Page 43

Chapter 43

Remember Me

Parker

I grit my teeth as Zara’s roundhouse kick slams me into the unforgiving steel of the cage wall. Her heel clips my shoulder. I shrug it off like it’s nothing.

This must be how my dad felt .

Zara follows up with a series of relentless blows designed to make me cover up. I throw a couple of low kicks, forcing her to keep her distance, as I duck out of reach and circle into the centre where we can trade punches.

“Good!” Zara yells, “Work to your strengths. Don’t get taken into the corners. Make him play your game. Matty, take over”.

Matt replaces Zara and I quickly level him with a short one-two punch. “Like that?” I hold out my hand and haul him to his feet.

“Just like that”. She smacks me on the back, which is Zara-speak for ‘good job’. “Call a time-out, Jeff, for God’s sakes. While I can still have some fighters left”. The timekeeper ironically blows his whistle, and I bounce off the balls of my feet.

“One day to go”, Zara spits out her mouthguard. “You good?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“It’s the best I’ve seen you”. A ridiculous flush of pride hits me. See Dad? “You were ice cold at the weigh ins. It’s okay to look like you’re enjoying it”.

“I am”. I’m literally getting everything I ever wanted. That takes some getting used to. “I just want to win”.

Tank is no pushover, but beating him is the first step in making a name for myself. “About tomorrow”, Zara squats down. “I make it a point to never get involved in the personal lives of my fighters. But your friend can’t come”.

It takes a split second to realise who she means. “Brandon?”

“Don’t give me that look. I don’t care what he is to you. Rumours follow him around like fleas on a mongrel. We don’t need those eyes on you. Not so early in your career”.

I can’t speak. “Only two things count in this world, Parker. Your reputation, and your win record. Right now, you don’t have either”. Raised voices filter through the gym from outside in the street. “Damn. Jack, again”.

“I’ll go”. I disappear, grateful for an escape route.

* * * *

I pull on a shirt and head outside, almost getting knocked down by a furious-looking Jack as he storms by. He shrugs me off and stomps inside, slamming the door behind him.

A stressed-out, middle-aged woman calls after him. “This isn’t negotiable, Jack! One hour maximum, then homework. Your finals aren’t going to barely pass themselves”.

She turns to me. “Do you think he absorbed any of that?”

“Absolutely”, I grin, “Every word. Everything okay?”

“If you count talking a seventeen year old into seeing basic common sense okay, then yes, everything’s great”. She wipes her hands on her jacket. “I’m Genevieve. You must be Parker. Jack—when he actually speaks—only talks about you, and this place”.

“Jack talks about me?” My gaze lands on the now-slammed door. “All lies, I promise”.

“If you managed a conversation, I’d say he likes you better than most”. She hesitates. “Zara told me that you’d contributed to Jack’s fees. I can’t tell you how grateful I am”.

“You didn’t tell him, I hope?” She shakes her head. “Don’t. The gym is a great place to blow off steam”.

“Jack lost his father last year”. Something rips me inside out and back again. “His mother’s not in the picture. He mentioned you’d given him some good advice”.

“I just talk to him like a normal person”. A highlight reel plays through my mind. The principal’s office. My mom laying into me. My dad placating her, his words filtering through the closed doors. I remember them from then, and repeat them now. “The way you talk to kids is the way that they talk to themselves”.

“That’s very true”. Genevieve sighs. “It can be scary for a kid, even one who pretends he doesn’t need anyone, on that path to adulthood. How long have you been studying social care?”

“Oh, I’m not a student”. I correct her, with a laugh, “I work at Summit. My dad did a lot of community work. I guess some of it rubbed off on me”.

“It’s rare we find someone able to speak to kids on their own level. Particularly young men. The problem is that they have nowhere to go. They finish school, age out of care, and then what?”

“I really don’t think I did anything”.

“You’d be surprised”, she touches my arm warmly. Like a mom would. “You’re making more of a difference than you realise”.

* * * *

“It sucks, but Zara’s right”, Brandon says firmly.

“I thought you’d be on my side”, I grumble. It’s late in the afternoon, and this queue isn’t moving. I managed to coax Jack into attending his study group by promising that he could come and watch my match. Hopefully Genevieve’s cool with it.

“I’m on the side of whoever’s making sure you don’t get your ass kicked in the middle of a locked cage”. Brandon pauses. “There was another reporter here today”.

“What?” I grip the phone tightly, “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I handled it. Like a man”.

“What did that look like?”

“Hiding in the bathroom. Just another day in the life of the Artful Dodger”. I have missed his voice. “It’s almost enough to make a guy…”

“Make a guy, what?”

“Come out. Publicly. I never thought I’d need to. Figured by the time I turned pro, shit like this wouldn’t matter anymore. Now I just want to say it, then it’s out there. And if that’s all anyone can talk about, so be it”.

“That’s pretty huge”. My voice grazes the speaker.

“I know. But it’s not just about me”.

“Please don’t tell me you’re basing your decision off what Chief Douche-Lord might say”. The woman in-front of me turns and gives me a disapproving look, “Because you’re the only person that matters here”.

“I was thinking about you. I don’t need another reason to not see you in person”, he says, in a way that makes me will him to my side. “I’m thinking about my dad too. He’s up for re-election. I don’t want to make things hard for him. Harder. Where are you anyway?”

“Almost home”, I cross my fingers. I’m nearing the front of the queue. “Then an early night before tomorrow. I’ve told you about Jack, right?”

“If by told me about, you mean complained about at length , then yes”.

“It’s been on my mind”, I explain what Genevieve told me about his background. “That’s dumb, right?”

Brandon doesn’t reply. He’s good like that. “With my MMA stuff, I know it’s gonna make my dad proud. That helps me cope. Whenever I miss him, I know that following in his footsteps keeps us connected. I don’t think that Jack has anything like that”.

Brandon’s quiet for a moment. “That’s why you’re doing MMA? For your dad?”

“I told you that”.

“No, I know. But you’re doing it for you too, right?”

“I mean, sure. I guess. What’s the difference?”

“I’m not judging, believe me. My entire life to this point has been some kind of Freudian clusterfuck, but you want to fight because it’s what you want, not just because you think it’s what he wanted for you, right?”

“Of course”, I say, after a moment.

“Parker…”

“Course I do”. I’ve reached the front of the line. “Gotta go. Call you later”.

A smart-looking woman in a brown suit steers me forwards. I take a seat in-front of Senator Carter. His eyes widen with recognition.

“Remember me?” I say, “We need to talk”.

* * * *

My feet barely touch the ground before I’m whisked into a tiny backroom.

“Out!” The Senator commands his staffers. The woman organising the queue gives me a strange look, like maybe she messed up. “What do you want, Parker?”

He’s used to intimidating people, but it doesn’t work on me. I’ve seen him eviscerate people on TV. I watched him in a debate once, running rings around his opponent. He just kept hammering them until they gave up. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me”.

“Remember the boy who’s hell-bent on ruining my son’s future? You’re hard to forget”. His eyes land on the autobiography in my hands, “I assume you’re not here for an autograph”.

“I want to talk about Brandon”, his face clouds over before resettling again. “He doesn’t know I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way”.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

“The tabloid’s favourite senator just pulled a college dropout into a private room in the middle of his book signing and ordered out any witnesses”, I reply calmly. “Isn’t that what you folks call ‘optics’? I’d say I’ve got some leverage”.

I’ve got him there, and he knows it.

His lip twitches in annoyance. “I was right about you”.

I don’t bother to ask him to clarify. Brandon’s dad’s low opinion of me goes back over a decade. “You need to forgive Brandon”.

“What the…”

“Get over it. He needs you. He loves you. For reasons I’ll never understand, he continues to defend you. Pull whatever corrupt behind the scenes shit you have to so the gutter press backs the fuck off him, and then you need to forgive him”.

“ Forgive him for what ?”

“You’ve got me there, because I can’t understand for one second how you can blame him for not telling you about your wife mattress-surfing with…”

“Watch it”, he snaps. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to”. He pauses. “Brandon can’t possibly believe I blame him for my wife’s indiscretions. Why would he think that?”

Is he kidding me?

“Maybe because you told him you did”. I prompt him, “Hamptons. Fireside cabin. Father and Son trip from hell. Ringing a bell?”

“I can’t… I don’t… I’d never say that”. His face twists from anger to confusion and back again. “What journalists? They shouldn’t be coming near my family”.

“They came to Summit”, I’ll be honest, having the Senator as mad as I am about the treatment his son is getting wasn’t on my bingo card for today. “I guess you saw the pictures. Of us”.

“It’s reassuring to know that he still doesn’t listen to me. But then, I never listened to my father either. Maybe if I had…”. His eyes rest on me. “It’s almost as if the conversation we had after his graduation never happened”.

“He doesn’t know about that”.

The Senator looks up in surprise. “Didn’t you tell him?”

“It’d only hurt him”.

“And you’ve done enough of that”.

“Not just me”. A flash passes between us. We both could have done better by Brandon over the years. “But I accept him for who he is. That’s the difference”.

All the air rushes from the room. The Senator sits down heavily. His hand twitches against the knot of his tie. “I wasn’t in a good place on that trip. I certainly don’t blame him for keeping my wife’s affair a secret. He was just a kid”.

Politicians , I think, are good liars .

“My proudest moment as a father was when Brandon trusted me enough to finally tell me who he really is. His sexuality has never been an issue between us. Ever”.

I blink, “You knew he was gay before he told you?”

“Of course I knew, Parker. You think I don’t know my own son?” He runs his hands through his hair. “I knew before he came out, which incidentally, was right after you had done what I knew you’d do, and broke his heart”.

The ways this man can twist things to make them my fault should be put in a textbook and studied. “I found him the morning after he’d been out with you all night. Broken. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I can guess”. He enunciates every word. “It shattered him. You shattered him”.

Do not punch Brandon’s dad. Do not punch Brandon’s dad. Do not punch Brandon’s dad.

“Brandon knows the truth”, I don’t want to get into the Millie of it all right now. “And let’s be honest, your dislike of me goes a lot further back than that night”.

“Because I knew how Brandon felt about you, and I knew you didn’t feel the same way”. The Senator lowers his voice, “Parker, trust me on this. The worst, most violently traumatic experience in the world is to love someone who doesn’t love you back”.

I glance down at the Senator’s autobiography in my hands. It’s open at a picture of him and Brandon’s mom. He’s staring at her in complete adoration, and she’s looking right at the camera. “I didn’t want that for him. I still don’t”.

“But that’s the thing”, I say softly. “I do. Love him back”.

That stops him. He opens his mouth then closes it again. I press forward, “How do you explain not talking to him for two years?”

“ He hasn’t spoken to me ”, Brandon’s father says sharply. “He doesn’t need me”.

“Bullshit”.

“I’ll remind you again who you’re speaking to”.

“An absentee dad who’s using his kid as a human shield?”

“I was ashamed, ok?” the Senator slams his hand on the desk. “I knew I’d let him down. I wasn’t the father he needed me to be. I let his mother call too many of the shots. She had a very precise view of what she wanted her life to be. And she didn’t love him. It doesn’t make her a bad person. But she didn’t want him, and she found it harder and harder to hide. I should have compensated for it”.

I bite back my response. My instinct is to dismiss it, but he’s struck a chord. I think about Drue and Danny. How I’d hidden myself from their life. What was that, if not someone knowing he wasn’t living up to an example. “He writes to you. You don’t reply”.

“What? No, he doesn’t. I’ve been writing to him!” The Senator looks smaller than he did a second ago. “I called him after the holiday. It wouldn’t connect. Okay, fine. He needed some time to cool off. But then he didn’t come home for Christmas, so I wrote. I emailed. He never responded”.

“That can’t be right. I’ve seen his emails. He’s sent you hundreds”.

“Parker, you don’t need to protect him”.

“I do, actually, but that’s not what’s happening”. This doesn’t make any sense. “Who else has access to your email account?”

“Just my staff. My wife, probably”.

“Winston?”

“Until recently”, his eyes narrow. “You can’t possibly think he had something to do with this. What motive?”

“You first. Why did you recently revoke his email access?”

The Senator sits down heavily. “There have been suggestions over the years that having an LGBT son might be difficult politically. I always dismissed it. Brandon never showed much interest in politics anyway. But times have changed. It wouldn’t be problematic now, in-fact if anything…” he trails off.

“What?”

He looks like he’s about to respond, then remembers who he’s talking to and closes his mouth again. “Nothing. It’s for me to deal with”.

I always thought the Senator was an asshole, but he’s Brandon’s father. The void where a dad should be is impossible to fill. “He’s talking about coming out publicly. But he’s afraid it’ll cause more trouble. For him. For us. And for you”.

“Brandon doesn’t care about what other people think”.

“Yes, he does. It’s all he cares about”.

“He’s never been interested in politics before”.

“Your Chief of Staff has never threatened him before”.

There’s something off about this whole thing. The pictures. The stories. It doesn’t add up, and now that I’m here, I can see that Brandon’s dad feels the same way. “Who has access to your personal account?”

“Just me”. He pauses, “And Winston. Parker…I fired him a week ago. It’s not been made public yet. The campaign needed a different direction”. A week ago. Brandon’s birthday. “It was cordial. As much as these things can be”.

“Do you have your phone with you?” He nods. “Can I see?”

He hands it over. I open his email. “Those are sensitive”, he begins, but I flick straight to the contacts section, open settings, and find Blocked. There’s only one name.

Brandon Carter.

“When it could have hurt you politically, Winston engineered an estrangement between you and Brandon”, I say slowly. “But now…”

I hit ‘unblock’, and we both stand there for a moment, when suddenly there’s a soft chime. Then another, and another. Emails from Brandon filling the screen. I hand the phone back. “These are for you”.

But he’s not listening. His eyes are glued to his screen, as letters continue to drop into his mailbox. “Parker”, his voice is strangled. “Tell Brandon”, but he trails off. “Tell him…” he tries again.

“Tell him yourself”, I say. And then I’m gone.