“Hit him again!” Grayson’s voice booms over the din of the crowd.
Dodging a left hook, I duck and give a hard uppercut to ‘Hurricane Hunter’, landing a solid blow to his chin.
The big man teeters, his eyes glass over, and his arms drop.
Slack jawed, he stumbles backwards and falls against the ropes. Sweat sprinkles off of his hair under the harsh lights before he sinks onto the mat.
“Knock out by the King of Chaos, Jax Carter!” The thin referee jumps in front of me and yanks my arm above his head.
My ears ring from the roar of the packed seats. Thousands of people cheer behind a wall of flashes and confetti falling from the ceiling.
Hunter got in a couple of jabs that make the room blur around the edges. Or maybe it’s the fading remains of my anger that lets everything come back into focus.
It’s been hard not to hold back in the fights.
Channeling the pain and emptiness in my chest into every punch seems to help for a little while.
“Jax! Jax! You did great, kid. Come on, let’s go.” Grayson’s large hand lands on my shoulder as he guides me out of the middle of the ring.
The high of the win fades as each step takes me farther into the bowels of the building to my changing room.
I feel nothing again. Like I need to go out and get wasted or get laid.
“You let him get too close again, Jax. Why are you dropping your guard when you know he’s telegraphing his every move?” Grayson’s blue eyes watch me as he unties my gloves. “Do you want him to hit you?”
“I don’t care if he does.” I don’t want to tell him there’s a part of me that wants to tap out. To get hammered so hard I can’t remember my past.
Kai’s empty chair mocks me from the other side of the room. It’s the spot he always sat, so he could reach the little fridge stocked with beer.
Grayson’s palm smacks against my cheek, startling me.
“Jax! What the fuck? Pull your head in, straighten your shit out. Go shower and change. I’ll see you back at the gym in the morning.” He jerks the towel from around his neck and throws it into the basket near the door. “Can’t stay in the past,” he mutters. “Learn from my mistakes; look forward.”
Silence weighs on me after he leaves.
The cold shower doesn’t shock me out of my daze. Grabbing my bag and my motorcycle helmet, I take a last glance at the worn seat and its echoes of the past.
Maybe Grayson is right.
Splashing through a shallow puddle, I cut around the dark corner to where my Ducati is parked when I hear footsteps.
“Jax Carter?” A man about my age approaches from the wall near my bike.
“What do you want?” I have no interest in fans unless they’re carrying a fifth of whiskey and boast a pair of tits.
“Jax? It’s me. Brody.” He steps into the dim light of the street lamp, revealing dark curly hair and chestnut colored eyes.
“I don’t know you.” My duffel finds its place on the small rack over the exhaust where I strap it down. I want my hands empty in case I have to beat the shit out of this guy before this is done.
My heart beats a little faster at the thought of knocking someone else down.
Fuck or fight. What a great purpose to life.
“Brody Leary? Ring a bell? I’m your brother, man.” His palms turn up as he inches closer.
“I don’t have a brother.” Fame has its drawbacks. All the crazies find their way out from under the rocks.
His voice drops to almost a whisper. “Carine.”
Before I can stop myself, my hand wraps around his throat and pins him to the bricks. “The hell did you just say?”
He has an air of cheap cologne with a tinge of vodka aftershave. “She’s my mom, too. Was. She passed this last spring,” he chokes out.
This close, I can recognize the look. I see it every morning in the mirror.
“I don’t have any money for you. If that’s what you’re here for?” I lighten my grip so he can breathe, but still keep my palm against his neck until I’m sure he isn’t going to lash back.
“Keep your money.” The whites of his eyes flash and a drop of sweat catches a glint of light.
His nostril flares as he battles with the obvious panic lying just beneath the surface. I can feel it in his racing pulse.
“My mother left when I was young. How old are you?” I hate how much he resembles me. I only know her from photos, but I know we both favor her.
“Twenty-four.”
Timeline works.
Jesus Christ.
A roll of every emotion cascades through me. Backing away, I find the seat of my bike to lean against and dig out a cigarette from my bag.
Grayson would kill me if he saw me smoking right after a fight, but I don’t care.
“Why are you here?” The nicotine calms my nerves, but doesn’t stop the knotting in my stomach.
A brother.
“I’m getting married. I want to invite you, as family.” His shaky hand sticks out in a silent plea, holding a small card. My eyes flick between his crumpled note and his lips, flattened in doubt.
I grab the paper from his hand and toss it onto the damp pavement. “I already have a family.”
And the only brother I ever knew, I buried just a couple of months ago.
That place is taken.
His brow furrows, and his hands close into fists. “I thought I was extending an olive branch. I didn’t know you were really the asshole you portray in the ring. Seems like there was a good reason Mom left you.” He turns on his heel and his boot grinds the slip of cardboard into the asphalt before he stomps away.
I don’t need this.
I just want to be left alone. Everyone’s always pushing me to get back up, go out, to do shit I don’t want to do.
Even Grayson, tonight, said to look forward.
The white of the card glares against the dark ground in front of me.
A sibling?
Nah. I’m leaving for Vegas soon. It’s already arranged. Why start a friendship with someone I don’t know so close to leaving New York forever?
He’s blood. He knew mom.
More than I ever did.
Fuck it.
Picking up the invitation, I knock some of the water from it, hoping it didn’t ruin it.
It’s the day before Frankie’s baby shower. I’m stuck in the city until then. I promised I’d be there.
Hell, weddings always have desperate bridesmaids. Maybe I’ll get laid one last time before starting over in Vegas.
