Chapter 3
Cade
“Thanks again for letting me stay. It won’t be for long.”
“It’s cool,” Kassidy states, driving her mom’s Toyota down to the fish shack. “My parents are hardly ever home, so I doubt they’ll even notice.” Eyes flicking to me in the passenger seat, she continues, “Are you okay?”
I didn’t say a word when I showed up at her door, and immediately, Kassidy’s gaze fell on my bleeding hands. She seemed to understand that I wasn’t in a position to talk. Now, though, after some time has passed and the wounds on my bones have finally congealed, she presses.
“Is it your uncle? I’ve seen him during my shifts at my aunt’s tavern. He has a bit of a temper. Are you—”
“I don’t really want to talk about it, Kas. He’s—” What? What is he? “Just family.”
I think she got the hint, if her silence is anything to go by. That’s how the rest of the drive continues, quiet. It isn’t until we are no more than a few miles away that Kassidy speaks out again, tears stuck in her throat.
“She’s there, right? You think she’s there…” I don’t want to feed her false hope and tell her that she is, but how do I crush her when she’s already barely hanging on by a thread?
“I want her to be.” It’s the best I can do.
I hold on to that belief until the drive ends, repeating it beneath my breath as Kassidy and I step from the vehicle onto the densely packed field.
“Shit,” she mutters, “it’s crowded tonight.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Twisting, she stares blankly into my eyes. “You.”
Taking off in the opposite direction from the shop, Kassidy disappears into the trees. Instead of following her and trampling over their secret spots, I dive into the crowd, avoiding eyes while searching for Clara’s perky, blonde head.
“Cade! Cade! Cade!”
My name is shouted and cheered throughout the abandoned barn-style shack. I can sense their excitement, but the energy that would typically make my skin come alive, especially after the shit with my uncle, feels like maggots beneath my flesh.
Fighting off the hands that shove me toward the ring, I pull a folded Missing Persons flyer from my pocket and thrust it into everyone’s faces. “Have you seen her?” I ask. “Have you seen Clara?”
I’m met with nothing but no’s, shrugs, and confused looks.
“She’s always with me,” I go on to explain, but no one is interested in my frenzied words.
All anyone seems to want—scratch that—all anyone seems to fucking care about is me getting in that fucking ring.
Who gives a fuck about a missing girl when there’s money to be made, right?
Who gives a fuck about my fucking missing best friend! ?
Frustrated and on the verge of fucking killing someone, I charge through the hoard, ramming everyone in my fucking way out.
With anxiety high and rage through the fucking roof, I press my spine against the wall where I was blown only a little over a month ago.
Weeks! Shit! It’s been six weeks since we started doing this.
It feels like a fucking lifetime ago.
Unable to catch my breath, I slide down the wall, head cradled tightly in my hands.
Through the pounding in my skull, I listen to footsteps crunching over rocks, stopping only inches away. “Not fighting tonight?”
Without even lifting my head, I growl, “Fuck off.”
His laughter is light and carefree, no farther away than it was a second ago.
“Did I fucking stutter?” I snarl again, this time lifting my head and rising quickly enough to close the distance. “Fuck off.”
This guy, whoever the fuck he is, doesn’t move an inch. He doesn’t flinch at my teeth in his face or back away as my shoulders begin to shake. This ballsy little shit, dressed in too-nice clothes for a midnight brawl, smiles instead.
“I don’t mean to offend,” he says quietly, “but what a shame it would be for you to waste the opportunity of my time.”
“Yeah? And why is that?” Creating distance, I throw my spine back against the wall, taking in the wide-eyed stranger.
The more I glare, the more familiar his features become.
I’ve seen his perfectly styled, caramel-colored hair outside of the ring.
He watches me with a handheld camcorder at his sternum.
No one else ever seemed to notice, but I thought it was strange.
“You film me,” I confront. “You get off on that? Jack off to me fighting?”
“No,” he chuckles, lighting a cigarette. “But I know people who will. In fact,” he pauses, blowing smoke into the breeze, “I have someone really interested in your skills. Have you ever thought of going pro?”
The blood rushing around my head suddenly stops, and everything else freezes along with it. I take in this stranger again. His perfectly styled hair, unblemished features, and clothes that appear brand-new. He doesn’t look like the others from around here. He looks legit. He looks… real.
“Who are you?”
Taking a final puff of his cigarette, he pulls a card from his back pocket.
Bruno Mercado.
Athletic Scout.
I read his information over and over until the words blurred like the dream I believe this to be. “Scout?” I mumble. “You’ve… been scouting me?”
Crushing the burning ember beneath his clean leather shoe, Bruno responds, “Absolutely. I heard there was a great talent out in Henson, and I thought, there’s no way, and yet, here you are, in the middle of fucking nowhere.
” He pauses for a moment, eyes raking over me.
“How lucky it is that I found you, right? I mean, who would look for you here?”
Overwhelmed, I can’t even process his statement before he asks, “So, are you interested? Or did you waste my time?”
“Yes!” My answer is immediate. “Yes! Yes. I’m interested.”
“Excellent!” Bruno shouts, face lighting up with joy. “As great as it would have been to get some extra footage of you for my boss, I think we have enough. Why don’t you meet me here tomorrow night? I’ll have him with me, and you can meet him. What do you say?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be here. No question.”
Smiles. “Wonderful.” Bruno turns to leave, only to stop before taking a step. “What was that flyer you were shoving toward people?”
Shit. Clara.
“My friend, um—” I stop, pulling out her poster from my pocket. “She’s missing. I was hoping someone had seen her.”
“And have they?” Bruno asks, gently plucking the paper from my fingers.
“No.”
He’s silent as his eyes roam over her face, expressionless. “Hmm, shame,” he finally utters, handing the paper back. “She was beautiful.”
Kassidy and I searched all night. If we found anyone wandering the roads, we stopped and begged them to look at Clara’s face.
No one wanted to, and if they did, no one recognized her.
This town is fucking small. Not many people in the middle of fucking nowhere.
How did no one know her? How did no one see her?
These questions kept us up all night. It was only when the sun rose that Kassidy called it quits. “Let’s go home,” she whispered, exhausted and swollen with tears. She leaned on me for support as we made our way back to her car and fell asleep almost immediately once her head hit the seat.
I used the silence of the drive to think not only of Clara but also of my interaction with Bruno. Pulling his card out of my pants, I go over his information again, setting it on the wheel so I can stare without crashing.
“Why don’t you meet me here tomorrow night?”
A laugh bubbles past my lips, but I do everything in my power to keep it contained for Kassidy’s sake. The last thing she needs to hear from me is joy. But fuck… I can’t fucking believe it!
I almost punch the roof of the car, scream into the wind, and drive off into the sunrise, shouting that I fucking did it!
Fuck you, Dad! I fucking did it!
Screw you, Uncle Dalton! I’m gonna fucking make it!
Mom… Mom, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna make you proud.
Those thoughts keep me going until night falls. Even in my sleep, I can only think of proving everybody wrong—of showing the world that I’m the best fucking fighter to come out of nothing. They’ll see. They’ll all fucking see when I’m on the big screen.
Kassidy, still lying on the bed with her blankets tucked up to her ears, asks, “Where are you going?”
Sitting on the floor, pressed against the corner of her bed, I lace up my shoes. “I just have an errand to run, but I’ll be back. We can go back out there and look some more when I return. Yeah?”
“Okay,” she agrees, tears still falling. I don’t think they’ve stopped. At least the red scarring indicates they haven’t. “Cade.”
“Yeah?” I halt outside her bedroom doorframe, turning back with one hand on the wall.
“Be safe.”
I know she’s worried because Clara didn’t come back, but I’ll be fine. Still, “I will. Be back soon.” And then I’m gone.