by Emilia Finn
For years, we’ve been each other’s worlds. We hang out every single day. We have sleepovers when the gym has their slumber parties. We train together, and run together some mornings. He helps me with my homework, because numbers are stupid and never keep still on the page. He helps me work on my ground game, and in exchange, I help him work on his feet when standing and fighting.
We’re both fighters. We’re both champions. And together, we’re going to take over the fighting world.
But… we’re not together.
It’s like he missed the memo about how boys and girls sometimes like to make out. He missed the part where I throw myself at him and try to get his attention. He seems blind to all of the times we’ve grappled – grappled! – where I’m sitting on his damn hips and our faces are mere inches apart, and still, nothing.
He’s blind, or stupid… or not interested.
“We have a plan, Mom. We’re each other’s corner guy.”
“Ben will still be here when you get back,” Biggie reasons. He wrings his hands and repeats everything my mom says, but in his heart, he doesn’t want me to go either. It kills him knowing I’ll be away. I just know, if I got him on my side, we could talk Mom around to see reason. “He’ll be in the gym every single day, honey. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Why doesn’t he have to go away to school? He should have gone last year, but his mom and Oz didn’t make him.”
“Oz and Lindsi’s choices have nothing to do with us.” Mom drops to her knees in front of where I sit on the couch, and takes my hands between hers. “It’s just four years. We’ll still see you all the time. We’ll video call, and I know Ben will call too. He’ll be right here, baby. You need to take care of this now, you need to go to school and finish what you started, and then when it’s done, we’re sending you pro. It’s all laid out for you, you just have to do it in the right order.”
“Mom…”
“One bad fight,” she presses, “if your arm fails – and we know it’s a possibility – then what do you have? Bills can’t be paid with hopes and dreams.”
“Uncle Jack will let me mooch off him forever. He promised.”
She smiles, then laughs, and when tears spill from my eyes, she bursts into tears and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “I know this is going to suck, babe. I know it will. But you’re strong, and Ben is your best friend. You know he’s not going anywhere.”
“Hey, Sasquatch.” I hold my phone to my ear and pack my suitcase with jerky movements. “Wanna head out for a walk?”
“Sure.” Doors slam, and gravel crunches beneath shoes. “But only if you stop calling me Sasquatch. Don’t you know how fuckin’ annoying that shit is?”
“Oh, I know.” I fist one of my gym tanks and bring it up to my face. It smells like washing detergent, it smells like home. But the insignia on the front, the branding and colors… they’re my soul. “I like to disrespect you. It’s my favorite thing in the whole world.”
“You’re an asshole,” his deep voice rumbles into my ear. “Remind me again why we’re friends?”
“Because I’m adorable?” I shrug and toss the tank into my bag. “Because I’m hilarious. Because I can kick your ass, and you’re too scared to leave me, since you know I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“That’s three strikes. Dun dun dun.” His breath comes faster as he moves and chuckles. “You ain’t funny, you’re not adorable, and I know your weak spots. We’ve been grappling for years. I know what makes you cry.”
“Yeah.” I snatch up a hoodie – Rollin On branded, of course. I’m not sure I own anything that isn’t – and toss it in. “You sure know how to make me cry. Because I do it all the time.”
“Only when it’s the twelfth of the month and Jonah’s has run out of candy.”
“Shut the hell up!” I slump down onto the edge of my bed and let my head drop into my hand. There’s not much in this world that makes me cry. But Ben can. His obliviousness makes me want to weep. “Stop paying attention to when I get my period. It’s weird you know that about me.”
“I think the whole town knows, Kincaid. We literally feel the storm swirling in the air. The temperature drops, and the air quality goes to shit. The birds stop singing, and the moon changes direction, which means the whales migrating along the coast get confused and turn back the other way.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He chuckles, but then the sound of an engine begins, music comes on low, and the sound quality of our phone call changes. “You’re on speaker. What song do you wanna listen to?”
“Lauv.” I let my butt slide off the edge of my bed until I hit the floor and lean back. I’m not a crier, and I don’t create storms or change migration patterns with my hormones – I don’t think – but today might be a day that changes everything.
Tomorrow, I go to school clear on the other side of the fucking planet.
Well, not the planet, but the country.
And I’m going all alone. For the first time in my entire life, I’ll be alone. No cousins. No uncles and aunts. I won’t have Biggie, and he won’t have his Smalls. Annie, our three-legged Labrador, will have to stay here, and all the guys at the gym… My entire life is rooted right here in this small town, and now my mom thinks I have to pull them up and put them someplace else for the sake of a job I won’t need.
I’m going to be a pro fighter. And not just a fighter, I won’t be a bum. I’ll be the champion. And when I win, I won’t need a nine-to-five job. My winnings will last my entire life.
I’m already the ambassador for a swimwear brand. I have energy drinks in my fridge, and t-shirt endorsements. My Aunt Kit is my manager, and she has secured me more than enough in sponsorships to cover an entire degree plus comfortable living expenses while I’m away.
I don’t need a degree. I don’t need to go anywhere.
But two broken arms – same bone, two separate times – means Mom is freaking that my fight will stop before it starts. They’ve trained me my whole life, but now that the opportunity is upon us, she’s panicking about my career choices.
“Evelyn?”
“What?” I shake my head and refocus on the music coming through my phone.
“Open the gates. I’m here.”
With a wide smile and shaking hands, I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. I don’t bother grabbing my wallet. I don’t grab keys. I don’t take a single thing except the clothes on my back and the sneakers on my feet. Sprinting out of my room, I zoom down the stairs past my mom and Biggie. I slap my palm over the security panel to open the gates, then I grab the door handle and yank it open, only for it to bounce back and slam again.
“What th–”
I spin to find Biggie’s chest mere inches in front of my face, and his dark eyes staring right into my brain.
“Where are you going?”
“With Ben.” I flash a giddy grin and barely stop short of dancing on my toes. “We’re gonna go hang out for a bit.”
“Evelyn…” His lips fight curling into a grin.
Biggie was my best friend long before Ben. We share more than a father-daughter relationship. He’s not just a dad I want to flip off because he enforces rules and curfews. He’s my actual friend, and makes it so I can share anything with him.
Almost anything.
“Make good choices, okay?”
“I always make good choices.” I step onto my toes and pull him down with my hands on his shoulders. I press a long kiss on his cheek and sigh. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, honey. More than anything else in the whole world.”
I step back onto flat feet and hate the way my lips quiver. “Talk to Mom. We don’t have to do this. I don’t have to go away.”
“I don’t want you to go either, honey. It’s breaking my fucking heart to even think about it.”
“Talk to her.” I press a hand to his chest. “You didn’t get a degree. Uncle Bobby didn’t, Uncle Jack didn’t. Uncle Jimmy went to
trade school, got that certificate, and now he doesn’t even use it. We don’t need that piece of paper.”
“Smalls… It’s the right thing to do.”
I shake my head, just like I’ve done every day for the last year. “We don’t need it. I can work in the gym forever. Even with a broken arm.”
He takes a step back and lets his gaze drop. “Get the piece of paper, honey. Then you can come home and do anything you want. I promise.”
“I’ll be eighteen next year,” I challenge. “Instead of going to my classes, I can just dance for money. Two birds, one stone. Then I’ll quit and come home. Do you think they want dancers at Rhino’s Club?”
His eyes darken with rage.
“What? I can strip with one arm. I don’t need a degree for that, and Aunt Kit can probably work out endorsement deals for hooker heels and sparkly thongs. It’s a win-win, really.”
His face turns redder the longer I speak. “I’m gonna lock you in your room if you keep that shit up.”
“Exactly.” Grinning, I turn back to the door and pull it open.
Ben’s shitty truck sits in my driveway. It’s dented and rusted, but the engine runs smoother than anything coming off of production lines these days. Kind of like its owner, I guess. Which is probably why he owns it. The exterior is a little rough and banged up, but his heart… they don’t make them like that anymore.
“Don’t send me away, Biggie.” I turn back and slide into my daddy’s embrace before I go. “If you send me away, I’m gonna become a whore. And I won’t even charge more than two bucks a go. I wanna appeal to the meth-head crowd. Ya know, to piss you off the most, and make you regret sending me away.”
“How is it possible for me to love you and hate you at the same time?” He squeezes me tight and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “I swear, you were three years old just last week. You were innocent and perfect and the sweetest little girlfriend a guy could have.”
I laugh. “And then I grew up in a gym where the main food groups were pancakes and pizza, and our vocabulary only stretched as far as cussing in Spanish.”
His brows come up in disbelief. “You’re saying it’s our fault you’re broken?”
“It surprises me that you feel the need to ask that question. We all knew where I was headed once I took control of a meathead gym.”
My head snaps up when Ben’s horn blows one long honnnnnnnk. He’s so obnoxious it’s hilarious. He would never truly disrespect my family like that. He knows we’re a team and we don’t run out on each other, but he sees my smile, he sees Biggie’s glower, and now he feels like being a prick.
“I gotta go. My chariot awaits.”
“Make good choices, Evelyn!”
I skip down the front path and wave to Uncle Jack, who stands across the street with his own scowl. He likes the idea of me having male friends as much as Biggie does.
I reach the passenger door of Ben’s truck and yank it open, but I turn back to my house and smile. “Hey, Biggie? Ya know that song with the Jonas brother? The ‘bom-biddy’ one?”
Biggie lifts his chin just a fraction of an inch in acknowledgment.
I shake my hips and smile. “Good bass line to dance to. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Get back inside this house, Evelyn!” He pushes out the front door and sends me squealing and diving into Ben’s truck. “Smalls! Get back in here.”
“Go!” I slam my door shut and laugh so hard I almost tinkle on myself. Biggie is joking, and so am I. But Ben plays along and lets his engine roar as he backs out of the driveway and heads toward the gates.
“What did you do?” he asks. Then he adds, “This time?”
I fasten my seatbelt before we exit the estate, because seatbelts and car safety in my family are as important as… you know… the talk. We’ve seen too much tragedy on the roads, too many needless deaths, and every time, it has nothing to do with us and whether we were speeding or drinking or driving while tired. Every accident on the road that has hurt our family has been because of someone else’s bad choices. So we do what we can to mitigate the risks, and when we think it’s all going to shit, we brace and absorb.
We survive.
And then we check in so our family knows everything is fine.
Ben pulls through the gates with a slow rumble of his engine and stops at the road to check for traffic. There never is any, since our town is small, and our family are the only folks that live out this way. We live in a gated community, not the kind for rich folks, but the kind that endeavor for privacy. Our houses are nice, but they’re not gold-plated mansions. Our gardens are nice, but only because my mom tends to every single one.
On the outside, it looks like we live an exceptionally glamorous life, and I mean, it’s not like we ever go hungry or anything. We have normal homes on a normal street; the only difference is the massive gate at the front, and the fact that we own the street, and only family is allowed in.
There are seven homes in our estate, five of which are being used, leaving two empty. One was my Uncle Jack’s, but he decided it was haunted and wanted out. That was forever ago, but it still remains empty. And the last one has basically become an oversized treehouse for the kids. Televisions, snacks, a space where we can be as noisy as we want and not annoy the parentals.
I mean, okay, yeah, we live a gifted life. But it’s not billionaire-in-the-city kind of extravagance. We cook for ourselves, we clean and shop and do all the other things normal people do. But three of my uncles were, at one point, professional fighting royalty.
The competitive streak runs in the family, because several of us have followed in our parents’ footsteps and have trophy cases full of pretties that we’ve sweated hard and worked our asses off for.
Now Ben is in my world, and he sweats too. He has his own trophies. One day, we’ll be on the same posters for the same televised fights, and when the final bell rings, we’ll both be holding championship belts and fat checks that’ll set our great-great-grandkids up for life.
Until then, I get to live on this estate with my uncles and aunts, cousins and friends, so the furthest we have to walk to find someone to hang out with is across the street. We often eat as a group, at whatever table is serving the best stuff that particular day. Usually that table is at Aunt Kit’s house, not because she’s a great cook or anything, but because her pizza-dial finger is practiced and never fails.
“Evie? Stop ignoring me, jerk.” Ben squeezes my knee hard enough to draw a hiss between my lips. “What did you do to bring the wrath of Aiden Kincaid down on us?”
I turn in my seat so I can watch out the windshield, but also so I can see Ben’s face in profile. He’s so handsome, and has the most stubborn jawline in the history of the world. Look up ‘tenacious’ or ‘pride’ in the dictionary, and you’ll find a picture of Ben Conner and his always-gritted jaw.
“I told him I was gonna dance for money if he didn’t stop this bullshit about college. I’m eighteen next year, which means I can quit and come back home. I can buy a bag of sequins with my savings, and the rest will take care of itself.”
He rolls his eyes and pulls right so we’re heading toward the hiking trails. “So fuckin’ funny,” he huffs. “You’re gonna give that poor man a heart attack.” He turns so his blue eyes bore into mine. “Don’t you care that your words hurt his heart?”
“I was only joking.” I turn the music a little louder and search for Nick Jonas. “He knows I’m joking, plus, I can’t dance for shit. I’d look like a robot wearing tassels. Bean has the dancer hips, not me.”
“You have fighter hips.”
My grin grows with arrogance. It should bother me that I’ve been friend-zoned and placed firmly in the fighter category, rather than something a little sexier. But I’ve worked hard to become a champion, so I can’t find it in my heart to get too mad.
Ben will just have to get on board with being with a fighter. He’s not there yet, but my powers of persuasion are strong.
“Ma
ybe I should make fight trunks with sequins…”
“Hmm?”’
“Nothing.”
I unbuckle my belt for a nanosecond, and scoot into the middle seat while the truck putters along the road that heads straight past his house. Ben’s yard backs onto the forest, which is precisely how we found these trails in the first place.
Sitting close enough that our thighs touch and my head rests on his shoulder, I re-fasten my belt and wrap my arms around his.
We touch.
Well, he doesn’t touch; not really. But I do. Because I’m not a sissy who is scared of what everyone thinks. I suggest movie dates with Ben as often as possible, simply so I can snuggle in and pretend we’re just friends watching a movie. When we’re not doing that, we’re sparring, which is also fun and involves a lot of touching.
He’ll fold one day.
Like… today.
And if he doesn’t, I might shoot him.
A few minutes after we pass his home, Ben pulls the truck into our very own little driveway. No one else comes here, so the tire tracks are exclusively ours. I can’t be sure anyone else even knows this place exists. In all the years since we found it, we haven’t told a soul.
Not even Bean and Mac.
“Come on.” Ben cuts the engine and unbuckles both of us. Instead of making me crawl out my side, he slides out his and then takes my hand to help me follow.
He wears washed-out blue jeans today, which is basically his daily uniform except when in the gym. He wears a black cap that squishes his dark hair down and shadows his eyes, and a tight shirt that shows off a wide chest that has only grown since the day he came storming back into my life when I was fourteen.
What Ben and I have started out as a hate-hate relationship filled with nasty potshots and name-calling. We argued so much over the years that we’ve been separated and banned from being in the same space. Other times, we were shoved together and told to work it out or we’d both be disowned. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be locked into the octagon together, and told the winner of three rounds would get bragging rights, and the other would have to grin and shut the hell up.