“I’ll figure it out. I swear to God, I will figure this out.” I look at Will and he has turned the television on, watching SportsCenter. “Hey, Jules?”
“Yeah?”
“I might not be here when you get here. It’s important. But I’ll be back, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I promise you, I’ll be back tonight.”
I end the call, scroll through my contacts, and press SEND.
“Get your ass up and let’s go,” I bark. Will’s on his feet in a flash, tossing me a curious look.
“Shenanigans.”
“Hey, Jordyn. Is that guy in the suit still there?”
She laughs. “Yeah. He’s sitting at the end of the bar watching the door. He ordered a mojito. What guy drinks that?”
“Pour him another. I’ll be there in twenty.”
CREW
The gravel crunches behind me as Will jogs to catch up. The streetlights are on, casting a weird glow over the parking lot. I park in the back next to Jordyn, the lot fuller than usual for a weekday night.
“You gonna tell me why we’re here? I’ve got the feeling we aren’t getting a beer.”
I twist the toothpick around in my mouth. I’ve went over this meeting a hundred times in my head on the way over. I’m not sure what they even want. I just know I need it to go a certain way, to plant a seed that with a little luck will grow just in time.
“I’m meeting with a reporter,” I say.
“For?”
“Watch and learn.”
“Watch and learn,” he mutters, stepping back as I open the door to Shenanigans. The chimes going off and we enter. Jordyn looks up and smiles.
The bar is pretty full, but the atmosphere is calm. Too calm. There’s no music going and the televisions are even on mute. Just the sound of someone playing pool cracks through the air.
Jordyn nods her head to the end of the bar where two men, completely out of character for this place, are sitting. One is in a large sweatshirt, a bag sitting at his feet. The other is sipping a drink, a suit jacket thrown over the back of the stool.
Will’s hand clasps my shoulder. “You need me?”
“Nah, just stick around ‘til this is over. Grab a drink and tell J to add it to my tab.”
The two guys at the end look bored. I size them up as I approach. The guy in the hoodie is surfing around on his phone, the other guy scribbling in a notepad.
I know everyone’s watching me as I walk through; I can feel their eyes heavy on my skin. There’s no threat, just curious patrons wondering if they’ll get to see some action tonight. And they will, I hope, just not the kind they’re thinking.
“Hey.”
Both men’s heads snap up. The guy in the suit’s eyes widen and he struggles to get off the stool. “Crew Gentry?”
“I heard you wanted to talk to me.”
He nods exaggeratedly and extends a hand. “I do. Thank you for coming. I’m Brett Wiskin. This is Chuck Stells.”
I shake Brett’s hand. “What can I do for ya?”
He glances around the room. “Let’s move over to the corner for a little privacy.”
Brett and Chuck load up their shit and we make our way to the corner table where Will and I usually sit. I try to block out everything but what’s in front of me at the moment. My mind naturally wants to process everyone in this room, take inventory of who is where. That’s not to mention the fact that I’m purposefully blocking out Julia and Ever. I can’t get distracted . . . for all of our sakes.
They get their stuff situated around the table and I begin to get impatient. I grab the salt shaker and tap it lightly on the tabletop, hoping to kick them into action.
“So, Crew, are you here often?” Brett asks finally, running a hand through his journalist-hair. I’ve seen my share of these sportscasters and they’re all the same. Guys that talk because they can’t walk.
I set the shaker down. “This isn’t a date. Cut the shit and tell me what you want.”
He seems a little taken aback, but recovers quickly. “First of all, this conversation is completely off the record.”
I nod.
“I saw a little video online this past week. If I’m not mistaken, that video was shot inside this bar.”
I wait for him to continue. I’m still not sure what he’s after and I don’t want to play my hand too soon.
“It’s created quite a splash in the online community.”
“Has it really?” I ask, sounding purposefully disinterested.
“I’m sure you’ve seen it around.”
I shrug. “I’m not much of an ‘online community’ type of guy.”
Brett considers my statement and glances at Chuck. He’s fumbling with a camera, oblivious, it seems, to the entire conversation. That surprises me . . . the camera guys are usually the smart ones, just not good-looking enough to be in front of the camera.
“Well, it was pretty impressive. Want to walk us through what happened?”
“I stopped a couple of bums from robbing a bar. Not much to walk you through.”
“You’re being quite humble, Crew. You threw those guys around like rag dolls. That wasn’t a bar fight. That was like something we’d see on TV.” A slow smile crosses his lips. “While we were sitting at the bar, a handful of people came in and asked the bartender if you were here.”
I raise my eyebrows and wait. This is why I’m here.
“You still fight?” Chuck asks, sitting the camera on the table.
Yahtzee.
“Only for fun,” I smirk.
“So no sanctioned events?” Brett asks. “I’m telling you, it looks like you haven’t missed a beat since Minnesota. If you’re telling me you haven’t been training, I’m surprised.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Athletes train for an event, Brett.” I say, boring my eyes into his. “Guys like me, we train to live. So have I been training? Yeah. I train for fucking life.”
My table mates watch me like I’m crazy. The fear in their eyes makes my dick hard. I love the feeling of intimidating someone, of controlling the situation.
I push out the realization that if I don’t control this one, other, more important ones, are gonna be outta reach.
“Your background is wrestling,” Chuck points out. “But you clearly know how to throw a punch. Ever think about joining the NAFL now?”
“Nah, not really.”
“There’s a lot of talk about you coming in. You fought at the 185-lb weight class in college,” Chuck remarks. “That’s an exciting division right now. There’s a lot of speculation about how things will go down in there.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say. I try to appear bored, like I don’t give a fuck, but it’s all I can do not to just blurt out what I need to happen.
Stay calm, Crew.
“Since you’re so disconnected from things nowadays,” Brett says, “I’ll catch you up on a few things. There was supposed to be a big fight in Boston in a couple of months. A middleweight named Reyes was supposed to take on the man of the hour, the undefeated Hunter Davidson.”
I chuckle. “Undefeated? Nah, I believe I’m 1–0 against him.”
Brett’s eyes light up and he shuffles in his seat. “That was a long time ago . . .”
I know he’s fucking with me, wanting me to go crazy. But he’s just laid his hand wide open and I’m seeing fucking spades.
“Pretty sure I had no problem handling him,” I laugh through semi-gritted teeth.
“There’s a camp of people,” Chuck says, watching me carefully, “that don’t appreciate his showmanship.”
“You mean people don’t like the fact that he’s a cocksucker? Go figure.”
Chuck laughs. “Apparently. And those people have proposed the idea of you taking Reyes’ place. Taking on Hunter Davidson right here in Boston.” He plays with his camera, a grin on his face. “I’d say that’s crazy, tossing a guy in the cage that hasn’t fought in years. A guy whose last fight ended with a stretch
er.”
Chuck’s eyes glimmer. He’s much better at this game than Brett.
“But I saw your fight,” he continues. “So I’m solidly in that camp. I’d love to see it happen.”
I wrap my hands around the sides of my chair, squeezing it to release some frustration. I know I have to stay calm, make this seem like all their idea. I gotta come across as indifferent, confident. I can’t blow this now.
“I follow MMA a little bit and Davidson’s career is on the right path. I’m pretty fucking sure his people aren’t going to want to put him back on the mat with a guy that has already proven he can kick his ass. I’ve got that punk’s number and beating him in front of the world would destroy his career; they aren’t stupid.”
“So, hypothetically speaking of course, you’d be willing to fight Davidson again?”
“If Davidson wants to ruin his career, I’m more than happy to do that for him.”
I push back from the table, my hands shaking from the adrenaline. “Is that all you guys have to discuss?”
“It is,” Brett says excitedly. “Can we snap a picture real quick?”
I stand and Brett walks around the table. Chuck snaps a couple of pics and then shakes my hand.
“Where can we get a hold of you?” Brett asks. I jot down my number on a napkin and hand it to him.
“All right, guys. I’m outta here.” I nod and turn to leave. Will is sitting at the bar, talking to Jordyn. He grins and I turn back around.
“Hey, Brett?”
“Yeah?”
“Make that conversation on the record.”
CREW
I’ve replayed the conversation a million ways on my way home. My head is pounding, the back of my neck aching like it does when adrenaline wears off. It’s almost like a hangover. I’m hoping some clarity will come; a moment when I’ll feel like something I’m fucking doing is the right thing.
How would I even know what that feels like if it did?
I unlock the door and start inside but stop mid-way.
My house usually doesn’t smell like much of anything. Maybe cologne from the morning or bleach if I’ve cleaned, but that’s it. It’s always just like I’ve left it. But tonight, the house smells different. A mixture of spices and warmth hits me hard and throws me a little off balance.
I shut the door softly, still feeling skewed. It’s my house, but I don’t know who’s up or what they’re doing. It doesn’t feel like I’m walking into my house, but walking into a home.
I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and make my way towards a light in the living room. I round the corner and see Julia sitting on the couch, hunched over a box. She looks up and her eyes meet mine.
Her beautiful face is marred with the misery she’s under. She has bags under her eyes, her forehead lined with tension. It adds to the weight I’m carrying on my shoulders.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think you’d be up. It’s late.”
She half-smiles. “I’m trying to get some of this mess cleaned up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, sitting in the chair Will always uses. I try to ease her worries with a smile, but it doesn’t work.
“I know you hate a mess, Crew. I feel bad still having boxes lying around.”
“It’s been a couple of days, Jules. Relax.”
“Relax? What’s that again?”
I feel like an asshole. Of course she can’t relax.
Neither can I.
“Is everything okay? You were gone a while.”
I consider how much to tell her, but I don’t want to get her hopes up. I don’t know if this is gonna work, it’s a long shot anyway. I’m not putting any eggs into this basket and I don’t really want her doing that either.
“Yeah. Everything is fine. I had to meet up with a few guys about a side job.”
As soon as I say it, I know it was the wrong thing.
Her shoulders slump. “I’ll see if I can get some shifts this weekend at Ficht’s. I—”
“No, you won’t,” I cut her off. “That’s not exactly what I meant. Just . . . don’t worry about it, all right? Your job is to focus on Ever. My job is to focus on the rest.”
I see her throat bob and her hands begin to shake. “I’m scared, Crew.”
I grab the armrests of the chair so I won’t stand and grab her. “I know. But we’ll figure it out. Somehow, we’ll figure it out. I promise you.”
“Without the therapy, I don’t know what the odds are. They just said we’d talk about it on Monday when we go in for day one of the chemo, but this was the winning shot . . .”
“I promise you, we will figure this out. I will figure this out. I don’t want you worrying about it now. There’s a chance she won’t even need the therapy, okay?”
She tries to grin, but I know she doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t even really believe me. I don’t know how this is going to play out, other than I have to do whatever I have to do to get this baby healthy.
“Let’s stay positive and not fall apart until we hear the doctor out, okay?”
“Just . . .” She looks scared all of a sudden. “Just please don’t leave us, Crew.”
The English language becomes as foreign to me as Arabic. I cannot speak. I know down deep she’s not kidding. She’s been left or turned away by everyone, but I’ll be damned if I’ll fall into that pattern again.
She clears her throat and pulls out a blue bowl that I recognize. She holds it up and smiles. “This was your mom’s. Do you remember?”
“Yeah. I remember her using that to make pancakes sometimes.”
“It was one of the things Gage didn’t want to get rid of. He said the same thing, that she used to make pancakes with it.”
“We didn’t get many home cooked meals. Pancakes were her specialty,” I laugh.
“She tried to make Gage pancakes the day before she died, but she was so weak,” Julia says and then stops abruptly. “I’m sorry.”
I’ve never talked about her or what happened between us with anyone. When I didn’t come back when Gage called and said she was dying, no one brought it up again. I flew home once she passed, went to the funeral, and then headed back to Minnesota again. Gage never questioned me on it; I think he always knew why I acted how I did. Gage got me in ways that no one else did. No one else ever will.
“Nah, it’s okay,” I say.
“Why didn’t you come back?”
The million dollar fucking question is now laid grandly at my feet.
I look at her blankly, hoping she’ll apologize again and change the topic. Instead, her big, brown eyes fill with expectancy. She actually waits for a damn answer.
My instincts say to get the fuck out of here. Stand up, walk to the door, and go. My heart says otherwise. Its beats are telling me I’ve done that to her more times than I should’ve and I can’t do it to her again.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, giving her another chance to change topics.
“Yes, you do.”
I release a ragged breath and try to look at her, but pull my gaze to the wall instead. I can’t look into those eyes. I know she’s hoping for some beautifully fucked up answer, something that makes some motherfucking sense and will make her think I’m not some kind of bastard. The truth isn’t that kind.
“I’m the asshole you think I am.”
“Crew,” she says. She doesn’t continue until I look at her again. “Why didn’t you come home?”
“What does it matter?”
“It just does.”
I think about the hundred reasons, the way they interconnect like a spider web, each reason weaving into the next. I don’t even know where to start.
“I was a disappointment to her.” I sound like a pussy. I know I do.
“You were not.”
“Nah, I was. Remember when I came home?” I cough, trying to decide whether to bring up that she was with Gage then. Choosing not to, I continue, “I was only here for a night. Before I left, she and I tal
ked.”
“And?”
“She was in the kitchen, drinking her tea, and I kissed her on the cheek. I was so fucking pissed off for obvious reasons. I was just going to walk out, but she asked me to sit down. So I did. She just watched me for a while like she did when I was a kid.”
My hands shake at the memory of realizing I had lost every-fucking-thing. College had been a blast: parties, girls, wrestling. But I had started to get the feeling that everything was superficial. The girls, the invites, the friends . . . that all came with winning. What would happen if I lost? Nothing felt real, anymore. Nobody knew who I really was, me included.
I woke up one morning and realized that I’d not talked to my mom in months. That I had no fucking clue what was going on with Gage. That I hadn’t said anything substantial to Jules in more days than I could remember. The chick lying next to me that morning looked so different from her and I remember how it rolled my stomach, her blonde hair sprawled across my chest. For some reason, everything hit me at once. I needed to find that scrap of whatever it was that made me me. I needed a second chance to make things right with everyone. So I bought a ticket with some money loaned to me by my coach and flew home to surprise everyone.
Surprise, fucking, surprise.
“Ma asked me if I was happy. I smarted something off and she shushed me and asked me again. I yelled, you know, how could I be happy walking in to the mess I did? That everyone in my life had changed and I knew nothing about it. That I meant nothing to any of you.”
I remember her face, all lined with years of hard work and little else. How her eyes looked like mine and Gage’s, but colorless in a way, a film on them from days without a smile. I felt like shit for leaving her behind and basically ignoring her, but feeling that in front of her made me angry.
“Ma told me she thought I’d lost my way. That I’d gotten too big at school and had forgotten who I was. That I’d let the glory or whatever dumb word you wanna use get to my head. That she and Gage missed me. That she wanted me to remember that.”
I stand, embarrassed for saying this out loud, embarrassed for having done this at all. But at the same time, it is freeing.
“She said she wanted me to not get tied up in the rich man’s game. To be a simple man. To find a woman to love, a job I didn’t hate, and enjoy the nice things in life. And by nice things she didn’t mean cars and watches.”
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