Fighting Silence

by Aly Martinez

  And it made me so fucking paranoid.

  “Hey, can you drive home?” Eliza handed me the keys.

  “You okay?”

  “I have an idea.” She rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to mine, biting my bottom lip as she pulled away.

  “Suddenly, I have ideas too.” I looped an arm around her waist and rolled my hips into hers.

  “Well, you need to get rid of those ideas,” she whispered looking over her shoulder to where the boys were waiting by the car. “I’m on my period.”

  “Ah, yes. Natures very own cock block.” I nodded before releasing a frustrated groan.

  She giggled. “Yes, but it also means that I can start my birth control so we can get rid of the condoms.” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, woman. Now you are speaking a language I understand.” I grabbed both sides of her face and planted a hard closed mouth kiss to her lips.

  “Let’s go!” Flint yelled, grabbing our attention.

  “Next weekend is the lock in at the gym. They will be gone for an entire night. You should rest up while you can.” I winked as I walked away.

  As we loaded into the car, she pulled a sketchpad out and went to work. I didn’t recognize the movements as her pencils glided across the paper. I tried to peek over her shoulder at every red light we hit, but I was never able to catch a single glance. She was acting weird, and my heart raced while waiting for the sky to fall.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I squeezed her leg.

  She glanced up with a warm smile. “I swear. I just wanted to draw something.” She lifted my hand from her leg and kissed the palm, reading my nerves like a freaking book.

  As soon as we walked through the front door, Eliza sat us all down.

  “So,” she started, but nothing followed for several seconds. “I’m not sure how you guys are going to feel about this, but I had an idea at the restaurant. I know this is kind of a touchy subject, but I don’t really think ignoring it does anyone any good.” She flipped the sketchpad over.

  I blinked.

  Flint gasped.

  Quarry cursed.

  She had drawn a pistol that appeared to be shooting an intricate sound wave, which eventually fell flat. Inside the spikes of the wave were the words “The Silencer” in block letters.

  “Till, I don’t mean to sound like a Debbie Downer, but every single day that passes, you fight to keep the silence at bay. I think it’s only fair that your opponents should have to face The Silencer.”

  “Hell yeah!” Quarry flew to his feet.

  Flint watched me closely for a reaction, but with one look at the paper, I was rendered speechless.

  If I could have taken a step back, I would have realized that the logo she’d whipped up on a twenty-minute car ride home was just good and the nickname she’d picked was just catchy. But I couldn’t do that at all. What she’d put on that paper was extraordinary to me.

  It gave power to my flaws, purpose to my life sentence, and pride to my future in silence.

  It was a symbol depicting who I was, drawn by the very hands that had made me who I was.

  I mentally vowed that, from that moment on, I would always be “The Silencer” Till Page.

  She nervously chewed on her lip as everyone in the room waited for me to speak. I stood up from the couch and walked over to where she was standing. After grabbing the sketchpad from her hand, I roughly tore off the top page.

  “It was just an idea. Don’t get mad,” she said, starting to apologize.

  “Oh, I’m furious,” I responded, gripping the back of her neck. “You’ve been holding out on me. I had no idea you could draw anything but eyes.”

  She started to laugh, but I kissed her indecently.

  I’d forgotten that the boys were in the room until I heard Quarry groan in disgust. I couldn’t have given two shits who was watching though.

  “I love it,” I told her as she pulled away. “I’m giving this to Slate in the morning, and if he doesn’t like it, I’m quitting.”

  “Okay, now, let’s not get crazy here,” she replied.

  “So, that’s the one?” Flint asked, snatching the paper from my hand.

  I stared into Eliza’s dark-blue eyes as I answered, “It is for me.”

  Four months later . . .

  “QUARRY, GET OUT OF THE car!”

  “No.” He pouted.

  “You look fine!”

  “I look like I pissed myself! There might be chicks in there.”

  “No. It looks like I hit the brakes, causing you to spill pop all over your lap. If the chicks ask, just blame it on me. Now, let’s go.”

  Flint chuckled beside me.

  “See! He’s laughing!” Quarry exclaimed. “I’m not going in like this. Take me back home.”

  I sucked in a calming breath, but my nerves were shot. That night, “The Silencer” Till Page was set to make his debut in the professional boxing ring, and I was standing in the parking lot of a small, run-down arena on the outskirts of Chicago, arguing with an eleven-year-old drama king.

  “It is a three-hour drive back to our apartment!” I looked over to Flint and threw my hands up in frustration.

  He shook his head then dragged his royal-blue hoodie off and tossed it at Quarry with a smirk. “Put that on. It’s big enough to cover your piss panties.”

  Quarry fumed as he pulled it on, but he finally got out of the freaking car.

  As we entered the venue, it was obvious that the chattering crowd wasn’t there because of Till. Every word I heard spoken was about Slate’s big return to professional boxing. The venue had printed programs, and Slate’s photo was at least three times the size of anyone else’s. Till’s was on the back.

  It was packed with standing-room only, and even though it was the middle of fall in Chicago, it might as well have been a broiler room. Quarry was sweating his ass off inside that hoodie, but he refused to take it off.

  “Leo!” Flint shouted from our reserved seats in the front row.

  “’Sup, man.” He leaned across metal barricade to shake Flint’s hand. “Hey, Eliza.”

  “I didn’t know you guys were coming,” I said, returning Leo’s friendly hug.

  “Are you kidding? We’ve been waiting a long time for this.” He pointed up to the balcony, where Sarah and Erica were waving enthusiastically.

  I tried to cover how touched I was that they were all there to support Till. “Thank you,” I whispered to Leo as I returned their waves with both hands.

  His eyes warmed as he watched me fight back tears. I was a mess. Even more than usual. It was such a huge moment for Till. I was entitled to be emotional.

  “Did Liv come?” Quarry asked, jumping to his feet.

  “Nah. She’s not into the whole boxing thing. Whoa! Q, did you wet your pants?” He started laughing as he looked down at where the hoodie had ridden up.

  “No! Eliza made me spill pop. I swear!”

  Flint laughed hysterically beside him.

  “Right.” Leo winked. “Fight’s about to start. I’m handling Slate’s security tonight, so let me know if you have any problems.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  He glanced back down at Quarry’s pants and chuckled to himself as he walked away.

  Just as Leo disappeared around the corner, the arena went crazy. We were all looking around to figure out what we were missing when the crowd started chanting, “Slate.” Even through the chaos, I spotted Till the second they started toward the ring. I wasn’t even sure the fans in attendance even realized he was there at all.

  But I did.

  Wearing a red robe with the logo I had drawn sewn across the back, I watched “The Silencer” Till Page crawl through the ropes. Staggering pride forced tears to my eyes. Flint must have seen it, because he tossed an arm around my shoulders and pulled me up against his side. However, judging by their faces, both boys were just as overwhelmed by that moment as I was. Their big brother was
a professional boxer, and even if it was only that one fight, he’d made it big time in their eyes.

  Four rounds later, Till won his very first fight by unanimous decision.

  “How much money did you make?” Quarry asked Till when we made it to the dingy locker room after the fight.

  “He didn’t make anything,” Slate answered. “But I made six hundred bucks.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “You didn’t make anything?”

  “Nope. I don’t get money until I make more than what Slate pays me every month.”

  “Well, that blows!” Quarry exclaimed.

  Slate began cutting the tape off Till’s hands. “All right, so I talked to a few of the promoters before the fight. I got you set up for three more four-round fights. Once every thirty days. Hundred and fifty bucks per round. You good with that?”

  “Yeah. Definitely,” Till answered quickly.

  “After that, we can move up to six-rounders and hopefully get you in the ring with some decent opponents with a larger purse.”

  “What happened to that possible fight in New York you mentioned the other day?”

  “Well, he was willing to take a chance on you as long as I did a fucking meet and greet before the fight. I hung up on him.” Slate paused uncomfortably. “Listen, I’m sorry about that bullshit on the way to the ring. This is part of the reason I always hesitated to come back as a trainer. Eventually, the novelty of me being back in the business will wear off and people won’t even notice I’m there anymore, but for the next few months, I worry that it might just be the way things go.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Till answered. “Really. It doesn’t bother me. You forget that I’m a Slate Andrews fan too. Well, I was . . . until you almost killed me by forcing me around the track in jeans.” He gave Slate a one-sided smile I recognized as genuine.

  “So, when does Till get to the big money? I refuse to believe that Erica has a bodyguard and you made six hundred bucks a fight,” Quarry asked, hopping up onto the table next to Till.

  Slate laughed, shaking his head. “I guess that all depends on who he fights. Who he beats. Who he loses to. I’m gonna do my job and get him the fights. The rest is up to Till.”

  “So, he gets paid per round? What about if he knocks someone out?” Flint asked from the corner.

  “Promoters want a good show so they can sell tickets. Knockouts are nice, but what keeps people happy is feeling like they got their money’s worth. So the opening fights get paid per round. After that, you get paid based on your contract that’s negotiated in advance. Win or lose. Decision or TKO, it doesn’t matter at that point. The established fighter makes majority of the money, and the opponent makes significantly less.”

  “Wait . . . what?” Flint stepped closer. “Even if he wins, he still gets paid less money? Shouldn’t the loser make significantly less?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. See, the goal is to become the champ. It’s not just the prestige. There are a lot of zeros on the back of that belt that keep people in that ring.”

  Till tilted his head in confusion. “Why’d you retire when you had the title, then? You must have been making a ton of money as the six-time defending world champion. Why not stick with it until you lost?”

  Slate shrugged. “I guess I was just done.”

  Till barked a laugh, and Slate’s eyes turned serious.

  “I remember when I won my first pro fight. It was pretty much exactly like things happened for you tonight. I was so pumped up as I walked out of that arena, but then, when I got home, I hit a low. I sat and stared at that envelope full of cash for hours. I was afraid to even touch it. I was convinced that it was all I’d get. For several months, I just let them stack up in a drawer. The promise of money is what drove me in the sport.

  “The point is I’ve been where you are, so I know exactly how ridiculous this statement is going to sound. But I hope that, one day, you will understand that money is only as important as what it gives you. I’m not talking about sports cars or big houses. I’m talking about peace of mind. When I walked away from boxing, I turned down a rematch that would have earned me over sixty million.”

  “Holy shit!” I heard myself cuss, and it was joined by similar sentiments from everyone in the room.

  “For me, money lost its value the day I met Erica. It couldn’t buy me time with her. I had more than enough to live comfortably, and that was all I ever really wanted. So I quit. The incentive was no longer worth the sacrifice.”

  We were all silent for several seconds before the room erupted in chaos.

  “You turned down sixty million dollars for a girl!”

  “You have got to be kidding!”

  “No way! What is wrong with you?”

  “Sixty million dollars or pesos?”

  Slate just laughed.

  “You should never tell that story again,” Till informed him, making Slate laugh even louder.

  “Worst story ever!” Flint declared. “You know what lesson I learned from that story? Till needs to break up with Eliza—stat.”

  “Hey!” I objected.

  “Yeah. I agree.” Quarry jumped off the table and faced Till. “If you had sixty million, you could hire her to sleep with you.”

  Till slapped a hand over his mouth, but his laugh was no less muffled.

  My mouth gaped open before I shouted, “I am not a hooker!”

  “Of course not!” Flint rubbed my shoulder soothingly before he added, “We’d still expect you to cook for us. Hookers don’t cook.” He winked.

  “How the hell do you know what hookers do?” I bit back.

  The whole room was rolling with laughter at this point, and I couldn’t help but join them.

  Till made his way over and wrapped me in his arms. “Okay. Okay. Nobody’s getting rid of Eliza. I can make sixty million and keep her.” He continued to laugh even as he kissed the top of my head.

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  And that was the way we worked. We picked on each other relentlessly and laughed unabashedly. They fought. I refereed. It was perfect, really.

  We were a family.

  One year later . . .

  “THE SILENCER IS IN THE house!” I heard called as I walked into the gym.

  Quarry laughed as he took off toward the before-school program he had long since grown to love.

  I had quickly become a small-time big deal around the gym.

  With over seven fights under my belt, I was making my way up the ladder. The fights were getting larger, and I was loving it. By the end of the first year, I had banked over fifteen grand on top of what Slate paid me weekly. I’d dropped it all in a savings account and refused to touch it. I had never felt more stable and secure in my life. Just knowing it was there calmed the anxiety I hadn’t even known I was harboring.

  Eliza was finishing up her last semester in college and had started looking for accounting positions. She said that she was excited about getting a real job, but I knew she was dreading spending her days poring over numbers instead of sketchpads. After a civil case with Derrick Bailey paid off her student loans, I refused to allow her to take out anymore. I was in it forever with Eliza, and the last thing I wanted was to start it out with a load of debt.

  God, we fought about money, but not like most couples. It was never because we didn’t have enough or one was spending too much. It was always about who got to pay the bills. I was making decent money and hell-bent on taking care of her the way I had always dreamed about. And well, Eliza didn’t like feeling like a freeloader being taken care of. I loved those fights. Her nipples would get all hard as I yelled about how much I loved providing for her. Then she would stomp her foot and declare that she wanted to split the bills. Which caused my cock to get hard . . . which caused her eyes to heat as they drifted down to my pants . . . which caused me get so hot that I was forced to remove my shirt . . . which caused her to lick her lips . . . which caused me to rush forward and fuck her on the closest horizontal surface I
could find. Really, it was a vicious cycle.

  “Page, get in here!” Slate yelled from his office.

  “What’s up?” I asked, settling into the chair across from his desk.

  “You and Quarry go to the doctor yesterday?”

  “Yeah. I’m good. He’s not sure why it comes and goes sometimes. I tested at around seventy percent still.”

  “And what about Quarry?”

  “He’s still sitting at eighty percent. No real change.”

  “That’s good fucking news.” He stood up, walked to the door, and pushed it shut before drawing the shades that covered his large, glass windows into the gym.

  My curiosity grew, because up until that moment, I hadn’t known that those shades were even functional.

  “All right. Now, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.” He sat on the corner of the desk. “Clay Page has been calling the gym looking for you. Pretty much every day, we get a collect call from the prison.”

  “Fuck him,” flew from my mouth.

  “Right. Well, I’ve been keeping Quarry off phone duty. I don’t want to put him in a position of having to hang up on his own dad if he happened to call.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Well, just so you know, I’ll be contacting the prison to put a halt to that shit. I run a business. I don’t need inmates blowing up my phones.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” I pushed to my feet, ready to work off some steam.

  “Where you going? Sit back down, I’m not done yet.”

  “Please tell me there’s not more,” I huffed, flopping back down onto the chair.

  “Change of plans on your fight this weekend. Summers got hurt and they can’t find anyone to replace him on such short notice. Your fight got dropped from the card.”

  “Son of a bitch!” I boomed, jumping to my feet. “That was a big fight.” I started to pace. “Are we rescheduling?”

  “Nope.” He smiled in amusement.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You’re too busy.” His smile grew.

  “Um, no. No. I’m not. That was twenty-five grand. I’m pretty sure my schedule is wide-ass open.”

  “I got you a new fight for Saturday night,” he announced, and I suddenly understood the smile.