short phone calls and texts, even managed to come over for a few hours before she went to work yesterday, and for that I’m grateful. This guy she calls Hatchet has been MIA since the night Trix showed up drunk on my doorstep.
Although it would break her heart, I’m praying the fucker never shows his face again.
I flex my sore fists, reveling in the ache of my joints as I gear up for a session with the heavy bags. There’s something to be said for being hate-fueled and resentful. These last few days in the gym have been some of my best. Amazing what happens when I paint a faceless man who’ll have his hands all over my woman on every fucking thing I punch.
After five minutes of jump rope, I throw my first punch, feeling stronger than I did even yesterday. Blow after blow, I imagine the man who will be seduced into giving up information by my woman.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
NOFX’s “Stickin’ in my Eye” bleeds in my ears; the beat pushes me harder as I throw all my weight behind each hit. Sweat blurs my vision, but doesn’t slow my pace. With every strike, I throw up a silent prayer that Trix’s mission goes down in flames and we can return to where we were the night we got came back from San Jose. I throttle the bag with a series of jabs when NOFX fades to the pinging of my ringtone.
I rip my phone from the elastic case at my bicep. Drake’s name flashes on the screen.
Dammit.
I hit “accept,” panting into the speaker hanging from my earbuds. “Drake, man . . . what’s up?”
“Whoa . . .” He chuckles. “You fuckin’?”
I work to catch my breath. “Shut up, asshole.”
“Needta’ finish up? Call me back?” He laughs. “Hate to be the cause of a nasty case of blue balls, brother.”
Dumbass.
“I’m training.” I pull my bandana off my head and wipe my face. “You call for a reason?”
“I did. I’ll be in town this weekend. My dad’s putting us up at Caesars again.”
My pulse pounds in my ears and my muscles tense. “Business?”
He’s silent for a few seconds then clears his throat. “Yeah.”
I drop my chin and dig my fingers into my eyes. “Drake.”
“It’s not what you think.”
Like I don’t have enough shit to deal with right now, Trix and her renegade mission, and now my hard-headed brother.
“Not bailing you out again. I’m done. This last time could’ve totally fucked me.”
“I know. I know. Listen. I need you to come by Saturday night.”
“No. Wait. Scratch that. Fuck no.” I pace and run a hand through my sweaty hair.
“It’s not me, man; it’s my dad. He’s asking for you.”
“Yeah, well you can tell him to kiss my ass.” I’ve been more of a father to D than his biological father ever was. “He thinks he can snap and have me jumping, he’s out of his motherfucking mind.”
Drake blows out a long, frustrated-sounding breath. “Don’t make him come after you, Mase. Puts me in a shitty-ass position. Just come by, see what he has to say.”
“No, I told you—”
“He knows I want out.”
I freeze my pacing and stare blindly at the heavy bag. “You told him you’re done?”
I drop to the bench and lean back against the concrete wall. “Oh shit.”
“Exactly, oh shit.”
“Are you . . .? I mean, is it—”
“Mine?”
I didn’t want to just come out and ask, but after what I saw last weekend I have to wonder.
“She messes with me, but she’s a good girl. I don’t think she’d fuck anyone else.” He groans. “Hell, I don’t know what I know. No way I’m asking her now though. She hasn’t stopped crying in days.”
“So you’re pulling out of your dad’s shit to . . . what?”
“What do you mean to what? Take care of my kid, my woman, what the fuck you think?” It’s only natural for me to doubt his intentions. The guy fucks up things without even trying.
“Good to hear, D. Really. So, this Vegas thing, is it like a one last hurrah and then you’re out?”
“Something like that.” He mumbles something I can’t make out. “Shit. I gotta run. Saturday night. I’ll see you there.”
“I can’t guarantee—” The line goes dead.
Fuck.
I pop my phone back into my armband and take a swig of water. This is good. Drake’s moving towards cutting ties with his dad, and although getting his girl pregnant wasn’t in the