Cage (4 page)

Was that why?
I dwelled on
the thought, thinking back to all those memories.
Did I just want his attention?

I was a good girl. Good girls don’t crush on their stepbrothers. But
there was an undeniable attraction to him, and I’d never been willing to fully
admit it to myself. I could talk about it objectively now, keeping the thoughts
compartmentalized. I could think of it like it was someone else, with that kind
of detachment, but that’s not quite accurate enough.

It was as if reminiscing on something that was irrevocable
fact
within a dream, but flawed
fiction
in reality.

The complexity of how I felt towards Sawyer…it defied logic. I had dated
boys. I’d even dated some
decent
boys,
highly attractive boys that treated me with complete respect. But the boys I’d
dated, even the pricks among them, just never compelled me the way that he did.
There was no
balance
between the two
– always either one or the other. This boyfriend would put me on a
pedestal and treat me like a princess; that boyfriend would consider me a
conquest trophy at best, or just make-out material at worst.

Sawyer challenged me. Continuously. At the same time I knew that, when
it really came down to it, he was on my side.

He had always supported me against our parents when they were being
unreasonable. Every time that Mom or Chet had made some heavy-handed, unreasonable
request of me – or the countless times I was accused of sneaking boys
home (I never did, although everyone knew that Sawyer snuck girls in and out
non-stop), he was right there to have my back. As much as I hated to admit it,
he
was
in my corner as soon as he
heard about Paris, which meant that
that
part
of him hadn’t changed either.

I sighed heavily, glancing up at the mural of the stars across my
ceiling. Seeing him again after all these years…I had expected that when
–
if
– I laid eyes on the
bastard, I’d want to throttle him for becoming such a large part of my life and
then doing what every important man did to me: they always just walked away.

But the truth dawned on me, finally: I had to actively
try
to hate him, even with his stupid
smirk and his entire abandonment thing. All those confusing teenage feelings
came rushing back. I’d always attributed it to stupid hormones and puberty, but
goddamn, that wasn’t it.

Sawyer had been handsome before.

Now, he was
stupidly
attractive.

I wasn’t sure how I could much I could bear a summer alone with the
cocky, sculpted jackass now. It had been easy to let the past be the past and
just forget the whole mess, but then he had to come back and make life a living
hell again. Now, I was going to have to figure my feelings out while
trapped
with the guy. And there was
no way
I was going to let him have that
kind of power over me, not after he’d betrayed me before.

But that didn’t resolve the looming crisis. With a couple of months
living together alone, there were really only two options immediately visible,
and I had no idea which one would be more appealing.

Either I’d want to kill Sawyer, or…

No. I wasn’t willing to admit it to myself.

I couldn’t bear to dwell on how much I wanted to fuck him.

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Chapter 4 – Sawyer

New Orleans, Five Years Ago

You could say, if you were feeling
poetic, that the first day that my life trajectory was set in stone was the day
that Saffron stepped into my life. Following that logic, the second was the day
that I stepped on a bus to New Orleans. The third and final one was the day
that I walked past Happy Pat’s…and it forever sealed who I was about to become.

I had been in
town for about two months, sustaining myself with odd labor jobs and sleeping
in sheds or abandoned properties. Scuffling with the local folk was inevitable,
but I managed to keep it down to a minimum – luckily, I never seemed to
find myself up against someone with a knife or a gun. I knew that it was only a
matter of time, and I would have to find a proper roof over my head
fast
. New Orleans, after all, could be
plenty dangerous if you were an outsider on the streets.

“Hey, pal!” I heard a voice call out to me as I walked past the Happy
Pat’s bar. Keeping my head down, I continued walking along. “Pal! You little
shit-stain, you just gonna keep walkin’ and ignore me? Must be real easy to
strut away without a
pair
between
your legs!”

I knew better, but I whirled around anyway.

“I will knock the flying
fuck
out of you if you don’t shut your fucking mouth,” I furiously answered. “Now,
piss off
.”

The guy was a lanky, scruffy fellow in his upper twenties, dressed in
only a ragged pair of cargo shorts. He had been smoking a cigarette with his
back to the window. Dropping it to the dirt, he stomped it out with his bare
foot.

“What a punk. Just the kind of guy I need.”

“Say
what?
”

“Look, you little fucker, you look like you can take a hell of a punch.
Probably give out a worse one, too. That sound like you? Ring any bells in that
stupid head of yours?”

I growled, ready to turn on my heel.

What was this guy’s fucking
DEAL?

“Yeah, thought so.” He chuckled, sizing me up. “Listen, pal, you look
like you haven’t had a fucking shower in days. How’d you like to make a good
eighty, maybe hundred bucks tonight?”

“Doing…what, exactly?” I was ready to beat it at the first glimpse of
anything funny.

“The boys and I, ‘round back. We have a little bit of what you might
call a, uh,
street fighting
thing
going on. Real quiet-like. We’re down a guy, so I’m scoutin’ for talent. It’s
your lucky goddamn day. You think you can knock out a few motherfuckers?”

I stiffened up, but I didn’t turn my back on him. “…Probably. Been a
while since I’ve fought.”

“How long’s a
while?
”

“Couple of months.”

He looked doubtful for a moment. “You a, uh,
seasoned
fighter?”

I thought back to every time I’d recreationally goaded someone into a
one-on-one brawl…and the very few times that I’d lost. “Might say I’ve seen a
few.”

“I see…” he paused, pausing to study me again. “Listen. Your shirt. Pull
it off.”

“The
fuck?
”

“No homo, bro. But if you ain’t got anything worth
shit
underneath that stained scrap of fabric on your back,” he
waved a finger at my slightly ragged shirt, “this little discussion is a waste
of my time. Shirt. Off.”

Begrudgingly, I complied. Dropping my duffel bag to the pavement, I
reached my hand for the opposite sleeve and whipped the shirt off in one fluid,
instant movement. The stranger glanced at my chest, his eyes falling down my
abdomen, then across my thick arms. Watching his face, I could see that he
wasn’t eye-groping me, but deftly sizing me up.

He was
studying
me.

“Little lighter than I’d hoped…but if you can take one, maybe swing a
meaner one, you’ll do. You think you can be ready in two hours?”

“Yeah. How is this arrangement going to work?”

“Crowd of paying spectators around back. No entry fees. One-on-one
fights. Five teams. Winning team splits half the pot. The rest go as
consolation prizes, then to the proprietor of our little fracas. Me, I’m a
slippery little fucker with fists of steel. The other two guys, they ain’t so
bad either.” He eyed me again. “Better than you.”

“What’s the consolation prize?”

“Ten bucks and a bottle of aspirin. Cute, little Japanese character on
it. A cat, I think. Fitting, for the pussy who got his ass knocked out.”

“Those aren’t exactly good odds.”

“Yeah, well. It’s fucking street fighting, man. Unsanctioned. What the
fuck do you expect? You gonna waste my time with this bullshit, or you gonna
quit being a little bitch? Hell, the stink coming off of you, we might call
that a
pre-emptive strike
in the box.
Might just lay a motherfucker out from the get-go!”

This guy was seriously getting on my nerves…but I had a lot of steam to
blow, and I was feeling dangerous. “Fine,” I told him. “I’m in.”

“Welcome aboard, fucker. That’s your name, by the way, until you smack a
guy to the ground.
Fucker.
I think
it’s becoming, personally…” He paused to pick his cigarette butt back off the
ground, tossing it into the trashcan nearby. “Come on, then. ‘Round to the
back. Meet the rest of us. We might be about to slap the shit out of each
other, but we’re a right bunch of gentlemen.”

Pennsylvania, Present Day

Seeing my father again was as difficult and humbling as I thought it
would be. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw him. Sure, we had spoken a
few weeks before, but a brief, awkward conversation over the phone was nothing
like seeing him in the flesh – and him seeing me.

The years had melted away within minutes. A few hours later, we were
still sipping beers and chatting on the back veranda, watching the fish spring
above the water’s edge in the pond.

My stepmother left us alone, probably out of applying some misguided
weight to the evening. She was just as welcome here, as I had missed her as
well. In fact, I would have loved to see the two of them together again,
holding each other as we caught up.

Saffron remained scarce.

She
had
seemed oddly pissed.

But I wasn’t too worried about that. We had an entire summer to spend
together – something that never escaped my thoughts.

I wondered how I was going to do it. Even after the years I’d led and
the things I’d seen, I’d hoped that she would become a footnote in my life;
something only rarely thought of, relegated to a few brief moments here and
there.

But that hadn’t happened, and it hadn’t helped now.

Saffron was just as fucking beautiful as ever. No, actually, let me back
up a second. Saffron Samuels was even
more
beautiful now. She was a scrawny little twerp back in the day, just
starting to fill out when I saw her last. But my stepsister had grown up in my
absence, and I could barely stand to look at her – afraid that my gaze
would linger too long, maybe even unnerve her.

I still loved her, just as much as the day I’d left.

That was going to be a
problem.

But it was a problem for another day. I pushed it out of my head as my
father and I sat in silence now, sipping from our bottles.

“So,” I spoke up suddenly, “how are we making the arrangements?”

“The arrangements?”

“For the trip. You two are heading off to Paris, and we’re supposed to
be heading down the Pensacola…do I need to book flights, or what?”

“Oh, no, that’s all taken care of,” my stepfather answered. “As soon as
you confirmed a few weeks back, your mother and I made the arrangements for
both you and your sister.”

“Sounds good to me. When do we leave?”

“Friday.”

I almost spat out my beer. “Dad, it’s…it’s
Wednesday.
It’s Wednesday
night.
Why are you just telling me
now?
What
if I was late?”

“Oh, we would have sent you on a second flight, of course!” Dad
chuckled, taking another swig.

I shook my head. It was typical him. He had enough money to smooth
anything over that he just didn’t understand things sometimes.

“Of course, we’ll have to take you shopping for some clothes…surely
you’re not planning on wearing
that
to
Florida? It’ll be way too hot down there!”

“No, I…I figured,” I answered begrudgingly. “I’ll take a drive and pick
a few things up tomorrow.” I timed my answer so that he was in the middle of a
mouthful of beer – sidestepping the inevitable
Son, let’s go shopping,
or maybe something like I
know Tabitha at a great place that carries
some crisp button-ups.

I switched gears quickly, before he could get a word in about that. Last
thing I was doing was going on a grand father-son clothes-shopping trip with
him. “So, what do we do when we arrive?”

Dad pulled the beer down from his lips, swallowing. “Hensley will pick
you up from the airport. Do you remember him,” my father smiled mischievously,
“or have all those years in the ring knocked him out of your head?”

“Hensley…he was the one with the weird teapot collection, right? And
those little ceramic bears?” I let my face slacken slightly.

“What? No, that’s
Mrs. Nesbitt.
Do you seriously mean to tell me–” He paused, seeing the coy smile spread
across my face. “You had me worried for a moment there! Don’t
do that
to your old man! I thought maybe
you’d been smacked in the head once too many times!”

We shared a small, hearty laugh. It felt good to laugh again.

“Of course I remember Hensley,” I assured Dad. “Old friend of yours. It’ll
be great to see him again.”

“That’s the one. You’ll be in good hands. He’ll remain nearby for the
duration of the summer – just in case either of you need anything.”

“Sounds like you could have just had her stay with
him
, then,” I observed. “Seeing as he’s going to be around. I seem
to recall that he can generally handle himself.”

“It occurred to me, yes. I knew that Saffron would be safe. But he’s got
his own life, and I couldn’t have him rearrange his entire summer around her. I
already ask enough of him as it is.”

“But that didn’t stop you from asking
me,
” I prodded.

“No, it didn’t.” He still had a faint smile on his lips, but he was
studying me carefully. “But you did. I didn’t even have to convince you all
that hard.” He took a deep breath, gaze still locked onto mine. “Listen,
son–”

The door clattered open. It was Ellen, holding a tray of three
margaritas.

“I thought you boys could use something a little tastier than beer.
Wouldn’t you know it, I had enough for three!”

Dad chuckled lovingly, standing up to kiss her and take a drink from her
tray. “It’s almost as if you read minds, honey,” he smiled at her.

It seemed as if the thought was gone. I almost asked him what he was
going to say, but I hadn’t heard of many conversations that ended well and
began with “Listen, son...”

I enjoyed seeing them interact. They always did it with such
love.
It was never forced – not
once did I ever get the impression that they were keeping up appearances for
us. They innately just
clicked
, and I
couldn’t help but feel jealous. I’d never had any sort of meaningful
relationship with another human being that came close to what they had.
Girlfriends had been fleeting; one-night stands abounded when I needed to blow
some steam.

People had been disposable to me, even in love. I hadn’t let myself grow
close to anybody as a result. My closest friends had been passing acquaintances
or...

Perhaps more accurately: my fiercest opponents.

For the longest time, I’d considered my fellow human being somewhat hard
to read. What they really wanted, they hid from you. All human interaction was
this stupid little
dance,
this
compromise between what
they
want and
what
you
want. Sometimes, they did it
under the veil of being friendly, accommodating, decent human beings. More often,
they were simply biding their time as they hoped for some misguided opportunity
to reach out for whatever they
did
really
want.

Things were different in the cage.

What your opponent wanted was obvious. They wanted to win. They wanted
you to beg for mercy. They could wrap that in theatrics, but it didn’t hide
their core intention.

I never obliged if I could help it, but at least
that
was a dance I knew the moves to.

I sometimes wondered what I had missed by blocking everyone out. It
didn’t matter. I’d learned my limits – my
real
limits, not the edges of my comfort zone. I had become
strong
. I had become
fierce
. I was a force of nature when I
really needed to be.

But as I watched my parents, just as close as they had ever been since
before I left, I was left with a question that I couldn’t answer:

At what cost?

“Sawyer?” Ellen was frowning lightly as she stood beside me, the tray
held out.
 
A look of concern had
crossed her face, and I realized that I had completely zoned out on them.

Blinking a few times, I reached out and grabbed the closest margarita,
smiling warmly at her in gratitude.

“Thanks, Mom,” I told her.

“I had thought something was the matter!” She laughed, setting the tray
aside and sitting down next to Dad. “You must have just been lost in thought…”

“Yes, it’s been a…a long ride,” I admitted. “Lots of time to think. I’ve
grown sort of used to it.”

“Oh, surely you’re still paying attention to the road!” She gasped. “We
can’t afford to have you lose your concentration and sail into the back of a
van, daresay even an intersection, especially not on that dangerous thing…”

I laughed again. The sound was still almost completely unfamiliar to me.
“No, it’s not like that. I still pay attention to the road, obviously. Riding
the bike is second-nature to me now…it’s purely instinct at this point.” She
looked unconvinced, so I added: “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m
always
very
careful.”

“Sure he is!” Dad chimed in. “I’m sure you’d never do anything to
endanger yourself…maybe nothing
too
dangerous.”

I reflected for a brief second. “I’ve tried to stay safe.”

It was technically true.

Technically.