Fighting: Fighting for Forever Part 4

"I always bring extra. The Center gives them lunch, but the older kids need more food than they provide so . . ." She pulls out three more bags of carrots and tosses them to the teenagers, who thank her. She takes a bite of her sandwich and nods. "Go ahead."

I pop the slim yellow straw into the juice pouch and take a sip. I can't explain what it is about these kids. I can tell just by lookin' in their eyes that they've lived more life than those twice their age and most of it probably not good. Working with them for only a few hours has me feeling like absolute dog s.h.i.+t about my earlier att.i.tude. Our boss is a demanding a.s.s and forces us. G.o.d, Trix must think I'm a shallow idiot.

"Wait!" Denny holds up his hand. "We forgot to pray!"

Trix smiles and puts down her sandwich. "Right, good thinking, Den."

Denny snags my hand and Trix's then waits impatiently, staring between my other hand and hers. "Mr. Mason, we need to make a circle."

Trix and I link hands, and her tiny fingers feel so soft and warm against my palm. I try not to imagine what those hands would feel like against my bare chest or wrapped around my-no, sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d! We're about to pray for s.h.i.+t's sake!

"Close your eyes and bow your head," Denny commands.

I dip my chin and peek over at Trix, who is doing the same with a huge smile on her face. She pops one eye open and then rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing. I squeeze her hand and fight the urge to follow suit.

"Ahem . . . Dear G.o.d, thank you for the sun and for our food. Thank you for bringing us Mr. Mason so he can teach me how to fight. And thank you for Miss Trixy, who teaches us how to pray. Amen." Denny drops our hands and dives back into his lunch in a way that makes me wonder when the last time he ate was.

"That was a kick-b.u.t.t prayer, Den." Trix throws back a gulp of her water.

She teaches them how to pray. I study the woman at my side and mull over all I know about her.

She strips in a t.i.tty bar and doesn't bat an eyelash at illegal drugs. She volunteers with at-risk kids and teaches them to pray.

Something doesn't add up.

Five.

Mason It's Tuesday morning, and I'm stuck in the conference room with the rest of my camp while Cameron lectures us on s.h.i.+t I'm sure I already know.

After my volunteer day at the Community Youth Center, I couldn't stop thinking about Trix. As incredible as she is dancing near naked, she's just as amazing with her clothes on. Her moves weren't nearly as provocative, but she's clearly a gifted dancer. So why strip? Here in Vegas, a thousand different venues would pay well for a dancer with her skill, and she could keep her d.a.m.n clothes on.

It doesn't make any sense.

What doesn't make even more sense is why the h.e.l.l I can't stop trying to figure her out. She's like a Rubik's Cube; the more I twist her around in my head, the less she makes sense.

My phone rattles against the conference table with an incoming text. I reach for it and check to see it's from Drake. s.h.i.+t.

Meet me tonight.

A p.r.i.c.kle of unease races up my spine. I haven't heard from my brother since that night at the hotel suite. I'd hoped they'd partied their a.s.ses off and gotten back home the next day with nothing more to show for their Vegas experience than a nasty hangover. But, no, he's still here.

Which means he's up to no good.

Although we were raised by our mother, our fathers couldn't have been more different. Mine was attentive, always paid child support, showed up for every wrestling match, and bought me whatever I wanted. Drake was lucky to get a phone call on his birthday, and most years he didn't. Because of that, I'd always look out for him. I'd lie and tell my dad I needed new shoes but buy them for Drake and take him shopping with my allowance. It wasn't much, but it was all I could offer. I know Drake was resentful, and I often wonder if that's why he made a play for Jessica. Yeah, I got the college education, but he got the girl.

"Mason! Pay attention!" Cameron's growl of frustration calls me from my thoughts.

I lift my eyes to his, palm my phone, and sink back into my chair with a three-finger salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."

"Baywatch." Jonah leans into my line of sight, breaking my glare-off with Cam. "Quit with that s.h.i.+t."

My shoulders lift a tad and I ignore Jonah. It's not like I enjoy making Cam's job difficult or that I have little respect for him after the way he f.u.c.ked with Eve. Oh, who am I kidding? That's exactly what it is. "Continue." I nod toward the boss standing at the head of the table.

Hard as I try to stay focused, being in a room with Cameron and Eve isn't my idea of a party. The sooner he stops talking, the sooner I can escape and go exhaust myself in the weight room rather than stare at Eve as she jots down notes while biting her lip in concentration. f.u.c.kin' A.

Cameron leans over the table, bracing his weight with two fists. "Thank you for your permission to continue my meeting."

"Stop . . . please." Eve's whisper is low enough for only the few of us sitting up front to hear. Her eyes dart to mine and narrow in irritation.

Lame.

I smile wide and act like I'm listening. My foot taps anxiously; I'm so ready to get the h.e.l.l out of here. A few fighters ask questions, but I remain zip-lipped. I already know everything I need to know. Cameron wants to set up a card with me vs Tanaphon Li, a Muay Thai bada.s.s who has been openly challenging me since my first televised fight with the UFL three months ago.

". . . Caleb's training in Europe for another two weeks, and until Blake is back, I want you with Wade and Rex," Cameron's words penetrate because they carry the tone of finality. "Train hard, boys." He's wrapping this s.h.i.+t up. Perfect.

He grabs a stack of papers and hands them to Eve, who shoves them into a folder. A soft expression on his face makes me want to punch a wall. The fighters trickle out one by one.

Rex grips the back of my neck. "Weight room in thirty."

"Yeah." I answer him, but don't take my eyes off Eve, pinning her in place with my stare.

She must get it because, after the final fighter has left, it's just the two of us. She slaps a folder down and glares at me. "What the f.u.c.k is your problem?"

A slow chuckle falls from my lips. "I'm surprised you've noticed I have a problem."

"How can you say that? You're one of my best friends." Her eyebrows pinch together, and I'd do anything to erase the hurt I see in her expression.

Like she has the right to be hurt. "Was."

"No, are. You are one of my best friends."

My stomach churns, acid and guilt mixing in an I'm-an-a.s.shole-induced nausea.

"I miss hanging out with you, Mase."

I groan and drop my chin. Why does hearing her say that shoot straight to my gut? The truth is . . . "I miss that too."

I hear the sound of her chair creaking and then shuffling feet. "Then why do you continue to do this?" She props her a.s.s against the table next to me so that I'm eyeing her gray dress pants. "I'm trying to give Cameron a reason to like you, and you're not helping."

"I . . ." I shake my head. She asks a good question, one I can't even answer. "I don't know." I shrug. "You're happy."

"I am." The happy sigh that falls from her lips makes my fists clench. "I want you to be happy too, and if you keep taunting Cam, then things are never going to get better."

She's right. I'm a little b.i.t.c.h.

"Oh, I know! We should catch a movie sometime."

"Are you crazy?" I glare up at her, meeting her wide blue eyes. "Cameron would s.h.i.+t himself if we went out alone."

A soft smile curls her lips. "I didn't mean alone. You, me, and Cameron."

I flick a balled-up Post-It note across the table. "Fun."

"Just think about it, okay?" The hurt in her voice sounds of disappointment, which tightens my chest.

I nod and avoid her eyes until she gets the hint and grabs her s.h.i.+t to leave me to my pity. G.o.d, I'm pathetic. First Jessica, now Eve. h.e.l.l, my own mother cheated on my law-abiding dad with a f.u.c.king criminal. Sooner or later I'm going to need to suck it up and get the h.e.l.l over it.

"Keep your head down!" Rex is holding the pads, absorbing every punch I throw, which isn't too hard since I'm exhausted. "Come on, Baywatch! Leave it all on the mats."

I growl and throw a left, a right, a left, then drop my hands. "Done." My breath saws in quick bursts. "I'm . . . beat."

"Alright." He drops the pads. "Good job. I think we can call it a day."

"Thank G.o.d." I rip off my gloves and toss them to the side of the cage and grab my water.

"You're with Wade tomorrow for sparring. Take it easy tonight, and try to shake off that s.h.i.+tty att.i.tude."

"No clue what you're talkin' about, man-ouch! f.u.c.k!" I rub the back of my head where Rex whacked me. "What was that for?"

He faces off with me, his expression serious. "It's been almost a year."

I turn and scoop up my gloves, prepared to end this convo ASAP. "I don't know what you're getting at, but-ow!" I rub the back of my head again. "Stop f.u.c.king doing that!"

"You keep lying to me; I'll keep hitting you."

I exhale hard and consider what to say next that'll save my noggin from another open palm slap. "I'm over it. I am."

Rex's hand flies, but this time I duck.

"Fine! Okay, fine. I'm p.i.s.sed, alright! I don't get it. Cameron f.u.c.ked her up, and she crawled back to him, begging. Makes no sense. She's smart and beautiful and . . ."

"Do you still want her?"

Yes! Well, not really, I mean . . . do I? I shake my head. "I don't know."

He tilts his head and pulls at his lower lip that is usually hooked with a silver ring. "So it's not losing the girl that's p.i.s.sing you off; it's coming in second place you can't get over."

No. That doesn't even make any sense. Yet somewhere deep in my gut it makes perfect sense. "That's stupid."

"Is it? You're compet.i.tive. You have to be to get where you are today. You lost to the underdog, and that s.h.i.+t's been festering for a year."

I blink and shake my head. f.u.c.k, is that all this is? I'm completely over Jessica. Those feelings from high school fizzled out after I found out she was f.u.c.king my brother. And although I'd hoped for more with Eve, I don't want to be with someone who doesn't want me.

Am I a better man than Drake, better than Cameron? Yeah. So all this is my b.i.t.c.h a.s.s throwing a fit because Eve chose a guy who isn't as good for her as I know I would've been?

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Take my advice, bro. Move on. Suck it up. Cut your losses."

"Yeah . . . maybe you're right."

"If you end up fighting Li, you're going to get international attention in a major way. You'll need to focus, give two hundred percent of yourself if you want a chance at winning. The dude is out of your league."

"Thanks a-f.u.c.kin' lot."

He shoves my shoulder. "This isn't a joke, Baywatch. Don't let something like hurt feelings get in the way and f.u.c.k up how far you've come."

I glare at him, wondering when the h.e.l.l he got so d.a.m.n smart. "What're you? The love doctor?"

"f.u.c.k yeah, I am." He smiles, and I twitch with the urge to throat punch him. "You still on for poker night?"

No. Maybe. "I don't know."

"Alright, well . . . let me know. Lane and Wade are in. If you're not, I'll get Talon."

I nod and shove out of the octagon and to the locker room chanting "I am a whiny a.s.s b.i.t.c.h" over and over because everything Rex just said rang true.

I'm just a sore f.u.c.king loser.

Great.

Trix It's just past five when I pull into the back lot at Zeus's for my s.h.i.+ft. My phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, I grab my purse and push the long wet strands of my hair back off my face.

"Did Isaac make the varsity team?" My weekly call home to my folks happened later than usual because of my little brother's football tryouts.

"We won't know until later in the week, but you should've seen him. He did so well. I don't doubt that he-oh, hold on. What is it, honey?" I hear the m.u.f.fled sound of my mom pressing the phone to her chest, as she always does when our conversations get interrupted, which is often with five kids in the house.

"Mom, I'll let you go." I push out of my car and hope like h.e.l.l no one notices I'm late.

"Leah wants to talk to you, is that okay?" My mom is the sweetest woman I've ever known, kind and gentle, gracious and loving, and she has the patience of a saint.

"Sure, but I'm late for work, so it'll have to be quick." I lean back against my car, waiting to talk to Leah before I go inside Zeus's, not wanting to expose my little sister, even in voice only, to the debauchery of a strip club.

"Oh, dear. We'll hurry. Here she is." My mom mumbles what I a.s.sume is instructions to my sister.

"h.e.l.lo?"

I grin at the sound of her tiny voice. "Hey, Leah, I miss you."

"H-hi!" My parents adopted Leah from an orphanage in India where little girls are given up freely by their parents. She came to live with us when she was four and has always had the sweetest stutter. "I m-m-miss you."

"I miss you too. How's school?"

"Good, except for the kids who're mean to A-a-ron." Aaron was adopted from Tanzania and is the same age and grade as Leah, so they've been raised like twins. "They call him n-n-names for being black."