I give him a little smirk as Briggs runs down the rules with the crowd, all the while thinking Craven is going to regret he ever came out of retirement.
After ten minutes of driving on the bridge, I realized that, if anything shady is going to happen, it won’t take place out in the open, which took my focus from the thoroughfare on the bridge to underneath it, lurking within the dark shadows. I was lucky to find an access road which runs along the depths of the bridge, but it isn’t used for everyday travel.
The road is bumpy. Potholes and huge divots are cut away in the pavement, but luck is on my side as I spot a collection of cars parked in a straight row under the overpass to the bridge. Quickly, I shut my lights off, not needing unwanted attention from God knows who. I have live in New York for the last ten years; therefore, I know only something private and illegal happens at this time of night and under a bridge.
I slow my BMW down and take a minute to study the cars. Most are unfamiliar, but when I get a look at one of the last vehicles parked, I noticed Nate’s beat up truck.
Abandoning my car, I grab my keys and climb out. I lock the door with my key fob then move quietly toward the unknown activity. The grass is tall along this side of the road, scratching my bare legs; however, I hardly notice it as I get closer to the bridge.
When I get to Nate’s tailgate, I inch my body along the metal until I get to the cab. Then I peek my head in and find it is empty. All I can see is his cell phone stuck in a cup holder.
Suddenly, the roar of the crowd erupts through the quiet night. The moment I hear an old fashioned bell, the people get louder and more active. What the hell is happening?
I creep in front of the cars and then make my way to the sea of people. I find a small break in the crowd, my only shot to get a view of what is going on. I can see why Nate was drawn here to begin with. I am able to see a little action between the shoulders of two overly excited guys. Of course, all I can make out is bodies colliding into each other. Muscles, sweat, and fists are getting tossed around the makeshift boxing ring. There is a punch to the tattooed guy’s face, followed by the sound of a very excited crowd. In my gut, I know who is in the ring, but my eyes need to actually see him fighting the large, tattooed man.
I push my way in deeper and see the seedy set up of an underground fight club. Headlights on the opposite side from me shine on the men inside the ring, and trash is strewn in the gutters that line the footing to the bridge. Then I finally see him.
His face glances in my direction as he is clasped in a headlock, struggling to breathe. My stomach drops as I watch the tattooed man tighten his hold on Nate’s neck, making his face turn a dark red. It will only take a minute before Nate is out of breath or, worse, dead from his neck being snapped.
There is nothing I can do. I cannot help him, and I am not sure if I should stop this.
The man on the side is cheering him on, encouraging him to break free. I glare at him, knowing the only interest he has in Nate’s win is related to the wad of cash he is clutching in his hand. He couldn’t care less about his safety. I have to do something, but what the hell do I do?
Just as I edge my way to the front, I get knocked over by a burly man. My ribs ache the moment I touch the dirty concrete, but I push the pain away. I don’t allow it to stop me from helping Nate. The man gives me a hand and helps me to my feet.
“You better stick next to me, doll. This could get ugly,” the man says, protecting me from the overly enthusiastic crowd.
He doesn’t scare me at all. He doesn’t have that sort of look in his eye. Therefore, I stand next to my bodyguard, thinking, how in the world I can get Nate out of this?
“How do they determine the winner?” I ask, hoping it will be soon.
The big man leans down and shouts close to my ear. “Whoever is knocked out first or dead will be the winner.”
Uh… what? Nate could get killed doing this? He is fighting to the death all for money? I am horrified and frightened for him. I have only found him, discovered my love for him, and now I am going to watch him get taken from me.
“Did that tattooed guy … I mean, has he killed anyone?” Why I asked the question is beyond me, but I can’t fight the urge to know the answer.
“Yeah, they both have.”
Once again, I am shifted left as the crowd moves with the excitement in the ring. Nate has killed someone? What the hell is he doing?
I look up to see what the sudden uproar of excitement is about, hoping Nate is still alive, and I can clearly see the tables have turned. Nate is staggering on his feet, but he managed to break free from the chokehold.
My gaze remains fixed solely on him. I don’t break it for one second as I watch Nate morph into the rage-filled man I met six weeks ago. He is bleeding from his mouth, spitting the pooled blood onto the ground. He holds up his fists, his bare chest scraped, bruised, and stained with blood. He takes a second as he bounces on the balls of his feet, sadistically glowering at the man.
Then, like lightning, he charges him. He runs full-force toward the man’s body, and just when he gets within a foot, Nate jumps in the air and brings his fist down with monumental velocity. The man doesn’t see it coming and falls to the ground, cracking his skull on the concrete. Nate falls to the ground, taking the opportunity to attack. He pounds his fist over and over into the man’s head. Blood is spraying, the crowd is cheering, and I am nearly sick as I watch this soulless man’s destruction on another.
I get into my car after I saw Nate hovering over the man he just destroyed. One, I don’t want to risk getting caught. Two, I simply couldn’t watch anymore. The look in his eyes was one I haven’t seen from him or anyone. He was frightening.
Nate is definitely not the person I knew, because he would have never hurt someone so badly for money. I can understand that in desperate times you will do what you need to make extra cash, but that does not have to involve breaking someone’s face. He could have got a second job or something. Anything but that.
The scariest part was the sheer enjoyment he was getting. He looked like he wanted to kill that man. Maybe he did. I didn’t stick around long enough to see if they scraped him off the pavement.
How am I supposed to look him in the eye? How am I supposed to pretend this never happened and ignore the fact that he fights?
I declared an hour ago that Nate was now my new plan A, but do I want to risk myself that way? Does he still have some goodness inside of him? The moment the questions comes out, I know the answer is yes.
Before I saw him fighting, we were dancing and having fun. Nate was finally relaxed enough around me to let loose a little, so I know that still exists deep down inside him. The question is, do I want to pursue it? Is there too much at risk if I follow that path?
Questions upon questions build in my head as I drive back toward Crestbrook, wondering if we have a future.
chapter nine
I AM A GRINNING IDIOT when I finally pull in the driveway at home. The hour trip back seemed to fly by since I was riding a high from my epic win over Craven Verone. I beat his ass, knocked one of the top contenders of the underground fight scene off the ladder, and maybe for good.
When he finally woke, Craven was drug off by a couple of his buddies, spitting up blood in the process. Craven thrives on utter destruction. He was prepared to kill me when he had me in that headlock, and I knew, if I didn’t do something quick, I would be dead.
Consequently, as I pounded my fists into his face and gut, I had to find a reason not to destroy him permanently. I know there are rumors swarming about me killing an opponent, but he is still alive. Although, he did go to the hospital, and he no longer fights, so many think I killed him.
When I get home, I see the upstairs light on and wonder if Madison has been painting on her own. I sort of feel like a douche bag right now since I just up and left her. However, if I would have stayed, there is no telling what Madison and I would have done.
I loved feeling my body so close to her
s. I loved everything about being near Madison: from the smell of her sweet skin to the taste of her skin and the very sensation she arose within me. I loved it all. And that’s when I discovered how big of a mistake it would have been.
It would be a mistake because I am not right in the head these days. Teetering on the edge with my mind in such a frail state could be devastating to both of us. I have a death wish, and if I had any balls, I would have fulfilled it years ago. Yet, I somehow find a reason to keep holding on for just one more day.
Lately, the reason has been the beautiful woman who has bulldozed her way into my life. I have finally recognized this, but when she leaves, will I still have a reason to keep one foot planted on the ground, or will her leaving be my demise? Either way, I think I will be destroyed in the end. Which death will be sweeter? The demise put in play from Madison’s departure or the inventible demise of us once she finds out who I really am?
It took me hours to finally fall asleep once I got home. My mind continued to replay the images of Nate’s fight in my head. It was on a never-ending loop until my body could physically no longer stay awake. Nevertheless, my sleep was short lived, and the moment I stir awake, the first picture in my head is the wickedness of his face as he beat the man to nothing.
I get up from bed and move to the stairs then down to the kitchen. When I round the corner into the dining room, I find it is filled with painters, doing the work we were supposed to start today.
Juanita is in her normal position, standing over the sink, washing up the dishes we used last night.
“Hey,” I say to her when I walk into the kitchen. “What’s with the painters?”
“Nate was tired of the mess and wanted it done. He hired them this morning. Looks like our job is done.” Juanita places the rinsed plates in the dishwasher, shaking her head in the process.
“I thought he didn’t have money to hire anyone. Because, if he did, I wouldn’t have broken my back stripping that damn wallpaper off the wall,” I snap at her. I know she doesn’t deserve my anger, but I am pissed.
I feel like Nate is making the decision to send me on my way before I even have a chance to discuss my stay or my feelings with him. Then again, after last night, I really don’t know what I plan to do. I guess I could give him an ultimatum, but what would that do? It would probably only anger him more, and I would be out on my ass for sure.
Maybe this is the universe telling me it is time for me to move on. Maybe Nate making this decision is the best for both of us. Perhaps I was simply trying to relive the days when I was the happiest, but those days are now impossible to get back.
I trudge back up the stairs and into the shower. I just want to forget about last night and this morning. I can feel my heart twisting in my chest as the loss of Nate starts to settle in.
As I wash my hair, I finally make my decision, and it involves a cross-country trip to Southern California. Hopefully, by then I will know for sure if I’ve secured my job.
chapter ten
THE PAINTERS FINISHED UP A couple of days ago, and Juanita and I staged each room with the charming look of clean, contemporary country. The transformation is breathtaking.
In one week, my friend from the Around the World magazine will be down to give the Wakefield Bed and Breakfast a rating and, hopefully, a nice sized article. Nate needs the business, and this magazine could give him the recognition they are looking for.
Now there is a storm approaching, and we can only hope it goes out to the ocean instead of picking up force and turning into a hurricane that slams the coast as originally predicted. It would be a tragedy if all our hard work got destroyed. Not to mention, I was set to leave in a few days, but if it gets as bad as they say, I could be stranded for another week.
We finally manage to get everything secure and run in from outside, soaked and freezing. As we fly through the door, I slip on the tile, cracking my elbow on the floor. It has been several weeks since I broke my ribs, and Lord knows I don’t need another injury.
Nate falls in behind me and stumbles over my legs sprawled out on the floor. We both laugh hysterically, knowing how stupid we look. I look over to him, reveling in how nice it is to get random glimpses of the old Nate. His smile electrifies the room as his cold, grey eyes light up to a faint crystal blue. This is the Nate I knew, the happy boy who would get me to do the stupidest things, who was spontaneous and fun loving.
Today, he has been exceptionally happy. I am not sure if that is because we are finally done with the guest house or because I will be leaving in a few days for San Diego. Either way, he is happier than he has been the entire time I have stayed.
“You know,” I say, taking Nate’s outstretched hand and standing to my feet. “Falling on your butt when you’re almost thirty hurts way more than falling when you’re a kid. Damn.” I shake my arm and rub the pain out of my funny bone.
“That’s because you’re supposed to know how to stay on your feet when you’re an adult.” I note the happy glint in his eye when he asks, “Want a beer?”
He moves to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. Then I hear the clanking of bottles and opening of drawers as he struggles to find a bottle opener. I take the opportunity to look around his small, little house. I have been in here several times when I was a teenager because this is where his parents lived when they were alive. The guest house was just that—a place for their guests—and they wanted a place they could call their home.
Not much has changed in the last ten years. There is still the same leather covered sofa and matching chair. The walls still have a seashell border around the top, and the glass cabinet still displays his mother’s glass ocean creature statues.
I turn and look at the old family vacation pictures covering the wall, and it makes my smile break free. Whenever Nate came back from vacation, he would have a hundred stories to share. Back then, when Nate told a story, he was animated and funny.
I look over at the pictures of his family standing in front of the Grand Canyon, the Alamo, on top of the Rocky Mountains, and Mount Rushmore. Each one is from a different summer, and in each one, Nate is exuding happiness.
Then I look to the small framed picture sitting on the end table next to the recliner and pick it up. It is a picture of the two of us on graduation day. We are wearing our navy cap and gown, holding our diplomas with pride. Nate has his favorite aviator sunglasses on, and we are doing our best rock star pose with our tongues sticking out and fingers folded together in typical rocker fashion. We were happy then, but two months after that picture was taken, our lives changed rapidly.
I left him on the cliff, refusing his marriage proposal, and moved to New York. Nate’s time spent in the last ten years remains a mystery because he hasn’t said a single word. The only thing I do know is he likes to fight for money, and I think it is because he is alone and angry, hating his life in general. Then there is his fascination for standing on the cliffs. I have never witnessed that, but it is the rumor going around town. Both I am certain were derived from something horrible thing that happened in the last ten years, and my gut is telling me it is unrelated to his parents’ death. Although that was probably horrible for Nate, I don’t think that alone would drive him to have this death wish.
When I turn around, Nate is standing behind me, holding a beer. He is still dripping wet, as am I, and the slightest gleam he had earlier is gone.
I set the picture down and take the beer. Juanita told me I need to give him time, that I need to wait for him to tell me what happened to him, but I can no longer hold it in. I need to know what the hell his problem is. I will be leaving for San Diego in a couple of days, and before I can do that, I need to know he will be okay once I am gone. I feel like I owe that to him for all the pain I caused when I left.
I take a drink of the ice cold beer and point to our graduation photo. “What happened to this Nate?”
For a moment, I was going to make the conversation light, but I soon remember he isn’t a fan of pleasantr
ies and decide maybe I should go the old route by simply asking him. I hope it will persuade him to open up to me. There once was a time when he would share every thought with me. We were great friends once, always talking, and maybe that is what he needs now, a friend. Since I have been here, I haven’t seen any friends, only a random hook up he came home with.
“Nothing, that kid died a long time ago,” he snaps back coldly.
“So, if nothing has happened to you, then why do you fight?”
He was never violent back in the day, yet when I followed him the other night, I saw someone dark and scary. He enjoyed beating the shit out of that man, and he succeeded quite easily. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to witness.
Nate’s eyes widen in surprise then gloss over with anger. He takes a long pull from his beer bottle, practically drinking it all in one guzzle. Then he lowers it from his lips and slams it down on the coffee table.
“How did you know about that?”
“I followed you, Nate. I wanted to know where you went in the middle of the night and why you randomly have bruises and scrapes on your face and hands. So, I got in my car and followed you to Providence.” I look down at my hands then take another sip from my beer, getting more courage to call him out. “I saw you. I saw your face and what you did to that man. You were so brutal. Why? Why did you do that? You never used to be like that.”
“Well, it’s none of your business what I do, Madison, so don’t worry about it.” He turns around to walk back into the kitchen, snatching another beer from the fridge and cracking it open.
Hold on You Page 10