10. Lincoln
TEN
LINCOLN
“ I told you not to go through with this one,” Andrew said as he shuffled around in the emergency first aid kit. “Silva’s a fucking dirtbag. I knew he would pull something like this.”
“He didn’t pull anything,” I tried to reason.
Okay, maybe besides the headbutting. That was cheap.
Andrew pulled out a pack of steri-strips, slamming the lid close with a little bit more force than necessary. “You’re not getting into the ring with him again.”
A humorless laugh passed through my lips. “You’re acting as if I have much of a say in the matter.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he focused on placing the band-aid over the gash in my eyebrow.
The fucker had gotten me good. Right over an old scar that I had sustained as a kid.
Blood rushed from the small cut while I was in the ring, blurring my vision and painting everything in a wash of red.
Trying to wipe it off my face in the middle of the fight had been a lost cause.
The more I rubbed at my face, the harder it got to see.
Now that I was sitting and not moving around the ring, the blood slowed to a stop, thickening into a new scab.
I leaned back into the brick wall behind me, exhaustion taking its toll.
Heavy rap music vibrated through the ceiling, making my head pound.
The underground change room was no bigger than a walk-in closet.
The air was thick and warm thanks to being next to a boiler room.
I was thankful for the damp towel Andrew had thrown onto my head the moment we got down here.
Water dripped down my spine, creating a cool path that washed away some of the sweat from my body.
“How long do you think the patch-up job is going to be?” I asked as Andrew rubbed some Vaseline onto the bridge of my nose, just like how he’d seen my trainers do it.
“Why?” Andrew bit out. “You have someplace to go?”
“I have to go grab Sadie from Cali’s dorm.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Andrew said as he wiped his fingers off on a discarded towel. “You want to give the poor girl nightmares?”
“Who? Sadie or Cali?”
A hint of a smile appeared on Andrew’s face. “Cali, of course. Sadie is too much of a badass to be scared off by your ugly mug.”
She was. While my mom and I did the best we could to try and hide her from the ugliness of my job, Sadie had witnessed what I could look like after a fight.
I eventually grew tired of avoiding her for days at a time, waiting for bruising and cuts to disappear.
I never explained to her why I’d come home all banged up.
How the hell was a three-year-old meant to understand?
I didn’t want her to understand. To witness how shit life could be.
The first few times she’d seen me after a street fight, she would ask what happened.
She was your typical, curious preschooler, after all.
But I guess the recurring response of her big brother being clumsy eventually stuck.
The marks I carried around with me didn’t phase her anymore. She accepted it, just like I had.
“I thought you said I should be a model?” I pressed, trying to keep the tone light. The thought of my best friend getting frustrated with me over my lifestyle cut deep.
Especially considering I had no choice. I had made a deal with the devil, and now I was forced to live with it.
Andrew huffed. “Not at the rate you’re going, Rambo.”
The two of us fell silent after that. The only sound came from the thumping of the music upstairs. It reminded me of where I was, even with the fuzzy feeling that was clouding my mind.
“How about you go pick her up then?”
Andrew stiffened at the question. “I’m not leaving you here. If anything, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
I shook my head, ignoring the dizziness I was feeling. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Andrew muttered. “You sure don’t look it.”
Giving myself a moment, I closed my eyes, leaning my head back again. I swallowed, bile rising to my throat.
Nausea after a fight wasn’t unusual for me.
Once the edge of adrenaline wore off, it occasionally set in.
But this time, I was hoping that the nausea was from the aftermath of the fight and not from a possible concussion.
Grabbing the bottle beside me, I sprayed some water into my mouth, welcoming the stray drops that landed on my chin. I needed to pull myself together.
The heavy door to the change room creaked open on rusty hinges. I didn’t have to look over to see who it was. Thick, calloused hands clapped together, the thunderous sound causing me to squeeze my eyes shut.
“Well done, boy,” Claudio slurred as he stepped into the already too-small space. “I’m not going to lie. I had my doubts for a moment there.”
I fixed a bitter smile on my face, rolling my head to peer at him. “Glad to know you have faith in me, Father.”
My sperm donor’s face split into a shit-eating grin.
I was convinced he enjoyed seeing me like this.
Beaten. Vulnerable. Broken. Who was I kidding?
It didn’t matter what I looked like as long as I made him money.
Money he could use to feed his addictions.
As long as I was fighting in his corner of the ring, he was content.
I still remembered the evening he stumbled through the front door, demanding we pay him rent for living in his house. My mother was heavily pregnant with Sadie, and I had just received my acceptance letter to Fenton. Things were looking up until that night.
He told me about the Pit, an underground fight ring below Fenton’s campus. It was the only way he’d leave my family alone.
Claudio pulled a hand out of his pocket and flicked a wad of bills at my feet. If he spared me a couple hundred, I could only imagine what he was keeping for himself. “Your next match is Thursday.”
I said nothing else as he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him.
“Pass me my phone.” I held a blind hand out towards Andrew.
Without question, he shuffled around in my locker. The clanking of thin metal vibrating around the room added to the pressure in my head.
“Thanks,” I muttered when the smooth material met my palm.
Unlocking it, I navigated through the contacts section with squinted eyes and hoped I had enough reception. I squeezed my left eye shut. Damn, the brightness fucking hurt.
“Hello?” Cali’s voice emitted through the speaker.
I swallowed again, trying to mask the pain spreading through my temple. “Hey, how’s Sadie doing?”
“She’s doing great. We’re currently playing a video game on Harper’s computer. She seems to be enjoying it.”
I nodded despite her not being able to see me. “Listen,” I said, leaning forward, head in my hand. “I need a favor.”
“Something else to add to your ever-growing list of things to keep you indebted to me?” she mused.
“Yeah.” I gingerly pinched the bridge of my nose before wincing. “I won’t be able to come and grab Sadie. Can you bring her home? My mom should be back from work by now. She can take Sadie from you.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t have a car seat.”
That was the goodie-goodie response I should have expected from someone like Cali.
“Just don’t drive like an idiot, and you won’t get caught.”
Silence came from the other end of the line. I was about to add that Andrew didn’t have a car seat when he drove Sadie and me home, but I didn’t have to.
“I don’t think Ella would mind me borrowing her car. It shouldn’t be a problem,” she said slowly. I could hear the cogs turning in her head. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll text you the address, okay?”
Before she could probe me with questions, I ended the call. Andrew was back with the newly wet towel. He pressed the cold cotton to the back of my neck.
“How much longer until she finds out about all of this?” he said. “She’s not stupid. ”
Unfortunately.
Cali was far from oblivious. She was bright and good—just some of the reasons why she was going to crush this master’s program she was trying to get into.
She had so much lined up for her. So many opportunities that she worked her ass off for.
The last thing I wanted was to drag another person down with me.
It was bad enough that Andrew was involved.
That was the negative side to having a loyal best friend.
He wouldn’t allow me to go through this alone.
But that was where I drew the line. No one else could be brought into this mess.
I wouldn’t allow it. Especially not someone as squeaky clean as Calista.
I moved the towel from behind my neck to my forehead, blocking out Drew’s concerned expression.
“She isn’t going to.”