Page 2 of Phoenix

Chapter 1

Nora

“I’m fine. I promise.” I clutch my cell between my shoulder and my ear as I make a cup of coffee in the breakroom. It’s shitty and bitter, even with the cream and sugar I add, but the caffeine makes it all worth it.

“You know I’ll always check when I’m on the road like this. I don’t like leaving you alone,” my brother’s voice comes through my cell phone.

“I’m a grown woman, Marco. I think I can manage. I tell you this every time you leave.” I add in six packets of sugar and a heavy pour of creamer.

“I’m your big brother. I can’t turn off my worry. Call me a control freak. And I know that’s my name, but no one calls me that...ever.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, you big baby, but I’m not calling you Falcon like everyone else. I refuse.” I sip my coffee and pull a face. Bitter as fuck.

“Why not? It’s a bomb-ass nickname, and you know it. Oh, hey, will you be able to watch the fight tonight?” he asks.

“I’m pulling an overnight, but I’m recording it. Good luck out there. Give him hell.”

“Always, Little Sister. Always.”

We kill the call and I shove my cell into the back pocket of my scrub bottoms.

Marco was fourteen when our parents died. I was ten. He’s been my rock ever since.

We didn't have any family outside of our parents. Neither one of them had much of a relationship with their respective families, so it was always just the four of us.

Until it wasn’t.

After we lost everything in an apartment fire, including our mom and dad. We were all out safely. We were together; then my father decided to be the hero and my mom went in after him.

I’ll never forget screaming at them to come back as they disappeared into the building... and that was the last time I saw them.

We were lucky enough to be placed in the same foster homes over the years; having Marco with me was the only way I stayed sane. My brother and writing.

Losing my parents was how I discovered poetry. A guidance counselor at my school suggested it and it really seemed to work. It helped me channel my feelings into something so I could avoid the chaos happening around me.

The foster system is a joke.

Most of the families are neglectful and after the money that comes with housing displaced children. We were only given the bare minimum and always needed more, so Marco took matters into his own hands.

At sixteen, he began fighting for money. In underground clubs, fighting rings, anywhere he could.

Any money he won, we kept to buy extra things we needed, and what we didn’t spend, we saved.

When he turned eighteen, he took custody of me and got me out of the hellhole of a foster home we were in. He took our savings and set us up in an apartment.

He took on the role as my guardian without missing a beat.

And he kept fighting. He was too good and the money was too consistent to pass up.

Then the UFC came calling when he was twenty-two.

The rest, well, that’s history.

“Nora?” The voice of my coworker, Trina, pulls me from my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I turn around to face her. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m coming. I just needed a minute. I needed to recaffeinate before I take over.” I sip the coffee and it’s still garbage.

“I don’t know how you stomach that mess,” she says, with her hand on her hips.

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