I put the picture down and stare out the window, watching the afternoon sun blaze across the sky. There’s a small playground set up in the middle of my apartment complex where I see kids playing on the swings. Laughter peels through the air as they run around and chase one another.
There was a time, not all that long ago, that I wanted that: a family. Reid’s words about having to move on, about having to forgive myself replay in my head, in seeming harmony with the noises coming up from below.
It could be from the Hernandez files, or from reminiscing about Shane, or from the constant burn I feel in my wallet where Dr. Baker’s card is sitting, but a wave of motivation to finally do something about it – my emotions, my guilt, my sadness – takes over.
With thoughts of Shane and the possibilities of my future warring with one another, I dial her number and hope for the best.
“You have got to come see this line outside.” Rachel’s enthusiasm for tonight is infectious. She’s worked tirelessly, right alongside me, through this whole process and tonight is the culmination of all our hard work.
It’s the official grand opening of Michelson’s MMA. The line curling down the street and around the building is proof that this small community is just as excited about the gym as Rachel and I are. The cynic in me still feels like this can’t be true. “They’re probably just here because Adrian and Troy are here.” I cut down my own success, something at which Rachel is forever rolling her eyes.
“They’re here for you, Con. Every day you get twice as many sign-ups as you did the day before. Hell, we’ve only been opened a week and you’ve already got regulars.” She punches me playfully, which hurts her hand more than my arm. “Now, shut your trap, go get changed and let’s do this.” She shoots her hip to the side and starts impatiently bouncing her foot, pointing at the locker room before tapping on the face of her watch.
“You’re too much.” I push her lightly, throwing her off balance and she shoos me away. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”
With my back turned to her, I only remotely hear her grumbling. Shaking my head, I brush off her rambling list of things she’s finishing up, and my nervous jitters as well.
I have to walk through the locker room to get to my office. It isn’t exactly the perfect design, but it was part of the original building layout. When the money from my parents’ life insurance policy and the payout from my contract began to dwindle, I had to make some choices in what was necessary and what was a luxury. At the end of the day, an on-staff trainer, high-end equipment and the most up-to-date technology were more important than a fancy office.
I take a quick shower, washing away the grime of getting the space ready for a meet and greet. Rachel picked up my clothes from the dry cleaner earlier and hung them in the small closet. Dark charcoal slacks and a simple, crisp white button-down dress shirt make me look professional, but not too over the top dressy for the event. Not wanting to deal with the cuffs, I roll the sleeves up a few times.
By the time I make it back out to the front, Rachel is just about to open the doors. Adrian McIntyre and Troy Davidson, MMA middleweight champions and old sparring partners of mine, are the first to congratulate me.
“Thanks, guys. It really means a lot to me that you’re here to help.” The doors open and a crowd of people begin to fill the room. I look over my shoulder, pointing out the disproportionate amount of women to men who are walking in. “I think more people are excited to come meet you guys than they are for the gym.”
“No way, man. They’ll see us and then tell their men theyneedto come here so they can look the same. Just you wait and see. We’ll sell this place like crazy tonight.” After his words of encouragement, Troy eyes the crowd looking for an easy target. He finds one in a group of tall brunettes who are all giggling like school girls as he approaches.
Adrian claps a hand to my shoulder, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh?” Troy is most definitely a ladies man, through and through.
“Well, when they practically claw at him, I guess I can’t say I blame him.” Adrian and I share a laugh, thinking back to our wilder days of partying with Troy.
“He’s right, though. This place will kill it. You just wait and see,” Adrian assures me.
Rachel pulls me away for some kind of water cooler emergency. She still hasn’t figured out how to work it properly, so she always thinks it’s broken. No matter how many times I show it to her, it just doesn’t stick in that pretty little head of hers.
From the far corner of the weight room, I scan the space and a huge bubble of pride fills my chest. My initial misgivings of the crowd being filled with women dying to get a chance to meet a real MMA fighter are calmed when I see that things have clearly balanced out. I even recognize a few faces from people who have been using the gym all week.
I say my hellos to those who I recognize and introduce myself to those who I don’t. Being new to the area, I extended invitations out to the local business owners, figuring it would be a great chance to network and hopefully cross-promote in the future. My plan seems to be working so far. I’ve chatted up Josie, the owner of a health food store around the block, and Ryan a boot-camp trainer who’s looking for work. Even though we’re less than halfway through the evening, I feel confident in saying that it’s been a success.
All feelings of happiness vanish as I feel a prickly sensation creep up my neck. An all-too-familiar hand grips my arm, turning me to face its owner.
“Congratulations, Conner.” Austin’s gravelly voice falls from a mouth twisted in a crooked smile.
Not wanting to make a spectacle of myself, I reign in my temper. “Austin,” I speak calmly, extending my hand more out of politeness than out of wanting to touch him. Sometimes, my manners just get the best of me.
“A handshake?” He looks down at my hand like it’s covered in insects. “After all this time...we shared a bed for a year, and all you offer me is a handshake?” Austin’s anger is thinly veiled, at best. Anyone close enough could hear the contempt in his words, but anyone looking on from a distance would just see two men engaged in a regular conversation. He plays this game well, always has.
“That’s all you’ll ever get from me.” I pull my hand back, shoving it into my pocket before he even has the chance to touch me. “What do you want?” My impatience is unmistakable, but he chooses to ignore it. “And what are you even doing here? Why aren’t you back in New Jersey?”
He swallows back the last sip of champagne in his glass and drops it on a waiter’s tray as he walks by. “It’s good,” he says as he takes another flute off the tray. “I always thought you preferred a beer or a whiskey though. So I guess this must be Rachel’s doing, then.”
My hands are balled into tight fists in my pockets. “What. Do. You. Want?” I grind out each word, quietly with more restraint than I thought I’d ever be capable of possessing when it comes to Austin.
He notices it and a small fracture in his perfect veneer fissures across his face. By not immediately warming up to his greeting, I’ve clearly gotten to him.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. I don’t want to fight.” His voice softens as he reaches for my arm once again.
The stress of the last week, the last year, even, overwhelms me. Pushing my hand through my hair, I let out a sigh. “I’m doing just fine.” I tone it down and add, “Thank you for showing up,” even though I don’t really mean it.
