Dances with Monsters

by D. C. Ruins

  The third story from Smackdown involving him had to do with his shocking loss. The entire MMA community was in an uproar. According to the reports and eye witness accounts, Heath had been the clear winner and the general consensus was that something was definitely fishy. Clay Cavasso had been contacted for interviews several times, the story's reporter said, but had yet to comment. Maddox Smith, the creator of Smackdown, also had declined public comment "as yet", although the possibility of him addressing the matter was still open.

  Heath turned the television off before throwing the remote onto the couch beside him. He sighed and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain tore through his side. He leaned back and lifted his hands above his head, staring off into space, deep in thought. He'd always known Carter Steele to be a bit unscrupulous, but he had taken things to a surprising level. Heath wholeheartedly believed that anyone was capable of anything, but he'd never quite gotten the malicious vibe from Carter. In the span of two days, Carter had humiliated Drew, tried to break them up by involving her father, and more than likely had something to do with Heath losing the tournament. He realized that there was little that could be done about it now, but his concern was trying to predict from where Carter's next attack would come. He didn't believe for a second that Carter was through with him, but just how far he planned to take things, Heath couldn't be sure. Unfortunately, Carter knew quite a bit about Heath's personal life, from where John lived to where Connor lived, and he could probably find out pretty easily, if he didn't already know, where Drew lived. He at least had Mr. Carnevale's cell phone number. Heath rubbed a hand over his face as worry gnawed at his gut. Things could get really, really ugly if Carter wanted them to.

  Heath glanced at his cell phone sitting on the coffee table before him and picked it up. He scrolled through the messages he'd exchanged with Drew the previous night.

  Hey, you. You make it back ok?

  Hi. Yes, we got back pretty late but we stayed too long at my uncle's house in Brooklyn. Food, wine. You know how we do.

  I do. Feeling ok?

  Yes. How about you—are you taking care of those ribs?

  As much as possible. Lana won't let me leave the house so I'm stuck here overnight.

  Ha. You're trying to make it sound like a bad thing but I know you're happy to be around them and the girls.

  I may or may not be involved in the watching of some animated Disney movie called Cinderella with two little girls right now. I digress. Are you back at home now?

  Sort of. My mother is "fretting" (her word) over my mental state following the trial, so she and my father are making me stay with them tonight so I don't have to be alone. I keep telling them I like to be alone but they won't buy it. So, I get to sleep on their couch tonight. Jealous?

  You live across a courtyard…?

  I know this. But sometimes you just have to do things to make your parents happy. I knew it was serious when my father personally went to get both Rocky AND his litter box and bring them over. How do I argue with that?

  You definitely don't. Well, enjoy your couch while I enjoy my bed (in your face). I'm glad you're doing ok. I'll call you tomorrow.

  Ok. Get some rest. Talk to you later.

  He sighed as he read them over and over. They were humorous and lighthearted like they always were, except now there was this enormous elephant in the room of their relationship.

  Drew had said she loved him.

  He could hear her speaking the words clearly in his mind, see her face as she spoke them. He saw the blush in her cheeks, the tremble in her hands, her nervousness, but he could also feel that emotion coming off her. She'd taken another huge step with him—officially putting her heart in his hands.

  And what had he done? He'd stood there like a mute asshole, staring at her, until she disappeared into the room. Then he'd turned on his heel and walked out of the courthouse and acted like nothing was different.

  But it was. It was totally different now.

  He didn't know how he felt about it. He felt something, but he didn't know how to identify it. No girl had ever said that to him before, at least not in a way that he took seriously. But he'd known Drew had meant what she'd said. He didn't know what to think of it. He didn't exactly know how he felt about her, either. He felt some strong emotion when he thought about her. He wanted her; he really liked having her be a part of his life. She was smart, sweet, kind. Beautiful. He wasn't interested in seeing any other women; Saturday night had solidified his belief that Drew was it for him. But he wasn't sure if that was love or not. He'd never been in love before and generally found the entire idea of it to be ridiculous. Connor was the one who fell in love and then made his entire life be about that love and the girl…not him.

  Oh, is that what we're telling ourselves now? his mind jeered sarcastically.

  Before he could get truly annoyed with himself, his phone went off in his hand. He glanced at it, and saw that it was Connor.

  "I just saw you," he said by way of greeting. Connor laughed, and Heath noticed that it was a real laugh, full of mirth. He wondered what in the hell had gotten up his big brother's ass to put him in such a good mood when everything was going to shit around them.

  "I know, but I'm wondering if you can meet me downtown for lunch," Connor said. "I want to talk to you about something."

  "What?" Heath asked suspiciously.

  "Just get your ass downtown, okay? The sandwich place. Half an hour. Go." He hung up without another word, leaving Heath no room to continue to argue the matter.

  He lingered on the couch for another moment before finally heaving himself up carefully, holding his side tightly with his arm. He trudged into his bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, stepping into the first pair of sneakers he saw and grabbing a baseball cap. He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, then grabbed his phone and keys and headed out the door.

  As he drove into downtown Pittsburgh, he heard Drew's mocking comment about how much more he was driving lately. He realized it was true; before he'd met her he always relied on public transportation despite the vehicle sitting in his garage. Now, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd ridden the bus, much less where his bus pass actually was.

  He found a spot across the street from the sandwich deli Connor had mentioned and started across the street. When he pulled the door open, he saw Connor standing at the counter, getting ready to pay for his order. He smiled at his younger brother when he saw him.

  "Hey, bro," he greeted. "Got you a turkey club, no mayo, extra tomato. Right?"

  "Yeah, thanks," Heath said, glaring at his brother suspiciously. "Connor, what's this all about?"

  Connor paid for their lunches and accepted a tray with three large brown paper bags on them. Heath wondered who the third one was for and glanced around for Lana. Maybe she'd agreed to meet them for lunch, too.

  "Come on," Connor said with a grin.

  Heath followed him toward the back of the deli, passing tables and booths full of people. There was one table in the corner near the big bay window. Heath saw a man sitting in one of the three chairs at the table, his back to them. He was dark haired and dressed in what looked to be an expensive navy suit. Connor strolled right over to the table and set the tray down.

  "Oh, thanks, man," the man said. Connor grinned down at him and pointed over his shoulder. The man followed the movement and turned, and Heath felt genuine surprise as he recognized him.

  Maddox Smith.

  Heath's eyes shot to his brother as Smith got to his feet. He was much taller and bigger than he appeared on television and Heath eyed him as he extended his hand. Finally, Heath shook his hand.

  "Connor?" he asked his brother uncertainly.

  "Hey there, Heath," Smith said. "It's great to finally meet you. I'm sorry things ended the way they did at the tournament. Why don't you have a seat, and some lunch, and we'll talk?"

  Connor only grinned at him and pointed to the only other available chair. Heath took it, glan
cing between both men in disbelief. He waited until the bags with their lunches had been passed around.

  "What's a big-time event organizer doing with the peasants?" he demanded, maybe a little too harshly. Connor kicked him hard under the table but Smith only laughed.

  "Is that how you think I look at you?" he asked. "I don't. I'm sorry if I haven't been very visible. My work keeps me pretty busy."

  "Too busy to attend your own tournaments and keep an eye on things to make sure they're handled fairly?" Heath asked bluntly, folding his arms and leaving his bag untouched. Smith considered his words as he took an enormous bite from his sandwich. He nodded as he chewed.

  "Basically," he conceded. "You do have a point. It's not intentional, though."

  "So what's up?" Heath asked, shrugging negligently. "You didn't call me down here to eat sandwiches and bullshit."

  "Jesus, Heath," Connor said in annoyance.

  Smith locked eyes with Connor and grinned. "You weren't kidding about him," he said.

  "Kidding about what?" Heath demanded, frowning at his brother.

  "About you being a no-nonsense hard-ass," Connor supplied. "And a slight dick."

  "Listen, Heath, you're absolutely right," Smith said. "I didn't call you down here to eat sandwiches and bullshit. I called you down here to talk to you about Smackdown." He paused to wipe his mouth. "Your brother here started blowing up my phone immediately after the fight. I was in Las Vegas on business at the time and missed most of the calls but I did receive about twenty voicemails demanding a call back. Then I got a handful of emails and about a dozen texts. Connor here was not playing around about the situation." He took a sip from his bottle of raspberry iced tea. "When I got back home I started getting bits and pieces of the story—of everything that happened involving you over the weekend. That your girlfriend was assaulted by fans and then publicly humiliated—really sorry to hear about what happened to her, by the way—that you fired your manager, and that, most interestingly, you lost the tournament when everyone else who scored it beyond the judges' booth said you won." Smith fixed him with a piercing stare. "All of these things were very interesting to me. So, I watched as much footage as I could get, including your bout with Clay. I scored your fight with him seven times, and each time, Heath, you came out the winner."

  "Not according to the judges," Heath said.

  "Carter Steele has a big problem," Smith said bluntly. "And that is that he thinks he's smarter than he actually is. There's an old saying. When you grease the palms, it makes the fingers slippery. The judges were only too happy to rat him out and point their fingers at him. He paid them before the match to score it in Clay's favor no matter what." Smith shook his head. "It was a dumb fucking move. Luckily, you've got a pretty big fan base, Heath, and a lot of people around you that support you. This shit never sat well with them from the get-go, and thus it was brought to my attention. Mostly due to your brother here." Smith clapped down on Connor's shoulder. "Anyway, I scored your fight, like I said, and I had a new set of judges come in and score your fight, just to keep things honest. You won."

  Heath's head swam. "So, what does this all mean, then?" he asked. "Isn't it just water under the bridge, now?"

  "This means that Carter Steele owes me a big, fat fuckin' fine and will be forever banned from entering fighters in any MMA tournaments," Smith said bluntly. "He's done, he's washed up. If he can't enter fighters into the big, high-dollar purse tourneys, no one is gonna want to work with him. He doesn't manage any clients, he doesn't make any money. He's going to have to find a new line of work entirely." Smith took another sip of tea. "He's also gonna lose that gym of his. You were the main draw, Heath, you were the reason why people wanted to go. I suggest you take back your investment and go elsewhere."

  "I plan to," Heath said. "We've already severed the business agreement. The bank is going to handle getting me my investment back. I'm actually thinking of opening up my own place."

  Smith nodded vehemently. "Excellent idea. Really. Great idea." He reached into his suit coat, into an interior pocket, and drew out a large white envelope. "Maybe this will help you get started." He slid the envelope across the table toward Heath.

  Heath glanced at it, then up at Smith, who looked back at him impassively. Heath then glanced at Connor, who grinned widely. Heath had no trouble believing that if Smith wasn't sitting there, Connor would be rubbing his hands together gleefully.

  He picked up the envelope. "What is this?"

  Smith smiled and gestured toward him. "Why don't you open it up and take a look?"

  Hesitantly, Heath tore the envelope open and pulled out a thick piece of paper. He realized he was holding a check. It was made out to him, and it was for the amount of three million dollars.

  His eyes snapped back toward Smith, blazing.

  "You won, Heath," Smith said simply. "Fair and square." He took another bite of his sandwich. "Never let it be said that Maddox Smith is an unfair man."

  "This is for three million," Heath said. "The purse was for two."

  "Consider it…reparations," Smith said. "For your pain and suffering." He thought for a moment. "And a bribe to come back to Smackdown Two next year."

  Heath licked his lips, hardly able to believe what he was holding in his hands. His mind whirled. His own gym had just become a reality. He could set Aida and the kids up permanently with the trust funds and college funds he'd always wanted to set up for them.

  "Heath?" Connor was saying, and Heath snapped his head up, and saw Smith holding his hand out. Heath shook himself and grabbed it, giving it a firm shake.

  "Thank you, Mr. Smith," Heath said humbly. "I really do appreciate this."

  Smith wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin into his bag before crumpling it. "Not at all, Heath. Like I said, you won fair and square. Thank you for being a part of the tournament, and I wasn't kidding about that being a bribe for next year." He winked, then laughed. He clapped Heath on the shoulder. "Thank your brother, here, too," he added. "He really had your back." He shoved his paper lunch bag into the nearest trash receptacle. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I've got to get back to the office. I've got some blacklisting of one Carter Steele to do." He nodded and waved, then exited the shop.

  Heath shook his head at Connor. "I don't even know what to say, man."

  Connor grinned crookedly. "You're my baby brother," he said quietly. "I'm not about to allow you to get fucked in the ass over some bullshit like last weekend. You won that, fair and square like he said. That's yours."

  "I owe you like, a cut or something," Heath said lamely, gesturing with the check.

  Connor shook his head. "No. I don't want any of it. But I do want you to open up your own place. You've got too much talent, Heath, you're too smart, to be workin' for anybody but yourself, especially for someone like Carter. I bet you could take back all of Carter's clients, and even Rex and Jameson. At this rate, Carter's not gonna have that place for too much longer, let alone a pot to piss in. He brought this on himself. Hell—you could buy his share of the property from him. He won't be able to hold onto it, and it would save you the hassle of trying to find a new location and a staff. You'd just have to change the name, and then it would belong solely to you."

  Heath's head whirled. He couldn't believe how his luck had changed in the blink of an eye. He'd never been particularly religious, let alone during the past few years, but now he felt a strong sense of humility and he sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness. And Connor had given him a great suggestion regarding the gym. He made a note to see his attorney about it.

  Connor leaned back in his chair and grinned. "So, what's your first move, little brother?"

  Suddenly, Heath pictured a small property not far from the deli they were in. It was on a corner, across the street from the Benedum Theatre. It was a tiny, dusty little thing, but inside it held the dreams, goals and wishes of someone very close to him; someone whose happiness meant a lot to him and whom he wanted to give the world to.


  Someone who, apparently, loved him.

  He got to his feet. "Why don't you come with me and find out?"

  ***

  "You sure about this, bro?"

  Heath folded the sheaf of papers he'd just received carefully so as not to lose anything before he turned and looked at his brother as they walked out of the bank together. In the span of one afternoon, Heath had become a multi-millionaire, had a legal letter drafted to Carter Steele advising him to sell his gym property to one Heath Riley, and made another small property purchase. He could understand the doubt, he supposed. But instead of the doubt or skepticism he automatically expected to see there, his brother's face held a look of excited anticipation and something almost like admiration.

  "Yeah, I'm sure," Heath replied, glancing away. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "No, you should," Connor said, grinning. "This is huge. You just bought your girl a dance studio. You should get married now." He burst out laughing when Heath whirled to glare at him. "Okay. Maybe not marriage yet. But you obviously love her."

  Love. That word again. But instead of feeling squeamish, Heath felt curiosity and uncertainty.

  "Definitely an awesome move, man," Connor was saying. "How are you gonna tell her?"

  "How did you know you loved Lana?" Heath blurted out, then instantly regretted it. He sounded like some fucking twelve-year-old boy asking about a school crush. He was thirty years old; he should know better than to ask such dumb questions.

  Connor looked surprised. "I just…I just knew," he said. "I had really, really strong feelings for her. I wanted to be around her all the time. I wanted to make sure she was okay before I made sure I was okay. I started picturing my future and I couldn't picture it without her. All those things." He looked at Heath curiously. "Why you askin', man?"

  Heath shrugged and glanced away. "Just wondering."

  "You in love with Drew?" Connor asked, then held up his hands in mock surrender when Heath shot another look at him. "I am genuinely asking, bro."