DS Fight Club Box Set (Volumes 0-3)

by Josie Kerr

  Chapter Nine

  It was going to be tougher to search for Nanda’s MIA boyfriend now that she was home because she would ask questions, but Junior was determined to find him, and hopefully sooner rather than later. Over the next few days, he went from one dive bar to another, from bookie to bookie, looking for any sign or news of Gene, but to no avail, and his frustration grew with each lowlife he encountered.

  After one more maddening, fruitless search, he returned to Fernanda’s apartment to find her resting in her bedroom and Marta doing laundry in the already spotless apartment.

  “Hey, Marta, how long have you been here?”

  “A few hours. I fixed us some lunch and got Nanda to let me change her sheets. We walked to the bodega up the street and back to get milk, and then I started laundry.” Marta put the last of the freshly washed sheets in the linen closet and closed the door. “Remember, Beto is grillin’ tonight, so why don’t you come over about seven or so?”

  Junior squirmed. He had hoped that he could tell Marta over the phone that he was not going to be over for dinner. He had no interest in an in-person interrogation at all.

  “Yeah, about that, Martita. I’m not going to make the cookout.”

  “Not going to be able to make it? Why? You got something better to do?”

  Junior scrubbed his face and heaved a heavy sigh. “I kind of have a dinner date.”

  Marta grinned. “Ooh, Junior, working fast! Is this someone you knew from earlier?”

  Junior shifted in his chair at the kitchen table. “I’m going to dinner with Derek.”

  “Derek who?” Marta frowned as she scrubbed the kitchen counter. “Oh, no, you don’t mean Derek Martin, do you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Marta stopped what she was doing.

  “Junior, have you lost your mind?”

  Junior groaned. “It’s been twenty-five years, Marta.”

  She leveled a look at him. “Uh-huh. Why now?”

  “Well, I’m here, he’s here. I’m single. He’s single.”

  “Or so he says. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

  “It’s just dinner, Marta. It’s no big deal. Just dinner with an old friend.”

  Marta pointed an accusing finger at her younger brother. “Now that is the biggest pile of crap I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, Hector Maldonado.”

  “Why are you getting so wound up about this, Marta?”

  “Because you tried to kill yourself the last time you got involved with that ass!”

  Junior scoffed. “What? I did not.”

  Marta got in Junior’s face. “You know full well you did. You were going to get out after that mess in Kuwait, and then when you found out he had moved on, you went right back to the desert. You might not have put a gun in your mouth, but you know you were ready to die. And look what happened? You almost got your wish.”

  Junior’s hand drifted over his chest.

  “Marta, it’s just dinner. Neither of us has any intention of rekindling anything. We’re just two friends who haven’t seen each other in years, catching up over small plates, okay?”

  “What about that man in Atlanta?”

  Junior rubbed his face in exasperation. “He’s just a friend. You can be gay and have platonic male friends, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, but I think there’s more to that than you’re willing to admit.”

  “Regardless of what’s going on between Ryan and me—”

  Marta interrupted. “Oh, he’s got a name . . .”

  “Fuck you, Hermana,” Junior said with a snort. “Ryan’s just a friend. And this is just dinner. And I’m just here until Nanda gets on her feet again, so stop meddling.”

  “Humph. We’ll see how this all pans out, Junior. It’s never, ever that simple with you.”

  When Marta had heard where they were going, she had pointed her finger at Junior and said, “Casual dinner between friends, my ass. This is a date.” Derek had picked it out, and Junior had not questioned him at the time, but now he was not quite sure that Marta was wrong because the restaurant was really nice, almost too nice for a casual dinner between friends.

  Junior arrived at the restaurant before Derek, giving him a chance to watch the man walk across the parking lot. He had to admit, his ex-boyfriend still looked really good. Fit, but not like he’d been at the gym. Junior snorted. If he was anything like he was half a lifetime ago, Derek would rather have his toenails pulled out than set foot in a gym. Tonight, he’d traded his khakis and polo for a pair of dark jeans and a button-down, worn with the sleeves rolled up.

  Junior definitely approved of the exposed expanse of hairy forearm.

  “Hey, Junior. Sorry I’m late.” Derek touched Junior’s back, seemingly getting ready to pull him into a hug, but then stopped and just slapped him on the back.

  “No worries. I just got here myself.”

  After they sat down at a small, intimate table and were looking over the menu to decide what plates they were going to share, Junior could not stand it anymore.

  “Derek, what are we doin’? What is this?” he asked, and Derek chuckled nervously.

  “The thing is, I don’t really know. Wait. Um, I know I’ve thought about you over the years, and even more so since Frank left. When I saw you at Big Tommy’s, man, I . . . just had to see.” Derek laid his hand on the table, his fingers very close to Junior’s. “Didn’t you ever wonder?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes. Be honest.”

  “Seriously? I didn’t spare you a single thought.”

  “Oh.”

  “I couldn’t, Derek, because if I did, all I would see in my mind’s eye was that guy balls-deep in you— something that you never trusted me enough to do—and that hurt me more than you can know. So, no, I never thought about you or us.”

  “Jesus, Junior.”

  “You said to be honest. That’s me being honest. Now, it’s time for you to be honest and tell me why.”

  “Because I knew I wasn’t going to be enough for you. I knew once you got with those guys that you’d realize how lacking I was, what a fucking coward I was. Hell, I couldn’t even come out to my own family, and there you were, out in the U.S. military in the middle of ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,’ risking your life halfway around the world. And when I met Frank at a Manhattan bar, both of us lying to our families and our employers, and we both seemed okay with it, well, I convinced myself that I was just speeding up the inevitable timeline.”

  Derek tapped the table. “What did you do . . . after you left my apartment that day?”

  Junior sighed. “I went to Chelsea, hooked up with a guy, and stayed the weekend at his apartment. Cried the whole time I was fucking him.”

  “Cried? Why?”

  “Because he wasn’t you.”

  Derek slumped back in his chair, and the two men sat in silence until Junior began to speak in a soft voice. “I was on medical leave when I came to visit you that time. I, um, got jumped outside of a bar. A gay bar.”

  “What?” Derek whispered.

  “Some guys, whom I didn’t necessarily get along with in the first place, saw me leave. It was four against one. I’m tough, but I’m not that tough.” He chuckled and then cleared his throat. “It was bad enough that my CO pulled some strings so I could return stateside and finish my contract over here.”

  “Jesus Christ, Junior. I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t, because I didn’t stick around long enough to talk to you. I should have.”

  “I should have gone after you. Frank convinced me not to, but yeah, I shouldn’t have let you walk out the door.”

  “I wouldn’t have listened, and I probably would have punched you.” Junior chuckled. “I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse that you were with him for twenty years. When did you finally come out?”

  “After Pop finished paying for my MBA. God, I was shitty.”

 
Junior shrugged. “It was a means to an end. How’d he take it?”

  “Oh, the old man had known for years and was merely biding his time, waiting for me to come out on my terms. It’s my mother who’s upset. She still doesn’t speak to me.” Derek sighed. “It destroyed my parents’ marriage. They split up when I was twenty-seven. Ma sees it as a personal failing on her part. She called me, crying, for years after I came out, lamenting my sinful behavior and offering to send me to a ‘nice facility’ where I could regroup.”

  “Holy fuck, Derek. Shit.”

  Derek laughed out loud. “And you thought you were so edgy, standing up to catch the bouquet at your sister’s wedding as a means of coming out.”

  “Now that was an asshole move. Stealing my sister’s thunder. God, Marta was pissed.” Junior chuckled.

  “What did she tell you, again? I remember her slapping you with that bouquet and screaming in your face.”

  “That it was too fucking bad that I was mad I didn’t get to wear hot-pink satin, but I had to wait for my fucking wedding, so sit down and shove some fucking cake in my face so I couldn’t say anything else.”

  “So, you have a hot-pink suit picked out?”

  “No, I figure if I ever get married, it’s going to be jeans and a cotton shirt and barefoot on the beach. Totally low key.”

  “Frank wanted a big, huge Italian blowout with the cake and the tuxes, and swans and the money dance, and the whole Long Island dago thing. I was dreading it.”

  “You were planning a wedding?”

  “Frank was. Then he got the Swiss posting, and that was that.”

  By this time, they had finished dinner and dessert and were having coffee, and the restaurant’s waitstaff had begun prepping the restaurant to close.

  “It looks like we shut the place down, huh?” Junior began folding his napkin in preparation to leave.

  “Yeah, sure does.”

  Outside, they stood in the dim parking lot, lit from the side by neon and one safety light by the garbage can, and looked at each other. Derek stepped into Junior’s space and wrapped one hand around his neck.

  “What are you doing, Derek?” Junior swallowed a lump that appeared suddenly in his throat as Derek moved in closer, close enough for Junior to catch a waft of expensive cologne.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered in Junior’s ear before brushing his lips across his jaw. “Please.”

  Derek’s free hand drifted over Junior’s shoulder and down the length of his arm. His fingers lingered on the bared skin exposed by Junior’s rolled-up sleeve.

  “You’ve got goose bumps,” Derek breathed in his ear. “You need me to warm you up?”

  Derek’s firm grip on the back his neck and warm breath on his cheek made him consider the invitation, but in the end, Junior shook his head. “Not tonight, mano. Tonight’s not the night.”

  Derek nodded in understanding. “Call me if you want to get together again . . . for drinks or whatever.” He removed his hand from Junior’s neck and took a step back. “Thank you, Junior, for spending time with me, and for your honesty. I appreciate it.”

  Junior nodded. “Likewise.”

  They stood in the parking lot for a few more moments, and then Junior unlocked his car door and got in. He could see Derek’s silhouette still standing in the parking lot as he rounded the corner to go home.

  He sucked in a shuddering breath. Holy shit.

  Junior drove around aimlessly for half an hour, deluged with conflicting emotions, until he found himself in the parking lot of Big Tommy’s place. When he got inside, he was relieved to find no familiar faces behind the bar or around the dartboards or billiard tables. He sat alone and nursed a beer, mulling over the events of the evening.

  That Derek considered their dinner meeting a date was apparent. Junior wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was certainly glad that he and Derek had finally talked—at least, superficially—about that fateful afternoon.

  Junior hadn’t lied when he’d said he hadn’t thought about Derek in the preceding two and a half decades—at least, not much. He had thought about Derek a lot that weekend in Chelsea and then had driven to the recruitment office and re-upped. He had eventually told his mother that he and Derek had broken up but didn’t offer the details, and Belén Maldonado didn’t push for details.

  But after that? He’d been too busy serving, first as an Army medic and then in the Rangers, to worry about an accountant in Manhattan.

  He stayed at Big Tommy’s for a few hours and then went back to Nanda’s and hoped that he’d be able to sleep without dreaming of anyone.

  Chapter Ten

  Junior raced to the phone before it could ring a third time, hoping that it would not wake Nanda up. She had been awake when he got home from Big Tommy’s bar, where he had gone to mull over the non-date with Derek, and he could have kicked himself for going out because she was obviously still freaked out about being alone in the house.

  “Hello?” Junior heard a man clear his throat on the other end of the line. “Hello? If this is Gene, all I gotta say is you better stay missing, you stupid fuck.”

  Then he heard the person’s breath catch. “Uh, hey, Junior.”

  “Oh man, Ryan, hey. Uh, obviously I didn’t realize it was you. How’s it going? Is everything all right at the fight club?” Junior frantically ran through the reasons that would warrant Ryan calling him on his sister’s landline. Other than the sheepish message on his voicemail, Junior hadn’t heard from Ryan, which was unusual. The two had a friendly relationship that consisted of a lot of texting and—lately—tentative, flirty banter.

  “Oh, hell, I didn’t mean to freak you out, Junior. I just wanted to see how you were doing, how your sister was doing. C thought that it would be easier to reach you at your sister’s, but I apparently called the wrong one because she gave me your other sister’s number,” Ryan babbled.

  “Ryan, dude, calm down. Take a deep breath, mano.” Junior chuckled, but a small worry niggled in the back of his head. “We’re all good. Nanda’s out of the hospital and quickly returning to her usual pain-in-the-ass self.” He shot a glance toward Nanda’s closed door. “I’m fine, too—haven’t found that fucker that hurt her, but that also means that I haven’t gotten thrown in jail for beating his ass, either.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Ryan cleared his throat. “So, it seems like this expo fight is actually going to happen. Paddy and Colin met with Pryde yesterday afternoon.”

  Junior groaned. This was such a bad idea.

  Ryan continued to blather on, quizzing Junior about potential matches and informing him of training changes during his absence. They talked shop—that’s all—and Junior sighed, realizing that the shy vet wasn’t going to address their personal relationship during this phone call.

  “Ryan, is there anything else we haven’t covered?” Junior squeezed his eyes shut, ticking off items from the list that he carried in his head.

  “Well . . .” Ryan hesitated before he spoke again. “Look, Junior, I’m sorry I bailed on you . . .”

  “Ryan, it’s no big deal, man. I kinda figured you would take off sooner rather than later.”

  “But it was rude. I should have at least woken you up.”

  “Well, yeah, and I was scared shitless when you weren’t at the gym for the early session, either. You weren’t in great shape when you fell asleep.”

  Ryan sighed. “Sorry about that, too. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

  “What? Shit. Never be embarrassed about a reaction like that. These things take time, dude.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I mean, I know that, but it’s hard sometimes to remember it when fireworks or some shit brings me right back there.” Ryan cleared his throat again. “Plus, I was feeling weird because I ran out, and then I didn’t want to see you because I was feeling weird about taking off, and . . .” Ryan’s voice trailed off.

  “Ryan, it’s fine, okay?”

  Ryan
stammered a few more sentences, his voice growing quieter and quieter until Junior could not make out what he was saying. He finally spoke up again, telling Junior he had to go, mumbling again, and then abruptly hung up.

  “What the actual fuck?” Junior murmured, the receiver still in his hand. He could swear that Ryan said that he missed him.

  “Jesus, you fighters are all alike: up at the crack of fucking dawn.” Nanda’s voice was still raspy, but quickly returning to its normal huskiness. She eased herself into the chair and nodded when Junior held up the coffee carafe. “Who the fuck was calling this early?”

  “Our cutman about an upcoming expo fight.”

  “Expo fight?” Nanda snorted. “Yeah, like that worked out so well for Colin last time.”

  Junior shook his head. “Tell me about it, Sis. I think it’s a terrible idea, but it seems to be happening, so Ryan was calling to set up training sessions for when I get back.”

  Nanda’s face fell. “Fuck, Junior. You’ve got fights coming up, and you’re up here, dealing with my fuckup? What the hell?”

  Junior took Nanda’s much smaller hands in his. “One, this is not your fuckup, Nanda. You didn’t ask to get the shit beat out of you or for anything else that happened. Two, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. You know as well as I do that Ines and Marta can damn well take care of anything that needs to be taken care of.”

  Nanda snorted a laugh and then winced in pain. “Yeah, they can.” She slumped farther down in her chair. “Unlike me, who can’t even take care of a succulent.” She pulled her hands from his and waved at the dead plant in a coffee cup. “Who on earth can kill a succulent? They don’t really even need water.” Nanda shook her head and slapped her hands over her face. “God, I’m pathetic.”

  Junior grabbed her hands lightly and pulled them away from her pretty face. “Nanda, you’re not pathetic. Not in the least.”

  Nanda gripped his hand but didn’t say anything—just sat at the table with tears coursing down her cheeks, and Junior stayed with her, patting her hand.

  “You want some breakfast? I can fix some eggs.”