Out for Blood

by Devyn Forrest

  Out for Blood

  Denver Athletics Academy

  Book One

  By

  Devyn Forrest

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2020 by Devyn Forrest

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Devyn Forrest holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also by Devyn

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Connect with Devyn

  Also by Devyn

  Boys of Crestwood Academy

  Wicked Blue Bloods

  Cruel Blue Bloods

  Twisted Blue Bloods

  Savage Blue Bloods

  Connect with Devyn

  Chapter One

  “Rooney! Rooney, you have three tables waiting out there for you! What the hell is taking so long?”

  God-dammit—I had only taken five minutes—just five minutes! I needed to stretch out my bad muscle in the back area of the kitchen where nobody could see me. It had seemed like a slow lunch crowd at the little Rocky Mountain Diner; foolish me for thinking that I could have a moment to myself.

  “Coming!” I cried out loud enough for her to hear me. I gave my leg a final stretch and rushed out, retying my apron as I eased past the sizzling grease, cooking up another batch of French fries. My boss, Marcia, the one who had called for me, looked frantic by the cash register. As I walked past, she mouthed, Get your head out of your ass, then turned to the customer who was paying and flashed a big ass fake grin. I had worked for Marcia for the previous two years, even before it was technically “legal” for me to work in the state of Colorado. I was making just enough money to pay for my gymnastics trainer. A girl like me—smack-dab in the chaos of the foster system in the great United States—couldn’t very well rely on the kindness of strangers. I had to make all this green stuff myself.

  And I was barely scraping by.

  The diner was a typical American one: lots of booths with sticky floors and black and white pictures of Marilyn Monroe, James Dean and Elvis on the walls. We sold your typical artery-clogging meals. They were all my favorite foods, which I couldn’t really eat if I wanted to tumble correctly at the gym. The menu had your typical one pound burgers, fries and milkshakes, that kind of thing.

  The three tables Marcia had spoken about were waiting for me, their trusty waitress. Two of them were retired couples who ordered the same thing every time they came in, usually some kind of chili; because it was easy on the teeth, I imagined. But the third was two girls and two boys, all of whom I knew very well from gymnastics. Robert, Matt, Iva, and Wendy.

  God, they hated me. It wasn’t like I liked them, either—only that they seemed to put a lot more effort into hating me than I had time to do to them. They all came from a shit ton of cash and had grown up in the Denver gymnastics world with me, never once stumbling over the cost of the uniforms or admission into the competitions. Since I was so driven and so anxious about making ends meet, my clothes usually had holes. I didn’t exactly fit in with their clique. Plus, I took the bus to practice, if I didn’t get a ride from my trainer, which wasn’t exactly a popular thing to do.

  Status was everything and money gave you that.

  I greeted the retired couples and rang in their orders before heading to their table. Iva talked in this annoying sing-song voice as she read the menu, “I don’t know. Does everything here come with a side of your ass becoming fat?”

  “Hey there,” I announced. I delivered them my most sterling smile since I knew it would annoy the hell out of them, and I knew Marcia was watching my every move. “Can I get you started with something while you read the menu? Our milkshakes are half-off today.”

  They all gaped at me. Wendy coughed and then laughed like her body couldn’t figure out which thing it wanted to do.

  “I didn’t know you worked here,” Iva said as her eyes ran the length of me. When her eyes met mine, she wore the evilest smirk on her face.

  “Yep! For a few years now,” I said. I tried to keep my voice steady. All the while, I actually felt like my chest was being squeezed alive.

  “Um. You don’t eat this food, right? Because you know, if you’re training anything like we are...” Iva started.

  “I don’t have to eat it every day to know it’s fantastic,” I responded and shifted my weight to the other foot. I felt like I was performing a commercial for something I didn’t really care about. “Really. The onion rings are a religion.”

  Iva and Wendy exchanged glances. The guys ordered burgers, fries and chocolate milkshakes. I guess they didn’t give two shits what they put into their body, and then Iva ordered a side salad and Wendy got cottage cheese. As they passed back their menus, Iva asked, “How many hours do you work here a week?” I could feel her question simmering with judgment.

  “Maybe twenty?” I said, although that was a good ten hours less than what I did. These days, I was putting in thirty hours at the diner, thirty hours at practice, and also getting through morning tutoring lessons so I could keep up with academics. If the whole gymnastics thing didn’t work out, I could just take the GED, I guess, but I couldn’t allow that to happen. Gymnastics was going to happen. End of story.

  I didn’t have a lot worked out if it came to that, though. If I was fully honest with myself, I figured I could just hammer out my twenties at the diner. But when I thought too much about that dark future, it made me feel like I was about to have a panic attack. That would not be my life.

  I put in their orders on the back computer, which was located in the kitchen, so that I could avoid their stares and maybe miss out on whatever gossip they wanted to spew about me. Marcia clucked her tongue and asked if I knew them.

  “Sure. I’ve known them for years,” I said.

  “They don’t seem particularly nice,” she returned.

  “Ya think?” I asked, then flashed her a smile.

  “They’re gymnasts?” Marcia asked and her eyebrow shot up, waiting to see if she called it or not.

  “You got it! The kind that doesn’t need to hustle to pay for their uniforms,” I said, feeling the start of a headache.

  “You’re gonna get your break, Rooney,” Marcia said. She snuck her hand into the plate the cook had just put together for another customer and stole a French fry and ate it slowly. “When I saw you perform last year at that contest, I couldn’t help but tear up. I was like a proud Mom watching you do your thing. I told Marty—God bless his soul—that you would be an Olympic champion and we had put your picture on the wall out there in the dining area and everything.”

  She had told me this story so many times since her husband, Marty, had passed away. It had been a hard year for both of us, with me going broke, fighting non-stop with my no-good foster mother, and her losing the only man she had ever loved. Keeping that diner going was the only thing that kept her going; for me, it was gymnastics.

  “How’s it going with your studies
, anyway?” Marcia asked.

  “Eh. It’s um. It’s going about as well as you think,” I explain.

  I had told her about my struggles with the recent round of tests. My tutor was okay and the cheapest rate on the market at the moment, but he wasn’t good enough to get me to pass my sophomore high school test, the one the state of Colorado gave out to homeschooled kids to make sure they were keeping up. I had one last chance to take the test before the start of the next school year, and my foster mom had told me if I didn’t pass it, she was going to make me quit gymnastics and go to public school.

  I don’t think so! I had told myself. As if that was ever going to happen. I hadn’t been to public school since I was fourteen years old, and back then, I had been an outcast. Literally, everyone had picked fights with me and teased me. I had just kept my head down and prayed I could find a way to drop out and commit myself fully to gymnastics. Finally, I had achieved that.

  “She still gonna make you quit if you fail?” Marcia asked as she leaned against the counter, but her eye contact never wavered.

  “I guess so. If she remembers,” I let out a little laugh thinking that that was actually a possibility with all the alcohol she had drunk.

  “That damn woman. I’ve told you time and time again, I will report her if need be,” Marcia hissed, shaking her head. Marcia clearly disapproved, but her hands were tied. She couldn’t really get involved.

  I clucked my tongue. “I just don’t want to start anything right now. Jesus. I have enough going on.”

  “Fair enough,” Marcia returned. “But you know I’m here for you. Always!” She took two strides toward me and rubbed my shoulder before walking off.

  Somehow, I forced myself through my shift. I delivered the plates out to the entitled rich kids that I called my co-gymnastic peers. I knew I would see them later for my five-hour practice with Jeanine. The girls flipped their ponytails as they sauntered out, and the guys gave me a once-over before they followed them out the door. Once they were gone, and the retired folks left, it was just me alone in the diner again, counting out my tips. Just like I had suspected, even though the gymnasts were literally made of money, they had left me a dollar each.

  “Assholes,” Marcia muttered under her breath.

  “Doesn’t shock me in the least. I’m going to head out to the gym,” I told her. I gathered up the green bills and stuffed them into my wallet as I let out a sigh. “Jeanine needs to be paid at the beginning of August. I’m just hoping I can make that...” I explained, looking up at Marcia, but she could see the agony etched on my face. I had no control. That was always one of my biggest concerns—money.

  The bus hauled up to the stop outside of the diner and I hopped on. I gripped the steel bar as it made its way through downtown, north toward the gym I had practiced at since I had met Jeanine. As it went, I tried to focus on my breath. Even still, the thought of money and all I still owed Jeanine felt like this constant pressure on the back of my neck and shoulders. I still owed her about thirty percent of her last month's rate, and now the end of July was fast-approaching.

  Once I got to the gym, I changed into a leotard and stretched out and waited for Jeanine to arrive. I watched a few of the other local gymnasts—Iva, amongst them, along with this handsome sixteen-year-old named Theo. He was taut, muscular and almost cruel-looking, the kind of handsome that made your heart flutter. You just knew that he thought he was better. He emitted arrogance. Plus, I had never seen him miss a landing. His father had been on the Olympic Team over twenty years ago, and I knew Theo felt he had big shoes to fill. Already, the previous two years, Theo had been a student for the Denver Top-Level Athletics Academy, a place you could only get in if you were the best of the best. Basically, going there was my wildest dream beside the Olympics—which was a crazy-ass goal that seemed unattainable. Since it was summer, Theo had been training at my gym and, naturally, not giving me the time of day. Not that he ever had.

  But it didn’t matter. I was there to train, fight and push myself tirelessly and endlessly. That was my focus and it was a grueling mindset that I had learned to implement at such a young age if I wanted to succeed.

  “You in there? Rooney?” I heard a voice echo above me.

  Jeanine towered over me as I stretched out on the mat. I turned fast to stare up at her, so fast it made my neck crack. “Fuck...” I muttered and rubbed at where it had snapped a little. “Hey, Jeanine. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Too busy ogling?” Jeanine said with her hands on her hips. She grinned, and I fell into her smile like it was a warm blanket. In the past two years, she and Marcia had been the only two on my cheering squad, the only creatures on this planet who seemed to give a shit that I lived at all and tried to guide me in the right direction. She was forty-five years old but looked at least a decade younger, with a light blonde bob, a seemingly endless perfect shape, and hazel eyes. I felt like she was my big sister or an older friend.

  And as I looked up at her just then, I realized that probably soon, I would have to end this relationship that meant so much to me and my future. But fuck, I had more respect for her than to keep stringing her along, making her think I was going to be this big colossal gymnast, one for the ages or that I could keep paying her. The reality was, I couldn’t afford her at all anymore. I was broke, no matter how many tips I brought in from the diner.

  “Whatever,” I said. I gave her a sheepish smile and she helped me up.

  “How are you feeling today?” she asked. “You look a little tired.”

  “Gee. Thanks,” I scoffed.

  “It’s not that you don’t look beautiful,” she said in a mocking way. “Just that I worry about you. Did the baby keep you up again?”

  I shrugged. Admittedly, the one-year-old Jeffrey, who had just moved into the foster home a few months before did struggle to sleep. My foster mom also struggled to wake up to take care of him, so it was usually left to me. I was the only one old enough, and the only one who gave a shit.

  “Let’s just get started, okay?” I said. I wanted to get my mind off of everything else.

  We started on the uneven bars. We had been experimenting with new techniques in recent months, ones that sometimes made me smash my face into the bars and wind up on the mat with tears all over my cheeks. Within an hour of uneven bar work, Jeanine could sense something was up. As I whirled around and then groped around for the bar that I, of course, missed again, she howled loud enough for her voice to echo throughout the stadium.

  “What the hell are you doing, Calloway?” she demanded as she planted her hands on each hip. She looked at me with her eyebrows scrunched up and I could see she was pissed.

  I had landed smack on my ass on the mat. I blinked up at her and felt my heart sinking into my stomach. I felt like a direct symbol of my bank account: empty— that I would never amount to anything, only hollow and sad. How could I possibly translate that to Jeanine without tearing everything apart?

  I glanced around to make sure we were alone. God, I didn’t want to have that conversation right there, in the place where we had conquered so much together, where she had taught me so much.

  “What’s on your mind?” Jeanine demanded, crouching down on one knee in front of me. “I can see that you want to say something. You can’t hide anything from me, Rooney.”

  It was true. I couldn’t. I swallowed and whispered, “I think I need to take a break from training with you.”

  Jeanine pulled her face back in shock and her cheeks looked suddenly hollow like she was fighting to say all the things she didn’t want to say. She stood up and crossed her arms. Her face was marred with confusion.

  “I’m—I’m going to take just a few weeks off with you to try and save up. Just train by myself,” I continued. I hopped to my feet. Pain shot up and down my leg, flirting over the muscle I had been stretching earlier.

  “I thought you said you had everything taken care of?” Jeanine asked and I couldn’t help but bite my lip and cast my ey
es at my feet.

  I knew she meant the money. And it was true that I had told her I would figure it out by then. But the tips hadn’t exactly been raining all over me at the diner, and I’d had to buy diapers the past few weeks for Jeffrey, and I’d had to pay the tutor. Those payments were also backed up. It had just seemed neverending.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, not looking up at her. I couldn’t. “But I just. Yeah. I’ll make sure you're paid for this session and...”

  “Do you have any god damn idea how good you are?” Jeanine demanded, raising her voice in anger. She sounded like she was insulting me. “Do you even know what it means to take off training? It means that you could lose ground. You’re on a very particular path, Rooney. You’ve given everything to this. And now, I can see it. You want to slack off. You want to take weeks off. You...”

  My head shot up and I scowled at her. Was it possible that Jeanine—who knew everything about me—could belittle me like this? Make me feel like I had no idea what I was doing? I took a few steps back. “I don’t have the fucking money! What else am I supposed to do?” I paused and sucked in a breath. A moment later, I finally said, “I’m just going to head out for tonight.”

  Jeanine looked like she could breathe fire. I turned on my heel and rushed toward my little gym bag. I flung it over my shoulder and hustled through the locker room, out the door, and into the July heat. By the time I reached the bus stop, I was all-out sobbing. Jesus Christ, I didn’t want to quit training with Jeanine. That was the last thing I wanted, but it wasn’t fair to string her along and get so behind on payments. Maybe I was never going to become anything. Maybe all those assholes at the gym who had told me I’d never be enough were right all along.

  It all felt like too fucking much. I just wanted to sleep for a year, maybe two. Let my muscles and bones rest. Wake up in another life—one where I had money and parents and time to be myself to just be a sixteen-year-old.