Chapter 8

Chrissy wasn’t home when Jack arrived early the next morning. Her car was gone, so he knew she wasn’t with Slade either. He tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail—he chalked that up to her broken phone. After he’d slept a few hours, he’d go buy her a new phone. She shouldn’t be wandering around in that piece-of-shit car phoneless.

He was bone-tired. It had been a hectic night. After he had said goodnight to Chrissy, he’d received a call about a home invasion. Upon arriving at the scene, he’d discovered that one of the homeowners had been severely beaten by the perpetrator. Dealing with that call had taken up most of his shift.

Now Jack took the fastest albeit most refreshing shower of his life, grabbed a pair of boxers, and threw himself on his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

A delicious smell woke him. As he opened his eyes, he realized that it was already dark outside. Barefoot, he padded down to the kitchen to see Chrissy cooking and Slade sitting at the table nursing a beer.

“Hey,” he mumbled in a raspy, sleepy voice.

Slade gave him that chin nod that men often did.

Chrissy peeked out from the kitchen. “I hope we didn’t wake you, sleepyhead.”

She was wearing sneakers, a tank top, and the tiniest shorts he’d ever seen. God, did this woman own anything that wasn’t super-short or tiny? Her toned arms glistened from the heat in the kitchen. Her black hair was loose and hung low to her back. Her black-framed glasses were a little crooked on her face, and she had on an apron that he knew belonged to him but which he never used—it was actually longer than her shorts. God, he loved her legs, especially when they were wrapped around him. Drogo sat on the rug a few feet away from her. The image of Chrissy in his home looking so very domestic and comfortable made him feel all sorts of unusual things that he wasn’t ready to delve into just yet.

He shook his head and took a step toward Drogo. Surprisingly, the dog didn’t move and even seemed to welcome Jack’s approach. His tail wagged slightly, and it appeared as if he was happy. Jack smiled back. They were having a silent conversation. Jack moved his hand toward the pup, but as soon as his hand made contact with Drogo’s skin, the son of a bitch snapped at him!

“Shit!” Jack jumped back and inspected the two little indentations on his index finger.

“Bad dog, Drogo. Not good. Not good at all,” Chrissy reprimanded him before reaching for Jack’s hand to check on the damage.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Didn’t break the skin. Shouldn’t have let my guard down. He is a quarter pit bull, after all.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes, “Yeah. Look at him. Definitely part pit bull.”

“I can’t remember the last time I slept so much. I slept like twelve hours. It smells delicious, by the way.” He yawned and stretched his arms over his head as he spoke. The stretch caused the waistband of his boxers to move a little bit lower, revealing the mouthwatering vee that peeked out from his shorts. He saw Chrissy’s eyes move down and her lips part. The corner of his lips slowly formed a big toothy smile. Whom was she trying to kid? He knew that she was attracted to him. The openmouthed stare was a clear sign of that attraction. His heart and ego swelled.

“You mind getting dressed while my sister’s here, bro?”

Jack’s eyes snapped to Slade, his words rudely rousing him from his thoughts. Slade must have noticed the silent exchange. Chrissy quickly looked away, embarrassed.

“Sorry. Not used to having guests.” He left, slipped on a T-shirt, and came back down.

“I made a roast and potatoes,” Chrissy said. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved. You didn’t have to cook.”

“I know, but I’m not doing anything else, and it’s really the least I can do.”

“Well, I appreciate it. I don’t know how I’m going to go back to sandwiches and pizza when you leave. And look at my traitorous dog—you’re spoiling him. How is he going to go back to canned dog food?” A pang of emptiness hit him all at once. Chrissy would be leaving soon. Damn. Didn’t that just suck? Maybe he was ready to delve deeper.

Slade went to the kitchen and set some glasses and plates on the table. As they sat down to eat, the scene reminded him of their childhood. They used to eat at each other’s homes all the time. It was nice. It was nostalgic.

“Thank you so much for letting me crash here, Jack,” Chrissy said, “but I think I’m going home tonight. Next-door home, not Miami home.”

“Oh. Okay.” He was glad he was eating, because if he hadn’t had food in his mouth, the disappointment on his face would have been obvious. “Be ready tomorrow at three. I’ll pick you up and we’ll head out together.”

“Sounds good.”

“She’s going to your fight?”

“Yes, I’m going. Why?” Chrissy replied, although Slade was speaking to Jack.

Slade slid his plate back. “So, you only give me a hard time?”

“No. I gave him a hard time too, but it’s different.”

“How’s it different, Chris?”

“Well, for starters, you’re my brother.”

Jack flinched at the comment. What that sounded like to him was: You’re my brother, and I couldn’t care less what happens to Jack because he’s no one important.

“Second, you’ve had a series of concussions and you could die. Fucking die! Do you understand that, Slade? Die, as in dead! If you get hit hard enough. One blow right here”—she poked his temple—“and I lose the only person left of my family. You may be a jerk, but you are my only family. And your fights aren’t regulated. I’ve been doing research while I’ve been stuck here dealing with your life and waiting to get on with mine. What you do for a living and what Jack does for recreation are sanctioned, and even if I don’t like it, I can respect it. It’s very different from this underground crap you’ve gotten yourself into. The sanctioned fights have certain rules, referees, drug testing, and other important things that ensure some sort of safety. I still don’t like it because it’s fighting and you know how I feel about violence, Slade. God, how could you not understand how I feel about fighting? You—you were there.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Anyway, these underground fights you participate in are dangerous.”

“Then don’t come!” Slade pushed his chair back and stood up. His patience had obviously snapped. Without thinking, Jack also stood and took a step toward Chrissy, shielding her with his body. Slade was normally pretty laid back about almost everything. But when his temper flared, he was dangerous—not that Slade would hurt a woman intentionally, but Jack didn’t want to take a chance. Chrissy was his. “Get out of my way, Daniels. I would never hurt her.” He took a step around Jack. “You don’t understand, Chris. You don’t know what’s going on in my life. You’ve been gone for years—I don’t need you telling me what to do now! You’ve always been do-no-wrong-Christine. You’ve never needed money. Everything in your life is perfect. Well, some of us have to work a little harder at perfection!”

Chrissy pushed Jack out of the way. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Slade. You know my life hasn’t been perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Far from it!”

“I know you have issues with fighting, Chris. I get it. But I’m not Brian. Stop comparing me to him.” Slade stormed off, slamming the door. Chrissy followed.

“Brian?” Jack whispered to himself. He contemplated whether to follow them, but decided against it. They needed alone time to figure out their issues.

Not such a pleasant dinner.

Jack finished his meal and cleaned up. The food had been the best he’d had in a long time—well, since the lasagna the other day. When he was done, he realized how quiet the house seemed without Chrissy. She was constantly causing trouble, filling the air with her teasing and laughter, making his house smell either of food or of her delicious soapy scent. A nuisance, really. But he’d never felt lonelier, and she’d only been gone a few minutes.

Gracelessly he threw himself on the couch and turned on the television. Lost in the voices coming from the television and Drogo’s snoring from the other side of the couch, he barely heard the knock on the door.

He looked at the time; it was close to midnight. Drogo immediately woke up, his tail wagging, and he ran so fast to the door, he slipped on the slick hardwood floor and hit the door with his head. Jack laughed. “Sorry, I don’t feel too bad about that, little dude.”

By the dainty knock he knew who it was before he opened the door, though it wasn’t her usually impatient banging.

“Hi.” Chrissy stood in front of him. Tears were in her eyes, her golden skin glistened from the Florida humidity and heat, and the hair from her bangs stuck to her forehead. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Hi.” He smiled and stepped aside so she could come in.

“Can I stay here?” She had her two bags in her hand.

“Of course.” He grabbed her bags and tossed them by the stairs, then led her by the hand to the couch, and they both sat down to watch television. She slowly made her way closer to him … as did Drogo. It was starting to become clear to Jack that he had competition in the shape of a bug-eyed little dog.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

“We just fought some more. He refuses to cancel. I feel so guilty. I owe it to him to support him. But, I don’t want him to get injured. I guess I’m going to another fight.”

“I can’t talk you out of it, can I?” Jack asked, already knowing the answer. He hated lying to her, but he couldn’t let her go to Slade’s fight.

She shook her head.

“I know I don’t have siblings, so maybe I’m having issues understanding your guilt.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

She shrugged in defeat, and he moved her closer to him. They stared at the television, not really watching, both lost in their own thoughts.

He tilted her chin up so he could see her clearly. “Who’s Brian?”

She took a deep breath and looked down again. “I haven’t spoken about this since Dad died. I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

“Tell me,” he demanded.

She snuggled even closer. He didn’t think she would answer since she didn’t speak for an eternity, but he held on to the silence, hoping she would break it.

“Fine.” She moved to the other side of the couch and curled her legs under her. She looked helpless and tiny, not words he would normally use to describe Chrissy. In relation to other women, she really wasn’t that tiny, but in comparison to his large frame and that of her brother’s, she was physically very small. However, she had a larger-than-life personality, feisty as all hell.

“Brian is the reason for everything. The reason I left for good. The reason my father died. The reason I feel I owe Slade …” She trailed off. Her expression changed dramatically, hurt written all over her face. “Remember Brian Harris? He used to be on the wrestling team in high school.”

“Of course I remember. Until a recent knee injury, he still fought. He was a boxer, not an MMA fighter.”

“Really? I didn’t know he was still boxing. Does he still live in town? God, does everyone in this damn town fight?”

“Not much else to do, I guess. They breed us in high school, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I know Brian’s parents still live in town, but he doesn’t. I think he lives in Tampa. I heard something about a divorce. Why is he so important?”

“Well, I had a huge crush on another guy from the wrestling team, Roger. But he never noticed me. And God knows I tried to get noticed. I was so young and stupid. Veronica and I went to all the wrestling matches and tried to go to all the parties. But I was invisible to him. So one day I got fed up with trying to get him to notice me, and I stormed out of a party before I started crying. I had gone to the party alone because Veronica had already stopped talking to me. Brian was outside and he saw me. He was so sweet. It was my senior year of high school. He had already graduated, but he was home from college on break and remembered me from always being around the team. Anyway, he saw me and we started talking. He noticed me. He didn’t see me as nerdy or a pest. He saw me as a girl. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, he was so cute, and a college guy. That night he asked me out on a date for the next weekend. I couldn’t wait. I was so excited; it was my first real date. I forgot all about Roger. Well, to make a long story as short as possible, one thing led to another and we began dating. Seriously dating.”

“I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that?”

“No one really knew. Plus I wasn’t speaking with you around this time. The whole Veronica thing, remember?” She looked down at her hands, embarrassed. “Anyway, he went to college in Jacksonville, and I only saw him when he was in town. I didn’t want anyone to know. My dad was always so overprotective. Not to mention Slade. Well, and you. You and Slade were so hard on me, growing up. I didn’t want you guys to stop me this time. So I kept it a secret. Senior year was coming to an end, and I had scholarships from most colleges and universities lined up. I could have had my pick of any school.”

“But you decided on Jacksonville because of Brian,” Jack guessed.

Chrissy nodded. “I was so stupid. I followed him. When I got accepted I was ecstatic, and I thought he’d be so happy. No one understood why I’d go to a state school instead of an Ivy League college. I gave a million excuses and reasons, but no one knew about Brian. So I packed up my stuff and moved.” She took a deep breath and exhaled.

Jack braced himself. He knew something was coming. Something bad.

“Let me tell you, he was not happy to see me. Not even a little bit. But I was young and naïve. I didn’t read the writing on the wall. I thought I was imagining things. How could he not be happy? I mean, we had been together for over six months and every time we saw each other it was … perfect. Well, that’s what I saw in the pretend world I had created in my mind. We argued a lot. He was always too busy with the college wrestling team to spend time with me. Then he got into boxing, and if it wasn’t wrestling, it was boxing. He changed a lot when he began boxing. He got more confident and aggressive. The guys he was friends with were jerks, and every time he went out with them, he came back drunk and obnoxious. I lived in the dorms and wasn’t allowed visitors after midnight, but he’d come by in the middle of the night knocking frantically to see me, and when I wouldn’t let him in, he’d get angry. And by angry, I mean ragingly pissed off. Then he wouldn’t speak to me for days. It was a bad time in my life. My grades suffered. I’d never missed my mother as much as I did during that year. I needed her. I needed to speak with her. I needed guidance or something.”

“And no one knew what was going on?” Jack asked.

She shook her head. “No. No one knew.” Her eyes watered.

“Finish the story, Chris.” Though his tone was soft, his mouth was set in a harsh line and his nostrils were flared.

“The first time he hit me was on a Monday on my way to class,” she said. But before she could go on, she noticed that Jack’s hands were in fists on his lap. She touched his hands gently. “Jack, it’s okay.”

“It is not okay! And, don’t comfort me. Just finish the damn story.”

“As I was saying, I was walking to class, and I saw him by his car with a group of his new friends and some girls. One of the guys must have seen me and called my name. Brian was a super-jealous guy and never liked me talking to his friends. So he didn’t like that the guy called me over, even though it was to where they all stood. He accused me of flirting with his friend, and then he accused me of being with someone the previous night and that was the reason I didn’t let him up to my room. He called me a whore and a tease. It was so ridiculous. I had only been with him. I tried explaining that I couldn’t get caught sneaking a guy into my room and risk my scholarship. He was pulling me back to my dorm as we fought. When we got to my room he opened the door and pushed me inside. I was so shocked, I pushed him back. Hard. He didn’t see it coming and tripped over my desk.”

“Good girl,” he said, pride in his eyes.

“No, Jack. It wasn’t good. That set him off, and he slapped me across the face. I think he even shocked himself, because he left. I didn’t see him for a week. He left me hundreds of messages apologizing. After a week, I convinced myself it was my fault for pushing him, and I took him back.

“The next eight months were hell. We fought all the time, and he pushed me and slapped me around. Finally one day he went too far.” Her lips quivered and her hands shook. She couldn’t seem to keep the tears at bay any longer.

“I don’t want to get into details about it, but I drove home in the middle of the night with a black eye, a swollen lip, and a broken arm in a cast.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she struggled to get the words out. “When I got home I told my father everything. He was so enraged, he reacted the only way he knew. He didn’t try to comfort me or anything. Instead, he got into the car to go straight to Jacksonville to confront Brian. Thank God Slade was not home. He was at a fight somewhere up north. Georgia, I think. It may have been his first professional fight. In fact, I think you were with him. Anyway, I begged and pleaded with Dad not to go. I promised him I’d transfer to Miami for school and stay away from Brian, and that seemed to placate him a little, but he was blinded by anger. I guess we know where Slade gets those bouts of temper.” She let out a little laugh, but it was unconvincing. The tears were flowing freely now. “He got into the car and peeled out of the driveway. I knew it wouldn’t end well. Jack, I knew it. Somewhere inside, I knew that would be the last time I ever saw my father.” She sobbed into Jack’s chest.

“Fuck, Chris. Is that the night that he …?”

She nodded into his chest. “Yep. Not even twenty minutes later, he was dead. Dad ignored a stop sign, and an eighteen-wheeler rammed into him. He died instantly.”

“Shit. I remember when Slade got your call and we took the first flight out. And I remember seeing you that day. Your arm in a cast, your face banged up. Slade said something about a fall, I think. God, everything that happened that week is such a blur. Slade went on a drinking binge. He wanted to feel numb and kept downing tequila. I remember having the worst hangover at the funeral. I wanted to be there for you two, so I refused to drink with Slade that day. But Slade … he wouldn’t stop. I don’t even remember seeing you at the funeral—I was in so much pain, and I kept having to wrestle the alcohol out of your brother’s hand.”

“I hadn’t even been gone for a year, and I fucked up our lives. Slade blames me for everything. And he’s right. I should’ve known my father would’ve gone after Brian.”

She stopped talking for a moment. Jack didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her. It surprised him how much it hurt him to see her so broken and how oblivious he had been back then. “It was all my fault, Jack. I shouldn’t have followed Brian to school. I shouldn’t have come down to tell my dad about my problems. There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”

“Chrissy, it’s not your fault. It’s that asshole’s fault.”

She continued talking, ignoring his comforting words. “As an educated, rational woman, I know you’re right. But I can’t help the way I feel. I just can’t. That day, my first thought was Slade. When he came down and saw my face and my arm in a cast, I told him the whole story. He didn’t say much, but I knew he was mad at me. I knew that deep down he blamed me. Then at the funeral it finally all came out. With tears in his eyes, he told me how it was all my fault, which it was. His words will forever be embedded in my brain. He said that I should’ve known Dad would run out and try to find Brian. He said that if I hadn’t been so selfish, our father would still be alive. I was devastated over the loss of my dad, physically injured from Brian, and then Slade’s comment … it was all just too much. I stayed for a few days until I was able to transfer to Miami. I lost some of my scholarship. I never went back to Jacksonville, didn’t even bother to go back and get my shit. I know my brother has never forgiven me. I made him promise not to tell anyone. I already had to live with the guilt of what happened, and I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I was ashamed. I also made him promise not to track down Brian. He reluctantly agreed. I think he was overwhelmed by everything that happened. So I left him the house before I went to Miami. It was the least I could do.”

“God, Chris—I’m sorry, I mean Chrissy.”

She waved her hand around. “Chris is fine. I’ve gotten used to it. I don’t mind it.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known. Slade never told me. He should’ve told me. If I ever see that fucker Brian around, I’ll kill him.”

“Then I’m glad he doesn’t live in town.”

“Did you ever report him to the police?”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. My dad had just died and then I lost my brother, all within a span of a few days. I was destroyed. I couldn’t mentally deal with all of it. I just wanted to leave it all behind, and I somehow convinced myself that starting again somewhere else would make it all better.”

“You were all alone, Chris. No one to talk to. No mom, no dad, no Veronica, not even your brother. You could’ve told me, you know? We were somewhat close. I mean, we’ve known each other our entire lives.”

“I suppose. I don’t know. I thought about it. But, I was embarrassed. How had I let myself become a victim? I was always smart, and I thought I was strong. I mean, I grew up following the two of you around. How could I have let a stupid boy ruin my life? And then I blamed myself for my dad’s death and the hurt I’d caused my brother. I guess I didn’t really want to talk about it with anyone. You always pushed me away, and besides, I was still so angry with you. I hate to admit it, but I did have a little crush on you back then, and it wasn’t just that Veronica stopped speaking to me—it hurt that I thought you slept with her, yet you didn’t see me. Really see me. I was an annoyance to you. A bratty little nuisance.”

“I always saw you, Chrissy. Maybe not the same way you saw me, and most certainly not the way I see you now, but you weren’t just an annoyance. I would’ve killed him. That’s how I would’ve reacted. But, Chris, I don’t think Slade thinks it’s your fault. I think you have this guilt hanging over you unnecessarily.”

“How could you say that? It is my fault. It’s all my fault. Bailing Slade out of jail, lending him money, giving him a house—it’s nothing. It doesn’t bring my dad back. I killed my dad, Jack. Don’t you see?”

“Oh, baby.” He reached over and hauled her into his chest. “You are so wrong. It’s not your fault. You were the victim. You can’t live your life with that guilt. It’ll kill you.”

“So now you know why I don’t like all the fighting you guys do. It puts me on edge.”

“I’m not Brian. Neither is Slade. Neither of us would ever hit a woman. I’d never hurt you, Chris. You know that, right? Nothing you could ever do would give me reason to hurt you.”

She just shrugged.

In an attempt to lighten the moment he said with a smile, “You’re so very fucked up. You know that, right? So smart, yet so dumb.” He tapped her head with his finger. “Well, I’m here now. You can count on me.”

“Let’s go to bed,” she whispered, running a finger down his cheek. He looked at her, for a moment unsure how to respond. Then he stood up with Chrissy in his arms and carried her with ease up the stairs to his bedroom. Gently he set her on the bed and proceeded to get her naked. Then he walked over to a drawer, pulled out one of his T-shirts, and slipped it on her.