Playing with Fire

“He’s fighting Kade Appleton tonight,” Max volunteered, stars in his eyes.

East shook his head, his brows thundering.

“Fuck no. That asshole fights dirty and everyone knows it. His entire entourage is into shady-ass crap. It’s not worth it, Westie.”

I hated that he called me that. Westie. But I was also aware East was one of the only people on planet Earth I could stand, and more importantly—stood me. We came to Sher U together from our small town in Maine. Parting ways after everything we’d been through seemed wrong.

We lived together. We shared everything: Past. Present. Future.

There was no separating us at this point.

We were always East and West—wonder kids.

At least until I stopped being one.

I ignored East, taking a bite of my sandwich and pointing it in Max’s direction. “Book the fight.”

“Bro.” East’s eyes widened. Reign killed his call, boomeranging his phone on the table and tearing off a piece of grilled cheese with his teeth. “Afternoon, ladies. May I ask what got your corsets so fucking tight?”

“West is taking a fight with Kade Appleton tonight.” East jerked his thumb in my direction, in a check out this dumbass motion.

Reign’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Holy shit. Personally, if I were suicidal, drowning in psychedelic drugs would be my death of choice, but whatever tickles your fancy, man.”

“If you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to lend a hand.” I took another bite of my damp omelet sandwich, trying not to miss my mother’s Italian food. For all her faults, she could cook a mean-ass meal. Aside from the diner incident this week, I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in years.

“West is not suicidal,” East said, more to himself than to anyone else at the table. He shot me a look. I shook my head. I had no plans to kill myself, but if I died, well, that would not be an unwelcome plot twist.

Reign laughed. “Seriously, though. You’re actually considering getting into the ring with Appleton? Can I have your AirPods? Mine have enough ear wax to fill up a jar of mustard.”

East kicked him under the table then proceeded to smash my shin in with his foot.

“East—I don’t wanna hear it. Reign—I don’t wanna hear you. Max—take a hike. I’ll be there tonight. Spread the word. Make it worth my while.”

“That’s what she said,” Reign jested.

Now both East and I punched his arm.

When I took the food truck job, I’d told Karlie Fridays were a nogo. She knew the score. She was one of the only chicks in Sher U, along with Texas, not to show up for fight nights. I liked that I could keep my food truck gig separated from my breaking noses gig.

Max scurried away. The table fell silent, before Reign cleared his throat.

“Jokes aside, there’s a reason why Appleton is currently suspended from the MAF league. He was arrested last year for assaulting his girlfriend. The mother of his child. The photos of her face after the fact aren’t something you’d appreciate seeing while eating. Just putting it out there.”

“And his manager is notorious for arranging dog fights. He went to prison for it for, like, three years,” East chipped in.

“That’s right. Shaun Picker. Between them, they have a rap sheet longer than War and Peace.” Reign pointed a finger at me with the hand that held his grilled cheese. “Which, for the record, I’ve never read, but I heard that like me, it is thick as fuck and not easy to swallow.”

“I’m not marrying his ass, I’m putting it to bed.” I scowled. “Look, this shit is settled, so you might as well change the subject.” I lost interest in them and glanced around the cafeteria, looking for what, I wasn’t sure, exactly.

I needed the money.

Desperately.

It was the cruelest type of irony.

Growing up, I’d always promised myself I wouldn’t be that asshole who lived to work versus worked to live. Then again, I never was very good at keeping promises.

I grew older, I fucked up, made mistakes, and had to pay for them.

Nowadays, I was chasing paychecks like every sorry jerk I’d pitied as a kid, and I didn’t even earn the money for myself.

Appleton was a fight I couldn’t refuse. I was going to win. Even if I had to kill the bastard to cut a nice paycheck.

My phone buzzed in my pocket for the hundredth time today. I took it out, killed the call, and texted my mother.

West: Sending more money on Monday. Get off my case.

A voice message notification popped on the screen. I deleted it before I was tempted to listen to it. I looked up, between Reign and East. A flash of puzzled worry marred their faces.

“Drop it,” I stressed.

“You get into bed with Appleton, you might be dragging everyone else around you into a mess,” Easton warned. “The man is basically a gang member. He operates like the mafia.”

“If shit gets too hot, you know where the door is.” I met Easton’s stare steadily, my jaw tightening with barely contained anger. “Either way, I’m taking the fight.”

Reign stood up, stretching lazily.

“All right, I’m dipping. East, I’ll see you in practice. West—it was nice knowing ya. I’ll be sure to leave some flowers on your grave and comfort your lady friends, who might need some bed warming at night.” He bowed his head, grabbed his duffel bag, and dashed.

East watched Reign’s back before fixing his gaze back on me.

“Are things that bad at home?”

He knew exactly why I was showing up in the ring every Friday, and it wasn’t for the pride or glory. Yes, I was a competitive shit—it ran in my blood. Whenever I saw a challenge, I conquered it, but fighting would never have been my route in life if it weren’t for what happened.

I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth.

“You know my dad. He can’t run a business to save his life. I can’t let them lose the farm. They’ll have nothing left.”

East nodded. “I’m here if you need me.”

Despite it being the fakest cliché I’d ever heard, I knew he actually meant it, and despite knowing he couldn’t help me, it actually made me feel slightly better.

“Where were you last night?” He changed the subject.

“This Grace chick from the food truck had a crisis. She bailed early, so I needed to close shop.”