Fighting for Forever

by J. B. Salsbury

  “Mr. Mason, can you teach me how to kick someone’s butt?”

  I rip my eyes from Trix and focus on the kid, who appears to be around eight years old, staring up at me. His shirt is two sizes too big, and I can see his mismatched socks through the holes in his shoes.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  He flashes a mouthful of crooked and missing teeth. “Denny.”

  I cross my arms at my chest. “Alright, Denny, whose butt needs kicking?”

  He shifts on his feet and studies the blue mat below them. “My stepdad. He’s always tellin’ me what to do.” He wipes his nose along the length of his little forearm.

  My chest tightens, and I squat down to meet Denny’s eyes. “Not sure it’s a good idea to go after your stepdad, bud, but I’ll tell you what.” I nod to his feet. “Take your shoes off, and we’ll work through some moves so that, if and only if you’re in a position to defend yourself or someone you love, you can take down a man five times your size.”

  His eyes grow even bigger. “Really?”

  “Really.” I push to standing and ruffle his hair. “All of you take off your shoes and socks and meet me at the kickboxing bags.”

  Trix

  “And that is exactly why I love coming on Sundays.” Alize, one of the teenage girls I’ve been teaching dance to for the last few months, points over her shoulder.

  I don’t even have to ask who she’s talking about. I saw him earlier with Sylvia.

  “That’s what I’m sayin’. What’s up with the man candy? Every Sunday it’s a different hottie.” Isabella has one hand cocked on her curvy hip, eyes focused on Mason as he works on some punching with a handful of boys.

  “I think imma need some fighting lessons, girls. Shiiit.”

  I muffle a laugh. “Alright, alright, that’s enough.” I wave for them to come in for a huddle. “Desi, if you use that language around Sylvia, she’ll make you run laps.”

  “Miss Trixy, you know I save my best bombs just for you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you do,” I say sarcastically.

  The kind of kids who show up here at the Community Youth Center are rougher than most. I’m not naïve enough to think that anything I do will change the path of their lives. I just want to give them a safe place to be themselves without judgment. God knows they’ll get enough of that outside these walls. I’ve seen what they’re capable of when they’re not being forced into a mold, when they’re given choices and their individuality is encouraged. It’s nothing short of a miracle.

  “Let’s take a break, and then we’ll come back and work through the routine from the start.” We all put our hands in the middle of a huddle and yell “break.”

  They move to the bleachers to grab water, but I head over to Mason. I thought we ended on okay terms last night. It seems ridiculous to be in the same room and not say hello.

  “Aww, shit. Miss Trixy’s gonna make her move,” Desi yells, and the rest of the girls dissolve into giggles.

  I laugh and scurry to avoid them so they won’t see the pink in my cheeks. My heart pounds a little harder the closer I get, and I convince myself it’s the girls watching me rather than Mason who my body is reacting to.

  “Good job, Den!” Mason’s deep voice carries across the space between us. “Keep your hands up. Jab. Left-left-right. Good!”

  I stop at the edge of the mat, not wanting to interrupt. He’s on his knees, oval pads strapped to his hands, barefoot. His simple white T-shirt and blue, knee-length exercise shorts add a sexy casualness to his shaggy blond hair. My eyes trace down the rippling muscles of his wide back as it flexes and releases while absorbing Denny’s blows.

  “Yeah, bud, you got this! In ten years, you’ll be takin’ my job.”

  Spurred on by Mason’s words, Denny’s face tightens in concentration, shiny with sweat, as he grunts through every punch. One and then the other, he fires his tiny fists into the pads until he drops his arms, panting.

  “Alright, who’s next?” Mason rocks back to the balls of his feet and pushes to standing with a fluidity I’ve never seen on a man of his size. He turns and his eyes catch mine. They register surprise then cautious curiosity. “Trix.”

  “Mason, hey.” I step onto the blue mats and cross to him. “I noticed you over here and wanted to say hi.”

  He hands the pads he was holding up for Denny to Leon. “Hey, man, you mind holding these for the next guy?” Leon nods excitedly and slips on the pads. After a quick instruction from Mason, he goes down on his knees to take punches.

  Mason turns his attention back to me, his towering frame seeming so much bigger now, maybe because I’m not wearing my heels.

  “I’m glad you came over. I have to say”—he casts his gaze around quickly—“I didn’t take you for the volunteering type,” he whispers.

  I shrug. “Eh . . . condition of my parole. It was this or pick up trash on the side of the freeway.”

  His smile fades. “Parole? Really?”

  “No.”

  He grips his chest and shakes his head, a low chuckle rumbling from his wide chest. “Damn, I was gonna say . . . You’re full of surprises.”

  I survey the gym and shrug. “I like the kids, and you know I like to dance so . . .”

  “You’re training the next generation of strippers, huh?” He immediately cringes. “Sorry, that was supposed to be a joke.”

  I wave him off. “Yeah, I got that. Funny.” An awkward silence builds between us, and my eyes dart everywhere to avoid getting lost in his square jaw and full lips. “So you’re one of the UFL guys. I’ve seen a few of them come through here. Cool thing you guys are doing.”

  “Wish I could say I came here by choice, but our boss is a demanding ass and forces us.”

  His statement stabs me with a sliver of disappointment, but I’m not completely sure why. “Give it a chance. You’ll learn to love it.”

  “I can see that.” His face goes serious, and he moves in close. “Listen. I wanted to talk to you about last night, but you took off so fast. About my phone—”

  “Oh, yeah”—my cheeks heat—“I feel really bad about that.”

  “Don’t. I shouldn’t have blown up at you the way I did. I had just come from . . . You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He meets my eyes. “It was uncool and I’m sorry.”

  “No biggie, really.” I turn to look over my shoulder at my girls, who are all staring with open mouths. “Listen, do you want to have lunch with us later?”

  “Lunch?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t even think to bring anything.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll share mine.”

  He squints one eye. “Really? You’d do that?”

  I lean in, and he meets me halfway, the organic scent of his skin, like cedar and honey, swirls and scrambles my senses.

  I take in a deep breath and whisper, “I’m an exotic dancer, not a monster.”

  Mason

  I put in my hours and am technically free to leave, but instead, I’m sitting in the grass under a tree with Denny and a couple of the older boys I was working with along with Trix and three teenage girls. A slight breeze takes the edge off the Vegas summer heat, and the ground beneath us is cool enough to make the temperature comfortable.

  Trix sits with her back against the tree’s trunk, her toned legs stretched out in front of her, as she digs through an insulated lunch box. I’m close to her feet, legs out, palms to the grass behind me.

  “Mr. Mason said I could fight for the UFL when I grow up, Miss Trixy.” Denny digs into a brown paper bag lunch the Community Youth Center provided.

  Grinning, Trix tosses me a silver juice pouch. “I don’t doubt that, Den. You’re pretty spectacular.”

  The kid pulls all the food from the bag while the older kids huddle on the opposite side of the tree. “Yeah.” He chews on a bite of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. “Mr. Mason said I’m a natural.”

  Her eyes on the boy, her expression softens before she aims her smile at me. �
��I saw your moves,” she says, but doesn’t take her eyes from mine. “I think Mr. Mason’s right.” She hands me a little bag filled with carrots and rips a sandwich in half. “Here. It’s just turkey and mustard. I hope that’s okay.”

  I take her proffered food, feeling like a total dick, but also not wanting to offend her by rejecting it. “Are you sure? I can wait until I leave to eat.”

  “I always bring extra. The Center gives them lunch, but the older kids need more food than they provide so . . .” She pulls out three more bags of carrots and tosses them to the teenagers, who thank her. She takes a bite of her sandwich and nods. “Go ahead.”

  I pop the slim yellow straw into the juice pouch and take a sip. I can’t explain what it is about these kids. I can tell just by lookin’ in their eyes that they’ve lived more life than those twice their age and most of it probably not good. Working with them for only a few hours has me feeling like absolute dog shit about my earlier attitude. Our boss is a demanding ass and forces us. God, Trix must think I’m a shallow idiot.

  “Wait!” Denny holds up his hand. “We forgot to pray!”

  Trix smiles and puts down her sandwich. “Right, good thinking, Den.”

  Denny snags my hand and Trix’s then waits impatiently, staring between my other hand and hers. “Mr. Mason, we need to make a circle.”

  Trix and I link hands, and her tiny fingers feel so soft and warm against my palm. I try not to imagine what those hands would feel like against my bare chest or wrapped around my—no, sick bastard! We’re about to pray for shit’s sake!

  “Close your eyes and bow your head,” Denny commands.

  I dip my chin and peek over at Trix, who is doing the same with a huge smile on her face. She pops one eye open and then rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing. I squeeze her hand and fight the urge to follow suit.

  “Ahem . . . Dear God, thank you for the sun and for our food. Thank you for bringing us Mr. Mason so he can teach me how to fight. And thank you for Miss Trixy, who teaches us how to pray. Amen.” Denny drops our hands and dives back into his lunch in a way that makes me wonder when the last time he ate was.

  “That was a kick-butt prayer, Den.” Trix throws back a gulp of her water.

  She teaches them how to pray. I study the woman at my side and mull over all I know about her.

  She strips in a titty bar and doesn’t bat an eyelash at illegal drugs. She volunteers with at-risk kids and teaches them to pray.

  Something doesn’t add up.

  Five

  Mason

  It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m stuck in the conference room with the rest of my camp while Cameron lectures us on shit I’m sure I already know.

  After my volunteer day at the Community Youth Center, I couldn’t stop thinking about Trix. As incredible as she is dancing near naked, she’s just as amazing with her clothes on. Her moves weren’t nearly as provocative, but she’s clearly a gifted dancer. So why strip? Here in Vegas, a thousand different venues would pay well for a dancer with her skill, and she could keep her damn clothes on.

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  What doesn’t make even more sense is why the hell I can’t stop trying to figure her out. She’s like a Rubik’s Cube; the more I twist her around in my head, the less she makes sense.

  My phone rattles against the conference table with an incoming text. I reach for it and check to see it’s from Drake. Shit.

  Meet me tonight.

  A prickle of unease races up my spine. I haven’t heard from my brother since that night at the hotel suite. I’d hoped they’d partied their asses off and gotten back home the next day with nothing more to show for their Vegas experience than a nasty hangover. But, no, he’s still here.

  Which means he’s up to no good.

  Although we were raised by our mother, our fathers couldn’t have been more different. Mine was attentive, always paid child support, showed up for every wrestling match, and bought me whatever I wanted. Drake was lucky to get a phone call on his birthday, and most years he didn’t. Because of that, I’d always look out for him. I’d lie and tell my dad I needed new shoes but buy them for Drake and take him shopping with my allowance. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could offer. I know Drake was resentful, and I often wonder if that’s why he made a play for Jessica. Yeah, I got the college education, but he got the girl.

  “Mason! Pay attention!” Cameron’s growl of frustration calls me from my thoughts.

  I lift my eyes to his, palm my phone, and sink back into my chair with a three-finger salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Baywatch.” Jonah leans into my line of sight, breaking my glare-off with Cam. “Quit with that shit.”

  My shoulders lift a tad and I ignore Jonah. It’s not like I enjoy making Cam’s job difficult or that I have little respect for him after the way he fucked with Eve. Oh, who am I kidding? That’s exactly what it is. “Continue.” I nod toward the boss standing at the head of the table.

  Hard as I try to stay focused, being in a room with Cameron and Eve isn’t my idea of a party. The sooner he stops talking, the sooner I can escape and go exhaust myself in the weight room rather than stare at Eve as she jots down notes while biting her lip in concentration. Fuckin’ A.

  Cameron leans over the table, bracing his weight with two fists. “Thank you for your permission to continue my meeting.”

  “Stop . . . please.” Eve’s whisper is low enough for only the few of us sitting up front to hear. Her eyes dart to mine and narrow in irritation.

  Lame.

  I smile wide and act like I’m listening. My foot taps anxiously; I’m so ready to get the hell out of here. A few fighters ask questions, but I remain zip-lipped. I already know everything I need to know. Cameron wants to set up a card with me vs Tanaphon Li, a Muay Thai badass who has been openly challenging me since my first televised fight with the UFL three months ago.

  “. . . Caleb’s training in Europe for another two weeks, and until Blake is back, I want you with Wade and Rex,” Cameron’s words penetrate because they carry the tone of finality. “Train hard, boys.” He’s wrapping this shit up. Perfect.

  He grabs a stack of papers and hands them to Eve, who shoves them into a folder. A soft expression on his face makes me want to punch a wall. The fighters trickle out one by one.

  Rex grips the back of my neck. “Weight room in thirty.”

  “Yeah.” I answer him, but don’t take my eyes off Eve, pinning her in place with my stare.

  She must get it because, after the final fighter has left, it’s just the two of us. She slaps a folder down and glares at me. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  A slow chuckle falls from my lips. “I’m surprised you’ve noticed I have a problem.”

  “How can you say that? You’re one of my best friends.” Her eyebrows pinch together, and I’d do anything to erase the hurt I see in her expression.

  Like she has the right to be hurt. “Was.”

  “No, are. You are one of my best friends.”

  My stomach churns, acid and guilt mixing in an I’m-an-asshole-induced nausea.

  “I miss hanging out with you, Mase.”

  I groan and drop my chin. Why does hearing her say that shoot straight to my gut? The truth is . . . “I miss that too.”

  I hear the sound of her chair creaking and then shuffling feet. “Then why do you continue to do this?” She props her ass against the table next to me so that I’m eyeing her gray dress pants. “I’m trying to give Cameron a reason to like you, and you’re not helping.”

  “I . . .” I shake my head. She asks a good question, one I can’t even answer. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “You’re happy.”

  “I am.” The happy sigh that falls from her lips makes my fists clench. “I want you to be happy too, and if you keep taunting Cam, then things are never going to get better.”

  She’s right. I’m a little bitch.

  “Oh, I know! We should catch a movie someti
me.”

  “Are you crazy?” I glare up at her, meeting her wide blue eyes. “Cameron would shit himself if we went out alone.”

  A soft smile curls her lips. “I didn’t mean alone. You, me, and Cameron.”

  I flick a balled-up Post-It note across the table. “Fun.”

  “Just think about it, okay?” The hurt in her voice sounds of disappointment, which tightens my chest.

  I nod and avoid her eyes until she gets the hint and grabs her shit to leave me to my pity. God, I’m pathetic. First Jessica, now Eve. Hell, my own mother cheated on my law-abiding dad with a fucking criminal. Sooner or later I’m going to need to suck it up and get the hell over it.

  “Keep your head down!” Rex is holding the pads, absorbing every punch I throw, which isn’t too hard since I’m exhausted. “Come on, Baywatch! Leave it all on the mats.”

  I growl and throw a left, a right, a left, then drop my hands. “Done.” My breath saws in quick bursts. “I’m . . . beat.”

  “Alright.” He drops the pads. “Good job. I think we can call it a day.”

  “Thank God.” I rip off my gloves and toss them to the side of the cage and grab my water.

  “You’re with Wade tomorrow for sparring. Take it easy tonight, and try to shake off that shitty attitude.”

  “No clue what you’re talkin’ about, man—ouch! Fuck!” I rub the back of my head where Rex whacked me. “What was that for?”

  He faces off with me, his expression serious. “It’s been almost a year.”

  I turn and scoop up my gloves, prepared to end this convo ASAP. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but—ow!” I rub the back of my head again. “Stop fucking doing that!”

  “You keep lying to me; I’ll keep hitting you.”

  I exhale hard and consider what to say next that’ll save my noggin from another open palm slap. “I’m over it. I am.”

  Rex’s hand flies, but this time I duck.

  “Fine! Okay, fine. I’m pissed, alright! I don’t get it. Cameron fucked her up, and she crawled back to him, begging. Makes no sense. She’s smart and beautiful and . . .”