by Evelyn Glass
“Yes, he’s clearly an alien.” Adriana throws the teacher an apologetic shrug, as she wonders for the hundredth time why she still goes to yoga with Willow. She’s the least restful person Adriana knows, but she also happens to be her best friend.
“Exactly, so I had to kick him to the curb.” Willow sighs loudly, as she executes a perfect sun salutation. “And that’s why you have to go out with me tonight.”
Adriana shakes her head at her friend. “Not that I’m not sorry that you’re heartbroken that you and Jon—”
“Jay,” Willow corrects her friend without a trace of annoyance.
“Right, Jon was last week.” Adriana rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not that I’m not sorry that your relationship of twelve whole days is over, but I’m working tonight, my shift finishes late.”
“You’re such a bad liar, Adrie. You blush like a virgin whenever you try!” Willow looks pointedly at her red-faced friend. “And what if tonight is the night that I meet my soulmate? What if you’re stopping me from finding the man that I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with?” Willow shakes her red hair cut in an achingly stylish bob as if she can’t believe how selfish Adriana is being.
“Jeez, Will, guilt trip much?” Adriana frowns at her friend over her shoulder. Willow knows how to play on Adriana’s over-developed sense of responsibility. They have been pretty much inseparable since Adriana moved to Miami almost eight years ago. She had answered an ad in the newspaper for a roommate and rocked up to the house in South Beach that looked so out of her price range as to be in another stratosphere. She would only find out later that Willow’s rich father bought her things to make up for the fact that he never had any time for her. The house had been one of those things. She’d arrived to find Willow crumpled on the floor a crying mess. She had just broken up with the supposed love of her life. Adriana had talked her down and dried her tears, and they’d been best friends ever since.
“Besides, you know I don’t believe in that stuff. Soulmates are something that only exist in films like The Notebook, that are strategically designed to make you feel bad about your love life or lack thereof.” Adriana knows the spiel by heart; they have been the words she’s lived by for ten years, since that day, since that day that he disappeared without a word, like she didn’t even matter.
“Ms. Garza, is there something we’re keeping you from?” The disapproving tone in the yoga teacher’s voice snaps Adriana out of her nostalgia, a place where she would rather not spend much time. She feels like a naughty schoolchild that’s just been berated by her teacher in front of the whole class.
“Sorry,” Adriana mumbles the word under her breath, sounding like a sullen teenager. Despite Willow generally being the instigator of things, it’s inevitably Adriana who always takes the heat.
Willow carries on talking as if the exchange with the increasingly irate teacher hasn’t even happened. “Adrie, please.” Willow makes her blue eyes as wide as she possibly can, looking the picture of innocence. “Just come out for a little while. I need something to cheer me up, please? Besides, when was the last time you let that beautiful hair down and had some fun?”
“Fun? What’s that?” Adriana plays along, knowing what her friend is leaving out; that she needs to loosen up and get laid. It’s something that Willow tells her repeatedly, as if getting under some random guy is going to solve all her problems.
“Come on, Adrie, just say yes. Drinks are on me, and I bet I can get us in to that hot new club over on Miami Beach.” Willow dangles the promise in front of her friend like a carrot on a stick.
“Which hot new club?” Adriana already knows that she’s lost the battle. Willow doesn’t usually take no for an answer, and it doesn’t look like she’s planning on starting anytime soon.
“I don’t know, but there’s bound to be one! Places come and go on that strip faster than even I can keep up.” Willow shrugs dismissively. Her position in a high profile PR agency means that she has her ear to the ground about anywhere and everywhere that’s hot, new, or up and coming. She has an endless list of contacts who can get her in to any club, bar, restaurant, or sold-out concert. “Come on, Adrie, what have you got to lose? It’s just a night out, not an agreement to a life of indentured servitude!”
“Fine, fine! I’ll go, if only for the sake of you not talking for the rest of the class. This is supposed to be relaxing!” Adriana hisses the words at her friend, trying to concentrate on what impossible position she’s supposed to be contorting herself into. She isn’t very good at yoga, never has been, but she needs something to help counter-balance the stress of her job at the hospital.
The tanned, sinewy teacher gives Adriana another look that would freeze hell over, and she ducks her head down in submission. She has never been good at confrontation and hates getting into trouble, even as a kid at high school. Her dad had always encouraged her to blend in and not draw attention to herself—good or bad. It was a hangover from smuggling himself into the U.S. from Cuba. He had tried to be more American than apple pie and made sure that Adriana knew to keep her head down and her grades up. He had lived under the radar, doing his best to give her the life that he never had. He’d given up everything so that she could have it all. As soon as she was old enough, she had made sure that he was taken care of. She worked as a waitress to put herself through nursing college, and once she’d qualified, she’d sent him money every month, almost half her paycheck.
It was a cruel joke, that after so many years busting his ass for her, he wasn’t even able to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He had dropped dead of a heart attack just a year after Adriana had taken up her nursing position. Even now, so many years later, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would have been able to do something to help him if she had been there and not hundreds of miles away.
Willow always asks her what she has to lose, what it is that she is afraid of, but Adriana can never put into words that what she fears most is losing someone she cares about. That is the trouble with relationships; once you care about someone, you have so much more to lose. The only two men that she’s ever really loved in her life she’d lost—one to a blocked artery and the other to, well, that was the problem, she has never known what she’d lost him to. All she knows is that one day he had disappeared, and she’d never seen him again.
CHAPTER THREE
GRAYSON
“Watch your guard, G,” West’s deep voice booms out across the gym.
Grayson doesn’t say anything, but adjusts himself so he’s more protected, not giving his training partner any opportunity to get him.
“Thanks, West, but I think I need your help more than Gray.” Tommy grumbles the words under his breath, but West doesn’t miss a thing, the guy is sharper than a tack.
“If I knew you were gonna whine like a little bitch, Tommy, then I’d have signed you up to train with the girls today.” West’s voice is a growl, as he keeps his attention fixed on the two men circling on the mats.
Grayson chuckles at his coach’s words, but he doesn’t lose focus for one second on what he’s doing. Without pausing to even think about it, he steps forward and takes Tommy down, locking him into a triangle hold.
“Alright, alright, I give!” Tommy’s voice comes out in wheezing gasps, as he pleads to be released.
Grayson releases the younger man immediately and holds his hand out to help Tommy up. “Watch your feet, Tommy. You’re making it too easy for me to get you off-balance.” Grayson puts himself in position to start the next round, waiting.
He’s barely working up a sweat, but Tommy is drenched, turning his blonde hair dark. “Thanks man, but I’m done with having my ass handed to me for today.”
“You heard him, G. Get onto the bag; you’re not done, yet.” West nods towards the punching bag in the corner of the room, and Grayson jogs over, pounding it like were his worst enemy.
“Remind me never to get Grayson mad,” Tommy jokes, as he watches his training partner go medieval on the sandb
ag. It’s like Grayson has a never-ending supply of energy and rage.
“He’s not mad; he’s focused.” West shoots Tommy a look, hoping that Grayson hasn’t heard the younger man’s throwaway comment. From the way he’s going to town on the bag, practicing his kickboxing moves, it doesn’t look like he has. West drops his voice, “Watch what you say around him.”
“Got it, chief. Shit—I didn’t mean anything by it.” Tommy kicks at some invisible dust on the floor, not wanting to meet West’s eye. He knows the story, how West found Grayson years ago in an underground fight. He was scouting for a new fighter to train, and Grayson ticked every box. He’d coached him into a well-oiled machine, but it wasn’t his body that was the real challenge, it was his mind. “West, cut me some slack, for one day. It’s my birthday, man.” Tommy pouts prettily at his coach, looking more like a spoiled teenager than a pro-fighter in training.
“I know, Tommy, you haven’t shut up about it for the past month.” West narrows his eyes at the young fighter. “If you’re planning anything, then just don’t, Gray doesn’t need any distractions before the big fight. No booze. No women.”
West is the only one who knows the full story of what happened to Gray. All Tommy knows is that he has a temper on him, and when he gets mad he just reacts, mostly without thinking. But this next fight is a big one, and he can’t afford to make any mistakes. If he wins, he’ll go national and then, who knows where? It would mean a whole lot of money, endorsements, the whole nine yards.
“I can hear you two assholes, you know?” Grayson’s voice booms across at them, as he works up a sweat kicking the shit out of the bag, his muscles rippling as he works them hard.
“Good, then you’ll have heard that we’re going out for my birthday tonight.” Tommy skips easily out of West’s reach, as the man goes to grab him.
“You and West? I didn’t think that was really your scene, coach.” Grayson takes a break from the bag, shaking his arms out.
“It’s not, and it’s not yours either, G. We’re too close to the fight for one of Tommy’s nights out.” West gives Tommy a pointed look, but the younger guy just holds his hands up in protest.
“Hey, what is so wrong with my nights out? A little fun never hurt anyone!” Tommy looks mortally offended, his baby blue eyes wide, but he’s not fooling anyone.
“What, aside from the fact they normally involve strippers, a heinous amount of alcohol, and you getting escorted from the premises for picking a fight with some dick-wad whose girlfriend you’re trying to bone?” West shakes his shiny, bald head in despair at the fighter whose boyishly good looks have given him the name ‘All American’ in the amateur ring.
“What’s the matter? You jealous, old man?” Tommy’s eyes sparkle, as he shoots a challenge at his coach.
“Watch it, Tommy. He may be an old man, but he can still kick your ass.” Grayson moves on to the free weights, working until he exhausts himself. At six foot four and 220 pounds of pure muscle, it’s not an easy feat. But he’s learned it’s the only way to stop the nightmares. If he’s too tired to think, then he can’t dwell on what happened ten years ago, almost to the day, back in Philly. He usually marked the anniversary of that fight by getting blind drunk until he couldn’t stand, let alone think or dream. Tommy’s birthday plans might give him the opportunity to do exactly that again, if West can be persuaded to let him go.
“Yeah, yeah, but I can still run faster than he can.” Tommy throws a winning smile over to West. “So, come on Grayson are you in or what? There are going to be some fine looking ladies in the club tonight…”
Tommy leaves the rest of his sentence hanging in the air. Grayson has never found it hard to come by a willing partner. Women fall all over him, with his curly chestnut hair and hooded brown eyes, he gives the impression of having a dark secret, a past that makes him mysterious. That, in combination with his washboard abs and face like a film star, makes him pretty much irresistible to the female species.
But the women never last long, he’s had more one-night stands than he can even keep track of. He isn’t interested in relationships, but sex is something that he needs. It is a primal instinct that can’t be stopped. So, he has developed a bit of a reputation on the Miami club scene as the man who can’t be tamed. It only seems to make him even more attractive to women, and he has never been able to quite figure out why.
“You know the score, Tommy. What coach says goes.” Grayson completes his final rep of bicep curls and starts to stretch, hating to be still.
Tommy throws West a pleading look, and the older man looks up to the ceiling in despair. “Fine, fine. Go. You could probably blow off some steam. But we’re running tomorrow, G, and if you have a hangover, I’m going to push you twice as hard. Now, go get a rubdown and hit the shower. I’ll see you in the morning.” West turns on his heel and is half-way out of the gym before he stops. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot—happy fucking birthday.” He digs something out of his pocket, throwing it to Tommy.
As Tommy catches it, a grin cracks along his face. “Thanks coach, you’re the best, man!”
Grayson looks a question at his friend who is so excited he’s pretty much bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, exhibiting the footwork he should have been using in the ring.
“VIP passes to Urban Moon, baby!” Tommy waves the passes above his head like rodeo rope.
“Urban Moon?” Grayson looks at his friend, unable to keep his contagious excitement at bay.
“Only the hottest new club in Miami, G. Have you been living under a rock for the past few weeks?” Tommy shakes his head in disgust, as if Grayson were wasting his time by not being up-to-date on the club scene.
“Whatever makes you happy, Tommy.” Grayson heads towards the massage room, prepared for his muscles to scream as they get worked over.
“Tonight is going to be awesome, Gray, seriously, seriously awesome. The guys are going to be so psyched that you’re coming.” Tommy grabs his phone and is already filling their other team members in on the night that they’re all about to have.
Grayson shakes his head, smiling to himself and wondering when exactly it was that he had lost that youthful exuberance, or if he even ever had it to begin with. He was only twenty-eight, but he felt every one of those years as if they were a lifetime. Absently, he rubs his hand over the fresh tattoo on his forearm. It was a Celtic design symbolizing strength. He’d designed it to cover over the scar his father had left him on that arm from his belt. He was done with having the reminders of a man whom he hates broadcast all over his body. Grayson has used tattoos to cover each and every one of those memories. There aren’t any left, but he still doesn’t feel like he is free of his father. He wonders if he ever will be.
“I know, we’re going to get more ass than a toilet seat tonight, man!” Tommy’s animated voice filters through Grayson’s thoughts, bringing him back from the past.
Perhaps another night of meaningless sex is just what the doctor ordered. Perhaps it will stop him from thinking about everything, about the man whom he killed in the ring, about the man who drove him to that ring in the first place, and about the girl whom he left behind. Perhaps a night of debauchery with Tommy and the guys will stop him from thinking about all of that, at least for a little while, at least for tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
ADRIANA
Saturdays were always busy at the hospital, and today is no exception.
“Is it gonna leave a scar?” The kid is only twelve, but he barely flinches while Adriana sews up the impressive cut on his knee. She doesn’t usually treat kids in the ER, but they’ve been run off of their feet and need the extra pair of hands.
“Probably a small one.” Adriana has never understood the point of lying to children or giving them false hope. She remembers what that feels like all too well. “But you’ll have a great story to tell the other kids at school. Besides, girls dig boys with scars.” She flashes David a smile that lights up her whole face.
“S
cars are cool.” It’s an affirmation rather than a question, as he inspects the neat job that Adriana has done on him. “But girls are whack.”
“Oh really?” Adriana arches an eyebrow at him, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. She wonders if his assessment of the female species includes the girl whom he had, no doubt, been showing off in front of when he fell and sliced his leg open.
“Well maybe not all girls,” he grudgingly admits. “So…do you have a boyfriend?” He asks the question casually, looking down at his knee rather than at her.
Adriana half-wonders if Willow has put the kid up to this to drive home the sad state of affairs of her relationship with the opposite sex. “No, not at the moment, David. But I think I’m a little old for you.”
He blushes to the tips of his ears and starts trying to dig out of the hole he’s just landed himself in. “No, I mean, I know. I was just asking for a…a friend, yeah. My friend who came in here with me. He said you were really pretty.”