by Fields, MJ
His eyes blink slowly, and his head never moves from the fixed position it’s in resting against the corner post.
“I’ll shut the door…when Leo comes back. I won’t watch,” I say.
“I want you to watch.” His response is fast, like he had it ready.
I turn in my chair and fold my arms over my chest, leaning back by pushing with my foot on an open drawer down low. I bounce a little by bobbing my leg, and I consider his request.
“You’re making me a part of your training, like I’m a hurdle you have to overcome,” I say.
“You are.” The speed of his answers stings a little, and I wince.
“This doesn’t work for me, Memphis. Not like this, and you know it.” I stand up and move to the door, but by the time I get to it, Memphis leaps to his feet and swings his legs over the ropes, rushing to the door just in time to stop it with his foot, holding it open for me to have to listen.
“I’m not Archie, Liv. You have to have faith to know it. I think you know me enough to trust it. I’ve shown you who I am,” he says, his head falling against the door, sweat-dampened hair falling over one eye.
“I’m not a hurdle.” I inhale through my nose, keeping my mouth closed tight after I speak.
His jaw flexes as his throat moves in a slow swallow, his eyes dipping below mine briefly before coming back to challenge me.
“You are in here. In that ring back there, with your crazy uncle and his head games, yeah, Liv…you’re a hurdle. Doesn’t mean I want to get rid of you or block you out or choose fighting over you. Just means I need to know I can do my job—that I can win—with you in the room.” He shrugs and shakes his head lightly.
“I don’t have to watch. I wasn’t planning on it, really. Watching you in the ring in Vegas would be like watching him—or like my mom watching him. The person it would turn me into…”
“You have to come. And you are not her just like I am not him, and you know that too.” Memphis brings his left hand up to his chest, patting it on his heart twice then curling his fingers into a fist and squeezing. “I’m no champion at all if you’re not there to see it.”
I breathe out a short burst of a laugh, but grow silent when I meet his gaze and see how very serious he is.
Well damn.
My hand eases its grip on the door, and Memphis pushes it open, stepping into me in one smooth motion, just like he moves in the ring. His right hand slides up my neck and into my hair, his left hand claws at my jaw. His mouth covers mine without stopping to breathe, and he kisses me until I think I might float away. This kiss is aggressive. It’s possessive in its very existence. My weight in his hands, he arches my back and bites at my lower lip, letting it slide from his grip slowly as his mouth morphs into a smile against my lips. His nose grazes along mine in a tickle, and his body exhales a low grunt, as though I’ve been conquered—my worries and apprehensions slain like a dragon.
“Oh,” I manage to squeak out, sucking in my top lip to taste what is left of him. “Just so you know, my uncle is going to be pissed.”
“Fuck your uncle.”
His eyes burn into mine, and a sinister smile fills his face. After a second or two, he slides backward through the door, leaving his eyes on me until he reaches the locker area. He flips open his and pulls out his phone, typing quickly, then tossing it onto the metal shelf and jumping a few times in place before jogging back to the ring, climbing in and moving as if someone is in there with him.
He shadowboxes, his eyes as focused as they were before, but this time all he has to work with is the enemy he can imagine. He’s fearsome, and he’s flawless. And when Leo and Fake Omar walk back into the gym, Memphis isn’t even out of breath, despite having fought a shadow for several minutes while my uncle sucked up his pride and came back before he was ready to.
I don’t move to the bench like I did before, but I do watch. Memphis points his gloved hand toward me, and my uncle looks my direction, slowly flipping the toothpick in his mouth before slipping into a grin. He loves conflict, and he thinks breaking a man down will only make him stronger. He may be right about that. Only Memphis has already built himself back up from nothing. He’s built himself into a champion. And for the next hour, he soaks up every weapon my uncle and Fake Omar try to throw at him, and he turns it into domination.
The way he moves brings me to my feet, and I’m unable to stay in my self-imposed cage any longer. I need to see him do it. My soul aches to watch him overcome every little thing my uncle can throw at him—the mind games, the speed—it’s meaningless in his path.
There’s just something about the way he moves…like a ghost.
Like a fighter.
Fourteen
Memphis
There’s a sixteen-year-old girl a few racks to the left of me, and she looks miserable. It must be homecoming. That’s the only thing I can think of happening this time of year that drives mothers and daughters into a mess like this. The girls in my group home were always worked up over school dances, and one of my foster siblings practically pushed our foster parent into a nervous breakdown over it.
Homecoming, and dinners with potential sponsors with thousands of dollars on the line that I’m not entirely sure I want…or need. Two good reasons to be stressed.
The girl has tried on about a dozen dresses, some short and too tight—as in I would never be okay with my daughter wearing that—and some that belong on a wedding cake…from the nineteen eighties.
I’m waiting on a dress I ordered online. The store put it on hold, but now no one can seem to find it. I used the few pieces of clothing Liv left at my place to pick out what I hope like hell is her size. I went plain and comfortable. The dress is gray, and all that I really cared about was it had those thin straps on the shoulders. If I get lost at all during this dinner tonight, I plan on finding home right there on Liv’s skin. I think the trail of freckles on her left shoulder might be my favorite constellation.
“Every dress is too small, Mom. Even the big ones. And I don’t have a date, I’m going with Hannah and Taylor. I feel really stupid because everyone is going to know I just got dumped. Let’s just forget it.” It’s impossible not to hear her monologue.
She’s sixteen, heartbroken, and as a result, insecure. I’ve been there. Only I never had a parent to take me somewhere nice to pick out clothes. I had Sister Monica, and the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store on the corner, where—for as long as I can remember—I got new slacks and a decent white-collared shirt at the start of every year.
“This one looks amazing on you, Sam. Please…at least get the dress so you’re ready, if you decide to go…” Her mom stops abruptly, reaching into her purse for her phone. She holds up a finger and moves to the front of the store to hear better.
Somewhere in that time, the girl’s gaze has found me. When I turn back to keep spying, I’m hit with a crinkled brow and a slight death stare. My crooked smile sets her a little at ease, so I glance back at her mom, then move a little closer so I don’t have to shout.
“Your date is going to be knocked on his ass when he sees you in that,” I say, and she looks down, dragging her hands along the skirt that sways out ending just above her knees.
“He uh…we broke up,” she says, her gaze still down at the skirt of the dress.
I exist in a world where I get an edge by tearing the other guy down. It might be nice to lift someone up.
“Well then, you should definitely get that dress. Dude’s gonna feel sorry as hell watching you have a good time without him.”
And just like that, her eyes flit up and her mouth curves.
“I found it, Mr. Delaney. I’m so sorry for the wait,” the clerk says as she weaves through a line of formal dresses back to me.
“No problem at all. My girl is going to love this dress, but if you couldn’t find it, I was gonna see if you had that one in her size,” I say, nodding over my shoulder to my teenaged friend.
Not in on my plan, the clerk awkwardly nods and smi
les. It’s enough, though. I don’t look back until I’m nearly out the door, but her mom’s returned, and they’re both smiling.
I bank the good karma all the way home, stopping at the coffee shop to pick up Miles’s favorite donuts. I drop them off with him at the park, and give him a peek at the dress I chose, maybe just needing one other person’s approval since Liv has no idea it’s coming—let alone what it looks like. His reaction is a little more than I expected, though; I think maybe he’s been drinking today. His whistles are loud, so I take off before his pervy side comes out.
Leo’s waiting in the gym when I walk in, so I check the clock on the wall. I’m not really late; I’m right on time. And technically, buying a dress is business, so just as his mouth starts to fly off the handle with my lack of dedication, I cut him off completely, walking straight into Liv’s office and closing the door behind me.
“Shit,” she startles. “Umm, you still get to knock, okay?”
My lips tighten for a smile. I’m actually excited to give this to her. Fuck me if she hates it.
“Cinderella? Meet your gown,” I say, resting the box on the less-messy side of her desk.
She stares at me suspiciously for a few seconds while her hands work at removing the lid, and I can tell when she starts to piece together what’s happening. We haven’t talked about the dinner once since the big blowout with Angela. There wasn’t a need, really, until there was a date. Angela gave it to me yesterday, again insisting she come along. I dismissed the idea and ordered this dress, which Liv is now lifting slowly in front of her, holding it by the two thin straps that I’ve already imagined over her shoulders.
“A woman helped you with this, didn’t she? Come on; you can tell me,” she says, and I exhale.
“This is all me. Well…it’s really all you, but it just looked like it belonged on you I guess. I knew it when I saw it,” I say.
Her thumbs and fingers rub the fabric, which is soft and well worn, just as I knew she would like it. She lowers it back into the box carefully, recovering the lid with a soft smile painted on her lips.
She likes it.
“I guess this means I have to go to a dinner party, huh?” Her mouth quirks up on one side, and I’m not looking forward to the part I have to say next.
“Good news, though,” I say.
She cocks her head.
“It’ll be over soon.” My voice rises at the end, and I wait for her to get it.
“Tonight?” She doesn’t quite shout, but there’s a hint of surprise…maybe frustration in her tone.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I just got the date yesterday,” I say, scooping up her hand and playing with her fingers, trying to distract.
I fail. She takes her hand away.
“So that was before I fell asleep at your place—after we sat up until two in the morning talking. So much talking, Memphis. Somewhere in there, maybe an ‘Oh, and that dinner you’re dreading is tomorrow.’” She rolls her eyes and falls into her seat at her desk, scooting back a few feet.
“To be fair, you never fall asleep at my place.” That one wasn’t nice, and I feel sick for saying it the instant the words hit the air. Her eyes droop, and the fact that I made them look that way stabs at my side.
“I didn’t mean—” I start to apologize, but she cuts me off.
“What time should I be ready?” she asks, sliding her chair back into its place at her desk then turning her focus on the computer in front of her. She’s mad.
“Liv,” I say, about to step toward her. She stops me again.
“Time, Memphis?” she says.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and think about waking up every morning. Just once, I’d love to wake up and have her still be there.
“Seven. We need to leave at seven,” I say.
“You need to rent a car,” she answers, leaning back and tapping a pen on a notepad in front of her a few times before glancing at me one last time. “I’m not wearing that beautiful dress on your…Commando.”
My mouth ticks up on the right, and even though she doesn’t smile back, I see the playfulness dust her eyes. As satisfying as that is, though, it’s not crystal clear. I’m never going to be vague with this girl.
“I’ll get a car,” I say, pausing at her doorway, pulling the handle closed with me, but stopping to say one last thing before I leave to let her uncle rip me a new asshole for four straight hours.
“Hey Liv?”
She looks at me sideways, her hair twisted at the base of her neck and held in place by a pencil. When I get the attention of her pale, blue eyes, I hold onto it for a few seconds because sometimes, it’s good to feel lucky.
“When I wake up, and you’re already gone…” I say, noting the way her eyes fall just a little, a hint of a dent above each brow. “I just really wish you were there is all. That’s why I said that.”
Her skin evens out, and sad eyes look a little frightened, but there’s also something in them that looks excited, too. I nod lightly and close her door the rest of the way. I don’t let her or dinner enter my head again until my body has been fully spent and every move Omar Morales knows how to make is imprinted in my brain.
* * *
The only thing really fueling my exhausted body for this dinner is seeing Liv in that dress. That and the New York strip I intend to put away with a second helping of…another New York strip. I get how vampires feel now. This level of hungry is something I’ve never experienced. I’ve never worked this hard for a fight. The stage is so big, though, that I want to make a statement.
I need to make a statement.
Vegas comes with odds. Not that the local fights don’t, but the odds are almost more important than the glory when it comes to fighting in Vegas. Right now? I’m the underdog. It’s actually right where I want to be, too, because whether he realizes he does or not, Omar Morales has started to think of me as the underdog too.
He’s training right now. He’s putting his body through the same regimen it’s experienced a dozen times. I’m the new kid; he’s the king whose crown I intend to take. But he’s the favorite, which means his hunger…it’s not as rabid as mine.
It gets harder to stay hungry when you’re on top. That’s why I don’t believe in a ceiling. When I defeat Omar, there’s a bigger title in my sights. And when I conquer that one, I want the world. When the world comes, defending titles are next, and I will defend until my death.
For now, though, I am helpless. No one has ever shown me how to tie a tie. I can usually get away with it, but this place—El Carbon—is strictly jackets and ties. I feel like I’m choking every time I put my head in this noose.
“Gah!” I give up on my last attempt and leave the ends undone on either side of my neck. I grab the jacket I bought along with Liv’s dress, and slip my arms in the snug fit. Everything I’m wearing is gray—the suit dark, the shirt light, and the tie somewhere in-between. Miles actually taught me that. “A big man can’t go wrong in gray,” he said. I think he suggested it sometime after I dripped ketchup on my shirt from a burger we shared in the park.
I run my palms under water in my bathroom sink and comb my fingers through my hair a final time.
“This is as good as I get,” I mutter to myself, lowering my eyes and meeting myself in the mirror. With my head turned slightly to one side, I draw my lip up and smirk at myself—in a gray suit. I think maybe Robert Delaney would be proud of his boy right now.
I feel fucking dapper until I step out my trailer door to see a goddess waiting for me. Everything about her is so simple, and that’s what makes it perfect. Her hair somehow seems longer like that, over her bare shoulder. She’s golden, even more so thanks to the setting sunset reflecting all around. Her bare neck and the hint of her breasts is going to draw every man’s eyes one direction, and I can’t even be pissed off about it because holy damn, this woman.
“Wow,” I say.
I roll my shoulders back and let my free hand sink into my pants pocket while my other hol
ds the jacket over my shoulder. My head shakes slowly as my grin spreads, and all I can do is lean into my doorframe, cross my ankles and appreciate her.
“Stop gawking. It’s uncomfortable,” she says, chewing at the inside of her cheek.
“I can’t, Liv. Goddamn.”
Her eyelashes bat nervously, and her gaze flits to me briefly before falling down to the skirt of the flowing, silky dress that she gathers in her fists and squeezes.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I jump from the step of my place, pulling the door closed behind me, and Liv starts to sway her skirt from side to side as I get closer. My hand gravitates to her chin, and I coax her head up just enough to look right into her eyes as we stand toe to toe.
I don’t have cheesy words to say. I’m not going to kiss her. I’m only going to look at her this close to me with nobody around to interrupt us, and I’m going to appreciate every breath I get to have her—right like this. Her hands climb up my chest until each is gripping an end of my tie, and she tugs lightly while letting her head fall and her lip tick up.
“You need a little help, champ?” she teases.
I nod with a light chuckle and helplessly let my hands fall to my sides.
“It may as well be a bandana the way I tie it,” I say, noticing how wrinkled it’s become from my pathetic attempts.
“Let me show you the trick,” she says, pulling the tie from my neck and wrapping it around her own. “Watch carefully. This one is long, and it travels here…then here.”
I’m not paying a damn bit of attention to her hands and the tie; I’m too far gone looking at her lips move. She bites the bottom one when she concentrates. I’ve seen her do it in the office when she doesn’t have a pencil to chew. Her eyelashes flicker, like a hummingbird’s wings, while her eyes dash from one movement of her somehow perfect fingers to the next. Her skin looks so soft, and she smells so good, like the beach and summer.
“You get all that?” she asks, looking up into my eyes as she slips the finished tie from over her head then loops it over mine, her hands working at my collar to put it in place.