Page 37 of Framed

“You ready to spar, old man?” I asked as I made my way to the ring in an attempt to break the glaring contest going on between the two men.

“Old man?” He scoffed. “I can take you with my eyes closed.” With one last look, Tucker broke eye contact with my boss and dropped his bag in front of the ring.

“I’m not that little boy who didn’t know how to throw a punch anymore, Tuck,” I said, grabbing the white tape sitting in the corner of the ring before wrapping it around my hands.

Tucker swung his leg through the ropes and entered the ring. His eyes scanned my face in that annoying big brother way he did as he mirrored my actions. He was trying to find something out of place. Some kind of evidence that served as confirmation that seeing Scarlett had tipped the balance inside of me.

Not that he would succeed, but it still annoyed the hell out of me.

“I thought you don’t fight the night before game days,” he said, his watchful gaze still scanning my face but I kept my expression impassive.

“I’m not fighting,” I replied, referring to the underground fights I sometimes held and participated in here. “We’re just sparring.” Not wanting to hear their shit, I decided not to tell Tucker or Briggs about the reporter. It wasn't a hard decision to come by given the University paid a hefty fee to keep the story from airing about the bruises that suddenly appear on my body and face.

“Or you’re spiraling because you saw her,” he responded carefully, as if he wasn’t sure if his words alone were a blow to a face. He was right but I didn’t have to tell him that. There were a total of three people who knew me better than myself and two of them were in this very room.

“I thought you don’t fight on nights you’re on call,” I redirected instead. “Having a hard time competing with your parents’ reputation, pretty boy?” It was a low blow intended to provoke and distract. By the clenched form of his jaw, it did exactly what I intended to. Tucker’s parents were world renowned surgeons known for their groundbreaking research on cancer treatments and cures. People expected him to follow in their footsteps, and continue their legacy but Tucker wasn’t interested in the weight of his parent’s shadow. Because of that, Tucker had a huge chip on his shoulder.

With no preamble, he lunged at me. I jumped back and sidestepped his attack. He glared and lunged for me again. I dodged and shifted to the right.

Good. He was mad.

Tucker was a good fighter and on occasion a good sparring partner. Though he kind of had to be. Growing up a nerd with surgeons as parents and no older siblings, he often had to fend for himself. Until he met me. He taught me how to throw a punch and how to defend myself. I knew he could handle most of the shit thrown his way but I felt obligated to protect him. He had a bright future ahead of himself and, well, I was the fuck up son who knew how to use his fist and not his brain.

The training Tucker facilitated was never useful against Father though. Fighting back made him punish me in other ways, when he couldn’t risk another unexplained bruise or black eye. He even went as far as threatening Scarlett. That, paired with the note I received that day, caused me to push her away. I convinced myself it was necessary. That Ihadto distance myself for her safety. Scarlett was a light in a dark room and I couldn’t stand in front of that light.

“Doesn’t feel good does it?” I mocked, and Tucker’s eyes brown eyes turned a violent shade of black. “I’m here to beat your ass, not have you analyze my nonexistent emotions.”

“Oh?” Tucker goaded as we circled each other, arms up, both protecting our heads. “You know my motto, Adams. Put up or shut the fuck up.”

Tucker got called into work an hour later. There was a pile-up in the Industrial Area and he was needed for emergency surgery. The fucker was going easy on me. I was good, but Tucker was better. Always had been. Any real sparring usually resulted in cracked ribs and broken bones. Still, I felt further from that door than I did when I first stepped foot into the gym.

Briggs threw a clean towel at me and I caught it with ease. I dried my hair before wiping off the sweat I was drenched in. My shirt stuck to my chest, not helping matters.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Briggs had been silently watching throughout the entire sparring match and didn’t bother with the taunts he saved for Tucker.

“It’s just a job,” I lied, removing the tape from my fingers and wrist. “When have I ever had problems with completing a job?”

He studied me for a second with a serious glint in his eyes before he finally said, “Never. But these are special circumstances. You’ve never hadhistorywith your previous clients.”

“It’s just a job.” My voice was hard, final, but Briggs didn’t look convinced.

He held my eyes but said nothing more. We stood there for a second and stared at one another before he turned and walked away, shaking his head all the way to the elevator.

chapter fifteen

Scarlett

The school decorated in memorial to Naomi was a constant reminder of that horrible night and haunted me every time I closed my eyes. Her big brown doe eyes painted in the center of the poster laughed at me, mocked me, and watched me. Hateful sneers were painted on the faces of passersby as I made my way to my locker.

It had been a week since I got the last letter that led to Naomi’s bloodied body and my arrest. I was a person of interest in her murder and enemy number one. Dad let Suzanne talk him into making me to go back to school. Said it would show that I wasn’t afraid of the rumors but to be completely honest, I was.

I was terrified. Not about what was next, but because Xavier hadn’t been back to school and hadn’t answered any of my calls or texts.

I needed him to know I had nothing to do with this. Notes be damned I couldn’t allow him to think I did that to Naomi.

A blonde-haired figure and the sound of laughter became more prominent as I made it to my locker.

“What… what the hell are you doing?” I stammered in a horrified whisper as I took in the boy I identified as Shawn Stewart, Naomi’s cousin. He was writing something on my locker in red paint and had a crowd of students surrounding him. Their laughter was a loud siren in my ear that grew louder with every approaching step.

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