Pivot Line

by Rebel Farris

“And introducing our challenger, weighing in at two hundred and five pounds, standing six feet and two inches tall, Dieeeeeesseeellll!”

  I toss my empty water bottle and towel to a guy nearby. Mixed-gender matches don’t allow face hits. Or hitting in general. It’s more about grappling, holds, and submission.

  Diesel enters the cage. His eyes roam over my body with a leer. He turns to the crowd, throwing his hands up with a yell and pounding his bare chest. Thick ropes of a tribal tattoo run across each arm, crossing at his chest. I’ve seen enough tattoos in my lifetime that these are not impressive at all. Images of pistols and half-curled fists flash through my mind, tattoos with personality and stories behind them. I bet there’s a story behind Dex’s dragon. Diesel’s are just a showpiece. Look at me, I’m a badass with tattoos.

  I’m not gonna lie, though. The rest of him is hot as hell. Dark hair, tall, and muscular. His loose gym shorts hang low on his hips, exposing a deep V of muscle. I’ve fought Diesel quite a few times, and I always had the suspicion that Nic picked him because he hits all the checkboxes for my type. Except for the personality. I like the deep ones: intelligent, broody, with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders an almost visible strain.

  Law didn’t seem that way at first. He was fun. But the second I met his dad, I knew. He had his hooks in me deep. This cage is the only time I allow myself to think of him because Diesel isn’t standing in front of me anymore. I don’t see crappy tribal tattoos as I shake his hand.

  The fact that we wear masks helps with this illusion. My mind settles, my focus narrows on my opponent, and the same words repeat in my head like a mantra: I will not give in. You do not own me.

  “You ready for this, sweetheart?” Diesel asks, gesturing at his dick.

  My eyes narrow. “Try shutting your mouth before you ruin this for me. You know I don’t like it when you talk.”

  “I gotta keep you talking somehow.” He shrugs. “It keeps my dick hard when you say this shit to me.” He grabs himself and adjusts its position.

  “Quit playing with your pencil dick, and let’s get to it. I don’t have all night. There’s a schedule to keep.”

  He groans. “Goddamn, that smart mouth of yours does it for me.” His eyes flash with a smirk.

  I close my eyes as those words hit me. When I open them, I charge. Fuck waiting around for him to come at me.

  Then

  “…a real New Orleans adventure,” Holly said, as we hopped onto one of the red trolleys that travel the network of wires that hover over the streets.

  I was so taken by the sights as we passed through the French Quarter that I forgot she had started talking again. That city had a pulse, a rhythm. Like the city itself was constructed of music, and it bled through every pore in the concrete roads. Holly tugged on my sleeve, and I pulled my gaze away from the window.

  “Are you even hearing me?” she asked, tapping her foot and standing in the aisle. “This next stop is where we get off.”

  “I’m distracted by the city.” I waved her off and stood. “It’s my first time here, you know.”

  “You’ll fucking love it. This isn’t touristy New Orleans, this is authentic.” She winked.

  We made our way toward the front of the trolley and jumped off just before it started moving again. I froze in place. Just ten steps ahead of me, Jared was standing under a sign that read Canal Street Ferry Terminal, looking handsome as ever. He smiled and walked toward us.

  “Took you guys long enough,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

  I pulled back to see his face. “You came.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss your first trip to a real blues club. It’ll be just like old times, yeah?”

  I leaned in and took a deep breath. Jared’s familiar scent surrounded me, comforting. It was such a change from the way he had been acting. I was going to embrace every moment I had him back.

  “We’re taking the ferry?” I asked.

  Holly nodded. “Yeah, it’s a few blocks from the ferry terminal on the other side to where we need to go.”

  “Wouldn’t it be faster just to drive there?” Asher questioned.

  “And miss the boat ride across the Mississippi?” Holly asked. “Fuck that—we gonna do it right.”

  I tipped my head back and laughed. “Holly, I think your Cajun is showing.”

  Asher’s head whipped toward her. “You’re from around here?”

  “Holy Cross, born and raised.” She tipped her head. “It’s over that way, on this side of the river. Shit, I couldn’t miss a chance to return home.” Her eyes tracked back to me with a grin. “And catch up with my best bitch.”

  “Huh,” Asher grunted, looking thoughtful.

  “It only took one time of hearing her ask for mayonnaise for me to figure it out.” I laughed.

  “How do you say it?” Asher asked.

  “It’s not may-o-nays, or man-ays like Mads says, it’s my-nez,” Holly grumbled. “It’s not even weird. You fuckers are weird.”

  “I think it’s adorable.” I pressed my hands, palms together, underneath my tilted head with a smirk.

  “It’s why I love me some Maddie,” Holly said, ignoring me. She tugged me to her side by the bottom edge of my jacket. “She’s like a slice of home for me. It’s why I had to introduce you two. Maddie, meet Nawlins. Look out, NOLA, you ’bout to find out just who Maddie is,” she shouted loudly toward the water, as the ferry rocked loose from the dock.

  I hugged her hard, shushing her as I tried to hide from the attention she just called to us. Some people farther down the railing on the ferry glanced in our direction, but for the most part, we were largely ignored.

  “This explains so much about you,” Jared said, shaking his head with a smile.

  “Yep.” Holly shrugged. “Now you know what put the hood in this hood rat. Come on.” She pulled Asher and me toward the back of the boat. “We got shit we need to do.”

  Jared followed behind us. We stood at the railing near the raised ramp. The water churned in frothy white mounds below.

  “My Papère taught me this. Here.” She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out some change. She handed me a penny and gave one to Asher and Jared too. “We have to pay the ferryman, and he’ll grant us a wish.”

  My brows drew together. “Didn’t we already do that when we bought our tickets?”

  “Not that ferryman, da Ferryman. Papère said he lives at the bottom of the Mississippi and he grants wishes to those who believe. Shit, I know it’s stupid, but just humor me. I’ve never crossed the river without doing it.” She shrugged.

  A slow grin spread across my face. “That’s incredibly cute, you know?”

  “Bitch, please,” she protested, but I swear a blush colored her cheeks in the dim light of the ferry. “Just rest it on your finger and thumb, like this, and think of your wish. Then just flick your thumb.”

  The muddy water below churned angrily. The hair on the back of my neck pricked up. I had the overwhelming feeling that someone was watching us and the sudden urge to run welled up within me. I didn’t normally believe in superstitions, but there was something about that river. The wind whipped my hair in every direction, making it slap over my face and tangle in my mouth. I closed my eyes and thought of what I’d wish for. Jared’s arm brushed against mine as he flicked his penny into the water, and I knew what I wanted.

  Please let us find an end to whatever is wrong with Jared.

  I flicked my penny and watched it disappear into the muddy waters of the Mississippi. Turning to face the wind, I found Jared looking at me. A tiny smile played at the corner of his lips.

  “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice rough with emotions.

  My muscles relaxed as I stepped into his arms. “You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” I kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For the complimen
t. For coming out with me tonight. It’s nice having you here.” I sighed, resting my ear on his chest and listening to his heartbeat compete with the hum of the ferry’s engine.

  The boat rocked as it came into contact with the dock. With a loud clang, it connected. Jared’s body jerked under my ear, his heart racing. His arms tensed around me, squeezing me. I pulled back to see his eyes, flat, emotionless, staring into the distance.

  “Hey,” I spoke softly, brushing his cheek with my fingers.

  He didn’t move for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. His gaze slowly tracked down to me.

  “Jared?” Dread swamped my gut.

  He was looking at me, but I wasn’t sure he was seeing me. Then his brow smoothed out. His eyes cleared. “Did you say something?”

  “We’re here.” I nodded in the direction of the dock. I realized then that we would have to walk to the other side to get off.

  Asher and Holly were already heading that way. Holly’s laugh rang out as Asher leaned down with his mouth near her ear. I couldn’t deny they were cute together, but Asher was so not her type. I couldn’t help but feel that this wouldn’t end well. For any of us.

  Jared took my hand and led me to the exit as I shook the thoughts of Holly and Asher off. They were adult enough to handle it. It wasn’t my place or my business anyway. They looked happy enough at the moment.

  “When did that happen?” Jared asked, watching the two as they waited for us on the street corner.

  I suppose waiting for us wasn’t the word for it. They were making out. “In Houston, apparently. Though it didn’t become a thing until tonight, I suppose. We didn’t get too in-depth about it. I walked in on them dry humping on the tour bus.”

  Jared snorted a laugh. I cleared my throat as we sidled up to the two lovebirds. They broke apart and looked over at us.

  “It’s this way,” Holly said as she turned and started down the sidewalk.

  The walk was short, and soon we were standing outside what looked like a large two-story house that had been converted into a dive bar. It was dark, but I could still see that the once-white siding was dingy and gray. It sat on the street corner like a wizened old man, knowing it owned its spot in the world. The signs proclaimed it to be Old Point Bar—Air Conditioned like it was the biggest selling point. Bluesy guitar strains carried out the open front door. People talked loudly on plastic chairs around plastic tables under a porch that looked like a hard wind would knock it down. I was instantly in love. Holly was right. This wasn’t a tourist trap. This was an authentic New Orleans bar.

  We walked in, and the woman behind the bar froze. Her salt-and-pepper gray hair had fallen out of its ponytail, framing her weathered face. She was slim and petite, but her stance behind the bar gave off the vibe that she was not one to mess with. The glass she held in her hand shattered as it hit the floor.

  “Holly?” the older woman asked, squinting her eyes as if she wasn’t seeing clearly.

  “Aunt Mae,” Holly said as she walked to the end of the bar and rounded the corner to embrace the woman.

  “Holy fuck, child. Mais, give a vielle a heart attack. I thought you’d never come back after my defan brother…”

  The smile on Holly’s face dropped, and the old woman patted her cheek.

  “Where y’at, cher?” Aunt Mae asked, a sad, sympathetic smile warming her face.

  “My friends are in town.” Holly looked back to me and motioned me over. “This is Maddie, her fiancé, Jared, and my boo, Asher. Y’all, meet Aunt Mae.”

  “Go to bed! Dis one yours?” Aunt Mae descended on Asher faster than a rattlesnake striking, squishing his cheeks as she tsked at him. “You be taking care of my Holly?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Asher said, trying to smile, but his lips only curled up.

  I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my laugh.

  “Let him alone, Mae.” She stepped in between her aunt and Asher. “Shit’s new, so don’t go scaring him off. I didn’t bring him here to make introductions like that.”

  “Don’t boude.” Aunt Mae pinned her with a bland look. “Doesn’t hurt to axe, cher.”

  Holly shook her head. “I need to get Maddie’s ass onstage tonight. Is Ol’ Gus around?”

  “Up dere now.” Mae nodded to the stage, set back farther into the building. “When he takes a break, you tell him what you want. Want sum’in to drink? You ahnvee?”

  “No,” Holly answered. “I already cooked for us.”

  “Still puttin’ to use what your mama and I taught you?” Aunt Mae asked with a gleam of pride in her eyes.

  “Yep.” Holly nodded. “Still have a little over a year left of school, but I’ll be a chef in no time.”

  “Good. It’d make your daddy proud.” Someone down the bar called for Mae. “Shoo, shoo. Go vay ya. I’ll bring your drinks, ’kay?”

  I only understood half of what Holly’s aunt Mae was saying, but I caught the dismissal in her tone and started looking for a place to sit. I spotted a table near the stage and tugged Holly’s arm.

  “We can sit over there?” I pointed to the empty table.

  Holly smiled. “Perfect.”

  Now

  My feet only get two steps into my charge before the bell rings out and the referee steps into my path. I skid to a stop as the ref’s hands meet my shoulders. He gives me a weak smile, but my attention is diverted. Murmurs spread through the arena as the announcer steps into the cage. I step back, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The announcer approaches Diesel, and they speak for a brief moment before the announcer turns on his mic to address the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. There’s been a change in our schedule for tonight’s events. Diesel will return to the cage in another fight this evening. We have a new challenger coming to the stage. Standing at six feet five inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-five pounds…” More murmurs fill the arena. “Please welcome to the stage, Draaaaaagooooooonnn.”

  I snort a laugh at the stupid name. The spotlight swings over to the arena entrance I entered from earlier, and the sight before me pulls the rug out from under my feet. I sway a little and reach out, grasping the chain-link wall of the cage. No. Why would they do this? No. I blink, hoping the vision would will away. It doesn’t change as the loud, ominous strains of the song “Conform” by Siege boom out over the loudspeakers. The floors and the links of chain beneath my fingers vibrate with each pluck of the grinding bass.

  Nic doesn’t just walk but swaggers beside my new opponent, wearing the same tailored suit he was in earlier. Loud chatter sweeps the room because everyone here knows who he is, but they also know he doesn’t come to the fights. When they get to the edge of the platform, my opponent hops up with a lethal grace and turns to give Nic a hand. His muscles ripple under the spotlights, giving movement to the massive dragon tattoo on his back, only covered from the waist down by black cotton gym shorts. My heart rate increases as I meet Nic’s eyes.

  Nic smirks. Asshole. He leans in close so only I can hear. “It’s a shame this wasn’t my idea. That look on your face is priceless.”

  I straighten from the cage wall, and he backs away, holding his hands out in front of him to ward me off. The anger flows just under my skin, making my heart slow like it’s pumping thickened lava through my veins. The slow thud of each beat echoes in my ears, shushing out the din of the crowd. The announcer hands Nic the mic.

  “Boy, do we have a special treat for you,” he says, playing up the accent that we grew up with but have long since lost, for the most part.

  You can almost hear the collective sigh from the females in the room. I suppose this is how people close to Matthew McConaughey feel when he speaks to a group of fans. It’s amusing, but not enough to distract me from my frustration. I realize with a start that I missed whatever he said, lost in my thoughts, as Nic turns to wink at me before exiting the cage and taking a seat in the front row.

  I catch the ref’s hands mo
ving out of the corner of my eye as he explains the rules to my new opponent.

  I can see it now. Well, I suppose the truth was that I could always see it. It was in the curves of his muscular shoulders. The way his arms were always slightly bent as if to help bear the weight. His feet always apart. I hesitate to drag my gaze up, but when they meet the turquoise eyes behind the mask, I suck in a breath. That same look I see in my eyes every morning that I look into a mirror is there, a dark hollow void hidden in their depths. A kindred spirit. My heart thunders like a stampede caught in my chest. That’s the scariest thing about him—he’s my match.

  My mind whirls as I try to grasp for a solution. Because I know right then, he’s everything I ever wanted. Someone who wouldn’t offer to bear the weight of my burdens, but walk beside me in companionship. And I know. With my track record, I’ll fuck it up. All I see before me is a choice, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like I’m being ripped down the middle. Run.

  “Phoenix, you good to go?” the ref asks.

  I nod. He backs away, slicing his hand through the air. The bell rings.

  “You really do look like a firebird right now. The way the lights pick up those red tones in your hair. You’re beautiful,” Dex says, moving toward me.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I grind out from clenched teeth. Run.

  “This.” He lifts one leg and stomps his foot on the cage floor, deliberately. My eyes are narrowed to slits as I focus on him. “You asked me to make it clear what I don’t like, and this is it. I’m not going to stop you. You want to fight, fight me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, but it comes out as more of a growl. Run.

  He tips his head back to laugh, and red colors my vision. Fight. I strike. Sweeping my leg out and under him, I throw my shoulder into his chest. I realize my mistake almost as soon as I make it. I don’t know one thing about how Dex fights. I’ve never seen him come even close to aggression in our time together, and I forget to read him before I make my move. Big mistake. His big arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me down with him. I’m so stunned by his quick reflexes that I’m pinned underneath him faster than I can blink.