Fearless

by Maya Rossi

  Head down, she flew down the hall to her office. Gary emerging from the coffee room downstairs saw her face and curse. “Ava, if you;ll--”

  “Not now, Gary.”

  In her office, Ava grabbed her laptop, sticky notes, a pen and a box of tissues. When she had her bag packed, Nance, her friend and coworker, rushed over. “Baby, I’m soo sorry.”

  She absolutely hated being called baby in that sugary sweet tone Nance used but Ava was too exhausted to complain about it. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m coming over with ice cream,” Nance declared, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, the brush of her soft fingers against Ava’s skin cool and comforting to the touch.

  Her door opened for what seemed like the hundredth time to her pounding skull and Ava drew back from Nance with a groan. “Today of all days everyone seems so concerned. One would think I’m a celebrity or something.”

  Edward too a step forward. “You have the looks and class of a celebrity, my love.”

  Ava snorted. “Tell that to Frank who doesn’t believe I have ‘the kind of looks the camera goes for these days.”

  Nance made a face. “He doesn’t exactly have a great taste in women.”

  Eddy cupped her face. “But I fucking do.”

  She allowed herself to be held for a minute when Eddy reached for her. “I need to get my things, Eddy.”

  “I hate to hit you with this, babe,” Edward edged. “Your father called again. Asked if--”

  “No,” Ava declared before he would finish. Her family was a touchy subject she avoided at all costs. She just wanted to get home and lick her wounds in private. “I just… later, please.”

  He kissed her softly. “Of course. I’ll call you.”

  ∞∞∞

  After the tenth try, Ava pulled the key out of the ignition and dropped her head onto the steering. Could today get any worse? She sabotaged and lost her own pitch. Now her car refused to start and to make things worse, they suspended her for two weeks? She was fucked.

  A knock on her window, had her growling in anger. Mason took one look at her face and raised both hands in surrender. Ava watched him leave, feeling guilty about her crappy attitude lately. To have Frank be the one to point it out didn’t hurt at all.

  “I’m just peachy,” she muttered to her reflection in the overhead mirror. “Just peachy.”

  With a tired sigh, she trudged to the curb, hoping to get a taxi. She searched her handbag for enough change but gave up after the third try when she came up empty. Then she recalled she gave Eddy her last hundred dollar note for no reason she could remember. Ava almost cried.

  Three noisy babies in the subway and a round with a puddle of water later, Ava got home. She went to unlock her door and groaned at the notice from her landlord stuck to her door.

  “Just peachy.”

  She took a long, hot shower, dressed in her rattiest sweat shirt and camped in front of the television to ruminate on her failures.

  “Fuck it,” she murmured five minutes later, going into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.

  At twenty-six and three years after graduation, she expected more. For as long as she could remember, especially after finding her mother’s body following another overdose which proved to be her last, Ava vowed to be in control of her life.

  Failing at a floundering news station wasn’t being in control. Her phone rang, Ava dug it out of her bag, glanced at the screen and grimaced.

  Biting her lip in indecision, she stared at the caller I.D. Finally, she sent a text, I’m sorry, so not the time.

  Right..sure. Take your time, not going anywhere.

  The easy reply only increased her guilt, and she took a huge gulp of her wine to drown out the guilt.

  “To suspension,” Nance greeted as she walked in an hour later. “Jesus, Ava. This place’s a dump.” Her gaze stopped on the empty glass of wine. “And you got the party started without your wing woman.”

  “There’s wing man no wing woman.” Ava draped her legs on the couch and crossed it. “Women are too catty and envious to be a wing woman. They’re more likely to snatch the guy than wing it, get what I mean?”

  A strange expression crossed Nance’s beautiful face. “Careful, cynical Ava is making an appearance.” She pushed back a small bulge on the wall and shuddered. “Seriously, this place’s a dump.”

  From her position on the couch, she studied the tiny apartment through Nance’s eyes. Or tried to. It looked the same to her, small, cute and homey. Ava was damned proud of it too, every inch resulted from her hard work and determination. But what she said was, “Landlord gave me two months.”

  Nance stopped on her way to the kitchen. With her fall of silky blonde hair and blue eyes, her best friend was simply breathtaking, the classic all American beauty. Between the two of them, Nance looked more like she belonged on the television screen. But somehow, she ended up with the most boring job known to man. An editor for freaking sake.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have an annoying boyfriend who desperately wants you to move in with him and save costs.” She twisted her lips in a mirthless smile. “Neither would you have a grandma who left you a nice home in an area just forty minutes from your crappy job, would you?”

  “I’m not ready to move in with Eddy.”

  Nance rolled her eyes and entered the kitchen. She returned with the serving of ice cream and spoons. Feeling a sudden rush of gratitude, Ava reached for Nance’s hand. “Thank you--”

  “And why aren’t you ready to move in with Eddy?”

  “I don’t know, I need more time I guess?”

  She nodded, taking a long lick of her spoon without once looking at Ava. “And the mortgage free house your grandparents left you? What’s up with that? You’re not ready too?”

  “Nance, this day has been fucking shit enough--”

  “You shoot yourself in the foot every time and get all angry when things go wrong. But please, let’s just eat ice cream.”

  “Let’s just,” Ava returned, miffed because Nance was right.

  “I can’t stay though.” Nance winced. “I’ve got a--”

  “You bailed last week.”

  “I had work to catch up on because Gary always comes up short or late or worse, you know this.”

  Ava replaced her ice cream on the table. “You know what makes your bailing worse? I never ask for your company--”

  “Ouch.”

  “You suggested ice cream, not me.”

  Nance eyes went wide and filled with so much apology, Ava couldn’t bear to look at her. “I’m sorry — fuck it, I’ll cancel and--”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Ava sighed. “I’ll be bad company, anyway. Go do your thing.”

  After Nance left, Ava got her note and set out to make a plan. She jotted down her goal. Get into the inner circle and prove myself.

  “Now, how to do that with Frank as the villain and Eddy and Nance as my supporting cast? No fucking idea.”

  Chapter two

  The sound of his gloved fists striking flesh filled the air with an unsatisfying smack. Brayden gritted his teeth. On one hand, enjoying the way his muscles coiled and uncoiled with every punch, on the other hand, his stomach roiled with fear on each punch he landed further slowing down his reaction time. He danced two steps back, and forward, putting his fists up to shield his face as he went on the attack. From the sidelines, Samson screamed recriminations, insults, praises and curses in a familiar rant that was his only comfort on the slick canvas.

  Jack, a friend and former boxer long retired by injury, winced and danced away when a jab caught him under the jaw. The problem and advantage of sparring with Jack was his stronger than average chin. The man rarely ever went down.

  “Are you seriously kidding me Bray?” Sam screamed. “What the fuck is this? You think we came here to play?”

  Brayden imagined Coach Samson’s pulsing neck cords threatening to burst out of his skull as he got worked up over what he considered an ave
rage performance. To be honest, it was a shit performance by his arguably high standards. But no matter how much he tried, his head wasn’t just in it. What he needed was a worthy challenger, strong, young and capable of giving him enough knocks to get his head on straight.

  Jack did his best, but nothing beat a fellow professional meeting you punch for punch. And he had the perfect man for the job.

  “You’re on the sixth round with a retired fighter? What you want, huh? Think he can take your place in the next bout? I mean that will be a little hard to explain seeing as Jack’s black and you’re whiter than a lily white ass.”

  Even Brayden had to blink at that. Momentarily unguarded, Jack’s next punch caught him square on the chin. He staggered back, almost slipping on the slightly wet canvass. Brayden gave his head a quick shake to snap out of it.

  “Fucking iron chin,” Jack muttered. His dark eyes glittering like jewels against his midnight black skin. “You think he knows there’s a lily black ass?”

  “What the hell ladies? You think we’re here to paint our toenails and compare the length of our skirts?” Samson yelled from the edge of the ring.

  Brayden shrugged and danced away from Jack’s return jab. There was nothing he hated than hitting someone. A champion who could take a hit but couldn’t stomach delivering one was no champion. Yep, the reverse was much worse, but he hadn’t reigned as king for two decades without finding a balance.

  “True champions know to rise when they fall, Bray. I mean, I don’t know, you look just about ready to hand over your fucking belt with a kiss to Highland’s fucking feet!”

  Jack laughed out loud. “Where the hell does he come up with this shit?”

  “The same place he comes up with things like, ‘I only know a black ass that hasn’t been breached by a white cock,” Brayden said with a sneer.

  Jack stopped right in the middle of the ring, lowering his guard in shock, the betrayal and disappointment on his friend’s face was just too much. So Brayden did the one thing he knew how to do well. He took the punch, his fist connecting flush with the hard line of Jack’s jaw.

  A minute later, Brayden sat on the little stool in his corner watching as Duke brought Jack around. Sick to his stomach, he gave half an ear to Samson’s latest monologue. He was nothing but a bastard, a sick one through and through. An enterprising one to be sure, but a bastard.

  “You fucking land a punch and stand there looking like you found your girlfriend taking my dick like a champ, what the hell Bray?” Samson checked his watch. “That’s 0.003 seconds you’re unguarded and vulnerable. Jack’s good but we both know he’ll take a bullet for you. Another fighter won’t overlook this bullshit.”

  Brayden never took his eyes off Jack who shrugged off whatever Duke had to say and walked away to the showers with angry strides.

  “Fix it, Brayden,” Samson snapped. “I don’t know what has your panties in a twist, but fucking fix it.”

  “Please, the guy just came back after a long injury, let him heal.” Duke zipped up his medical bag. “He’ll be back, he’ll be fine. He’s Brayden Marshall--”

  “Yeah,” Samson, stepped forward, looking every inch the street thug he was with the veins protruding in his face and neck, “and what will you know about that? You know nothing about boxing, about how hard we have to train so you can boast to having Brayden Marshall as a client in one of your doctors meetings--”

  “I’m a physiologist, a sports physiologist,” Duke smiled, using a finger to inch his glasses up his nose. “It’s no wonder you can’t comprehend such a simple distinction seeing as you’re too thickheaded to--”

  “Excuse me.” Brayden rose. “I’m off to the showers. Lock the door when you’re done sparring. And Duke? Get me Luke on the phone, will you?”

  “Exactly,” Samson rested one thick paw on the ropes and leaned into Duke’s face. “Go on, get Luke and keep out of the real men’s business. At least, my champion is getting up to form, see the way he knocked out Jack? He’ll be--”

  “Shut up, Samson. Go home to Yemi and say me hi to the kids.”

  Brayden took a moment to unwrap his hands, flinging the wraps into the nearest waste basket with a weary sigh. Distantly, he heard the showers come on and knew he had to hurry if wanted to catch up with Jack. With a tired grunt that would have got Samson going were he close enough to hear it, he bent over to untie his boxing shoes with jerky tugs, but only succeeding in tightening the knots.

  “Here,” Duke ran over to drop to his knees by his side, “let me.”

  Humbled by the offer, Brayden stared down at Duke’s straight brown hair. Genetics could be a bitch. Duke’s son, Jace had the exact same shade of hair but it didn’t look like tepid tea on him. Done with the knots, Duke smiled and waved his hands with a flourish. “There.”

  “Thanks,” Brayden muttered.

  “You know,” Duke began haltingly, “my son--”

  “Jace, is he all right?”

  “Yes. You know when he broke his leg training for that swimming meet? Remember what you told him? You said--”

  “I know exactly what I said.”

  “A day at a time, no hurry.” Duke bestowed a fatherly smile on him. “I only want to remind you, that advice applies to you as well. Good bye, Brayden. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  How would the media spin it if they found he was now at the same level as a six-year-old. Jesus, Samson was right. He needed to get his act together especially now they had an interim champion. He walked into the showers to find Jack rummaging through his locker with a towel tied around his waist.

  “Do you time your showers or something?” Brayden shucked down his wet boxing shorts. “I get the joke about women spending more time in the showers, but guy yours lasts about a second.”

  “The military does that,” Jack replied without glancing at him.

  Brayden tied a towel around his waist and stared at the rigid line of his friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry--”

  Jack spun around, slamming a hand against his chest. Brayden allowed himself to be manhandled. He hurt the man, so he deserved this. Still, a thousand ants ate at his insides as he stood there letting Jack have his way. But he caught and held Jack’s glare with a carefully blank stare of his own. A former challenger and now sparring partner had admitted after one too many drinks how unnerving the stare left him and many others.

  Jack withstood it for a full, tense minute. With a sound of disgust, he dropped his arm and stepped back. “How far would you have let me go?”

  “As much time as you need.”

  “You know that’s fucked up right? No one’s perfect, we hurt each other all the time. An apology is enough I don’t have to take my pound on flesh on--”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Brayden spat, angry at the direction the conversation was taking. “If an apology is enough for you, fine. I’m sorry.”

  Jack folded his arms. Black, fit and bold, the former professional boxer, bodyguard, sparring partner and friend was the only one who would dare talk to Brayden this way. Despite his irritation, he felt his mouth twitch in amusement.

  “You look like a teacher reprimanding a student, man.”

  “I’m hardly your teacher,” Jack said with a snort at that idea. “Now what are you sorry for?”

  “I was losing momentum all right? Coach said something, and I had to have the upper hand somehow so I said that to catch you off guard.” He smirked. “It worked. But I’m sorry about, you know.”

  “What did coach say to rile the unflappable Brayden Marshall?” Jack wondered out loud. “I said something about lily asses and I got a jab in and I mentioned your damn iron chin--”

  “Jesus, you act like a girl sometimes. You wanted an apology and now you’re going off tangent.” Brayden brushed past him and headed to the showers. “We’re headed to Mr Brown’s after this, let Luke know.”

  “’K,” Jack murmured absently.

  “Jack,” Brayden called in warning. “What--”


  “He said something about you handing your belt over on a platter. Is that what got you riled up?”

  The blank stare didn’t work this time. Despite his efforts, Brayden flinched at the thought of having to relinquish his belt.

  “Jeez. You know he’s joking right? Besides, if anything happens, twenty years is a long time to rule a division, no one will break that record in a million years. You’re the legend of legends.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Jack’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Brayden, surely you haven’t bought into your own godlike status? That will be incredibly stupid.”