Hometown Hero

by Cate Cameron

  She made herself nod. She remembered it far too well.

  “He called the cops because he was afraid I was going to kill myself. Or hurt someone else and then attack the cops and get shot. Something bad. Something I couldn’t make up for just by doing some time in prison.”

  “Some time? Ten years, Zane!”

  “He didn’t know all the stuff I’d done, and he didn’t know how they’d sentence me. But still—I’m still alive. And I don’t have to go through the next fifty years of my life knowing I hurt somebody. Killed somebody. I don’t have to do that, so, yeah, he helped me.”

  “You could have gotten shot by the cops right there at the motel. He took a huge chance.”

  “Yeah, he did. But he did what he could to make it safe. He called his dad first, did you know that? And got his dad to call a judge, and the judge to call the cops. Just so the cops knew there was someone watching them, someone who expected things to go peacefully. So they called in a psychologist and a negotiator and all kinds of crap they wouldn’t have done if they’d thought I was just another backwoods hick going crazy. Cal did what he could. And he helped at the trial, too. Being in New York meant his family didn’t have much pull, but he was there, every day, and he testified for me at the sentencing.”

  “Lot of good that did you. Ten years?”

  “Could have been worse,” Zane said dully.

  It was probably the longest conversation Zara and her brother had ever had on the topic, or on much else, really. Zara wasn’t absolutely convinced that Calvin was innocent, but she supposed it didn’t matter what she thought. This wasn’t about her. And it was the present, not the past. So without holding a grudge, and thinking about what Zane needed now, what made sense?

  “I think maybe I want to try it,” she said. “The community center thing. It might be interesting. If it works with your plans.”

  “I can fit it into my schedule,” Zane said dryly.

  And that was that. It was decided. Zara would e-mail Calvin the next day to let him know.

  She’d committed. She was going back to Lake Sullivan. Summer vacation spot for the wealthy, claustrophobic hellhole for Zara Hale. Yeah, she was going back. But it was strictly temporary, and Calvin Montgomery had better understand that.

  * * *

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Michael said. He was Cal’s older brother, the favored son, the responsible one who was committed to his family and ready to contribute to the dynasty. Normally he was fun to torment, but on this occasion Cal was a bit too tense about the situation to really enjoy himself.

  “I hope so, too,” he replied.

  “You’ll need to keep a close eye on things,” their mother said sternly. She’d been against the idea to start with, but now that Cal was committed, she wanted him to succeed. “The challenge of opening a new center is enough without having to worry about a convict on parole and a . . . what is she again?”

  “A savage?” Cal’s father suggested dryly. He’d also been against Cal’s plan, and he didn’t seem to have changed his opinion as completely as his wife had. “That was certainly my impression of the young lady when she lived here. She was completely out of control.”

  “Well, she’s got a lot of control now,” Cal said. “It’s called Mixed Martial Arts, Mom, and Zara’s known as one of the most disciplined fighters in the business. Intense, focused, driven, smart. No mistakes.”

  “Well, maybe she gets the mistakes out of her system outside the ring,” his father suggested. “Now, Michael—we need to talk about the golf tournament. Have we contacted all the sponsors from last year?”

  Cal let the conversation wash over him. He wasn’t much of a golfer. And while the tournament was an important annual event, raising funds for the local hospital and officially closing out the season at the local golf club, there really wasn’t much that needed to be discussed. The town was full of money in the summer, tourists and cottagers pumping cash into the local economy, and a lot of them were happy to come up for a weekend in the autumn to enjoy the foliage and play a little golf. They weren’t hard to recruit. Michael was chairing the committee this year, but he’d passed almost all of the responsibility on to his very capable assistant. Cal would make his donation and show up and play eighteen holes, just like everyone else in the family, and that would be that. There wasn’t much to talk about. At least for him.

  But his family clearly disagreed, so while they chattered, he ran the community center business over in his mind one more time. The ribbon cutting the next day, the plans for ongoing fund-raising, the staff and volunteers they’d already found, the people they still needed to recruit. And, of course, the Hales. The wildcards in all this. He thought back to the kids he’d known. A bit rough, both of them, but not a mean bone in either of their bodies.

  But now that it was too late to change anything, Cal had started having second thoughts. Zane had spent the last ten years in a maximum security prison. Even if half the stuff Cal had seen on TV was true, Zane had surely been living among animals for a decade—would they have driven the goodness out of him?

  And Zara? Cal had seen her fight. Every one of her pro bouts, mostly on pay-per-view but twice in person, without her knowledge. She was . . . his father wasn’t wrong maybe. There was something savage about her. She was a fighting machine. What had she done to turn herself into that? When she’d gained all that strength, what had she lost?

  Damn it. Cal had seen this as an opportunity to help two people he cared about. But what if he was about to mess this up just as badly as he’d messed things up ten years before?

  Three

  ZANE WAS TREMBLING, and Zara had no idea what to do about it. She’d been ignoring it for a while, hoping the problem would solve itself, but that didn’t seem to be working, and really, “ignoring it” seemed like a pretty shitty way to deal with her brother’s emotional—whatever this was. But he’d already said he didn’t want to go anywhere to celebrate his release, just wanted to get home, so she was doing her best to give him what he wanted.

  “Okay, we’re almost there! Not much farther!” Even to her own ears she sounded like a demented cheerleader. Still, she’d started, so she kept going. “I’ve only seen the place online, but it seems pretty nice. There’s two bedrooms upstairs, two bedrooms in the basement—it’s a walkout, so it’s not dark or damp or anything—so we can both have some space when we need it, and then we’ll share the main floor. Kitchen, dining room, living room, a pretty nice deck . . .” What else, what else? “There’s no view or anything—well, there’s trees. I don’t know if that counts as a view, really. But there’s lots of them. Lots of space. It might be a bit too quiet but it’s just a rental. Just temporary.”

  He nodded jerkily. “Sounds good,” he managed.

  “It’s close enough to town that we can get pizza delivered. So that’s good. But we can pick up some groceries today, too. Or I can. You know, if you don’t feel like it.” If he’d rather stay at home and shiver. “You could make me a list. And you’ll need clothes, too. I just bought those things for you to start with, but obviously you’ll want to pick out your own stuff. We can go into the city—not New York maybe—well, we can go there if you want—but I think you’d have to get permission from your parole officer, right? We could just go over to Burlington maybe—whatever works for you. Or we can order stuff on the Internet. You can order everything on the Internet now. I know you don’t like computers, though. Wait, do you still not like computers? I’m not crazy about them, but they’ve gotten a lot better. We could get you a tablet, if you want. They’re like—I don’t know, you just poke the screen and things happen. You don’t have to type. That might be—”

  “Shut up,” Zane finally said, and it sounded more like a plea than an order.

  Zara swallowed her next words. They’d been pretty stupid anyway. There was no need for her to say anything, she just—damn it, she
really wanted Zane to stop shaking. She wished he’d committed his crimes in Vermont instead of New York State so the drive home wouldn’t be so long, but if she’d had the ability to make wishes come true, she supposed she’d use it to wish he’d never committed the crimes at all. Never felt so alone, and so desperate. She’d wish she’d been a better sister and given him the support he’d obviously needed.

  She reached over and turned the heat up in the car. It was a beautiful early fall day, still warm enough not to need a jacket, but maybe Zane was used to a different temperature. Maybe behind that cold white wall, the prison had been hot as hell.

  But Zane reached over and turned the dial back to the left. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t have to boil us alive.”

  “Okay. Do you want—” She stopped herself before she could start on some new, random speech about places they could go to eat. “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine.”

  They drove silently for another few miles, Zara fretting, Zane still shaking.

  It wasn’t like she’d never gotten the shakes herself. Adrenaline was both a friend and an enemy, and sometimes your body just had too damn much of it with no way to burn any off. “Do you want to get out and walk around maybe?”

  “Jesus, Zara, I’m fine.”

  “You’re shaking like a junkie! You’re acting like something’s wrong, but nothing’s wrong! Everything’s finally right, after way too damn long, and you’re acting like you’re scared!”

  “Leave it alone! I’m—”

  “Fine. You’re fine. I get it.” They drove quietly for a while longer. As they left the interstate, Zara said, “I’m driving through the McDonald’s in St. Albans. If you want something special, let me know. Otherwise, you’re getting a Big Mac meal.”

  He didn’t answer right away. Finally, though, he sighed. “Aren’t you, like, an elite athlete? Are you allowed to eat that crap?”

  “I’m an elite camp counselor, from the sound of things. When I get cleared to fight again, I’ll get in shape. For now, though, a little fast food won’t kill me.”

  He was quiet for another moment, then asked, “The menu about the same?”

  Shit, she hadn’t really thought about that. “I don’t know. They have more salads now. Wraps. They’re trying to be healthier, you know?”

  “You going to get a salad?”

  “I’m getting a Big Mac and fries.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back into the seat and relaxed at least a little. “That’s good. That’s what I’ll get, too.”

  She wondered when he’d last had a choice about what to eat, and wished she’d found somewhere better for his first meal as a free man. But there’d be many others, she reminded herself. Start small, build to something better.

  “Cal said he might come by tonight,” Zane said. “We might go out for a bit.”

  Now it was Zara’s turn to tense up. “Is that okay? I mean, for your parole?”

  “Yeah. I can’t get shitfaced or anything, and I’ve still got to go see the probation officer—got to ‘report’—tomorrow. But I can go out for a bit. That’s kind of the point of not being in jail anymore.”

  She wanted to ask more. Wanted to demand details about who he’d be seeing and what he’d be doing. Maybe she could set a curfew, or maybe she could creep along after them, spying and supervising and protecting.

  But probably none of that was a great idea. He was going out with Calvin, so Calvin would have to be the babysitter. Not ideal, but better than Zane being on his own.

  “Great,” she made herself say. “I got my credit card company to give me an extra card, with your name on it.” She’d hated herself as she’d done it, but she’d asked them to put a thousand-dollar spending limit on the card. She wanted to help, but she didn’t want to be stupid. She wasn’t worried about losing money as much as about giving him the resources to get himself into serious trouble. But that seemed petty now. “I can give you some cash, too.”

  Another long silence. Off the highway, into the small-town traffic that was somehow more intimidating than the more intense hustle of the city. Because there was less anonymity here, Zara supposed. She couldn’t pretend the cars were just metal boxes to dodge; she had to admit that there were people inside them, people watching her. Judging her.

  As they sat in line at the drive-through, Zane quietly said, “I’ll pay you back. I kept track of how much you gave me when I was inside, and I’ll keep track of how much I take now, too. I’ll pay you back. All of it.”

  She wanted to tell him not to worry about it. She made good money, especially with her endorsements and bonuses, and she was happy to share. But she knew that wouldn’t go over well, so she shrugged casually. “When you get around to it. No rush.”

  “Yeah, ’cause you’re a big shot now,” he said, and his voice was teasing, full of that warm fondness that she’d been missing for too long. “Easy come, easy go, spreading cash around, no worries.”

  “I’ve got an extra car waiting for you at the house,” she said grandiosely. “They like to give them to me after a good fight. I’ve sold a couple, of course. I’ve had a lot of good fights, and a girl can only drive so many cars.” She waved her hand through the air, fingers spread as if they were being pried apart by her imaginary bling.

  “Seriously?” Zane asked. “They give you cars?”

  “I make them a shitload of money,” she responded. “And they pay MMA fighters a hell of a lot less than they pay other professional athletes. If I get a car here or there, I earned it.”

  “A car here or there,” he echoed.

  “I’m trying to be smart with the money,” she said quickly. She wasn’t sure if she wanted her big brother to respect her, or if she wanted her jailbird roommate to know she wasn’t easy pickings. Almost all the first, she decided. But maybe a tiny little bit of the second. “I mean, it’s not a long career, you know? Women haven’t been pro for long enough to have reliable numbers, but most of the guys are out by their mid-thirties at the latest. Your body just can’t take the abuse forever.”

  “But you’re going back this time? I mean, two concussions. Don’t you think maybe that’s a sign?”

  “It’s a sign that I got sloppy and let some crazy bitch get a hit in when she shouldn’t have. I came in too strong, didn’t keep my defenses up. It won’t happen again.” Now she was the one jittering around a little, and she thought about blasting the horn to hurry up whatever was taking so long at the drive-through window.

  “It won’t happen again? It’s already happened twice!”

  “The first time wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know! It was just a regular fight, a regular punch—”

  “Jesus, Zare, I’m not saying any of it’s your fault.” Zane shook his head, took a deep breath, and turned to stare out the front windshield. “I’m so proud of you. I see you fight—no pay-per-view, obviously, but they let me watch some clips on the Internet—and it’s like I’m in awe. I look at this fierce, strong woman in the octagon and try to see my bratty baby sister somewhere in her, and . . .” He trailed off. “You’ve had an incredible career. You’re a force of nature. Absolutely. If it did end now, you’d be going out on top.”

  They pulled up to the order post then, so she was able to keep herself from screaming at him. This was a happy occasion, she reminded herself as she talked to an invisible person about hamburgers. Her brother was free. His life could begin now. She needed to focus on that, not on his insane ramblings on a topic he knew absolutely nothing about.

  Everything would be fine. Zane’s life was starting. And hers wasn’t over. She wouldn’t let it be.

  * * *

  CAL looked at the house, then back down at his phone where he’d entered the address from Zara’s e-mail. They matched. This was either the right place or he’d miscopied the address. He thought about calling up the e-mail
and double-checking, but headed for the front door instead.

  It wasn’t like he was looking at a mansion. It was just a nice middle-class family home. But that was about the last place he’d ever expected to find either of the Hales.

  He rang the bell and thought about the trailer the Hales had been living in when he and Zane met, in first grade. Cal hadn’t really understood about poverty then. He’d just found a funny, smart, tough kid who was really good at playground games, and they’d become friends. It had taken a while before Zane trusted Cal enough to let him see his home, and it had taken a while after that before Cal realized that it was really where they lived. Really how they lived.

  After the trailer the Hale family had moved to an apartment in town, then another apartment, then a townhouse, and then, after Mr. Hale left for good, back to a trailer. Not even in an official park. Just an old wreck parked in someone’s backyard with an extension cord running to the house. Zane and Zara had been allowed in the house once a day to shower, and that was it. The trailer had been boiling in the summer, freezing in the winter. It had been their home for three years, until Zane had finally lost it and gone on his spree.

  “Spree.” Such a light, whimsical word. Not right for what Zane had done. What would be better? His explosion? His meltdown? Breakdown? Crisis? What was the word you used when someone who’d followed the rules his whole life took off across the state line, stole a gun and a baggie of pills from a random drug dealer, then robbed three stores in three different towns, led the police on a high-speed chase and drove well enough to actually evade them, then holed up in a closed-for-the-season motel for three days until his sister and then his best friend found him? No, “spree” definitely wasn’t the right way to describe all that.