7. Wolf
Two months later (February, Spring Semester)
Why the fuck did I come out here? I wonder to myself for the tenth time since I got to this party. When my trainer, Jedd, invited me to his new gym for the grand opening, I thought there would be sponsors, trainers, and athletes mingling over cheap vodka in the name of celebration. I didn’t expect a goddamn rave in the middle of the training center.
Maybe rave is an exaggeration, but blinking neon lights decorate the ceiling like some fucked up Christmas movie, and there’s no doubt drugs are being passed out like appetizers. I don’t do this shit; I train, fight, and leave my MMA persona in the octagon. My bloody knuckles may follow me out the door, but I leave the lifestyle of partying to people who want to live in that space.
I don’t like people; as a rule, I avoid them unless they’re a client, an opponent, or one of the five people I trust. Promotional events hold all the appeal of a root canal without lidocaine or being punched in the face by a two-hundred-pound wall of muscle.
I’d rather be home, working on the piece for my client on Sunday, or in the bar down the street from my shop, drinking a locally brewed IPA with Trent and Aubrey. I’d rather be anywhere but here, surrounded by people desperate for fame and money or fighters looking to start some bullshit feud for marketing.
Sipping on my club soda, I lean against the cinder block wall and watch as people form pods, talking over each other in the name of business. My eyes catch on bright pink on the opposite side of the room, and I groan, sinking back into the wall to try and make myself as small as possible. Fucking hell, I should have known she’d be here.
I wince as soon as the beautiful, pink-haired she-devil spots me and practically sprints over to me. If this were a game of hide-and-seek, I’d lose. I struggle to hide my scowl as she approaches, but it’s no use. Her dark eyes narrow; eyes I once found captivating but now just bother the shit out of me.
My mom calls them lying eyes, and she’s not wrong.
“Hi, Wolf.”
I nod. “Kelly.”
Her lips turn down, a frown marring her beautiful, vindictive face. “What, no hello?”
I sigh, shaking my head. “You expect me to say hello to you after the shit you put me through? Where’s Gage?”
She has the good sense to look sheepish, faux embarrassment dotting her cheeks. Kelly and I dated for two years, and I thought we had a good thing, something that could last. CeCe was wary of Kelly from the start, warning me that she was with me for clout and social media followers. I dismissed that idea like a goddamn fool.
As soon as I announced my impending retirement, Kelly left. She packed up the shit in the house we shared—the house I paid for—and immediately started dating Gage, a prick from the gym with a mean right hook and an even shittier attitude. He’s predicted to win the welterweight title, and that’s all Kelly needed to shift her interest from me to him.
“He’s speaking with one of his sponsors. How are you doing?”
“Do you care?”
“Wolf,” she gasps. I can’t stop my eye roll in response. “You know I care. I just have dreams. Dreams bigger than being a small-town artist’s girlfriend.”
“I have a two-year-long waitlist and tattoo some of the biggest names in the tri-state area, but fuck me, right?” I murmur, shaking my head. It’s the same excuse she gave me when she left. “Someone like me deserves to be seen. I can’t support a starving artist on my Instagram sponsorships,” she’d told me right before she drove off in her little pink Audi. I would have been upset if her comments hadn’t made me so fucking angry.
“Listen, I don’t want to fight with you. Have a good night. Say hi to Gage.” Pushing off the wall, I down my drink, wishing it was something stronger than carbonated water, and set my glass down on the cocktail table beside me. Without sparing Kelly another glance, I walk to the center of the room where Jedd holds court like a king. Kelly’s sputters and unjustified outrage follow me as I walk away from her and the bullshit her presence brings.
I’m stopped in my retreat by a booming voice to my right. “Wolf fucking McCleery, you fucking giant. How you doing?”
“Hey, Johnny,” I respond, turning to offer my hand to the energy drink promoter I’ve known since I began training with Jedd.
“What’s this shit I hear? You’re retiring? No, man, that’s got to be a mistake. Blue Grizzly needs their fucking top athlete to keep selling their shit.” Johnny’s grip on my hand tightens. He may be strong, but his grip is infantile compared to mine.
“No, man, not a mistake. I need these hands to create my art. You know that’s always been my end game.” I emphasize my point by squeezing his palm until he winces and finally releases my hand.
“Fucking hell, Wolf. What are you thinking? You’ve got a shot at the heavyweight title this year, and you’re going to throw it away for goddamn tattoos? Did you take one too many hits to the fucking head?”
I feel my jaw clench. I’m so sick of this question. I love MMA, jiu-jitsu, and the financial freedom it’s afforded me, but I’m done with the rigorous training, the early mornings and late nights, watching every single piece of food that goes into my mouth. And I don’t need Johnny, or anyone else in this room, questioning my decision.
Johnny’s face grows red, no doubt concerned at my sudden hostility. Good, prick.
“What I’m thinking is that I’m retiring from this sport and living my life away from assholes who don’t know when to quit. Have a good night.” Offering a nod, I brush past Johnny, purposely clipping his shoulder with my arm. I smirk as he stumbles back, muttering about “asshole fighters” under his breath as I keep walking.
Finally making it to the center of the room, I throw an arm around Jedd, not giving a shit that I’m interrupting his conversation. The older man looks up, a bright smile decorating his face when he realizes it’s me.
“Christ, McCleery, ye gave me a feckin’ heart attack,” Jedd says in his deep Irish brogue. Originally from Cork, my trainer came to the States in the eighties and has been terrorizing fighters ever since.
“Like anything could kill you, old man.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Listen, I’m going to head out. I have some clients in the morning and need to work on their sketches.”
“What, club Farrell not good enough for ye?” He pauses to look around at the lights and cocktail tables decorating the walls, wincing slightly when he catches a string of balloons tied to the ropes on one of the rings.
“Feckin’ hell, I’m gonna eat Lauren’s head for this. I told her this was an event for fighters and promoters, and she’s made it into a bloody sweet sixteen.”
“She means well, but listen, I need to go before fucking Johnny comes over to talk to me again.”
Jedd’s face darkens, disgust and contempt written on his features. “A feckin’ chancer, he is. Go before ye use his body to wipe the scuff marks off the floor. But listen—” He hesitates, looking back toward the group of men I interrupted. He leans in, lowering his voice until it’s barely a whisper. “Come by tomorrow after yer appointments. I need ye to take a look at Gage’s form. Something’s off with him, but I need yer opinion.”
Shaking my head, I try to push away, but his arm is locked tight around my neck. “You know I can’t be objective when it comes to him. He throws a punch, and I’m going to say it’s shit because he is. Ask someone else.”
“No, boy. Yer the best fighter this gym has. I respect the decision to retire. I think it’s damn smart to go out on the top of yer career, but I still need yer help. Come by, check his training, and then come for supper upstairs. I know the missus will be happy to see ye.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jedd. Don’t throw Miriam into the mix; you know I can’t say no to her.”
“She’ll make biscuits.”
“You play dirty. Fine, I’ll be here around five. I need to—” I’m cut off by the vibration of my phone in my pocket. “Let me check this,” I tell Jedd before pulling it out and frowning at my cousin’s name on the display.
“C, what’s wrong? Aren’t you in Connecticut this weekend?” Celeste wanted to come with me tonight since she used to train with Jedd, but her asshole of a boyfriend decided to take her to Connecticut with Ava and her equally douchey guy to spend a weekend meeting celebrities or some shit.
I know my cousin loves him, and he seems to respect her and treat her right, but he follows her around like a goddamn stalker. I’d be concerned if she didn’t seem to love it.
“Wolf, are you free?” Celeste’s voice is panicked, and anger instantly boils beneath my skin.
“What the fuck did he do to you? I swear to God, I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he hurt you. Where—”
“Not me, Wolf, Serena. She, she—” CeCe pauses, clearing her throat. “She stayed behind, said she didn’t want to be the fifth wheel or impose. Aves and I begged her to come with us, but the sorority she just pledged had a mixer with a fraternity tonight, and she wanted to go. Sh-she promised she would be okay.” CeCe’s voice breaks, and my anger is pushed aside for fear of what she’s going to say next.
“Dylan showed up and said or did something. I don’t really know. But something happened, and that little fucking weasel caused it. Her big just called me and told me that Serena locked herself in the bathroom, and no one can get her out. She doesn’t know what to do or who else to call to help get Serena to calm down. C-can you go and get her?”
“Send me the address.” After trading a few more words with my cousin, I hang up and grip my phone so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
“Wolf, everything okay, son?” Looking up, I meet Jedd’s eyes and shake my head.
“That was my cousin. Her friend’s in trouble and needs some help.” I don’t know if she’s going to come out for me—I met her twice, and though I gave her a delicate little tattoo and had her lips planted against mine for a brief moment, her reaction before leaving was frosty both times. But, if she, or any woman, is in trouble because some punk decided to harass her, then I’ll make damn sure she’s safe.
“Off with ye then. And don’t forget about tomorrow.” I nod at Jedd’s retreat and take long strides to the entrance of the gym.
No one fucks with an innocent woman and gets away with it.
No one.