Page 26

Chapter 26

Impulse

Parker

“Stay down, bitch”.

My opponent throws a combo of punches that I manage to duck and then block, right before he takes my head off. Brandon says that trash talking is common on the soccer pitch, but trust me, in the cage, it’s a whole new ballgame. Even if we’re just sparring.

Or, to quote Zara, ‘seeing how breakable you are’.

My opponent is a big bastard. Early forties. Bald, tatted, and bearded. I guess that’s why I’ve been partnered with him. It’s common to haze the new guy.

Zara is huddled together with some of the other trainers. Her eyes are locked on me, and she whispers something to her colleague, who looks at me with a smirk.

They think I’m going to quit.

My dad shakes his head. They’re wrong, though, aren’t they, kid?

I arch my back and twist, feinting that I’m going to shoot for a takedown, but instead, I spin, kicking his legs out from under him. He lands on the mat next to me with a thud. I don’t give him a second to react before I grab his arm, hyperextending it as I spin into my most deadly armbar.

He taps straight away. I hold on for just a second longer than necessary to send a message before I release him.

I’m not staying down, bitch. Tell your friends.

He hears me. “Hell of a roll around, kid”, he grins, exposing his black mouthguard. “Just so you know, I was holding back on account of you being new and all”.

“Thanks, sir”. I shake his hand and pull him in closer. “And just so you know, I was holding back on account of you being old and all”.

He bursts out laughing and yells out a whoop. “We got a wild one here, fellas!”

I spit out my guard and chug water. Zara’s shadow looms over me. “Way to put my boys on notice, Di Rossi”.

I fight the grin that threatens to crack my face. Showing my skills is the best way to earn respect. Bragging is the best way to earn enemies. “Thanks for inviting me. It was a good way to blow off some steam”.

“Your cousin told me that’s what you were looking for. An outlet. I’d say it might be more than that”.

“I've been working towards being a fighter my whole life. My dad transitioned into MMA but never had the chance to make it big. Fighting’s in my blood”.

“What kind of training have you had?”

“Not enough”. I tick them off, “Brown belt in judo. I started boxing when I was fifteen. I wrestled in high school, not enough for a scholarship, but I medalled a few times in local tournaments”.

Her mouth flickers. “But aside from that, not much at all. Did you work with a gym?”

“For a year. I had an amateur fight lined up. It didn’t work out”.

“It takes a lot to get kicked out of a gym”. Zara’s tone hardens. “I don’t tolerate any bullshit”.

“Then there’s a few things you should know”, I take a deep breath. “I just got kicked out of college. My family are pissed as hell. I’ve burnt pretty much all my bridges, and last week, I got into a barfight where the cops were called. But this is my dream, and I know I can do it. I know that I can make something of myself. I just need a chance, before it’s too late”.

My dad nods approvingly. Tell ‘em, kid.

“How old are you, Parker?”

“Twenty-one”.

For the first time Zara looks close to a genuine smile, “Twenty-one’s too young for anything to be too late. Listen, there’s a small fight card in a few days. Why don’t you come along and see it firsthand? This shit isn’t for everyone. But you’ve got some raw talent, and if you’re interested, we can talk about you training with us”.

My heart leaps. “Do you mean it?”

“I do”, she pauses. “But until you’ve made up your mind, let’s keep this on the down low. I don’t know how your cousin would feel, and I could live without any drama with Simon”.

“Drama? With Simon?” It was hard to imagine my strictly-business cousin having drama with anyone, especially Zara. Even if they used to be engaged. “What do you mean?”

“He’s just very driven, is all”.

“He’s working super hard”. I offer, remembering our conversation in his office. “Summit is his baby. There’s a lot of competition in the industry right now”.

“The eternal quest for a relationship with The Garrison?” I nod. “I can’t believe he hasn’t let that go”.

“What do you mean?”

“The Garrison is undeniably prestigious. But that doesn’t make them good people. They’re incredibly elitist. They import all of their food, rather than supporting local businesses. But Simon sees it as a benchmark of success”. Zara sighs, “If they accept him, it’ll be like he’s accomplished something. But success doesn’t start and end with being accepted by people who look down on you”.

I may not be a business expert, but I don’t think Simon's in the the wrong for wanting something more for himself. Maybe if they could just see what Summit offered, they’d change their mind.

Maybe they just need someone else to show them.

“I’m going to get started on your paperwork”, Zara interrupts my thoughts, “In the meantime, try not to humble any more of my boys. It’s bad for morale”.

I nod, thrilling from the inside out. I lean against the wall, processing the door that’s just opened for me. This could really be something. Right, Dad?

I catch sight of a guy about my age. Kinda of preppy to be a fighter. Clean shaven, with a blond crew cut. Nice build. I could probably take him, if it came down to it.

My gaze drifts over to his friend. Buzzcut. Two full sleeves. Looks like he lifts. A lot. His friend catches me staring, and I break away immediately. I down a swig of water, and turn my attention to stretching out my hamstrings, heart pounding.

“Watch it, jackass”.

I turn to find myself face to face with a familiar-looking kid. He scowls at me. “Wait, it’s Jack, isn’t it?” The kid from Carlucci’s. “Glad to see you’re okay”.

He shrugs. “I can handle myself”.

“I’m sure. Still. If you’re in a bar, people are going to assume you’re an adult, and treat you like one”. I pause. “Trust me, I’ve been there”.

“I didn’t ask for your advice”. He pushes past me and heads to the punching bags. “And I damn sure wouldn’t take it from someone who goes running from a fight just as it’s getting good”.

I sigh. Great job, Di Rossi. I grab my holdall and head for the door.

I risk a glance back over to the guy with the sleeves. The slap of his knuckles against the leather runs through me like electricity.

My dick twitches, and I jump out of my skin. It’s not just Brandon who can do this to me. It’s other guys too. What does that matter?

Of course it fucking matters.

And I know that, deep down. It’s not like I’ve never thought about other guys before. But everyone does, surely. Don’t they?

Don’t they?

* * * *

Café Mernova is about a fifteen-minute walk from the gym, but by the time I meet Brandon, I’m nearly half an hour late.

I don’t typically ‘brunch’ as a verb, but Brandon looks right at home, cosied up in the corner underneath a dozen novelty clocks. He’s wearing a light black cotton sweater that makes his face look even more defined than usual.

He nods at the cup of black coffee and the remaining half of an unevenly sliced blueberry muffin. “In my defence, I intended to give you a full muffin, but you’re pretty late and I have precisely zero willpower when it comes to baked goods”.

“Good job I arrived when I did”. I side-eye the muffin, feeling ridiculously touched. I’ve been craving a cup of normal black all morning. “Thank-you. I’m impressed you remembered my coffee order”.

“Di Rossi, if I were to forget your coffee order when it’s plain black roast, I’d need an MRI. Another MRI”. He turns his phone facedown. “Frankly, at this point I’m basically one MRI away from a free MRI”.

“How many of those have you had?” I raise my eyebrow, teasingly.

“I’ll never tell. Three”, he adds instantly. He’s adorable when he blushes. And that’s the first time I’ve ever thought about him like that.

“Not that I’d encourage a fourth or we’ll be vibrating home, but what’s your coffee of choice?” I ask. Just in-case I ever need to shout him one back. He flushes slightly, embarrassed. “Come on, it can’t be that bad”. I drop my voice to a scandalised whisper, “If it’s fruit tea, you can tell me. I promise we’ll still be friends”.

“It’s interesting your mind went to fruit tea first…”

“Stop Dodgering me with the threat of social cancellation”.

His fingertips dance on the tabletop. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I can take it”. His eyes are particularly blue today.

“Okay. Pay attention. Firstly, it depends where I go”. Brandon gestures to our surroundings. “In a place like this? An iced cappuccino. No question about it”.

“That’s not exactly controversial, as coffees go”.

“Made with oat milk”.

“Got it”.

“With four pumps of vanilla”, Brandon continues. “Sugar free. That’s very important”.

“ Four?”

“Then a shot of caramel”.

“Thus rendering the sugar-free vanilla completely pointless…”

“Then two sachets of brown sugar”.

“Hang on, as well as the vanilla?”

“Chocolate powder topping”, Brandon carries on like he hasn’t heard me. “ Ideally sieved into the shape of a soccer ball. What ?”

I just stare at him. “How, and I cannot stress this enough, how do you not have diabetes?”

“I thought this was a safe space, Di Rossi”, he sniffs dramatically, “I’m feeling very judged”.

“Carter, you’re basically ordering a dessert. There are less calories in a tiramisu. There can be no justification for muffin-theft if you have to eat your coffee with a spoon and a side of ice-cream”.

He bursts out laughing. It’s so genuine, and warms me from the inside out. It lights up his whole face, and before I know it, I’ve reached across the table and squeezed his hand. His mouth opens in surprise, and I realise my mistake immediately.

My hand releases his like it’s spring loaded.

What was I thinking? I glance up. The elderly couple of across from us smile and nod. A woman in the queue asks the server a question about the ingredients in her smoothie.

I feel like everyone’s staring at me.

“Are you okay?” Brandon asks, quietly.

“I’m fine”.

“Nobody saw anything. We didn’t do anything wrong”.

“I know that”, I say, more sharply than I intend to. Fuck. I take another sip of my coffee. “This coffee’s cold, that’s all”.

“I could order you another. Or, we could go somewhere else”, he suggests, but I’m already pulling my chair back, scraping it across the floor.

“If you like”, I take out twenty bucks and toss it on the table. “Let’s go”.