9. Chapter Nine
Diesel
Ryan: Got the green light from Front Range Combat. They want you on next month’s card. Talked to Tiernan. He’s on board. This is the real deal, you ready? I’m talking to Brawlers Bar and Grill about a sponsorship. They’re definitely interested. Just need your sign-off.
My agent sent this text yesterday. I still haven’t replied, and I need to do it soon. This deal is not going to last forever. So why aren’t I jumping on this opportunity? This is everything I’ve been working toward.
I’ve been up since four. Drinking far too much coffee and contemplating my life choices. Micah’s still asleep, and knowing him, he’ll stay that way for at least a few hours. He’s definitely not a morning person. I’m not either, except for today, apparently.
I have no idea what’s holding me back, but I get this way every time.
This isn’t the first offer I’ve had, but I always wait until the last minute to respond, and by then the opportunity has moved on to another fighter.
Like Anvil. I told myself that Anvil needed that spot more than I did.
But did he? And he didn’t look back. Took the spot and ran with it.
Never said a word to me, never asked for permission.
Just took what he wanted without a backward glance. As if that’s allowed.
I wish I could do that. Be that selfish. I wish I could be selfish about Micah. I want everything with him. All of it. But the friends-with-benefits thing we have going is the best I can hope for at this point. I’m not the kind of guy you stick with long-term.
I get up, dumping my cold coffee down the drain, then starting another pot because I need something to do with my hands. No thought required.
I love the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Maybe I’ll grab a cup for Pops. He’s been out there working on that old Nova of his since five.
Now there’s a morning person for ya. I haven’t seen that man sleep in late more than a dozen times in my entire life, and when he did, it was because he was sick. Pops has always been rock-solid.
I grab another mug and fill it up, adding a splash of vanilla creamer. I take both mugs and head out the side door. Living right next to my folks took some adjustment, but there’s always been more pros than cons.
“Morning, Pops.”
“You’re up early, son. What’s on your mind?
” he asks, sliding out from under the old Nova he’s been “fixing-up” since he retired.
Mom and I aren’t sure this thing will ever run, but he seems to be enjoying himself, so we’ve let it be.
Mom doesn’t want him hanging around in the house all day.
She likes a little alone time, especially in the morning.
“Does there have to be something on my mind? Maybe I was bringing you coffee.”
“Humf. Okay, we can pretend that’s the case if you want.”
I hand him his cup of coffee, and he takes it with a grateful sigh.
“Oh, this is perfect,” he says after his first big sip. “Your mother took away my creamer. Says it’s bad for my health.”
“Oh shit! Sorry, Pops.” I reach for his coffee, but he pulls it out of the way.
“Now, now. I don’t tell your mother everything. Well, most things but not this. You sit yourself down and tell me why you’re up this damn early. Is it Micah?”
“Micah? Why would you say that?”
“I got eyes, don’t I? It’s like you think we were never young, son. I see how you look at him.”
“Jesus, Pops. You don’t have to make it sound as if it’s something it’s not.”
My face heats, and sweat beads on my forehead.
“Oh, you’re not head over heels for that young man?” He raises an eyebrow in my direction.
Damn. Am I that obvious? Now I’ve got two things to stress about. Does Micah know? I’m screwed.
“Don’t even try and deny it,” he tells me with an amused grin.
“Does Mom know?”
“Are you kidding? Who do you think told me?”
“Oh God! This is terrible. You can’t say anything, Pops. Not a word. He can’t know.”
“Hmm and why can’t he know exactly?”
I don’t give him a snarky reply because I have manners, but I kind of want to.
“It’s complicated. You’ve met him. He’s got issues with trust and he’s been hurt bad in the past. Growing up wasn’t good for him. Not like it was for me. He needs time, Pops. I simply need to be patient until he’s ready.”
“Uh-huh. Ready, huh. When do you think that will be?”
“No idea. I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
Pops sips his coffee for a few minutes in silence, and I brace myself for some incoming advice. Probably something that’s gonna hurt, but I still need to hear it. Pops’ advice is like that. Sometimes painful, but usually necessary and always backed with love.
“You know, I knew my Morning Glory was the one five minutes after I met her,” he says with that soft look he gets whenever he’s talking about Mom.
I get it. I want that someday too. “But your mom, she wasn’t so sure.
Took me quite a bit of time to talk her round to my way of thinking. Almost lost her.”
“What? You never told me that.”
“Well, you didn’t need to know. Now you do.” Pops runs his hand over his head. Yeah, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this house. At least he’s still got some hair left.
“I hesitated. That’s where I messed up. She thought I wasn’t serious. I thought I was being patient but I was just being scared.”
“I’ve never seen you be afraid of anything, Pops.”
“Well, then you aren’t lookin’ too close, are ya? Everybody gets scared. That’s just human nature.”
“And you think that I’m afraid? With Micah?”
“Son, if you don’t go after what you want, it’s a guarantee you won’t get it. Sure, it’s a risk, but that’s life. Staying safe is easy. Comfortable. But then you never get to move forward. Waiting’s not the same as patience. I hope you don’t find that out too late. God knows I almost did.”
“Our situation isn’t the same, Pops.”
“Okay. Well, I’m sure you’d know better than me. I do wonder though.”
“Wonder what?”
“What Micah thinks about the situation.”
“I have no idea, Pops.”
“Exactly.”
It’s a quiet ride to the gym this morning. Micah keeps glancing over as if he’s checking on me. There are so many things to say, and yet I remain silent.
“If you don’t go after what you want, it’s a guarantee you won’t get it.” Pops’ words echo through my brain, and my stomach churns with every repetition.
“Everything okay, big guy?” Micah’s voice is cautious. I try for a smile to reassure him.
“All good. Got a lot on my mind.”
“I’m a good listener.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Fine. Maybe not with everyone but apparently, you’re the exception. Who knew?”
He sounds chagrined, and that’s so completely Micah that I can’t stop a huge grin from forming.
“What? Don’t read anything into it, Troy. I’m only being a good friend here,” he says in a slightly defiant tone, but the curve of his lips tells me he’s more amused than grumpy. I can work with that.
Since I can’t seem to talk about my feelings, I decide to share my career news.
“Got a text from my agent the other day. FRC wants to put me on the card for next month’s match.”
“FRC? And who exactly are they?”
“Front Range Combat. Professional match.”
“Sweet! That’s fucking cool! Congrats, man!”
“It’s pretty cool, I guess.”
“Oh no, my guy. You do not sound happy. Why not? Are they screwing you over on money or something?”
“What? No, of course not. I mean it’s my first match. It probably won’t be much of a purse, especially after everyone gets their cut.”
“Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit. Why even do it then?”
“Because it gets much better the more you fight. Take Suerte. He’s been a pro for a few years now, and he fights about four times a year. He’s doing well enough that he quit bouncing at the club. Got himself a cool loft not too far from the gym.”
“Alright, what’s up with the attitude?”
“I have attitude?”
“For you, this is a definite attitude.”
By now, we’re both grinning.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“Hey! I didn’t say you were in any way as good at it as I am, but I can see the potential here.” He grins while waving a hand in my direction. Smart ass.
“So much sass.”
“Whatever, you love it. Now you better spill because I’m not letting you get away with this avoidance thing you’ve got going on here.”
I look away deliberately, not meeting his gaze as I run my hand over my head. None of it helps. I grip the steering wheel, trying to come up with a reason not to talk about this, but I’ve got nothing. Micah waits patiently until finally he takes pity on me.
“Is it because you’re scared?” Micah asks carefully.
“In a way, but not exactly,” I say, avoiding a direct answer.
“Okay. Is it because you might lose?”
I snort.
“No. Not even a little. I’ve fought this guy before and I’m better. I can take him.”
“Okay. So the real problem is what then?” he asks, with more patience than I expect from him.
“What if I win?” I say softly.
“You’re gonna have to explain why that’s a problem since I kind of thought that was the whole point?”
I don’t answer right away because we’re at the gym and I take a second to pull in and park. I am absolutely not stalling. Maybe. We sit for a minute before I’m able to articulate my thoughts.
“It’s not that I’m afraid to win, exactly. It’s just that every time something good comes along, I can’t seem to reach out and grab it. As if something inside of me says no, you don’t get to have good things. You know what? Never mind. I mean who’s afraid of winning? Right?”
Micah eyes me for a moment before leaning toward me with an almost gleeful look.
“Oh, hell no! There’s no never mind here, big guy. You opened the can of worms so now we’re going fishing.”
That would be funny if I didn’t feel as if I’m under a microscope right now.
The churning in my stomach intensifies because the last thing I want is to sound like an idiot in front of Micah.
But I also don’t want him to think I’m blowing him off.
I sift through my brain to find the words to make him understand without putting all my insecurities on display.
“Did you know that Anvil got my pro spot last time? I could have had it. But I let it go.”
“You let him have it, didn’t you?” Micah asks.
I roll my shoulders. It’s hard to do this sitting still. I’d rather be hitting the bag while we talk about how I fucked up my life. Words always come easier when I’m moving.
“I wouldn’t say that I let him have it. More like I didn’t pursue it. And he went for it. No holding back. Just full speed ahead. No guilt. No apologizing. He took what he wanted.”
Micah has twisted himself around in the front of my truck so he’s actually facing me now. He’s looking at me with disconcerting intensity, those pretty lips of his pursed as if he’s eaten a lemon.
“Are you afraid to want things, Troy? Things just for you?” Micah asks with an unusual amount of gravity.
My head comes up, my eyes widening as I catch his gaze. He gets a funny look on his face before he reaches out and squeezes my thigh, leaving his hand there, warm against my bare skin. Suddenly, telling him the truth doesn’t seem nearly as difficult as it did a few minutes ago.
“Maybe I am.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
Micah’s hand slides across my leg in a comforting caress. I wrap it in mine, and he doesn’t pull away. Maybe we’re all making progress today.
“Well, you know what they say in AA? The first step is admitting you have a problem. Look at us winning.”
Micah grins as I burst out laughing. But now he’s smiling and I’m finally clear on what I need to do.
I grab my phone and pull up Ryan’s text message. Micah releases my hand, sitting back in his seat while I type up a text to Ryan and hit send before I can overthink it.
Diesel: Count me in. I’m ready.