.

 
He sank down onto the lower step. “I’m tough. I can take it.”

  She didn’t respond. He took a bite of potato salad and said, “How are things going at the center? You settling in okay?”

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  “You’re finding things to do?”

  “Yup.” She had no expression in her voice or on her face, but still somehow managed to convey a complete lack of interest in him.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you mad at me about something?”

  And she raised an eyebrow right back. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, you’re not exactly . . . you’re not acting un-mad.”

  “I’m not acting at all.” She raised a hand as if she was going to rub her temples, then frowned and jammed the hand back onto her lap.

  He could have been sitting anywhere else on the whole property having a perfectly pleasant time and yet he’d chosen to subject himself to this. But, damn it, he could break through whatever was bothering her. He was a friendly guy, widely considered both charming and handsome. He was a good conversationalist, genuinely interested in others. Zara was a bit of a challenge, sure, but he was up for it.

  “Zane seems to be doing well,” he said.

  And Zara turned toward him like a flower seeking the sun. “Yeah? Really? He’s not telling me much. I mean, I see him at the center, and he looks happy enough. But they’ve got him on the evening shift now, so I don’t see him too often. And we don’t really. . . .” She frowned, then shrugged as if deciding to be honest. “We don’t talk at all, not about anything real. But he’s talking to you? You think he’s okay?”

  Well, now Cal felt like an asshole, using her brother as a way to get her attention. But at least he could honestly say, “Yeah, I think he’s good. We’ve gone out for beers a few times, and he seems to be adjusting. And he’s here tonight—a bit slow to warm up, but look at him now.”

  They both turned and saw Zane sitting on one of the blankets by the fire, chatting to a young mother who was juggling a toddler and a plate of food.