Page 11 of Rematch
“And you know you can call me if you need anything.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Like the night before, he grabbed my chin and pulled my face up. “I mean it. My number is still the same. You call or text, I’ll answer.”
“You say that like you’re gonna be waiting by the phone or something.”
“What if I am? Will that make you reach out sooner?”
I almost smiled. “Bye, Max.” I turned on my heel and continued down the sidewalk.
I looked down at his vendor form. I skimmed over his general information and went down to the answer of the open-ended question our coordinator left for companies to answer: Why do you want to participate in this event?
He’d written:One of the principles of the gym is to extend a helping hand to the children at-risk in our community. It only feels right to extend one to those who may not fit into the traditional definition, but are still in need.
Reading it tugged at my heartstrings. The Max I once knew, though short-tempered and drew trouble like a magnet, always had a pure heart. After the dark glints I’d seen in his eyes the other night, I worried the world may have tainted it. But seeing this - seeing he wanted to make a difference, no matter how small - made me think maybe his heart hasn’t become as black as I originally thought.
Chapter 6
Max
Fight night used to be my favorite day of the week.
Once upon a time, I used to come to the meeting place over an hour early so I could prepare for my fight. My nerves used to buzz with anticipation as I wrapped my knuckles and stretched. I couldn’t wait to lay out all the pent up anger from the week on some moron stupid enough to get in a ring with me. Sometimes I was more excited for the pain. Coping with an ache was easier when there was a wound to blame it on. The only downside was it didn’t heal alongside the cuts and bruises. I had to learn the hard way that no matter how much damage I caused, the ache would always linger.
My men and I were here early tonight because we were the ones running the show now. After my uncle died almost a year ago, my father slowly began formally passing the baton to me. He didn’t want to, considering the gap in years he needed to train me properly, but he didn’t have much of a choice. The only other person he trusted in the world was dead. And besides my cousins, who had their own shit to run, there was no one else he could count on to carry on his affairs after he died.
I didn’t want to hold that responsibility. Maybe when I was younger, I did. But now? Hell no.
But, like him: I didn’t have a choice.
Perched on the upper level of the old gym, I had a clear view of the rowdy crowd below. Silently, I made a mental note of the categories of attendees as they filed in.
There were the various crews from all over the city and some who’d traveled a bit to be here. Never a huge amount, but enough to make their appearance known. Even in a huge gathering, each one still managed to stick out. They stuck together in clusters donning their colors or signature symbols, uninterested in mingling with anyone other than their own.
Then, there were the independent fighters. The ones without any affiliation besides with the money they were trying to earn. Most of them stayed in the corners, isolating themselves from the crews. A few mingled around in a silent search for a place they could potentially call home.
And finally, there were the casual viewers whose only purpose was to have a good time. Often, they were the ones filling everyone with booze and drugs.
Tonight must’ve been a popular choice for initiation. As I did another scan of the room, I noticed a lot of baby faces in the crowd. Recruit fights were sometimes more tense than the seasoned ones. They had something to prove and absolutely nothing to lose.
I glanced at the betting table in the back of the room, behind the octagon. As the name states, it was the place where fighters paid their entry fees and patrons placed their bets. The stand, and the money, was guarded by some of our muscle men. The money was organized as it was handed in, making it easier to distribute at the end of the night.
Tysir and Wesley were manning the station, accepting the cash and organizing the matches. I was reluctant to leave them alone down there, but my father told me I needed to learn how to delegate. When I told him I’d be delegating the task to idiots, myfather smirked and said, “Then let them know screwing up isn’t an option.”
I won’t say I threatened them, but I definitely made it clear bones would be broken if they fucked up. Wesley’s still healing nose was more than enough to make them heed my warning.
Tearing my eyes away from the teeming crowds below, I pulled out my phone and checked my notifications. Still none from Audrey.
I was getting a little impatient at this point. Sure, neither of us have reached out in years, but circumstances were different. Before, she was all the way across the country, focusing on her degree. Distractions were the last thing she needed.
Now, she’s scored her dream career and is close enough to see on a daily basis. And, even though she tried to hide it, I could see the perpetual worry in her eyes. Something was wrong. I don’t know what yet, but I was definitely going to find out.
Swallowing my pride, I opened a new text message thread and typed.
Me:Hey, it’s Max. Is this still your number?
I locked the screen after sending it and prepared to put the phone back in my pocket. I didn’t expect for it to vibrate again so quickly.
