But that didn’t resolve the looming crisis. With a couple of months living together alone, there were really only two options immediately visible, and I had no idea which one would be more appealing.
Either I’d want to kill Sawyer, or…
No. I wasn’t willing to admit it to myself.
I couldn’t bear to dwell on how much I wanted to fuck him.
(Return to Table of Contents)
Chapter 4 – Sawyer
New Orleans, Five Years Ago
You could say, if you were feeling poetic, that the first day that my life trajectory was set in stone was the day that Saffron stepped into my life. Following that logic, the second was the day that I stepped on a bus to New Orleans. The third and final one was the day that I walked past Happy Pat’s…and it forever sealed who I was about to become.
I had been in town for about two months, sustaining myself with odd labor jobs and sleeping in sheds or abandoned properties. Scuffling with the local folk was inevitable, but I managed to keep it down to a minimum – luckily, I never seemed to find myself up against someone with a knife or a gun. I knew that it was only a matter of time, and I would have to find a proper roof over my head fast. New Orleans, after all, could be plenty dangerous if you were an outsider on the streets.
“Hey, pal!” I heard a voice call out to me as I walked past the Happy Pat’s bar. Keeping my head down, I continued walking along. “Pal! You little shit-stain, you just gonna keep walkin’ and ignore me? Must be real easy to strut away without a pair between your legs!”
I knew better, but I whirled around anyway.
“I will knock the flying fuck out of you if you don’t shut your fucking mouth,” I furiously answered. “Now, piss off.”
The guy was a lanky, scruffy fellow in his upper twenties, dressed in only a ragged pair of cargo shorts. He had been smoking a cigarette with his back to the window. Dropping it to the dirt, he stomped it out with his bare foot.
“What a punk. Just the kind of guy I need.”
“Say what?”
“Look, you little fucker, you look like you can take a hell of a punch. Probably give out a worse one, too. That sound like you? Ring any bells in that stupid head of yours?”
I growled, ready to turn on my heel.
What was this guy’s fucking DEAL?
“Yeah, thought so.” He chuckled, sizing me up. “Listen, pal, you look like you haven’t had a fucking shower in days. How’d you like to make a good eighty, maybe hundred bucks tonight?”
“Doing…what, exactly?” I was ready to beat it at the first glimpse of anything funny.
“The boys and I, ‘round back. We have a little bit of what you might call a, uh, street fighting thing going on. Real quiet-like. We’re down a guy, so I’m scoutin’ for talent. It’s your lucky goddamn day. You think you can knock out a few motherfuckers?”
I stiffened up, but I didn’t turn my back on him. “…Probably. Been a while since I’ve fought.”
“How long’s a while?”
“Couple of months.”
He looked doubtful for a moment. “You a, uh, seasoned fighter?”
I thought back to every time I’d recreationally goaded someone into a one-on-one brawl…and the very few times that I’d lost. “Might say I’ve seen a few.”
“I see…” he paused, pausing to study me again. “Listen. Your shirt. Pull it off.”
“The fuck?”
“No homo, bro. But if you ain’t got anything worth shit underneath that stained scrap of fabric on your back,” he waved a finger at my slightly ragged shirt, “this little discussion is a waste of my time. Shirt. Off.”
Begrudgingly, I complied. Dropping my duffel bag to the pavement, I reached my hand for the opposite sleeve and whipped the shirt off in one fluid, instant movement. The stranger glanced at my chest, his eyes falling down my abdomen, then across my thick arms. Watching his face, I could see that he wasn’t eye-groping me, but deftly sizing me up.
He was studying me.
“Little lighter than I’d hoped…but if you can take one, maybe swing a meaner one, you’ll do. You think you can be ready in two hours?”
“Yeah. How is this arrangement going to work?”
“Crowd of paying spectators around back. No entry fees. One-on-one fights. Five teams. Winning team splits half the pot. The rest go as consolation prizes, then to the proprietor of our little fracas. Me, I’m a slippery little fucker with fists of steel. The other two guys, they ain’t so bad either.” He eyed me again. “Better than you.”
“What’s the consolation prize?”
“Ten bucks and a bottle of aspirin. Cute, little Japanese character on it. A cat, I think. Fitting, for the pussy who got his ass knocked out.”
“Those aren’t exactly good odds.”
“Yeah, well. It’s fucking street fighting, man. Unsanctioned. What the fuck do you expect? You gonna waste my time with this bullshit, or you gonna quit being a little bitch? Hell, the stink coming off of you, we might call that a pre-emptive strike in the box. Might just lay a motherfucker out from the get-go!”
This guy was seriously getting on my nerves…but I had a lot of steam to blow, and I was feeling dangerous. “Fine,” I told him. “I’m in.”
“Welcome aboard, fucker. That’s your name, by the way, until you smack a guy to the ground. Fucker. I think it’s becoming, personally…” He paused to pick his cigarette butt back off the ground, tossing it into the trashcan nearby. “Come on, then. ‘Round to the back. Meet the rest of us. We might be about to slap the shit out of each other, but we’re a right bunch of gentlemen.”
Pennsylvania, Present Day
Seeing my father again was as difficult and humbling as I thought it would be. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw him. Sure, we had spoken a few weeks before, but a brief, awkward conversation over the phone was nothing like seeing him in the flesh – and him seeing me.
The years had melted away within minutes. A few hours later, we were still sipping beers and chatting on the back veranda, watching the fish spring above the water’s edge in the pond.
My stepmother left us alone, probably out of applying some misguided weight to the evening. She was just as welcome here, as I had missed her as well. In fact, I would have loved to see the two of them together again, holding each other as we caught up.
Saffron remained scarce.
She had seemed oddly pissed.
But I wasn’t too worried about that. We had an entire summer to spend together – something that never escaped my thoughts.
I wondered how I was going to do it. Even after the years I’d led and the things I’d seen, I’d hoped that she would become a footnote in my life; something only rarely thought of, relegated to a few brief moments here and there.
But that hadn’t happened, and it hadn’t helped now.
Saffron was just as fucking beautiful as ever. No, actually, let me back up a second. Saffron Samuels was even more beautiful now. She was a scrawny little twerp back in the day, just starting to fill out when I saw her last. But my stepsister had grown up in my absence, and I could barely stand to look at her – afraid that my gaze would linger too long, maybe even unnerve her.
I still loved her, just as much as the day I’d left.
That was going to be a problem.
But it was a problem for another day. I pushed it out of my head as my father and I sat in silence now, sipping from our bottles.
“So,” I spoke up suddenly, “how are we making the arrangements?”
“The arrangements?”
“For the trip. You two are heading off to Paris, and we’re supposed to be heading down the Pensacola…do I need to book flights, or what?”
“Oh, no, that’s all taken care of,” my stepfather answered. “As soon as you confirmed a few weeks back, your mother and I made the arrangements for both you and your sister.”
“Sounds good to me. When do we leave?”
“Friday.”
“Oh, we would have sent you on a second flight, of course!” Dad chuckled, taking another swig.
I shook my head. It was typical him. He had enough money to smooth anything over that he just didn’t understand things sometimes.
“Of course, we’ll have to take you shopping for some clothes…surely you’re not planning on wearing that to Florida? It’ll be way too hot down there!”
“No, I…I figured,” I answered begrudgingly. “I’ll take a drive and pick a few things up tomorrow.” I timed my answer so that he was in the middle of a mouthful of beer – sidestepping the inevitable Son, let’s go shopping, or maybe something like I know Tabitha at a great place that carries some crisp button-ups.
I switched gears quickly, before he could get a word in about that. Last thing I was doing was going on a grand father-son clothes-shopping trip with him. “So, what do we do when we arrive?”
Dad pulled the beer down from his lips, swallowing. “Hensley will pick you up from the airport. Do you remember him,” my father smiled mischievously, “or have all those years in the ring knocked him out of your head?”
“Hensley…he was the one with the weird teapot collection, right? And those little ceramic bears?” I let my face slacken slightly.
“What? No, that’s Mrs. Nesbitt. Do you seriously mean to tell me–” He paused, seeing the coy smile spread across my face. “You had me worried for a moment there! Don’t do that to your old man! I thought maybe you’d been smacked in the head once too many times!”
We shared a small, hearty laugh. It felt good to laugh again.
“Of course I remember Hensley,” I assured Dad. “Old friend of yours. It’ll be great to see him again.”
“That’s the one. You’ll be in good hands. He’ll remain nearby for the duration of the summer – just in case either of you need anything.”
“Sounds like you could have just had her stay with him, then,” I observed. “Seeing as he’s going to be around. I seem to recall that he can generally handle himself.”
“It occurred to me, yes. I knew that Saffron would be safe. But he’s got his own life, and I couldn’t have him rearrange his entire summer around her. I already ask enough of him as it is.”
“But that didn’t stop you from asking me,” I prodded.
“No, it didn’t.” He still had a faint smile on his lips, but he was studying me carefully. “But you did. I didn’t even have to convince you all that hard.” He took a deep breath, gaze still locked onto mine. “Listen, son–”
The door clattered open. It was Ellen, holding a tray of three margaritas.
“I thought you boys could use something a little tastier than beer. Wouldn’t you know it, I had enough for three!”
Dad chuckled lovingly, standing up to kiss her and take a drink from her tray. “It’s almost as if you read minds, honey,” he smiled at her.
It seemed as if the thought was gone. I almost asked him what he was going to say, but I hadn’t heard of many conversations that ended well and began with “Listen, son...”
I enjoyed seeing them interact. They always did it with such love. It was never forced – not once did I ever get the impression that they were keeping up appearances for us. They innately just clicked, and I couldn’t help but feel jealous. I’d never had any sort of meaningful relationship with another human being that came close to what they had. Girlfriends had been fleeting; one-night stands abounded when I needed to blow some steam.
People had been disposable to me, even in love. I hadn’t let myself grow close to anybody as a result. My closest friends had been passing acquaintances or...
Perhaps more accurately: my fiercest opponents.
For the longest time, I’d considered my fellow human being somewhat hard to read. What they really wanted, they hid from you. All human interaction was this stupid little dance, this compromise between what they want and what you want. Sometimes, they did it under the veil of being friendly, accommodating, decent human beings. More often, they were simply biding their time as they hoped for some misguided opportunity to reach out for whatever they did really want.
Things were different in the cage.
What your opponent wanted was obvious. They wanted to win. They wanted you to beg for mercy. They could wrap that in theatrics, but it didn’t hide their core intention.
I never obliged if I could help it, but at least that was a dance I knew the moves to.
I sometimes wondered what I had missed by blocking everyone out. It didn’t matter. I’d learned my limits – my real limits, not the edges of my comfort zone. I had become strong. I had become fierce. I was a force of nature when I really needed to be.
But as I watched my parents, just as close as they had ever been since before I left, I was left with a question that I couldn’t answer:
At what cost?
“Sawyer?” Ellen was frowning lightly as she stood beside me, the tray held out. A look of concern had crossed her face, and I realized that I had completely zoned out on them.
Blinking a few times, I reached out and grabbed the closest margarita, smiling warmly at her in gratitude.
“Thanks, Mom,” I told her.
“I had thought something was the matter!” She laughed, setting the tray aside and sitting down next to Dad. “You must have just been lost in thought…”
“Yes, it’s been a…a long ride,” I admitted. “Lots of time to think. I’ve grown sort of used to it.”
“Oh, surely you’re still paying attention to the road!” She gasped. “We can’t afford to have you lose your concentration and sail into the back of a van, daresay even an intersection, especially not on that dangerous thing…”
I laughed again. The sound was still almost completely unfamiliar to me. “No, it’s not like that. I still pay attention to the road, obviously. Riding the bike is second-nature to me now…it’s purely instinct at this point.” She looked unconvinced, so I added: “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m always very careful.”
“Sure he is!” Dad chimed in. “I’m sure you’d never do anything to endanger yourself…maybe nothing too dangerous.”
I reflected for a brief second. “I’ve tried to stay safe.”
It was technically true.
Technically.
(Return to Table of Contents)
Chapter 5 – Saffron
Pensacola, Present Day
The private flight down wasn’t all that bad, but that’s primarily because I had my iPod’s earbuds jammed into my ears – and a good book in my lap. Every once in a while, I’d glance over at Sawyer. I’d expected him to put on some bullshit display of arrogance, but he sat further ahead, facing the window. He barely seemed to move, although it was clear that he wasn’t asleep.
Weird.
Dad’s friend Hensley picked us up from the runway when we arrived, loading up the back of a large black sedan with our luggage. Sawyer gave him a hand, then grabbed his motorcycle helmet and mounted his cycle – of course he’d insisted on bringing that thing along but there was no way it was going to fit into the plane. Dad had paid someone an almost criminal amount of money to ship it down here over the last couple of days.
While Hensley pointed out a few things here or there – updating me on how Pensacola had adjusted in the years since we’d been here last – I couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into Sawyer. He’d actually been almost pleasant to live with for the last couple of days, although part of that was that he wasn’t around much.
Since he had arrived with a duffle bag and the clothes on his back, Dad had taken him shopping around, although Sawyer never seemed pleased about this, and he never appeared to come back with much. It was when he went off alone that he returned with a few bags of clothing – the essentials, from what I could see. It was clear that he packed lightly and minimally, even down to
the clothing that would last him the summer.
Although, maybe he was just planning on buying clothes while we were here. I felt silly thinking it, realizing that I could have spared the trouble and just snapped some clothing up after we arrived and got settled in – but I liked my things, and didn’t see the point in buying more.
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