Trick

by HJ Bellus

  I glance at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand and leap off my bed. I have twenty minutes to get to the gym. Trick has a bout tonight. He explained to me it’s like a practice one, not a sanctioned one. I tried my best to keep up, but in all honesty, I’m lost as an astronaut with no rocket ship.

  I unbraid my hair, letting the waves cascade over my shoulder then pull it up into a high ponytail. The bulk of it poofs out into a stylish look, one that I’ve seen other women my age wear. I brush on a few layers of mascara and finish the look with a swipe of light pink cherry-flavored gloss. My cheeks are constantly blushed into a pink lemonade color around Trick, which is a good thing since my make-up collection consists of mascara, lip-gloss, and a shimmery beige eyeshadow.

  I straighten out the Diablo’s Throne MMA tight black V-neck t-shirt Trick gave me the other day. It’s a perfect fit that hugs each curve, including my boobs, the one thing I used to be mercilessly teased about in middle school. I was the poor victim who developed before her peers. I’m now left with D-cup size boobs that I used to do my best to hide. Not anymore. This is the new me.

  I tuck my twenty-dollar bill in my pocket, flip off the lights, and head over to Gene’s house. He came down with a nasty cold the past few days. He’s a stubborn bugger when it comes to accepting help but is the first one to always help his friends and even random strangers.

  Gene’s house rests in silence. Not even his television is on when it’s always blaring Wheel of Fortune at this time of the evening.

  “Gene,” I call out, walking down the narrow hallway that leads to his living room.

  “In here,” he croaks out.

  I glide my finger along the gold frame that holds Gene and Wilma’s wedding picture. It’s something I do every time I walk down this hall. The only other portrait adorning the wall is one of Pete, Gene and Wilma’s estranged son. I’ve never met him. He’s quite a bit older than me, dropped out of high school, and became addicted to drugs. It broke his parents’ hearts. This much I knew from an early age. It was evident in Wilma’s eyes and the ways Gene would hold her.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, rounding the corner.

  My heart sinks when Gene’s ash-gray face comes into view.

  “A bit better today.”

  “Gene.” I sit down next to him on the couch. “You need to go to the doctor.”

  “Girl.” He pats my hand. “When you’re as wise as me, a common cold takes longer to get over.”

  I snort at his response. Gene has always told me he doesn’t age, he only gets wiser.

  “Want me to warm up some soup for your wise ass before I head out?” I ask.

  “Head out?” He tilts his head in question.

  “Yes.” My cheeks heat with my next words. “I’m going to Trick’s gym to watch him fight.”

  “I see.” He strokes his chin. His witty comeback dances on his lips.

  “Don’t.” I hold my hand up.

  “What?”

  “Tease me.” I stand up.

  “About your boyfriend,” he sings. “Knew one day a guy would come along, Mack.”

  “He’s a friend,” I retort.

  “Is that what kids are calling it these days? Last I knew, when you sucked face, it was more of a serious relationship.”

  “Oh my god.” I cover my face with my hands. I knew Gene would see us kissing when Trick rode home with me. It didn’t stop me. Pretty damn sure nothing will ever stop me from kissing his sexy, full lips.

  “Mack, look at me.”

  I drop my hands and stare down at him. He pats the couch next to him. I take a seat and wait for his wisdom.

  “I know you better than anyone else, Mack. I can’t begin to tell you how damn proud I am of you. You’ve finally put yourself out there, and now this is where life truly begins.”

  I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I’ve only made it this far because of you. Thank God you lived next door to my grandma.”

  “You’re like my child, Mack. I love you so much. I also saw the way Trick looked at you. He’s smitten.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, I do. I was a strapping young man one time, and that’s the same way I looked at my Wilma. Still did until her dying day.”

  I smile, having no words. Something deep down inside of me knows Gene hit the nail on the head. I think I knew it from the day I fell in Trick’s lap. He’s owned me since that moment.

  I warm up some soup for Gene and make sure he has everything before I head out to the gym. I pedal my bike with a grin on my face and my soul free. My legs don’t protest in pain. It’s as if I’m floating on a cloud.

  There are cars lined up and down the road in front of the gym. I ignore the prickle of trepidation. It’s clear there are lots and lots of people here. That assumption is correct when I swing open the door to the gym. There’re at least ten times the amount of people here tonight than at self-defense classes. My spine stiffens and knees grow weak, but I push on, stepping into the gym. There’s a ring set up in the middle with metal folding chairs framing all sides of it.

  I slink back into a corner, giving myself a moment to ground myself. Nobody notices me as they chatter and move about the gym. That fact comforts me. I can cope and will fight through this. Trick in all his glory is what I focus on. He lives for fighting. I’ve never seen a man with so much passion and drive for a sport. There’s nothing that could hold me back from watching him.

  I hear a familiar voice chewing someone’s ass. I glance around frantically, trying to find it. Boss finally comes into view. It’s like he feels me watching him when he peers over his shoulder. He continues tearing into a well-muscled man who I guess is a fighter, then he turns on his heels, striding toward me.

  “Hey, Mack.”

  I manage to wave.

  “Came to watch Trick, I see.” He tucks a hand into a pocket of his workout pants.

  “Yeah, he wanted me to.” I glance down for a second then flinch, bringing my vision right back up to Boss.

  “We all wanted you here.” He loops an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go find the girls.”

  And just like that, Boss guides me through the gym. The crowd parts with his mere presence. Since I’ve always been the quiet observer, I’ve learned how to judge people and am pretty damn good at it. I can tell you, Boss has a gentle, loving soul. He’s a good guy who protects what he loves. I see so many of those qualities in Trick as well.

  “Mack.” Layla brightens up and waves as we approach her.

  Sunni is next greeting me. They swarm me. I don’t have a chance to tell Boss thank you or even goodbye. The two go on about how excited they are to see me.

  “I’ve never seen Trick smile so damn much in all the years I’ve known him,” Layla says as she takes a seat in the front row.

  The two women sandwich me in.

  “I know. Jag said the same thing the other night when he was organizing his antique glass lemon squeezers.” Sunni rubs her protruding belly.

  “I’m not even going to ask.” Layla shakes her head.

  Sunni waves her off. “He watched some television show that got him addicted to them, and now he has quite the collection.”

  “Oh hey.” Sunni slaps my shoulder, startling me. “Layla and I are going to an author signing Friday. You should go with us. This woman is amazing.”

  “Yes,” Layla squeals. “You have to.”

  “Who?” I ask, giddy on the inside since reading is my favorite hobby.

  “Navy York. She’s such an inspiration, Mack, and she’s on tour with her books. Her words were my savior when I was at my lowest.” Sunni’s eyes grow misty.

  “Okay,” I agree without dwelling too much on it.

  We are interrupted when someone begins talking into the microphone. Everything seems low key considering a fight is about to take place. Then I remember this isn’t an official match. My vision darts around the gym while the deep voice drones on.

  Layla grabs my bouncing leg. �
��He’s not out here yet. He’ll walk out over there.”

  I follow to where she’s pointing and nod. Blaring music fills the gym. The crowd boos as Trick’s opponent steps out into the gym. He bounces from toe to toe with a scarlet silk robe covering his body. His head is bowed as he shakes the stress from his shoulders.

  The atmosphere in the gym heightens with a few simple strums of a guitar. A familiar song that Gene used to play while I was growing up begins beating in the gym. “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams, Jr. serenades all of us.

  My heart skips a beat the moment I see Trick flanked by Boss, Jag, and Cruz. His stride screams pride and confidence. It’s a quiet yet loud action as he makes his presence known. Nothing flashy or cocky like the other fighter. At the height of the song, Trick raises his head, an eerie smile covering his face. He’s in the zone.

  “Relax.” Sunni grabs my hand. “I’ve been in your shoes before. It’s the scariest thing you’ll ever witness and also the most gratifying. This is his passion.”

  I nod, not taking my vision off Trick as he enters the ring. Boss gets up in his face, smacking him and yelling. I flinch but don’t look away. The referee or whatever he’s called steps up to Trick, checking his wrapped hands and mouth.

  Before I know it, a bell dings and the men dance around one another. Both girls leap to their feet, and I follow, having no clue how to feel. I can’t even process what’s happening in front of me.

  The men move swiftly bouncing around. Trick’s chest is taut along with his biceps flexed tight. The other man, Savage Joker, swings and hits Trick, causing his head to jerk back.

  I gasp. A swirl of dread boils low in my stomach. He strikes Trick several more times until there’s blood running down his face. I gag then slap my palm over my mouth to keep it stuffed down. The bell rings again, and Trick goes to his corner. People swarm him as they wipe the blood off his face, and Boss once again yells at him. Trick nods his head the whole time while opening his mouth for a squirt of water.

  “Act. Get it done, son,” Boss roars as the bell rings.

  It starts out like last time with the two men dancing around each other. Trick takes two solid punches to his jaw before his leg sweeps out. The crack of the action echoes over the roar of the crowd. Savage Joker goes down. Trick pounces, straddling the man. What happens next leaves me speechless.

  It’s a blur of action and commotion as Trick viciously swings his arms, landing his fist in the center of Joker’s face. It’s so rapid that it’s impossible to count how many times he lands punches. Joker’s head rolls to the side and his arms go limp. The referee jumps in, pulling Trick off him.

  The noise level in the gym deafens me. Trick’s corner is out in the center of the ring. Trick throws back his head and roars out a victory cry with his arms raised out to his sides.

  Something inside of me bursts wide open watching Trick revel in his glory. It’s addictive. The dam of fear that’s held me back for so long shatters. I want to live. Be free. Relish life. I yearn for the same adrenaline pumping through Trick’s veins to course through mine. I crave that. And I crave it with him. He’s the one person who has brought me to life.

  Jag and Trick chest bump and roar in unison. Once they bounce back, they do some sort of head bob and shake of the hands then they both scale the cage swiftly and with precision until they’re straddling the top. Their victory cries and celebration continue. They have the crowd going insane, including me. I’m up on my feet cheering right along with chest-bursting pride.

  Layla takes the cake, though. Her excitement makes me dizzy. That feeling is amplified when Trick searches me out in the audience. When we make eye contact, he winks at me. It’s devilish and sexy as hell. Then he points at me and mouths one word. Mine.

  It cements everything I’ve been questioning. I’m all in.

  “So what did you think?” Sunni places her hand on my arm.

  “That was amazing,” I squeal. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s just the beginning.” Sunni grins wide, rubs her belly, and saunters off.

  Layla is already gone. I can make out the top of her head in the crowd. It looks as if she’s directing and managing crowd control.

  “Hey.” Arms wrap around me from the back.

  I don’t flinch or even hesitate to melt back into the sweaty fighter. And he is sweaty. The scent is downright as addicting as the first sip of whiskey.

  In a bold move, I reach back with one hand, gripping the back of Trick’s neck. “Hey yourself.”

  “Need to go shower. Then dinner?” He runs his lips up and down my neck.

  His beads of sweat and cut skin glide against mine.

  “Okay.” I turn in his arms and reach up to cup his strong jaw. Trick helps by dipping his head down for me. “I want you, Trick.”

  He growls. His fingers dig into my hips. “Want you too, baby. Have since the first day I met you.”

  “You mean the day I fell in your lap?”

  “Hells yes. It was meant to be.”

  “I agree, but enough of this mushy shit and go shower, my sexy fighter.” My stomach growls on cue. I was too amped up about the thought of this fight tonight. While at the center this afternoon prepping the meal, I was distracted to the point of putting chopped onions in a dessert instead of flaked coconut. A task that should’ve taken me fifteen minutes turned into an hour.

  “Be right back, Mack. Gotta beat Cruz and Layla to the locker room.”

  Trick plants a quick kiss on my forehead and jogs back to the hallway he came out of. My mind reels in confusion because Cruz didn’t even fight, and why would Layla be in the locker room? I sense there’s an inside story to this, and I’ll ask Trick about it later.

  I don’t have time to process it because I’m interrupted by a high-pitched squeal. The culprit of it is an angelic mini version of Layla. The tiny toddler bounces around with glee in a storm of a teal tutu. Jag’s in front of her with his fists held up. He calls out moves, and the little girl executes each one with perfection. Once their routine is done, Jag pulls out a sucker from his pocket.

  “He’s going to be such a good daddy.” Sunni is by my side again.

  “He sure is,” I reply.

  Sunni informs me the little girl is Belle, the daughter of Cruz and Layla. Her babysitter had just dropped her off. I also learn Jag and Sunni are expecting twin boys in a few short weeks.

  I join the group surrounding Belle with Sunni leading the way. I learn this fight was crucial tonight even though it wasn’t sanctioned. Boss details all the information while running his hand over his head in a repetitive motion. Joker is an opponent Trick has never taken down. He has a lethal right hook that knocks most fighters out in the first round. Boss knew if Trick could get him down, it would be lights out, and he wanted Trick to build confidence by doing so.

  It’s not long before Trick reappears. His strides are determined, and he is laser-focused on me. His face is already beginning to swell. The dark bruises mask his features. It adds to Trick. They represent his victory like a shiny gold medal, not to mention the badass sex appeal. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought a man like Trick would be interested in me. He’s proven time after time he’s in it to win.

  Trick introduces me to a few other fighters. I struggle to keep up with their names. I can remember Riot since Trick talks about him so much. They seem to be really tight. It’s not long before Cruz and Layla sneak off to the locker room, leaving Belle with Jag and Sunni. I don’t have to ask Trick what that’s about after all; I can deduce enough.

  Meeting Trick’s family adds to the overwhelming excitement. I could float high on the clouds right now. My shoulders are relaxed, and my thoughts center on Trick.

  “Ready?” Trick pulls me to him.

  “Yeah.”

  We walk out into the fresh air. Dusk is beginning to paint the expansive sky with shades of pink and oranges.

  “Truck?” Trick raises an eyebrow in question.
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  I shake my head. “I have my bike.”

  “Okay, let me get mine then.” He jogs off, his long legs eating up the sidewalk with ease.

  The man just exerted his body to the max and didn’t blink twice about riding a bike across town. He tosses his duffle bag in the cab of his truck, clicks the lock, and reaches in the bed of his truck slinging out his bike. He makes it look effortless, not even a muscle straining in his bicep. I groan out loud, admiring his beauty.

  “Bitch, you got a bike?”

  I turn to see Jag trotting up to us with nothing but a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Trick ignores him as he walks his bike up next to us.

  “Dude, let me ride it.” Jag goes for the handlebars. “I was the motherfucking king of BMX hill back in the day.”

  “Not a chance, Jag,” Trick growls.

  Sunni and Belle join us on the sidewalk. It doesn’t detour Jag from begging.

  “Let me try it once. I’ll jump it off that curb over there.”

  Sunni groans, and Trick shakes his head. Part of me wants to see Jag on the bike. I have a feeling he’d make a real good fool out of himself.

  “Let’s go, Jag. My feet are killing me,” Sunni pleads.

  Belle is doing her best to climb the bike. Trick bends over, picks up Belle, and places her on the seat. She kicks her feet and makes motorcycle sounds. Jag pitches a fit, eventually making Trick cave in. Boss and Riot have joined us on the sidewalk. Belle went right into her grandpa’s arms.

  “Hell, yeah, baby, record this shit,” he announces as he throws his leg over the bike.

  “He needs medication,” Boss grumbles.

  Strong arms wrap around me. Trick pulls me back into his chest, resting his chin on the top of my shoulder. “My bike is toast.”

  “Why did you let him ride it, then?” I lace my fingers in his.

  “He’s like a rash. It’s easier to give in.”

  We both look up just in time to see Jag’s foot slip off the pedal. He was in a standing position pedaling the hell out of the bike, aiming to jump off the curb. He collides down on the bar with grace and not so much ease. His blood-curdling screams ricochet up and down the streets. Laughter from Jag’s misery couple with his groans of agony.