The Perfect Comeback

by Kacey Shea

  His chuckle bounces around the room. “Please tell me you’re talking about a video game.”

  Hands on my hips I raise my brow. “What if I’m not? You scared?”

  “Not in the slightest.” His smile only pulls wider. It’s a nice one, too. Unbridled and full of genuine delight. Even his beard moves with the motion. Matt seems to be the kind of person who smiles often, and that relaxes some of my nervous energy.

  “This is the only time you can tell me what to do, so . . . I guess, let’s get this over with.” I smart back in a cheeky tone and sure enough, he laughs again.

  “I’ll remember that. Why don’t we go through a few simple techniques first? Slowly. Grab my arm . . .” He proceeds to walk me through skill after skill until I can successfully deflect an attacker trying to grab at me from the front. I’m not sure Matt understands how much this alone means. My confidence grows with every minute. Sure, I fudge the first few, allowing him to capture me in a tight hold before he releases me so I can attempt it again. But with trial and error I quickly catch on, and even with his size I’m able to escape his reach again and again.

  He’s a good teacher, too. Patiently breaking down the movements and critiquing me when I don’t get it just right. Complimenting and cheering each time I do. We don’t share much conversation outside of directions, but the energy is comfortable as he teaches and I learn for the next hour.

  “Yes! Good!” he says from where I’ve shoved him to the floor. “Now back up, without turning around, and remember what I said.”

  “Get off me! Help! Call 9-1-1!” I jog backward, keep my eye on him, and shout just as Matt’s taught me. It’s all in character and I don’t hold back.

  “Good! Just like that. Be as vocal as you can and don’t turn your back.” He jumps from the floor and begins to tuck back his hair from where it’s come loose around his face. “You want to keep going or call it a night?”

  “I think I have that down. At least I feel comfortable with it.”

  “Good.” He nods. “You’re a hard worker. Next time we’ll go over floor work. Sometimes even with the right moves you’ll get knocked to the ground. It’s important to not panic and know what to do.”

  “Thank you, Matt.”

  “Of course, Mia.”

  “Oh, and I had some ideas for your web design, but I need all your hosting info, logins, and anything else you’d like.” I don’t want him to think I won’t hold up my end of the deal. In all honesty, he’s a much better instructor than I imagined and I actually had a good time tonight.

  His eyes light with his smile and he points toward a closed door. “I thought you might ask that. I put everything together. Let me grab it from my office.”

  I nod as he jogs over and disappears inside the room. Taking the moment to grab a quick drink from the water fountain, I decide to retrieve my phone and send a quick text to Rae and Jared so they won’t worry. With the touch of my thumb the display on my phone lights up and it’s then I notice the late hour. I didn’t even realize how long we were training. “Oh, shit. The time. Shit, shit.” I mumble to myself.

  Matt steps to my side, holding out a manila envelope marked FOR MIA and his lips pull with his smirk. “Do you turn into a flesh-eating zombie if you’re not home by midnight?”

  “Thanks.” I take the folder and tuck it inside my bag. “No, but I did miss my train and the next one isn’t for another hour.”

  “Let me take you home. Where’s your place?” he says matter of factly.

  “In Irving Park. But you don’t have to do that. I’ll just bus it.”

  “And get home in another hour? That’s silly considering I have to drive home anyway.”

  “It’s not too far out of the way for you?”

  “Not at all. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ve got to change and shut this place up.”

  “Thanks, Matt. You really don’t have to—”

  “Enough. I want to, okay?” He doesn’t leave me room to argue, just grabs a backpack from behind the counter and flips a few lights off along the way. The streetlights from outside illuminate the gym while the heavy bags, cage, and other equipment cast shadows across the room. It transforms this ordinary space to almost that of a thriller film with the mere touch of a switch.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” he says and points to a hallway at the back corner. “Meet you by the back door. That’s the only part that’s lit once I flip the last of the lights off.”

  Nodding my agreement, I head over to the vacant hallway while Matt ducks inside the men’s locker room. I pull on my boots and hoodie, then strap my bag over one shoulder to wait. Boredom and a little curiosity lead me to study the framed photos on the wall; a dollar bill along with a ribbon cutting photo, newspaper clippings with Matt’s name in the headlines, and a ton of action photographs, too. The fighting photos aren’t all that pretty, blood and sweat often covering the fighters’ faces. Something in one of the photos draws me closer. It’s the expression on the young man’s face—exhaustion as if he’s been put through the worst kind of battle. But also a look of drive or even stubborn will, as if he’s still not giving up. Wait a second . . .

  “You ready to go, Mia?” Matt’s voice startles me.

  “That’s you!” I point at the photo on the wall. Without the scruff and long hair, I didn’t recognize him immediately, but now I realize most of these photos are him. “These are all you. Did you fight or something?”

  He attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Something.” He nods to the door and I follow him out, only pausing a moment for him to push a few buttons and set the alarm.

  “Were you any good?”

  He shrugs, stepping out into the night with me. It’s nearing midnight but the city is still alive with the muted bustle of traffic, music, and occasional voices from beyond this alley. My shorter legs work to keep up with his stride as I follow him to his car. There’s something about the stiff movements of his body that spark intrigue.

  “I held my own. Until I didn’t. There’s no long game in fighting, at least not for most. You’re on top until you aren’t any more. That’s why I have this place.” He stops short.

  “Wait. You own this gym?” I don’t know why I never considered it before.

  “Yeah. What did you think? I borrowed it?” His chuckle comes easily and leaves little goosebumps across my flesh. He tilts his head to meet my stare. “Let me guess. You thought because I was working the door at some dive bar, I couldn’t possibly own my own business, or be retired from my previous career.”

  Well, yeah, but I’m not going to admit to that. At least not without a little fun. “No, I thought you didn’t own the gym because your beard gives off the vibe that you’re homeless, and your lame pickup lines allude to the fact you don’t know what you’re doing in life.” The words come out coated in my usual snark and my eyes widen as I slap my hand over my mouth.

  Matt’s booming laughter fills the night air and he shakes his head. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “You could shower more? Read books?” I offer in a teasing tone and he laughs again. Despite the cool night air my body warms with the sound. He has a great laugh and offers it readily.

  “Nah, I’m good.” His smile lingers as he shakes his head.

  “With people assuming you’re homeless?”

  “No. Underestimating me. Makes it all the sweeter when I prove ’em wrong.” He nods toward a motorcycle parked in the corner. “You ready to ride?”

  “You have a bike.” The words leave my lips with disbelief.

  “What? Don’t I seem like the kind of man to have one?” He almost acts defensive.

  “Yeah, actually that’s very fitting. But where I am supposed to sit?”

  “On the back.” He messes around with the side of his motorcycle and produces a helmet. His voice drops low. “Mia, have you never ridden a bike before?”

  “Only the childhood variety.”

  “Here.” He hands me a helmet. “Put th
is on.”

  “What about you?” I slip the helmet over my messy ponytail and buckle it so it fits snug on my head.

  He straddles the hunk of metal and starts the motor with a loud roar, pushing away from the wall to roll up next to my side. “Don’t worry about me. Get on. Watch your leg.” He holds out his hand, but instead I reach for his shoulders and mount the death machine. My mother’s warnings from my youth about what a bad idea this is ring in my head. Motorcycles are dangerous, Mia.

  “Ready?” he shouts.

  “As much as I’ll ever be. I’m not sure this is safe!” I yell back because I’m pretty sure he should be wearing head protection. I wrap my arms around his waist so I don’t fall off but in turn can’t help the way my body charges with a natural attraction in this position. We were this close on the mats tonight, but this is different. More intimate. I’m no longer practicing combat against an attacker. He’s just a man on a motorcycle and I’m the woman trusting him to drive me home.

  “Hold on tight!” It’s the only warning he gives before the bike surges forward into the night. The buildings blur by along with streetlights and signs while the air sneaks under my sweatshirt, working goosebumps across my skin. It’s invigorating and thrilling at the same time, and even a little magical.

  I try not to overanalyze the warm feeling that spreads from my belly to the rest of my body as Matt sprints us across the city. Or the way his solid chest tempts my fingers to do more than hold on. Especially not the fact I wish I lived further away because there isn’t one part of me that wants to get off this bike right now or say good-bye to the man driving.

  Chapter Ten

  Matt

  “Building on the left.” She releases one arm from around my waist to point and I follow her directions until my bike rolls to a stop. She’s been quiet this entire ride and I can only hope that means she didn’t completely hate it. Lots of girls think riding on the back of a motorcycle is cool. But experience has shown the majority of those women are in their early twenties and only want to get in my bed. Mia’s neither, and I could sense her hesitation back at the gym. She’s a feisty one, though, so I knew she wouldn’t back down from the challenge.

  Cutting the motor, I pull in between two parked cars and drop my feet.

  She climbs off my bike and steps to the curb. In those jeans and boots, taking the helmet from her head she has no fucking clue how badass and sexy she looks. “Here, you can have this back.”

  “Thank you.” I hold the helmet in my hand and cut the engine, unwilling to say good night just yet. “Two new experiences in one day. I’m proud of you, Mia.” I wink.

  Her spine straightens and she fiddles with the strap of her bag, not quite meeting my gaze. “You don’t know me enough to say something like that.”

  “I’m getting to know you, and already I’m impressed. Self-defense. Motorcycles. On your way to being a regular badass.” My chuckle earns a slight smile from her.

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t do it to impress you or anyone else.”

  “Exactly.” My smile grows wider at her feisty reply.

  “But maybe I should go get a tattoo tonight since I’m on a roll.”

  “Say the word and I’ll be your chariot.”

  She laughs and takes a few steps away. “Good night, Matt.”

  “Need me to walk you up to your apartment?”

  “I’m good,” she says but doesn’t make a move to go inside. Almost as if she’s waiting for me to leave first. Guarded. That’s how she comes across, which only spikes my interest to discover why she holds up such an iron front.

  “Good night, Mia.”

  “Thanks again. And I’ll have time this weekend to go over my ideas for your website. Sorry it won’t be sooner.” She steps backward, closer to the door than the curb. Inside I can see the security desk. This building is nice, one I sure as hell can’t afford. I’m sure it costs a pretty penny to live here, but it does provide a level of comfort knowing not just anyone can come inside the building without going unnoticed.

  I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m getting the better end of this deal. I want to be fair. There’s no rush.”

  “Okay, well, then . . .” She takes a few more steps back.

  “Good night.” I grin and with a tap the engine roars to life.

  “Good night.” She waves, and if I’m not mistaken I catch the trace of a smile on her lips before she steps inside her building. I don’t stick around to find out though, pulling back on the throttle and letting out the clutch to zoom out into the empty street.

  Backtracking the same route I just traveled, I make it to my apartment building well past midnight. Worth it. I knew she’d never let me offer to take her home had she known how out of the way she was. But the forced ride time is soothing to the constant running of to-do lists and worries that race through my mind, and I’m thankful for the short reprieve. Good for my mental health. I need to carve out more time on my bike when it’s not all about getting from point A to B.

  I pull into the side lot, more than ready to pass out the moment my head hits my pillow. But when I glance up and see the shadow sitting outside my apartment door, I realize the universe has other plans. I cut the engine and my father leisurely stands and leans against the third floor railing.

  It’s never easy when it comes to him, and I brace myself for whatever mood he’s in tonight. My boots fall heavily with each step but I force myself to jog up the stairwell until I reach him. With anything in life, it’s better to rip the Band-Aid than pull it off slowly.

  “Pop.” I dip my chin and keep my tone neutral.

  He nods. “Son.”

  He doesn’t make a move or speak. I don’t have all night to stand out here and stare at each other. “It’s a little late for a visit. What do you need?”

  “I haven’t seen my son in a while. I can’t just stop by?”

  I repress the scoff in my throat. “How long you been waiting?”

  “A bit. You gonna invite your old man in?” His eyes lock with mine for a stare down, neither of us willing to relent. The air charges with his question. I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel as though I owe him anything but still . . . he’s my father.

  “By all means.” I slide the key into the deadbolt and step inside first, holding the door for him to follow. Dropping my stuff on the floor next to the door, I flip on the lights and walk into the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

  He follows and leans against the cheap Formica countertop. With a lift of his brow he glances around my bare bones apartment. “You got anything good?”

  “Only water around here.” I have no need to stock my place with anything else. I rarely have visitors, and even if I had something hard I wouldn’t offer it to him. I don’t wait for his response, instead I fill two glasses at the tap before handing him one. “Cheers.” I make light of the heaviness that hangs around us, but my smile doesn’t feel right on my face.

  He brings the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. It’s been a good six months since I’ve seen my father, and then it was only in passing. We haven’t had a civil conversation in over two years, so in all consideration I’m counting this as a win. Maybe it’s the late hour or my poor lighting but he’s aged years since Danny’s graduation. Even his frame seems smaller. Almost weak. And in all my life I’ve never used the word weak to describe my old man.

  “I talked to your uncle today.”

  Ah-ha. There it is. “Yeah, did he tell you I’m gonna be working on his crew?”

  “Hard times? You gonna lose the gym?”

  “No.” I don’t entertain the possibility, but I know it’s there. The fear of losing what I’ve built from the dust of my shattered career is motivation alone to never let it come to that. I have hope that if I stay the course, my stroke of luck will turn around. I feel it’s already beginning to.

  “Not what I heard.” As much as I don’t want to hear it, there’s a smugness to his words. He’d probably love to see me hit ro
ck bottom again. If only to ease his own conscience. But that will never happen. Not over my dead body.

  “I’m working it out, Pop. Not your problem.”

  He sets his glass on the counter and his glare returns, along with a stroke of anger. “You need money, son, you come to me.”

  I’ll never ask him for money, or anything else for that matter. Not after everything that went down. “You know damn well why I won’t do that.”

  “And why not? You’re done fightin’. Those days are over. Don’t let your pride get in the way of livin’ life.”

  “That’s rich coming from you.”

  “Ha! There you go. On your high horse. Must get really lonely up there. Always on the righteous path while the rest of us peasants scrap for what’s ours.”

  “Stop. I never had a problem with your way until you forced it on me.” Anger, sadness, and the familiar disappointment clouds my vision. I struggle to calm the need to strike out, physically, but indulge my feelings by laying it all out. “You ended my career. You took everything that was important to me and pissed all over it. With no remorse! Now you want to help? This was a mistake. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

  “Your mother spoiled you. Made you this way. Made you think you’re better than the rest of us.”

  That’s the last straw. I slam my glass on the counter and with one step I’m right up in his face. Chest to chest, my fingers grab and twist the collar of his shirt. “Don’t ever speak to me about her.” The words seethe from between my clenched teeth and he has the decency to not say another damn word. With one cleansing breath I release my hold and take a step back.

  He holds my stare and nods twice. Dropping his chin, he turns and strolls to the door. His hand touches the metal but he pauses before twisting the handle. “Offer still stands,” he mumbles without looking back.

  “Get out!” I slam my fist against the counter, rattling the empty glasses. The sound mimics memories from my youth, the ones I shove deep down so I don’t have to remember. The door opens enough for him to shuffle outside and shuts on a soft click. I wait a few minutes, attempting to calm myself but it doesn’t work. With every second that ticks by the past creeps into my mind’s eye. “Fuck!” I shout so loud even my own ears ache with the sound.