FURY: A Rio Games Romance (5 page)

Being Cincinnati, there was only one place to take him – Uptown Chili.

Gavin and Solomon had, in discussing Jack, covered the topic of food extensively. Solomon’s idea of “American food” was hamburgers and hot dogs, which suited him just fine, but Gavin insisted that Jack’s favorite food, without question, was chili. And not just any chili, it had to be Cincinnati-style chili. When Gavin described eating chili over spaghetti, and smothered with cheese, Solomon thought he must be joking. When he realized Cincinnati chili parlors were a real thing, he knew his first meal in his father’s hometown had to be a 3-way.

Gavin, Ruth, Wyatt, and Solomon piled into a booth at Uptown’s location a few blocks from the University of Cincinnati campus, Solomon’s eyes still wide from the trip across the bridge into downtown Cincinnati from the Kentucky location of the airport. He’d been amazed by the enormous stadiums set hard against the Ohio River, home to the baseball-playing Reds and the NFL’s Bengals. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to sit inside one of those mammoth buildings with his dad to watch a game.

Gavin ordered for his guests, explaining to Ruth what it was she’d be eating; a plate of spaghetti covered with meaty chili with a sweet, chocolatey flavor, and then covered in bright yellow shredded cheese. Whatever culinary reservations she held, she set them aside in the face of Solomon’s enthusiasm.

The smile on Solomon’s face was wide and bright as the waitress sat his plate down and asked if he needed a bib, which he refused. Gavin laughed and accepted one, telling Solomon he ought to reconsider.

“I’m not a baby!” Solomon protested. “So this is really my dad’s favorite thing to eat?” He asked, twirling his fork through the noodles, coating them with chili.

“Absolutely. I can’t wait for you to try it. If you don’t like it, it’s totally fine. It’s a local thing, not for everybody.”

Wyatt, already on his third forkful, stopped eating long enough to offer his opinion. “Whenever I come home, this is the first place I go to eat. Hawaii is great, but you can’t get Uptown Chili there.” He resumed his inhalation of the remains of the large 3-way on his own plate.

“Wait,” Gavin interceded. “If you want to do it the way Jack… I mean your dad did it, you have to add a layer of oyster crackers underneath the spaghetti.” Gavin helped Solomon lift the piled with his fork and spread a layer of crackers below before adding the same to the other end of the oval plate. “They soak up the sauce at the end,” Gavin explained.

Solomon shrugged his shoulders as he and Ruth counted down to their first taste together. “3-2-1,” they said, in unison, and filled their mouths with the quintessential flavor of Cincinnati.

Ruth twisted her face into a grimace, chewing slowly, but Solomon’s reaction was one of unmistakable glee. A second and third mouthful disappeared before a laughing Wyatt warned him. “Slow down, tiger. Try chewing.”

Gavin looked like a proud poppa, and even Ruth, not a fan of the Mediterranean-spiced dish, was happy to see her erstwhile son so clearly enjoying himself.

“Dad was right; this stuff is
good,”
exclaimed Solomon between bites.

Gavin smiled, feeling a sense of joy he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

* * *

A
fter their late lunch
, Gavin took his guests to their hotel, a few blocks from his walkup near the university. The flight had exhausted them, and they promised to get a good, long sleep to fight off the time change and the jet lag. Ruth had a bowl of soup sent up from room service, since Solomon had finished her 3-way after he ate his own.

“Auntie, do you think they like me?” Solomon asked, his tough veneer giving way to adolescent doubt.

“I think they’re very excited to have met you, yes. Uncle Gavin couldn’t stop staring at you. I think he sees a lot of his brother in you,” Ruth offered.

* * *

J
ust over a mile away
, a similar conversation was taking place in Gavin’s living room. “So, what do you think, dude?”

“I think,” Gavin pondered. “That I miss Jack more than ever. Can you picture him as a dad? I mean that’s his flesh and blood,
my
flesh and blood too, right down the street. It’s so weird. But so cool. Four days isn’t going to be enough. I have so much I want to tell him, to show him. His life must be so different in Fiji. I can’t even imagine.”

Wyatt rose and hugged his friend on his way out the door. “Did you see the way he walks? Slow and kind of bowlegged, just like Jack.”

“Shut up before you get me crying again. Say hello to your folks for me. I’m taking Solomon and Ruth sightseeing tomorrow, we’ll go by our old house and school and stuff, probably go by the dojo. I know we’ll hit the zoo at some point. Just let me know when you’re available. Be safe.”

* * *

T
he next day
, Gavin picked up his visitors and took them on a tour of Cincinnati, showing them places that would have meant something to Jack. The house the brothers grew up in, churches and schools they attended, that sort of thing.

Solomon was excited, but couldn’t understand how so many people could live so far from the ocean. They crossed the Ohio River at one point as they had the previous day, but the rushing brown water, filled with barges, did little to assuage Solomon’s doubt.

After lunch, they went by the dojo where Gavin taught judo. He’d handed over his classes for a few days to one of his older students Tyler, a brown belt heading into his senior year of high school.

Gavin explained what the young students were working on and showed him around the gym.

“Why aren’t they doing punches or kicks? I thought martial arts were about breaking boards and knocking people out, cool stuff like that,” Solomon queried his uncle.

Gavin shook his head. “Some martial arts are about striking. Karate, Tae Kwan Do. But judo is more about grappling, submitting your opponent. Throws and takedowns. But make no mistake, it’s every bit as dangerous to fight a seasoned judoka as to fight a karate black belt.”

“Yeah, right. If somebody tried to throw me, I’d hit him with these,” Solomon said, balling his fists and throwing several shadow boxing jabs. “Before he ever had a chance to grab me. I know how to fight.”

“Think so?” Gavin asked. “Ruth, is it okay with you if Gavin trains with one of my students for a minute?”

“Promise me he won’t get hurt and you have a deal.”

“He’s tough, he’ll be fine,” Gavin laughed as Solomon’s shadow boxing routine became more complex, hands whipping in and out, jabs slicing through the air in front of his face. “Tyler, can you spare Elliott for a minute?”

Tyler paused his instruction and dismissed a skinny boy with a shaggy mop of blonde hair spilling over his ears. The boy approached Gavin and bowed, first to him, then to his guests.

“Elliott, this is my nephew, Solomon. He’s new to judo. But he tells me he ‘knows how to fight’. Solomon, Elliott is a green belt. He’s twelve. I’ve been working with him for several years. I want you to try to take him down. Or hit him, or however you’d like to fight him. He’s younger and smaller, and he only does
judo
, right?”

“Uncle, he’s too skinny. I don’t like to hurt people. Let me fight that guy,” Solomon pointed at Tyler, almost five years his senior and clearly larger, more physically mature.

The students Tyler was training had taken seats alongside the mat to watch, and Gavin walked between the two boys, laughing. “Not a good idea, Solomon. Tyler is a very accomplished judoka. Elliott will be a good challenge for you. And you for him. Ready?”

“Have it your way, then. Sorry, bro. Nothing personal,” Solomon apologized in advance and extended a fist, which Elliott bumped.

The two youngsters circled one another, Elliott pawing at Solomon, gauging distance and looking for an opening. Solomon took a boxer’s stance, and Gavin was impressed. Solomon had obviously had some pointers from somebody and he moved fluidly.

Suddenly, before it was obvious that the younger boy had even moved, Elliott slipped inside Solomon’s hands, twisted sideways, and flipped the older boy to the mat, landing atop him and spinning his arm into a painful position.

Gavin patted Elliott on the shoulder and he released the hold. “Solomon, if you want your opponent to let go, tap the mat. Or somewhere on his body. And he’ll break the hold. Okay?”

Pride wounded, Solomon rose and straightened up his clothing. “Yeah, sure. Got it.”

He was back in his stance, this time moving forward aggressively, peppering his younger opponent with punches. Elliott swerved and blocked them, deflecting a looping left hand into an arm lock from which he tugged on Solomon’s shirt and deposited the older boy once more on the mat.

Clearly aggravated, Solomon rose and charged the smaller, lighter Elliott, enveloping him in a bear hug, from which he planned to slam the boy. Elliott, however, had a very different idea. His feet sprawled backward, making it impossible to get a tight grip on him, and Elliott began to spin away. As he escaped, he took hold of Solomon’s wrist, completing the hold just past his elbow, tripping him and following Solomon down with another arm bar.

After the third takedown at the hands of a smaller, younger foe, Solomon was embarrassed and sprang to his feet with his face twisted in a mask of rage. He attacked Elliott with a scream, pushing Gavin to step in, wrapping his nephew up in his arms and lifting him off the floor.

Gavin held the boy until he regained control of his breathing and calmed down, at which point he set him on the floor and instructed the two combatants to shake hands and make peace. Begrudgingly, Solomon followed Gavin’s instruction, and awkwardly returned a bow from Elliott, who then went back to his class with Tyler.

“What’s your opinion of judo now?” Gavin asked.

“Alright, alright, that kid was pretty good, he tricked me a few times,” Solomon answered, punctuating his reply with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I’d be happy to teach you a few of those ‘tricks’ if you ever want to learn. Judo was created to allow a smaller man to fight on even terms with a bigger opponent. Imagine what you could do with those kinds of skills at your size and strength. Heck, if you wanted it bad enough, and you’re as athletic as I think you are, you could be an Olympian.”

F
or their last
night in Cincinnati, Gavin took Ruth and Solomon out to dinner at a restaurant overlooking the Ohio River in Newport on the Levee, on the Kentucky side. Solomon spent much of the meal gazing at the lights of downtown, the two large stadiums, the bridges full of traffic, and the barges pushing cargo up and down the waterway.

An idea he’d been playing with in the back of his mind moved squarely to the front and sat there, steadfast.

“Auntie, Uncle Gavin, I have something I have to say, a decision I’ve made.”

Gavin and Ruth put down their forks and turned their attention to their young nephew.

“Sure, bud, you’ve got the floor,” Gavin said.

“Well, I know this is crazy and I don’t know how it could work, but…” Solomon’s voice cracked and he swallowed hard. Ruth and Gavin exchanged concerned looks and Ruth took Solomon’s hand in hers.

“But, I think I want to live here,” Solomon continued. “I feel at home here. I can feel my dad all around me. Uncle Gavin is my family just as much as you are, you know? And I don’t want to hurt you or disappoint you, and maybe it would just be for a while. I love Fiji. I’ll always be Fijian. But I’m kailoma. I’m from both worlds. I’ve never seen snow. I’ve never been to an NFL game. This should be home to me as much as Fiji is, but it isn’t. I’m a stranger here, and that’s not right. I deserve a chance to be American too. I feel something pulling me here, pulling me to stay.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know how that could ever work,” Ruth explained, taking both of her nephew’s hands in hers and turning to face him directly. “I know this week has been exciting, and Mr. Gavin has been so good to us, and we’ll definitely visit again, and he’ll visit us at home, but everything you know is in the islands. You have so much family there. Your roots run so deep. And your uncle has such a busy life here, he wouldn’t have time to- “

Gavin interrupted, gently placing a hand on Ruth’s arm. “I do have a busy life, that’s true. And I’m honestly caught completely off-guard by the idea, but it’s not a bad one. Solomon is my blood. He’s the best thing I have left from my brother. And my parents. If it’s what he really wants, I could make it work.
We
could make it work.”

It had been something Gavin had been thinking of ever since he first laid eyes on his nephew. Solomon was the first thing to make him happy in a very long time. They were connected by more than just DNA. There was a bond there and Gavin didn’t want to see it end here.

Ruth cradled Solomon’s face in her hands, her thumb wiping away a tear from his cheek. “You’ve been my son your entire life. I couldn’t take losing you.”

Solomon collapsed into her arms, choking back sobs. Gavin put an arm around his nephew’s shoulder.

“Whatever decision you make, you’re mature enough to make it on your own. I believe that and I support your choice, but you have to keep in mind the hearts you’d be breaking. I see so much of Jack in you. He had a wanderlust, he wanted to see the world, to experience everything, even when it maybe didn’t make perfect sense to most other people. You’re more than welcome to come live with me, you are. I want you to know that. But weigh everything. And if your heart tells you that you should be here, my door is always open,” Gavin said. “Nothing would please me more than to have you in my life every day.”

After a tumultuous two weeks back home, and with Solomon’s American ardor showing no signs of fading, it was decided that he could relocate to Cincinnati to live with Gavin for the upcoming school year. A distant cousin who lived in Dallas was convinced to transfer with his job and move to Cincinnati as well to help ease the transition, but after spending the time he had with his father’s brother, Solomon didn’t fear his new surroundings.

And he couldn’t wait to start training.

* * *

A
fter suffering
the humiliation of being clearly beaten by Elliott when the pair sparred, Solomon was determined to get into the gym and start working his way up the judo ladder. He wanted a rematch with Elliott, then he wanted a shot at Tyler, Elliott’s teacher during Gavin’s absence. If he could beat those two, how proud would Uncle Gavin be? And how proud would his father be, looking down on him?

Solomon enrolled in the public school nearest Gavin’s home, to widespread curiosity. Naturally, there was some teasing from the eighth grade boys, as there would be for any newcomer, especially one with long hair, an ever-present tan, and an unmistakably island way of pronouncing things that marked him as different.

The girls, however, were instantly smitten by him. Which also did nothing to endear him to his male competition for their attention. His muscular build deterred physical bullying, but he didn’t make friends easily.

He channeled his social frustration into the dojo, working with a fury that surprised Gavin and instilled fear in his training partners.

With balance honed on a surfboard and a physique blessed by the genetics of two athletic parents and sculpted by formative years spent running on beaches, climbing trees, and swimming against ocean currents, Solomon excelled as a judoka. In less than a year he was competing in tournaments, winning more than he lost, and quickly climbing the judo ranks, first locally and then regionally. By seventeen, he competed for the first time at nationals in Orlando, winning three matches before being thrashed by a tall, lean opponent from Sacramento named Adonis DeCarlo.

Everything Solomon tried against Adonis was countered effortlessly, and when Solomon found himself in the taller boy’s clutches, he was helpless against a grip like iron. Following his defeat, he watched Adonis finish off two more opponents en route to what Solomon learned was his third consecutive national championship.

“That kid is a machine,” Solomon’s uncle, coach, and now de facto father figure, Gavin explained. “His dad was an Olympian in judo years ago. He hasn’t lost to an American in a sanctioned competition since he was something like twelve years old. He even went to senior worlds with the USA team last summer. Youngest American to ever compete at the world championships. He didn’t fare too well, but he had to beat grown men to make that team. There’s no shame in losing to him. I don’t know why he even does age group tournaments these days. Just to stay sharp, I guess.”

“He’s not so great,” Solomon countered. “I’m going to beat him. Not today, obviously, maybe not next time we meet, but I promise you I’m going to beat him.”

“I believe you, big fella,” Gavin said, slapping Solomon on the back.

As the pair rose and headed toward the exit, they passed Adonis, celebrating with his family.

Solomon leaned over the barricade separating competitors from fans and extended a hand, balled into a fist, toward Adonis. “Nice job, brother. Hope I get another crack at you next year.”

Adonis, drunk on his victory, looked first at Solomon’s face, then his offered hand, then back up to meet his gaze, making no effort to return the fist bump. “My best advice to you is to change weight classes, bud. Unless I do. In that case, stay right where you are.”

Solomon was floored by Adonis’ refusal to shake his hand, to acknowledge him as any sort of peer, and he let his arm sink slowly back to his side. Gavin was stung by the champion’s words, and he tried to ease Solomon away from the DeCarlo family; Adonis, his parents, younger brother, older set of twin sisters, and an assortment of extended family. “Let’s go get something to eat, Solomon.”

Solomon, however, was having none of it. He dropped his bag to the floor and in a fluid motion put a hand on the barrier and vaulted over it, landing and taking a step so that he was directly in Adonis’s line of vision, inches from the taller boy’s face.

“I’ll
never
run from you. I’ll be back next year and the year after that and I
will
beat you,” Solomon snarled.

“If you’re lucky enough to get back on the mat with me, I won’t take it easy on you next time, punk.” Adonis replied, and he punctuated his remark with a two-handed shove to Solomon’s chest.

The flurry of activity drew the notice of security, teammates of both Adonis and Solomon, and meet organizers.

“Throw that team out of here! They should be banned!” bellowed Adonis’s father over the buzz of the growing crowd.

The ruckus was quickly defused, but the gauntlet had been thrown down; any future rematch between Solomon Kano and Adonis DeCarlo would mean more to both fighter’s pride than whatever tournament titles might be on the line.

* * *

T
he American judo
community began to take notice of the Fijian kid from Cincinnati over the next few years. Adonis DeCarlo abandoned age group tournaments, much to Solomon’s chagrin, but it left the throne vacant and Solomon was eager to claim it as his own.

Gavin ran out of things to teach his star pupil, and he had to turn him over exclusively to Sensei Shinji, who, despite his advancing years, was as eager to teach as ever, and had a flexibility and iron grip that left Solomon awestruck.

Solomon’s time in America transformed him from a boy into a man, growing to six-foot-two with a thickly-muscled frame. His dark hair was long and wild, and on a visit home to Fiji he’d acquired his first tattoo, the word “kailoma” on the inside of his left forearm. Gavin wasn’t crazy about the ink, but he understood that Solomon wasn’t fully American, nor Fijian, and that it was his way of reconciling the two cultures, the two worlds, by writing it on his body.

As a concession to his nephew, Gavin got his own tattoo, the word “BULA” in block lettering on the left side of his chest. Beneath the word were five capital letters, each with a small halo floating above. P, T, L, J, and K. For the five souls lost in the terrible tragedy in the South Pacific.

As soon as Solomon saw what his uncle did, he knew he’d made the right decision, coming to America. Gavin was his family. More than anyone else he’d ever known.

* * *

S
olomon spent
his school years with Gavin in Cincinnati and his summers in Fiji with his mother’s family. He felt like his heart was always in two places, a fact that often made him feel guilty no matter where he was.

When he was a senior in high school he was accepted to Xavier University. They didn’t have a martial arts team, but they did have a very active martial arts club that his uncle had recently taken over as a sponsor and coach.

Despite now having the best of both worlds, Solomon ached for something more.

He’d always assumed it was for his parents. Or for his need to excel in judo, to be the best.

Little did he know, it wasn’t any of those things that his heart was missing. But he couldn’t have known that at the time.

He hadn’t met Logan Lowery yet.