Undisputed (8 page)

Abby came home from spring break pregnant and would never tell us anything about that week of her life. Despite her claims, there isn’t a thing about Connor that looks Irish to me. While we both perpetually look like ghosts, his skin tans easily in the summer and maintains a healthy glow year round. Much to our dismay, he loves to rub it in our faces any chance he gets. If I had to guess, I’d say his father is Hispanic. However, the most curious trait of all is his lack of temper. Connor is slow to anger and always patient.

What an amazing husband he would make someone one day.

My gut twists at the thought of someday.

Connor isn’t at the top of the donor list, and his kidney functions have been steadily declining. Not rapidly, but enough to cause alarm. Every day, it looks more and more like he won’t have a “someday.” I try not to think about his life being cut so short, because it’s not fair. I remember when he was born, holding him and peering down into his little face, promising that I would always be there for him and protect him. And, now that the time has come and he needs my help the most, there’s nothing I can do.

I’m not a match, despite having been screened three times in the hopes that something had magically changed. Again, my stomach clenches as I think about the last time I was tested and Doctor Barnes’s sad eyes as he told me that the results I had so wished for weren’t going to happen. I would have given Connor both of my kidneys if I could have.

When my gaze comes back in to focus, Connor is staring at me strangely.

He grabs my hand, and I realize I have tears rolling down my face. Quickly using my shirt sleeve to wipe my face, I silently thank the alarm clock gods for not having woken me up in time to apply makeup. Otherwise, I would look like the lead singer of KISS right now. I’m searching for a tissue when he breaks the silence.

Setting his iPad down, he raises his eyebrows. “Uh, Aunt Sid, are you okay? I must have said your name, like, three times before you heard me.”

The concern on his face is overwhelming, and I almost start crying again.

Breathing deeply to collect myself, I force a smile to my face. “I’m fine, honey. Just thinking about, er…work.” I draw in another breath in an attempt to lock my emotions away before squeezing his hand. “I didn’t realize I was crying. Did I upset you?”

He arches one eyebrow skeptically, which tells me that he knows I’m full of shit. Besides, who cries about accounting anyway? Connor is nothing if not perceptive, and I make a mental note to work on my acting skills.

“No, I’m not upset. I just don’t like you crying. Being here with me didn’t make you cry, did it? I can come by myself, you know. You and Mom don’t have to treat me like a baby all the time. I’m not gonna break,” he says with a false bravado I so strongly want to believe.

He doesn’t realize that, while he is trying to prove how grown he is, he has never looked more vulnerable. I can see in his deep-set eyes that he wants us there with him and how scared he really is, but he’s trying so hard to convince himself that he isn’t terrified of what is happening.

Grabbing the pen I had him bring along, I tell him the reason I wanted to come today. “Of course not! And I know that you could come by yourself, but really, I like hanging out with you. Anyway, let’s try to forget about that. I know you’ve been talking about a bucket list, and so I thought it was time we actually wrote some things down. I also contacted the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Do you know what that is?” I don’t even bother suppressing my grin. It’s been incredibly difficult to keep this secret to myself. I haven’t even told Abby because I wanted Connor to be the first to know.

“I think so. Don’t they pay for you to go to Disney World? That’s really cool of you, but I’ve already been there, and it’s kinda for babies, isn’t it?” His face falls ever so slightly before he drops his gaze to the ground.

I lightly shove his shoulder. “Well, yes, that’s one of the things they do. But the Make-A-Wish Foundation grants whatever wish you have. It’s not just Disney World. It can be just about anything. And they have agreed to grant
you
a wish. Any wish, Connor!”

He blinks at me several times, and I can see the wheels turning.

After several beats of silence he blurts out, “KO!”

“What?” I ask, confused by his response. “Like knockout? You know you can’t do any contact sports!” Horrified at the thought of someone knocking him out, I recoil.

A short burst of laughter erupts from deep in his chest. “Oh my gosh! No! Man, you are so old. KO is a fighter. Like, the best fighter there is, really. That’s the fight I was just watching. I’ve seen all of them, actually. Aunt Sid, can that be my wish? Can I really ask to meet him? That’s all I want.” Throwing his arms up, he knocks his bottle of orange juice in to my lap.

“Shit! Uh, I mean, uh,” I sputter, looking around, embarrassed to have cursed in the middle of the dialysis lab.

Margaret comes bustling over with a couple towels and a smirk on her face. “Boy, you must have really said something bad to have him throwing juice at you!” she scolds, a sly grin on her face.

Connor looks over at her, mock horror on his face. “No, ma’am! I wouldn’t throw juice at the best aunt that’s ever lived.”

Oh, he is definitely trying to butter me up.

After taking the towel from Margaret’s outstretched hand, I wipe the juice off my lap.

“I get to meet my idol! Make-One-Wish is gonna set up a meeting with the light heavyweight champ for me! Can you believe it?” He trips over his words while Margaret mops up the mess he made.

She looks at me, confused, while Connor continues to ramble on about KO and fights.

“It’s Make-A-Wish, not Make-One-Wish, silly. And that’s not guaranteed. They do everything in their power to grant every child’s wish, but we don’t know what this KO person’s schedule is like or if he will even agree to it.” With a groan, I give up cleaning my pants and drop the towel.

“He just had a fight, so he should have time. And of course he wants to meet me. Who wouldn’t?” Connor says with the oversized confidence of a teenage boy.

“Okay, buddy. Let’s take it down a notch. Your big head is going to suck all of the oxygen out of the room.” I can’t help but laugh at the silly grin on his face. “The lady I spoke with told me that you should write a letter with whatever your wish is. When you finish the letter, let’s get started on that bucket list. You better make that one pretty long though, because we have at least another sixty years to complete it.” I hand him the pad of paper and wink.

I know nothing about the sport—if that’s what you would even call fighting other guys for a living—other than what I’ve overheard Connor and his friends talk about. But this fighter seems to be pretty popular. Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer that this guy will accept Connor’s request and at least agree to meet him. Connor seems confident that he will, but I’m not holding my breath.

I
’ve been avoiding Mark’s calls all week. I haven’t actually read any of the texts he’s been sending, either. Instead, I just send him a generic “I’m fine” response so that he knows I’m still alive.

It’s probably because I’m a pussy, but I tell myself, and anyone who will listen, that it’s because I’m a grown-ass man and don’t need to check in with my trainer like I’m ten years old.

Now that my three-week “break” is finally over, I’m headed to the gym. Time to get back to training for the next one, although they haven’t yet announced who I’ll be fighting. I’d like to say that the incident at Club Raw was the last of its kind, but unfortunately, that’s not the case.

I’ve been kicked out of two other clubs since then. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t started either of those fights. As a matter of fact, I even tried walking away from the last one. But, when some drunk asshole starts putting his hands on a woman, it’s pretty much an obligation to put an end to it.

Luckily for me, the cops agreed with me in that regard and didn’t arrest me. Unluckily for me, the bars didn’t give a shit why I had destroyed their property, instead wanting restitution.

Mark was calling me nonstop because of the shit that was all over the news, and that’s why I didn’t answer. I wasn’t ready to face the consequences.

My train of thought is interrupted by my phone pinging with a text.

Tripp:
Good luck with Mark, man. He’s gonna rip your balls off and feed them to that dog of his.

Me:
What the fuck ever. I told you he’s not my daddy. I don’t have to check in with him while I’m on vacation.

Tripp:
You’re right. He’s not your daddy. Your daddy wouldn’t have even bothered to check up on you. Maybe that’s why you’re such a prick?

Me:
Guess I come by it honestly. I’m walking in now. Beer later?

Tripp:
If you can still walk without your balls, sure. Let me know when and where.

I put my phone away and take a deep breath as I open the door to the gym.

Ready or not, here we go.

I haven’t even stepped fully inside the door when Mark starts.

“Don’t come sauntering your ass in here like it’s just another day in paradise. Breccan, what the fuck?”

It doesn’t take long for the smirk I plastered on my face to turn into a grimace when I see the look he’s giving me.

Slowing my feet to avoid getting too close to him, I plead, “Mark, come on, man. Don’t start in on me as soon as I get here. At least let me get changed before you start busting my balls.”

At the mention of my balls, I peer around for his dog, just in case. He wouldn’t actually cut them off, but that dog is scary as hell and I don’t want to chance not having any little Brecs running around someday in the future—way, way,
way
in the future.

He pulls a chair out at one of the tables and takes a seat. “Oh, you’re not working out today, so no need to change. Last time you pulled some shit, I tried to work the stupid out of you. It didn’t work. So, now, I’m trying a different approach. Sit your ass down,” he commands while gesturing to the chair across from his.

The paperwork in his hand makes me nervous for some reason. My mind starts to go wild with possibilities.

Hesitantly, I pull the chair out and sit on the edge. “What’s that in your hand? It’s not my contract, is it?” I don’t know why I’m so worried about my contract with the league. There’s no way that the few transgressions I’ve had over the past couple of weeks would cause them to terminate my employment with them. I’ve been the undisputed champ for far too long.

Waving the paper in my direction, he asks “This? No, it’s not your damn contract, you asshole. We’ll get to what this is in a minute. First, we need to talk about what the hell is wrong with you. And I want a straight answer as to why you’ve been photographed partying almost every night the past two weeks. And why you’ve been kicked out of
three
different nightclubs in as long. So, before you start spewing your bullshit, I want you to remember who it is you’re talking to here.” Mark arches his eyebrows in a challenge.

Mark’s jacked body would have you guess that he’s in his mid-thirties, but he’s actually forty-eight. He was a boxer, and a damn good one at that, but at the height of his career, he fucked around and ruined it all. It’s not often that he talks about his failed career and past, but when he does, you make sure to stop and listen to what he has to say.

“I’m twenty-six years old, Mark. I’m a single, damn-good-looking, popular guy. I just want to have a good time.” I shrug at him. “I can’t help it that there are people out there dumb enough to get drunk and suddenly think they can take on a fighter,” I offer as an explanation.

Mark doesn’t buy it. His fists balled on the table, he says through clenched teeth, “Bullshit. Try again.”

Caught off guard by his restraint, I tell him the truth. “I’m not happy with my last fight, okay?” I can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes, so I keep my head down. “I’m trying to forget about what a shitty job I did.”

The other guys sparring in the cage don’t seem to be paying attention, and I say a silent thank-you that they didn’t hear my admission.

Relaxing back in to his chair, Mark says, “Now, we’re getting somewhere, son.”