Page 2 of Omega's Faith

Out of the crowd, I hear someone shout. “Cowards! Fight naked like the ancient Greeks.”

Oh no.

Video-me roars with laughter and I watch myself start tugging at my swim shorts.

And then the boxers are gone and I’m standing there, pool noodle and other parts fully on display.

"Sir..." present-Ricky says, but I wave him quiet. On screen, the crowd goes wild. Someone starts a chant. Ricky drops his shorts too and everyone screams with laughter.

Then I swing.

It's a hell of a hit. The foam noodle catches Ricky square in the chest with afwapsound. He bursts into laughter and races at me, his own noodle waving back and forth.

I can see it before he falls. His foot slips on the wet tile. His arms windmill frantically in a ridiculously comical fashion. Video-me is killing himself laughing.

But then Ricky keeps falling. He can’t get his grip on the wet floor. He tumbles backwards and the glass table behind himexplodes. I watch as the expression on my face turns from glee to panic.

"Shit." I hand the phone back. "Man, I'm sorry."

He shrugs. “All part of the job,” then he grins. “I’m just annoyed I didn’t get to finish the fight and beat your ass. Get yourself up. We need to deal with this.”

We need to deal with this. How many times have I heard him say that exact same phrase? And always because I have done something dumb.

I drag myself out of bed and follow him out of the bedroom.

In the living room, a woman in her fifties sits on the white leather sofa, medical bag at her feet. She doesn't bother hiding her disapproval as I shuffle in wearing yesterday's boxers and nothing else.

"Mr. Colborne." Her tone could freeze helium. "Charming as always."

"Doc." I collapse into an armchair, trying not to vomit. "How bad is it?"

She's already examining Ricky's forehead, peeling back the bandage. "Hmm. The emergency room doctors did a decent job but it’s fifteen stitches. It'll scar."

Three years Ricky’s put up with my shit. Three years of damaged hotel rooms and bribing witnesses and smoothing over my messes. It’s impressive. Before Ricky, I hadn’t managed to keep a personal assistant more than two months, no matter how much I paid them.

Ricky is the perfect combination of saint and sinner that makes him perfect for the job, but this is different. This is his face. I need to sort my life out. It was just meant to be a pool noodle fight.

I blink and grit my teeth. I need to stop making excuses for my shit.

The doctor applies fresh bandages as I watch. "Keep it cleanand dry. Come see me in a week to remove the stitches."

She leaves without looking at me or saying goodbye.

My phone starts buzzing on the coffee table, the screen showing seventeen missed calls from Diana Norris. My stomach clenches.

"The video made the morning news," Ricky says quietly.

Of course it did. Great. Now, the whole country has seen my penis. Or at least the blurred out version.

I pick up the phone just as it starts ringing again. Diana's name flashes on the screen like a warning sign.

"Alexander." Her voice could cut diamonds. "My office. One hour."

"Diana, I can explain..."

How many times have I used that line too? I have no idea.

"One. Hour." The line goes dead.