Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Cain Cruz fills the screen, a large Mexican-American man with a black handlebar mustache and a thick neck, with weirdly childish, mischievous eyes. He’s sitting at a bar, wearing a cowboy hat. When he speaks, it’s in a unique mixture of a Texan and Mexican accent.
“Now you listen here, Rust. I dominated your ass once, and I was going easy. The simple fact is, you felt weak, boy. Weak and soft. When I’m done ragdolling you around the cage, they’ll need a goddang body bag, and that’s a fact.”
The story ends. I shrug. “It’s just talk, Brad.”
“It’s like he thinks you’re the same fighter you were back then.”
Usually, it gives me that content reaction when Brad starts defending me. It’s like we’re blood brothers, warriors against the rest of the world, the two kids who met at the lake and got the Cross back. But now, after that night, it’s all wrong.
“You were a blue belt back then, right?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You’re a purple now. Almost brown.”
“Four stripes, yeah,” I tell him, “but don’t worry about belts too much. A purple can tap a black. Hell, even a blue can tap a black if he’s athletic, strong, and naturally talented. Cain is a white belt. He never trained Jiujutsu, just wrestling and MMA grappling.”
“Still,” Brad says, “it’s going to be a different fight. How’s training going?”
Whenever he asks me this, I’m forced to lie. Okay, not forced to, exactly. I could tell him that, one stormy night, I spanked his sister, and we took each other’s virginity. Or I could keep my word to Mary and lie to my best friend. He hasn’t mentioned her tattoo yet. I guess she’s managed to keep it a secret.
“It’s going fine,” I tell him. “Just trying to stay focused.”
“Trying?” Brad chuckles. “All you do is focus, Rust. That’s why they call you ‘No Rust.’”
I went several fights without a nickname, but then the fans started calling me No Rust because, with every fight, I looked sharper, my technique got better, and my fitness improved. Other men had families, Christmases, financial stress, and dependents, but not No Rust. He only had the game. Not anymore. Mary, I want you, need you, but to win this fight, I have to pretend we never even kissed.
“Yeah,” I say lamely. “Brad, I’ve got to go. Nice talking.”
“And you,” he replies, and I hang up.
My mind returns to a memory, a few months after Brad and I got the Cross back from those assholes. Brad had watched me call up a restaurant, asking if they had any jobs. “You just hung up on them, Rust,” he said. “You can’t do that. It’s rude.”
“But the conversation was over.”
“It’s still rude.” He laughed, like he often did, as if I was some amusing puzzle. I would’ve hated it if anybody else had laughed at me like that, but not with Brad. “Say goodbye or nice talking or something like that.”
“Nice talking to a restaurant?”
“Okay, maybe not there. Thank you for your time or something. It’s manners.”
“We don’t really do manners at my house.”
“Well, it’s time to start if you want to get anywhere in this world. That’s what Dad always says. Manners cost nothing.”
He was so full of hope back then. Hell, he still is the most optimistic person I know. It seems like a different life. His mom, Vanessa, was alive. Mary wasn’t even one year old. Christopher was an upstanding member of the community and a good cop. Life’s a strange, strange thing.
“Nice talking,” I said back then, practicing it.
Brad clapped me on the shoulder. “That was excellent. Top marks.”
CHAPTER
TEN
MARY
“Wait, how long has it been?” Chrissy asks when I tell her I’ve missed my period.
Brad is out working at the store, but even so, I’ve got the volume turned low. It’s paranoia, maybe, but ever since that night, paranoia is all I’ve felt. It’s so painful keeping this locked inside, pretending like passion is a bad thing that we should be ashamed of. Every look threatens to give me away. I keep thinking Brad will somehow know.
“I didn’t want to bother you at school.”
Chrissy looks at me like I’m nuts. She’s sitting on her bed in the dorm. In the background, I can hear music thumping. Chrissy’s never been much of a partier. It seems college hasn’t changed that yet. “This isn’t bothering me. Jeez, Mary, I mean, are you worried because… you know… did you…”
I don’t look at the screen. Instead, I look at a framed photo of Mom. “Yeah, I’m not a virgin anymore.”
Chrissy’s screen suddenly jolts around, and the frame freezes. “Chrissy?”
“Sorry. You almost made me friggin buck my laptop off the bed. Can you see me?” The image stabilizes. “Did I hear you right?”
“Yes to both,” I say, “but I can’t tell you who.”
“Really? Why not?”