by Lane Hart
“Xavier ‘The Lawyer’ Malone,” Coach says. “It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? Not as ferocious as Jackson ‘The Mauler’ Malone, but you don’t have your father’s temper. We could also try ‘The Law Man’ or ‘Laying Down the Law Man’ Malone, but that’s a mouthful.”
“Reel it in, Coach,” I tell him. “I need some time to think about all of this first.”
“How much time?” he asks. “The sooner you start training, the better. Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough time avoiding your destiny?”
“My destiny?” I repeat with a chuckle. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
“You’re afraid of the pressure the press will put on you, and I’m not going to lie, everyone is going to expect greatness. But you can’t get there without making one helluva effort. I’m talking five or six hours a day in the gym, maybe more to get you ready for your first fight in, say, six months or so. Is it going to be an uphill battle? Fuck, yes,” he says. “Will it be worth the blood, sweat and tears? You bet your ass it will be when the ref raises your arm as the winner with the world watching, proving to them you’re your own man, even if you are your father’s prodigy.”
“Wow,” I say as I scrub my palms up and down my face. “Honestly? I thought I would come in here and you would laugh and tell me I was out of my mind to give up practicing law to throw punches at twenty-eight.”
“You’re a natural, kid,” Coach says. “I have guys who would kill to have even an ounce of your raw talent. Letting it all go to waste while you sit around in some office is a tragedy.”
When I don’t respond, Coach Briggs eventually says, “Take a little time to think about it, but not too much. My palms are itching just thinking about making the call to say you’re ready to finally make your big debut in the IFC.”
“Could you not mention any of this to my parents or Uncle Jude?” I ask. “At least not until I make a decision. I don’t want them to get their hopes up or influence my decision.”
“Understood,” Coach agrees. “I’ll keep it to myself until you say the word. But I have to be honest. You’ve already got my hopes up. The idea of you possibly stepping into the MMA spotlight is one of the most exciting things to happen around here in a long, damn time.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I tell him before I get up and walk out before I end up doing something insane, like signing a contract for a fight without thinking all this through.
Chapter Seven
Cassidy
When I hear a car pulling up outside, I hurry over to unlock the front door, opening it in a rush…only to find my mother on the other side.
I’m a horrible daughter for being disappointed that she’s not Xavier.
“Mom. Hi. I didn’t know you were coming over,” I say with a smile plastered on my face.
“I just heard from Christine who talked to Darla who said her son saw Xavier Malone at the gym today. Since he’s back in town, I thought I would come check on you and see how you’re doing,” she tells me with a concerned frown on her face.
“I’m fine,” I say. “And Xavier is staying with me this week. I thought I told you,” I blatantly lie to my mother’s face. She never would have approved, so I didn’t bring it up.
“He’s staying here! What will everyone at church think?” she gasps, dramatically clutching her hand to her chest. “And isn’t he,” she starts before silently mouthing the word, “married?”
“Divorced now actually,” I happily inform her. Caving, since she doesn’t seem intent on leaving just yet, I step back so she can come inside the house.
“Are you and he finally…you know?” she asks when she turns to me in the foyer.
“Are we what, Mom?”
“Bumping uglies,” she whispers.
“Oh, my god,” I mutter, shutting the door and scurrying away from her and into the kitchen to pour myself a big glass of white wine to help me get through this conversation.
“I’ll take a glass too,” my mother says when she catches up to me at the kitchen island and tosses her perfectly styled blonde hair.
I guzzle up every drop before responding to her. “No, you’re driving,” I tell her since it’s true, and because I think I may need the whole bottle to get through this conversation.
“Ugh, fine,” she grumbles. Glancing around the kitchen, she says, “So where is that big hunky man you’re sinning with?”
“God, Mom. We’re not sinning! And can’t you just call him Xavier?” I ask, pouring myself another glass and throwing it back like a shot so I barely taste it. Right now, I just need the alcohol to soak into my bloodstream fast to make this discussion disappear from my memory.
“Well? Where is he?”
“He was going to visit his parents after he left the gym,” I tell her. I wonder if he’s having as much fun as I am with my mother.
“How long is he in town for?” she asks.
“Just until Sunday after our reunion on Saturday.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. I know how much you miss him…”
“Mom,” I start.
“I’m just worried about you is all,” she says. “I don’t want you clinging to him like you did in high school before he flies off and leaves you heartbroken again.”
“I just miss him. It’s completely normal to miss your friends when they live on the other side of the country,” I point out.
“Aww, honey,” she says, patting the top of my hand with hers. “We both know it’s a little more than that. Just remember that your flower is special and worth saving for marriage. But you’re not getting any younger. Soon your eggs will all be shriveled up…”
My mother has deluded herself into thinking that I’m still a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. Can’t say I really blame her. Growing up, I had few friends, like one, and no boyfriends at all. I’ll never admit to her that I’m currently dating and sleeping with two men.
I no longer bother responding to the getting too old for marriage and kids spiel.
After I guzzle my third glass of wine, I ask, “Was there anything else you came to talk about? Or are you just being nosy while reminding me I’m still single? It would’ve been easier to just call me, you know?”
“I did call you before I came by,” she says. “I called and called, and your phone kept going to voicemail.”
“Well, I didn’t hear it,” I say, reaching in my back jean pocket for my cell phone. It’s not there.
I don’t usually carry a purse, just my house, store and car keys on a ring and my phone and debit card in my pocket when I go out.
“Where the hell is my phone?” I ask as I spin around the kitchen looking for where I usually sit it down. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen it since we got home from fishing…
“Want me to call you?” my mom asks, pulling out her phone from the purse hanging on her arm.
“Yeah,” I say as I continue searching.
She puts the device up to her ear and says, “It’s ringing.”
I run around the entire downstairs listening for it vibrating or ringing. I start to think I may have left it in Xavier’s rental when I head up the steps to check my bedroom and then my bathroom.
“Oh shit!” I exclaim when I finally spot my lime green case…completely submerged in the toilet bowl. “I’m going to kill him!” I say aloud.
And you can bet your ass I’m going to make him stick his hand in the toilet water to pull it out when he gets back.
Xavier
My dad is in the driveway, a garden hose in his hand, washing his classic Dodge Viper when I pull up at the curb in my rental car.
I wanted to call Cassidy from the gym and tell her what Coach said as soon as I left his office, but then I remembered that will be impossible after I got revenge for her throwing mine in the lake.
So, I’ll just have to keep the news bottled up while I visit with my parents.
My dad raises his hand to his brow, shielding his face from the setting sun when he looks over
and I step out of the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind me.
“X-Man!” he exclaims in recognition. Dropping the hose, he walks over and meets me halfway up the driveway for a masculine embrace. “We thought you had forgotten the way home! See? Planes fly year-round, not just during holidays.”
Just for that, I lift him off his feet because I know it drives him crazy that I’m slightly larger and stronger than him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he huffs with a slap on my back. “Put me down, you big mama’s boy!”
Chuckling, I lower him to the ground again and let him go, noticing there’s even more gray in his black hair than the last time I saw him.
“How you been, Dad?” I ask because he’s right, I usually talk to mom when I call home since he’s not big on phone conversations.
“Good,” he says. “I’ve been doing some coaching for your sister and a few guys at Havoc to help pass the time. You been by to see Macy yet?”
“Yeah, I just saw her at the gym,” I reply.
“Did you know she’s on a streak? Ten wins and no losses. That’s incredible, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s incredible,” I agree, happy for my sister and a little jealous of how close her and my dad are because she had her mind set on a fighting career before she could drive. They spent a lot of time together while I went across country for college and then law school.
Dad looks around me at my rental car and then asks, “Where’s the wifey?”
“Ah, Camilla didn’t come with me this time,” I explain.
“Oh,” he says. “Is she sick or something?”
“No, nothing like that,” I say. “It’s just that she probably won’t be coming with me to visit anymore.”
“Why? Did your mom do something to piss her off?”
“No, Mom didn’t do anything,” I assure him. “It was me. I, ah, I left her.”
“You left your wife where?” he asks.
“I left her, left her. We’re not together anymore.”
Dark eyes that resemble the same ones I see in the mirror every day narrow to slits. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“We just grew apart,” I say rather than admit to him the truth. It’s too fucking embarrassing to say out loud, much less to my uber-masculine father, of all people.
“Grew apart?” he repeats. “Did you move out?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you tried to work things out?” he asks. “Like with couples therapy or whatever?”
“No.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I don’t think that shit is going to work for us.”
“How do you know unless you try?” my dad questions. “You loved her enough to want to spend your life with her. Otherwise you wouldn’t have married her. So don’t you think you should at least try to see if you two can work things out?”
“Look, Dad, not everyone finds their soulmate and lives happily ever after like you and Mom, okay? Some of us pick the wrong person and it doesn’t work out.”
When he crosses his arms over his chest with his feet shoulder-width apart, I immediately recognize it as his lecture stance. “Do you think everything has always been perfect between me and your mother?”
“No, but…” I start, and he steamrolls right over me.
“But nothing! You made a vow, son, for better or worse. Worse happens to the best of us. Still, even when you argue or whatever, that’s not something that you can just up and walk away from. We raised you better than that.”
“It’s more complicated than an argument,” I explain.
“Listen, I’m about to tell you something that I never wanted anyone to know, especially you and your sister.”
“Okay.”
“A long time ago, your mom and I went through a rough patch.”
“Did you forget to take out the garbage or something?” I joke because my parents hardly ever fought when we were growing up. I’m pretty sure I heard them screwing more than I did arguing.
“No, I fucked up, and your mom kicked me out,” he says, looking down at the toe of his boot that he’s scuffing into the driveway.
“For what? A few hours?”
“No, a few weeks,” he replies. “We were separated, living apart, and I honestly didn’t know if we would ever get back together. I thought we were headed for divorce.”
“Wow,” I mutter in surprise. “You must have royally fucked up.”
“Oh, I did.”
“When?” I ask. “I don’t remember you not living at home.”
“You probably wouldn’t. You were only three or four years old,” he explains. “She was pissed at me, rightfully so, but I didn’t give up. We loved each other and just needed time to remember that. And thank god, because that was all when Page was pregnant with Macy. I had no idea. After that it was nothing but good times. In fact, we just celebrated our twenty-ninth anniversary.”
“Hold on. I turned twenty-eight in March, which is less than nine months apart, Dad.”
“No shit?” my father asks with his brow furrowed. “It must have been thirty years then. And you were born a month early…”
“No, you wouldn’t fuck up your anniversary, and I wasn’t premature. You knocked up mom before you were married, didn’t you?”
“That wasn’t it at all,” he says. “We just didn’t know she was already pregnant when we said our vows. But we weren’t all that surprised when she found out since I could’ve just as easily knocked her up at the jail the night we got married.”
“You were in jail?” I exclaim.
My dad glances down at the invisible watch on his wrist. “Ah, look at the time. I have to get going. Got a training appointment at seven. Would’ve cancelled if you had told us you were coming,” he grumbles. Reaching for the car door handle, he says, “Good seeing you, X-Man. Your mother’s inside the house. She’ll be happy you’re home.”
“Okay, yeah. See ya, Dad,” I tell him.
“We’ll catch up later?” he asks.
“Sure,” I agree as he gets in the car and I walk up and open the front door. “Mom?” I call out.
“Xavier!” she yells back from inside of her office, if I had to guess. I start that way, and she comes out a second later with her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and an oversized Havoc tee. We meet in the hallway for a hug.
“Oh, we’ve missed you so much!” she says. “So you decided to come home for the reunion after all?”
“Yeah, I got in yesterday,” I reply.
“Where are you staying? Is Camilla with you?” she asks.
“Ah, no, she’s not. And I’m staying with Cassidy in her new house.”
“Xavier Jackson Malone,” my mother scolds me with a slap to my chest. “Do you really think staying overnight with a woman without your wife is a good idea?”
“Cass and I are just friends,” I remind her. “And Camilla and I…we aren’t together anymore.”
“What? Why not?” she asks with her face pinched.
“We’re getting divorced.”
“Oh no. When did this happen?” she asks.
“A few months ago.”
“Months ago?” my mom shouts. Grabbing my arm, she slips past me down the hall, pulling me behind her. “Come sit down and start from the beginning.”
We get to the kitchen and each take a seat at the dining table.
“Why didn’t you tell us what was going on, Xavier?”
“Because I didn’t really want to talk about it,” I explain. Twisting the wedding band around on my finger, I tell her, “There’s nothing to say. It’s over.”
“Honey, if it’s over, then why are you still wearing your ring?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “Because then it will mean we’re really done, and I’m not sure if I’m there yet.”
“What happened?”
“I’m still not ready to talk about it,” I tell her. “And don’t bother wi
th the whole marriage is a serious lifetime commitment spiel you don’t just quit and walk away from. Dad’s already given it to me.”
“Oh, you got to see him before he left? I’m so glad!”
“Why didn’t you two ever tell me he went to jail? Or that you got knocked up with me before you were married?” I ask to try and change the subject off of my failed marriage. I was born with my father’s competitive streak, so I hate failing at anything, especially this.
Judging by my mother’s bulging blue eyes, that blast from the past definitely did the trick with helping turn the tables back to her.
“Holy crap! He told you about all of that?” she asks.
“Yep. Just not the details. You’ll give me those, won’t you?”
She thinks it over while redoing her bun before finally saying, “Screw it! It’s his own fault for bringing it up. And nothing you can’t do an internet search for and find out.”
“Good, let’s hear it,” I say, slouching down in my chair to get comfortable.
“Your father and I met because, when he was your age, he got arrested.”
“For what?” I ask.
She cringes before finally saying, “Assault and, ah, rape.”
“What?” I exclaim, sitting up straighter in my seat.
“He didn’t do either, of course,” she hurries to explain. “But he was a famous, wealthy fighter, and a woman thought he would be an easy target to hit with violent charges. And somehow, thanks to my father, I ended up being his attorney as a PR stunt before finally taking the whole thing over.”
“Did the case go to trial?”
“Yep.”
“So you obviously won,” I say.
“Not exactly. We lost, but only because my jealous, idiotic ex was out to screw your dad over, so he paid off a juror. Not that we knew it at the time…”
“Jesus,” I mutter, unable to imagine my claustrophobic father in a tiny, concrete cell.
“He spent a few weeks in prison before your uncles and a private investigator helped us figure it.”
