Hometown Hero

by Cate Cameron

  It didn’t come. Instead, Mrs. Montgomery stood a little taller and said, “That wasn’t as bad as I imagined. Do you mind doing it a few more times so I can really get used to it?” Mrs. Ryerson had been happy to oblige.

  The other women were paired off with partners Zara judged to be roughly the same size and strength, which meant they were separated from the friends most of them had come with. It was interesting to see how insecure that made them initially, and then how quickly they got over it after trading a few punches.

  There was more talking and joking than in any MMA gym Zara had ever stepped foot in, and some days she thought the women’s abs were getting a better workout from laughing than from the formal exercises, but that was okay, too.

  She went home at the end of each day with stories to tell Cal, and he responded just right. One afternoon they were downtown and walked past Lake Sullivan’s version of a department store, one big room with everything from cookware to clothes, and she pulled him inside and over to the craft section.

  “Pick a color,” she ordered, gesturing to the bins full of yarn.

  He looked at the display, then at her. “For what?”

  “I’m going to make you a scarf.”

  “Really? Is that going to be in the same way that you ‘make dinner’ by putting take-out food into serving dishes?”

  “No! I’m going to crochet it, for real! I already know how, more or less. But for most crocheting you have to, like, count, and pay attention. But Mrs. Grey says that I can make plain rectangles by just doing stitches until I get to the end of the row and then turning around and doing stitches back in the opposite direction. And a scarf, really, is just a long rectangle. So I’m going to make you one. You need to choose a color. I was thinking about doing one for Zane in that greeny-grey color, so don’t choose that one.”

  “You’re going to make me a scarf?” He looked . . . damn it, he looked touched. Zara had wanted that, she realized. She’d wanted to make some sort of gesture, give him some sort of hint about how she was feeling. But now that it was actually happening, it made her squirm.

  “Maybe,” she said quickly. “I might not do it at all. I promise nothing.”

  “Okay,” he said gently, as if he sensed her internal conflict. “Just hypothetically, if I was going to get a scarf, I’d probably want one that was . . . I don’t know, maybe blue? Like that blue there.”

  Zara squeezed the balls of yarn as if she knew what she was doing and was testing to be sure they’d be suitable. “Okay. I’m going to buy some blue yarn, but not for any specific reason. Afghans are rectangular, too, and so are placemats. There are a lot of rectangular things I could make with this yarn.”

  “Book cozies,” Cal suggested.

  “Do books get cold?”

  “Not cold, really, but lonesome. It’s a psychological comfort for them.”

  “Okay,” Zara agreed. “It’s possible I’ll start making book cozies. Scarves are a long shot.”

  “I’ll just hope, then,” he said. His smile was gentle, and sweet, and it was more or less impossible to keep herself from kissing it.

  He kissed her back, then nudged her away a little. “Get your fetish under control,” he whispered. “There’s a woman over by the garden department giving us the evil eye.”

  She kissed him again. “She’s just jealous. She heard us talking about scarves, and she wants one.”

  “She can get in line. Make mine first.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that I’m making one at all.” She found four balls of blue yarn, then grabbed a fifth and sixth for good measure. She really had no idea how much yarn was in a scarf.

  She let herself lean into Cal’s strong chest, just for a second. It wasn’t a snuggle, she told herself. Just a moment of warmth. That was all. But it felt good, so good it was scary.

  So she made herself push away, and headed down the aisle toward the checkout desk. On the way, the woman from the garden department passed by and gave them another dirty look, and they both giggled like guilty children. It was perfect. But it was temporary, she reminded herself. That was what she needed to remember.

  * * *

  CAL loved hearing his phone buzz and looking down to see that Zara was trying to get hold of him. It didn’t happen that often, but whenever it did, he gave himself a moment to enjoy it before picking up. He stepped out of the boring meeting and said, “Hang on,” into the phone. He made it to his office and then added, “What are you wearing?”

  “Sweaty gym clothes. You?”

  “Describe the sweatiness, please.”

  “No, I don’t think so. But is there any chance you could give me a hand with something?”

  Cal felt like his whole body had been electrified. Zara was asking him for a favor? He hoped it was something big. Like labors of Hercules big. He wanted to slay monsters for her, or steal something from a god. He was a bit less enthusiastic about cleaning a really big stable, but if that was what she asked, he’d do it. Absolutely. “What do you need?”

  “Well, ‘need’ is a little strong.”

  Of course it was. “How may I serve?” he amended.

  “That’s better. Yeah, I like that.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “Nice. Okay. I’m actually just looking for some muscle.”

  “And you thought of me? I’m incredibly flattered.” He actually was.

  “Don’t get carried away. But I’ve got stitch and bitch tonight, and Margie Dawkins is bringing a quilting frame. I don’t know what the hell that is, but I guess they’re . . . maybe not heavy, but bulky? I don’t know. Anyway, Margie’s got tendonitis and Ashley can’t come tonight, the quitter, and everyone else is kinda old, and there’s stairs involved. So can you come with me to stitch and bitch, help me carry something heavy or bulky or something, and then go away so the ladies can bitch in peace?”

  “Yes. I can do that.”

  “You caught the ‘go away’ part, right? Because Mrs. Ryerson will probably invite you in, but you’re not allowed to accept. I don’t want to be the idiot who brought her boyfriend to stitch and bitch.”

  “Your what?” he asked quickly. Too quickly. Too desperately. But he wanted to hear it again.

  Of course, Zara wouldn’t cooperate. “Huh? I don’t want to be an idiot, I said.”

  He didn’t think he wanted to let this go. “I got that part. And then after that, you said something about bringing your—what was it? Was it ‘boyfriend’? Was that the word you used?”

  “Seems unlikely.”

  “I know what I heard, Zara Hale. I know my girlfriend’s voice pretty well, and I can recognize it when she—”

  “I could work on your scarf tonight,” Zara interrupted. “But only if I’m in a good mood. If I’m feeling crabby, I’ll probably just make a bunch of potholders. Or those weird dishrag things. That’s what I’ll work on if I don’t feel like making someone a scarf.”

  He smiled at the phone. If she’d been there, he would have kissed her, and she would have pretended to squirm away, but not gone far. “What time do I need to be there?”

  “Seven o’clock sharp. You know where the Ryersons live?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She hung up without saying good-bye.

  He should have gone back to the meeting, but instead he stood in his office, staring out the big windows, and let himself enjoy it. Zara had called him her boyfriend. She’d done it once, and she’d probably do it again. It was an occasion. A momentous occasion.

  He was going to get her more flowers. Possibly he’d fill the house with them. She’d asked a favor, and she’d called him her boyfriend. Everything was going well.

  Eighteen

  THAT FRIDAY, A gang of them went to The Pier for the season’s closing. Cal and Zara and Josh and Ashley, Josh’s cousin Kevin, and Zane.
It was a good mix. Another couple made it okay for Cal and Zara to be a little bit cozy, but the single folks kept it from being too unbearably cute. It wasn’t a double date, just a group of people who all got along. Some of whom were having trouble keeping their hands off each other.

  Zara tried to distract herself from Cal by watching Zane. He was sitting next to Josh and they seemed to be getting along well. They’d been in school together, a grade or two apart, and had enough to talk about just focusing on the good ol’ days. It was a big night and there was a steady stream of visitors to the table, waltzing through to say hi and check in. Zane seemed okay with that, too. Sometimes people asked him about the future, and he was calm and collected. He didn’t have firm plans maybe, but he seemed generally optimistic about things.

  Cal brought his lips close to Zara’s ear and said, “If you lean any farther in that direction, you’re going to fall out of your chair.”

  She jerked back guiltily, and based on how quickly he got out of her way, it seemed like he’d expected the reaction. “Why can’t he talk to me like that?” she hissed. “Just chatting about his plans or whatever. Why is it so hard?”

  Cal shrugged. “Maybe you just care too much. It’s hard to be casual about something when the other person is too intense. And it’d be pretty scary for him to stop being casual at this stage, when he’s still probably pretty unsure about a lot of things.” His lips quirked in a way that always made her want to kiss him, partly because he was adorable and partly because the smirk seemed to precede him making fun of her, and a kiss seemed like a good way to silence him before he spoke. But she kept her distance and Cal said, “Sound at all familiar? Someone being worried about committing to things because of a lack of control?”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” she said, an eyebrow raised in challenge. He just quirked his lips again, and this time she gave in to the urge and kissed him. Quick and light, barely more than a peck, but when she glanced back toward Zane and he looked away too quickly, making it clear that he’d seen the kiss, her cheeks flamed anyway.

  She’d hardly even been thinking about boys in terms of sex when Zane had gone away, and it was hard to get used to . . . well, hard to get used to a lot of things. Hard to get used to having him in her life at all, or at least for more than an awkward hour every other week. But definitely weird to have him seeing her with a guy, especially when that guy was his best friend. She wished she wasn’t in training so she could drink. But her discipline held and she took a sip of her juice.

  Cal tugged her back a little closer to him, and when she resisted, he leaned toward her. “He’s fine with it,” he said firmly. “You’re the only one feeling weird.”

  “Great. So I’m feeling weird, and I’m the only one feeling that way. I’m all alone. Did it ever occur to you that it might be a bit easier if I wasn’t flying solo on this?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, you’re starting to freak me out a little.”

  “Yes. Much better. Thank you.”

  “How much weirder would you feel if I asked to stay at your place tonight?”

  She swivelled her face toward him and knew her eyes were wide. “My place? With Zane there?”

  “Not in the room with us, I hope. But two stories away in the basement? Yeah. You have to drive him home anyway, right? You’re the designated driver? So I could tag along with you when you drop him off and then you could drive us back to my place. Or I could just stay out there overnight. With you.”

  “And my brother.”

  “I think he’s probably noticed that you haven’t been spending many nights at home lately.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe he just thinks I’m really quiet.”

  “And really careless about where you leave your car.”

  “Yeah, maybe that, too.”

  “Or maybe he knows you’re an adult and doesn’t have a problem with you spending the night with your boyfriend.”

  She froze. She’d slipped up and said it once, and now it was just a thing they said?

  Cal felt her reaction and snorted, half amusement, but half frustration. “Fine. I don’t think he has a problem with you spending the night with some guy. Some random guy, nobody important. But if it’s a problem, don’t worry about it.”

  Zara stared at her fingers as they wrapped around her glass of juice. The glass felt so solid, but it would shatter if she pressed too hard, or banged it against the counter. It would break if she didn’t take some care with it.

  She took a deep breath and turned so she was facing Cal head on. “Do you want to stay at my place tonight? I have to drive Zane home anyway, so it’d be convenient if you came along.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. His eyes were warm and affectionate, and she wanted to remember his expression. Then he said, “I don’t know. Do you have scratchy sheets? I really prefer sheets with a high thread count. And I like my own pillow.”

  “Such a pain in the ass,” she muttered, but she let him wrap his arm around her and pull her in tight against his chest. It wasn’t that hard to stay in the moment, she’d found, not when the moments were as sweet as this one.

  That was when her phone rang. She leaned away from Cal and burrowed around in her pockets for her phone.

  As soon as she saw the call display, she knew. She’d been stupid, letting herself settle into life here in Lake Sullivan. Her real life was elsewhere, and it was calling her now. Calling her back home.

  She stood up and took a few steps away from the table before she made herself answer. Andre’s voice was familiar, but too loud and forceful. “Zara! Great news! We’ve got a fight lined up for you, a great fight. Great competitor. It’s going to be fantastic, but you need to get back to the city and start training right away. Zara?” A pause while Zara tried to find her voice. “Zara? You there?”

  “I’m here,” she finally croaked.

  “Fight’s in Vegas on December eighteenth,” Andre crowed into the phone. “The challenger is Anna Cade.”

  “Anna Cade? She’s not in my weight class, is she?”

  “She’s losing the weight, coming down to bantam.”

  “Why?”

  “To fight you. You’re the golden girl, you’re the star. She wants some of that glory, so she’s coming to get it. If she can get the weight off and stay strong, it’ll be a hell of a fight.”

  Zara felt dazed. She’d sunken into her cozy Lake Sullivan life, where her biggest challenge was finding someone to help her move an old lady’s quilting frame, which had barely turned out to be heavy at all. She’d gotten soft, and for her real life she needed to be hard.

  A bout with Anna Cade would be a hell of a fight, and she liked the challenge of it. But something still felt wrong. “December eighteenth? That’s six weeks from now. Why so soon? That’s not enough time to train properly. What the hell happened to me being a valuable investment and needing to make sure my brain was in good shape?”

  “You passed the physical, Zara.” Andre sounded confused, and maybe a little hurt. “You said you wanted to get back in the ring as soon as possible. I worked hard to get you what you said you wanted.”

  She had said that. It was what she wanted. But she really hadn’t thought she’d get it. “Six weeks,” she said. “Can we put it off another month or so?”

  “They’ve had a few cancellations and they need to fill the spots. And have you been following the news? There’ve been a lot of injuries lately, so there isn’t a deep pool to draw from. They need a headliner for this card. You’re fit, right? You’ve been in training? So you’ll be fine. And I already said you’d do it.”

  Because she had said that was what she wanted. “What if I’m not ready? I mean, I can get my conditioning worked out in six weeks, if I really go at it, but what about my head?”

  “You passed the physical. You told the doctor your head was fine. Is there
something I need to know about?”

  “No! No, it’s fine. But this will be . . . is it enough time since my last fight?”

  “It’s almost four months. That’s about right, or even a little long.”

  It was about right. They tried to have three or four fights a year, which meant three or four months between each one. This was business as usual, and she was only disoriented because Andre had told her it would be a longer gap this time. If he’d changed his mind on that, it was a good thing. She had nothing to complain about. “I’m just having a bit of trouble catching up,” she admitted.

  “Well, fair enough, but kick yourself into gear as soon as you can. You need to get fit. So give Bonita a call and let her know you’re coming home, and I’ll see you on—”

  “No, wait. I can’t come home. I need to stay here. I can train here, right?”

  “What? What the hell are you talking about? How are you going to train up there? Seriously train? All your people are down here.”

  “Well, they can come up. They’re used to travelling; they know the drill. We’ll say it’s a real training camp.”

  “That’s insane. They have other fighters they’re working with, you know. Why the hell would all of them move to the middle of nowhere instead of one of you moving back home?”

  “Because I’ve made commitments here. I’m supposed to be living with my brother. It’s a term of his parole. And I’ve got a class I’m teaching at the community center—”

  “Jesus, Zara, what the hell happened to you? Where’s your focus? Your drive? Are you going to tell me that you’ve got tea parties you need to go to, or you’ve found a place you like to get your nails done and you don’t want to leave? All that crap up there is just filler. You know that. Your life is down here, and it’s time for you to get back to it.”

  “My brother is not filler.” Zara let her voice be cold. Andre doubted her focus? Well, she was about to laser-beam his ass, and he could see how well she could focus then.

  He was silent for a moment, long enough for her to imagine him taking a couple deep breaths and collecting himself. When he spoke again, his voice was more level. “Of course he isn’t. That’s important, and we’ll find a way to make it work. But the rest of it is—”