Wildcard (Stacked Deck Book 1)

by Emilia Finn

  “You’re running the class?”

  He grins. “We’re doing a bit of strongman stuff today.” He talks to the crowd, and grabs a whiteboard marker before he walks to the wall and begins writing. “Warm up is three rounds; stair runs, all the way to the top and back down, above your head weights, walk from one end of the mats to the other, farmer’s carry, one end of the mats to the other, and then a bar hang.” He points to the bars behind us for my sake. “Just hang, and let your body crack and loosen up. Three rounds of that, and then we’ll start on our circuit.”

  The class doesn’t wait for a Go! or a whistle or a buzzer. They take off toward the front doors with nothing more from Reid than a grin, so I’m already last.

  I hate being last.

  I pivot on my feet, and take off to catch up.

  It shouldn’t surprise me that they use these stairs to their advantage. I know I would, if this was my gym. But using them when running a class, and actually running the stairs are two different things, and a hundred steps are a lot when you’re at the end of the pack.

  I grit my teeth, and power forward to try to catch up. I’ll be damned if I’m the last one to get back like a panting mess.

  Up the stairs, and down again, where I have to concentrate on my footwork, or risk falling headfirst onto a concrete floor. I do my farmer’s walks, and lift weights above my head. I toss the black plates to the matted floor when I’m done, and throw myself toward the hanging bars until the only remaining space is right beside Reid. He’s not hanging, but actively doing chest-to-bars with a fluid stroke.

  His chest turns red from the blood that fills it, and his back shows off strong muscles that I know men strive for.

  This guy can’t be a whole lot older than me. Eighteen maybe, nineteen at the most. His brother, Kyle, is older by a few years, and has grown into his man body the way Reid’s promises.

  The way Ben is heading.

  They’re men, but they’re still growing.

  I drop to my feet when my time is up, and follow the pack back up the stairs for my second round. I’ve caught up, and when some of the guys are heavier, and therefore slower, I zoom past them and arrive back to the mats third, rather than twelfth.

  “Good job!” Reid claps his hands to hurry us along. “Weights up, guys. Level up if you can, but don’t push it. This is your warmup.” Reid moves around us and fixes postures when people slouch. When I walk by with a weight held high above my head, and I know I chose heavier than I probably would if I was in my own gym, he comes to me and positions my arms so they’re in line with my spine, and not so far back. “Straight up,” he murmurs. His hands touch my bicep and tricep, a barely-there guidepost until my arms snap back to place, then he backs up and goes to help someone else.

  I toss my weight down when I’m done, head to the bars and hang for a full minute just to let my spine stretch and crackle, and when I jump down, I’m the second on the stairs, and the first back.

  Exercising, to me, is a skill I’ve never not known. It’s something my body has simply… done for me. No complaints, no bargaining that I might not go to the gym this time, no thoughts of quitting when I’m sore.

  When your home is in a gym, it’s just a way of life. You work out, you get stronger, you learn something new, and then you do it again tomorrow.

  “Good!” Reid approves when I toss my overhead weights down first, and sets out heavier weights for my farmer’s carry. I pick them up without a word, and grunt at the extra weight. He wants to test me, but he has no clue I’m the most competitive person I know – and that includes my title-holder uncles.

  I head to the bar for my last hang, and close my eyes to try to relax for a second. Working out is like a meditation for me. A time to clear my head and ignore the bullshit – mostly my bullshit called school. Or more accurately, numbers.

  Which is why I told Ben coming here might be good for me.

  But at the thought of Ben comes the thought of the girl sitting beside him while on the phone this morning.

  Nora.

  And because she was in a traumatic situation, I become the monster if I say anything about her hanging with the guy she’s been crushing on for years.

  I open my eyes to clear her face from my mind, and freeze when I find Reid standing just six inches away with a curious smile. “You good? You looked like you were in deep.”

  “I’m fine.” I drop to my feet and roll my shoulders as the final people come back from their run. “I’m ready to work out.”

  At the end of a sweaty sixty minutes, I stand by my bag, chugging icy cold water, and grinning. A good session will make even the grumpiest person smile, and Reid turned it up tonight. For my benefit, maybe. Or perhaps that’s a typical class, but when I got to spar with Kyle Baker, and his grin grew when he realized the new girl could fight, I preened under the brothers’ silent praise.

  I’m a peacock, just like my uncle. I’m a showoff, though I know I shouldn’t be.

  My father has tried to teach me humility the way he tried to teach his brothers, but sometimes people just aren’t inclined to be quiet.

  “Good session.” Reid stops beside me with his own sweaty hair and water bottle. He was running the class, but he wasn’t just standing around and shouting orders. He was one of us, teaching and learning, ordering and performing. “You like legs?”

  I shrug and give no shits when water dribbles along my chin and onto my chest. “I like it all, but tonight we stood, so I used my legs.”

  “You prefer legs over fists?”

  “Who doesn’t? Legs stretch further and keep my head out of reach. I prefer not getting knocked the fuck out.”

  Chuckling, he waits for me to toss my bottle into my bag and pull my pants and sneakers on. “Ever been knocked out in competition?”

  I shake my head. “Not unconscious. I’ve gotten a TKO, because the bitch disabled my leg.” I tie one shoe and begin on the other. “But I haven’t been sent to sleep. I’m too fast for that.” I stand tall when I’m done, and swing my bag over my shoulder. “You?”

  He snorts and walks toward the stairs beside me. “A few times, but our competition isn’t like yours. We have… uh… less rules.”

  I roll my eyes and head out of the oppressive heat of a bunker and fifty people working out, and head up the stairs to the cold. “So basically, you’re baboons that like to whale on each other?”

  “Well, that’s a little rude,” he teases. “But yeah, pretty much. We just like to compete, so we do.”

  “Do you hook up with other gyms and fight? Like an interclub type thing?”

  “One or two, but it’s not something we’ve been able to organize yet. Mostly we’re doing the baboon thing, and have plans to go bigger someday.”

  “Which is why you want to talk to my family?” I watch him from the corner of my eyes as we step out of the tunnel of stairs and onto the grass of the park. “You think they can help you?”

  He shrugs. “I think they know organized competition, so maybe they could mentor us in a way, so we can get it up and running.”

  “I doubt they will.” I dig my hands into my pockets and slow my steps under the billion stars high above. To anyone else standing in this park, the cold breeze that tickles the ends of my hair and the sweaty strands that stick to my neck is just that; cold. But to people working out, it’s the best way to cool down after sweating in a sauna. “My family are about the legitimate circuit, and organizing something else would probably look bad on our new contenders. They won’t risk placement in the pro circuit to help some strangers create something else.”

  “Maybe after we present our business plan,” he jests. “They made us do that in grade six economics. Ya know, create a business plan, create a five-year plan, and present your case. We could prove to them why it’s a good idea.”

  “What’s your five-year plan, Reid?” We step off the curb at the edge of the park and cross over. “What are you studying at school?”

  “A business degre
e, of course.” His eyes twinkle with humor. “It’s part of my five-year plan. Kyle is the guy who wants to spearhead the athletic side, and since I’m the younger brother, I was given wet willies and wedgies until I agreed to do the business stuff.”

  “Sucks to be you, runt.”

  He grins and wipes a hand over his jaw so that callused skin rubs against a five o’clock shadow and crackles. “I’ve had a rough life. Always the smallest in the pack, the last to be fed, the last for everything. My mother obviously didn’t love me very much.”

  I roll my eyes and step up onto the next curb. “What year are you?”

  “Second year. I did Econ101 last year. Professor Miesner is a douchebag, by the way. He’ll mark you down because it makes him feel powerful.”

  “Maybe that’s why my papers keep coming back on the… well…” I cough. “Pathetic side.”

  He laughs. “I’m not an A-student, but if you need help…”

  “What did you get for Miesner’s class?”

  “A solid B,” he grins. He almost looks shy, like he thinks I’ll judge his grade. “I know it’s not–”

  “Your B is way more impressive than my D.” I reseat my bag on my shoulder and turn a little so he can see my eyes. “I don’t judge anyone’s grades, because none of them are as bad as mine. At the rate I’m going, I’m gonna fail and have to retake the class. And then I’ll fail it again, because I won’t have miraculously gotten smarter. It’ll be like a merry-go-round, but in Hell. I’ll never be allowed off. I’ll never get to go home again.”

  “Little bit dramatic,” he laughs. “You majoring in drama?”

  “No, shut up.”

  I let my eyes wander away from Reid and study my dorm building as it comes into view. Seven floors of brick and concrete. It’s a box, with windows in perfectly straight lines, square tiles on the floor, perfect angles. They’re rewarding the business students with more numbers, more angles, more more more.

  “I hate this place,” I murmur. “Like, I legit loathe being here. Every minute of every day is torture, and I can’t help but get bitter about it. What did I do so wrong as a child that my parents want to punish me like this?”

  His brows furrow with concern. “You don’t have a good relationship with your folks?”

  “No,” I sigh. “I do. My parents are my best friends. They’re doing the best they can, and they know fighting isn’t a forever thing. I’ll get ten years of pro before it’s time to pack it up. Ten years at the most, and what if I get injured first time around? I’ll have nothing, and no way to support myself.”

  “But you’re a Kincaid,” he hedges. “Your family has money. Like, bucketloads of the green.”

  He doesn’t know my whole story. He doesn’t know that I’m also a Frankston. A little girl born with a different name. That little girl, separate from the Kincaids, has billions in the bank.

  “It’s not about money, so much as independence. Of course, I could work in my gym forever, and my family would pay me a hefty salary to do it. I have a house I can move into, and never have to pay a cent to live there. I have everything at my fingertips if I asked for it, but my family isn’t about giving shit away for free and creating an entitled generation. They make us work hard. We want to work hard,” I add. “It’s a point of pride. I just wish my work could be back home with my family, and not here where I’m all alone.” I shrug and give a small smile. “I need human interaction, but not with just any old human. I need my humans, and they sent me away.”

  “I could help you with your classes, if you want,” he repeats. Slowing when we approach the steps leading inside the building, Reid’s eyes come to mine and sparkle with a shy smile. “I’m not an honor student or anything, but I’m doing well enough that I’ll get my degree.”

  “I’m not dumb.” It annoys me that I want him to know this. “I’m not stupid or anything. I have this thing in my brain.” I tap my head with the tip of my finger, as though that’ll help explain. “Like, dyslexia, but something else. I don’t even notice it in my regular life. Math class is when I get fucked up.”

  “I didn’t say you were stupid,” he murmurs. “I would never say that. I’m just saying, I’m reasonably average, and a C is better than a D, so if you wanted a hand…”

  “No, it’s fine. My boyfriend helps me.” My eyes widen when I realize I’m back at my dorm. I didn’t call him for the walk. “Shit. Fuck.” I dig a hand into my bag and pull my cell out. No missed calls, since I told him class probably runs over. “Thanks for the session, Reid.”

  “What?” He reaches out when I turn to dart away. “Why are you running? What did I say?”

  “Nothing. But I have to make a call. When is the next class?”

  “Same time every night. We change the workout each time.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow. See ya.” I skip up the steps and hit dial. I didn’t realize how cold the air was outside until I step into my building and the doors close behind me.

  “Hey.” Ben’s voice is a smile. It’s a hug when I feel completely exposed. “You survived.”

  “I survived.” I laugh, but it feels as fake as it felt when I spoke to Nora earlier today.

  “How was it? Are they meatheads, or do they have skill?”

  “Oh my god, Ben. They have a real octagon. And real fighters.” I let myself into my room, and roll my eyes when Clair looks at me like I’ve disturbed her rest. Her eyes follow me as I move around my half of the room. I dump my bag and kick my shoes off. “They had heavyweights that kinda reminded me of Uncle Jack. And chicks. They had fighter chicks, and no one was checking them out just because they wore booty shorts.”

  “Wait…” He pauses. “Did you wear booty shorts?”

  I laugh. “Yes, because that’s what I train in. You know this.”

  “Of course I know,” he gives a playful growl. “That’s why I went to the gym every day for four years. I needed to see those shorts.”

  “Pervert,” I laugh. “If I knew you were checking me out back then, I would have kicked your ass.”

  “Can you not?” Clair drawls. “Trying to sleep.”

  I stare into her eyes and huff the way my Labrador does when she’s pissed, then I snatch up my bathroom stuff – towel, shampoo, soaps – and head back into the hall.

  “Wait,” Ben snaps. “You’re back at your dorm?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have a shower.”

  “You were supposed to call me so I could walk you back. Walking alone is dangerous, Evelyn.”

  “I didn’t… um… I didn’t walk alone. I was safe.”

  “You walked with the fighter chicks?”

  “Uh…” I don’t lie. Never ever ever. “No. I walked with the trainer. This dude Reid, he walked me out.”

  “A dude,” Ben grits out. “A dude named Reid walked you in the dark?”

  “Yeah. It’s not a big deal. I think he lives in this same block, because I’ve seen him twice before.”

  “He’s a student?” Ben’s voice is an actual groan. “So this trainer isn’t, say, your dad’s age, but your age? A student?”

  I clear my throat. “Yes. I think he’s a little older than me.”

  “And he felt the need to walk you home. In the dark…”

  “Ben… Take a breath and have a think about how much importance you’re putting on this.”

  “He’s scamming on you, Evie! Fuck. Are you blind?”

  “How could you possibly know?” We’re both so stubborn, so loud, so evenly matched when it comes to temper, that it shouldn’t surprise either of us that I snap back. “You didn’t know of his existence two seconds ago.”

  “Funny about that, considering you did. You knew about him, but never thought to mention him.”

  “Are you insane? Do you want a dossier on every male that goes to this school? There’s the guy down the hall that wears a Space Jam hat like Mac. And there’s the guy that wears Payless shoes. I noticed, since they were shiny and clean. There’s the guy that has
a new girl in his room every day, and then there’s Professor Miesner, and though he’s older, he’s still a prick.” I push through the communal bathroom door and toss my things onto the shelf in one of the shower stalls. “I grew up in a world of guys, but now is the time you’re gonna get jealous?”

  “How’d you find out about this new gym?”

  I say nothing.

  “Evelyn?” he presses when my silence drags out. “How did you find it?”

  “Reid told me,” I answer softly. “The dude, the trainer, he saw me and said I might be interested.”

  Ben’s side of the call goes deathly silent but for heavy breathing. He’s like an angry bull, ready to charge.

  “Ben. Stop.”

  “This dude picks you out of all the freshmen, and suggests you try his gym? Just like that?”

  “No, not just like that. We ran into each other last year. Like, literally. He knocked me on my ass. I got up and went my way. It’s apparent he’s a fight fan, because he was watching your fight on pay-per-view, and he saw me again. He said he recognized me, and realized my name is Kincaid. He saw me again in class and said I might be interested in his fight gym.”

  “And you don’t think he’s scamming on you? Are you fucking naïve?”

  My anger spikes and burns. “We spoke about you! I told him I have a boyfriend, and he watched your fight. He saw us on TV. He knows who my man is.”

  “You told him you have a boyfriend?” His voice is quiet. A deadly threat. “You told him?”

  “Yes!”

  “Did you tell that Professor Miesner that you have a man?”

  “What?” I pause, frown. “No. Why would I?”

  “Exactly! You don’t tell Miesner, because he’s not hitting on you. But you tell Reid, because you know he’s there for reasons that aren’t purely about training.”

  “God, Ben. You are overreacting and being unreasonable. It’s a fucking gym. Guys go to gyms. You are a guy, and you go to my gym.”

  “Right, and now we’re together.”

  He says it not like it’s a good thing, but in an insulting way. Like I’m some kind of gym whore that likes to sleep with all of the guys.