Page 8 of Quake
Checking who was calling before I picked up, I saw it was Ren and heaved a sigh of relief. When my Dad’s assistant sent through his notes for the improvement of Beat last night, I’d immediately deleted it from my email. It only took the first few action items for me to want to heave my tablet across the room. Where did that man get off wanting to change everything about a business that didn’t belong to him?
“Don’t tell me,” I said, answering the call. “You got a ransom note.”
“It reads a lot like one,” came Ren’s unamused voice. “Give me twenty million dollars, or the boy gets it!”
Moving through the studio, I gave the finger to the guys who had already finished their push-ups and were getting back to their sparring and went upstairs to the office. This was one conversation they didn’t need to overhear after the spectacle my father created the day before.
“So this list of demands from your father,” she said as I closed the door and sat at the desk. “We don’t give in to terrorists, just so you know.”
I snorted and leaned back in the chair. Pressing my fist against my forehead, I cursed.
“Dude, he wants to get rid of everything that makes Beat what it is,” she went on. “Scrap the classes? I got my start in those worthless beginner MMA 101s, for your information. I won a Championship!”
“Yeah, at an underground cage-fighting league,” I drawled. “An illegal one.”
“Whatever. Tell your dad to bugger off. He ain’t buying, and we ain’t selling.”
I couldn’t help it when her tongue-in-cheek attitude put a chink in my surly armor. Ren ‘One-Shot’ Miller was one of a kind. A fighter herself, she co-managed Beat as well as the fighter gym her husband, Ash Fuller, owned over in Abbotsford, called Pulse Fitness. When I’d first met her, I instantly wanted to make her mine. She was the complete package as far as I was concerned—dark hair, athletic, strong as hell, ballsy, and didn’t take my smartass crap. Problem was, she’d been well and truly claimed long before I’d come sniffing around.
Later on, we’d become mates, and I avoided getting my head knocked off by her heavyweight champ other half. Six months later, she was happily married, and I was still figuring things out while piss farting about at Beat.
“Isn’t that the story of my life,” I retorted. “You tell him, Ren. You’ve obviously got bigger balls than I do.”
“What’s up your ass, Carmichael?”
What was the best way to describe the encounter downstairs? I wasn’t sure there was one.
“My dad’s been like that my entire life,” I said instead. “A dominating and controlling asshole. He thinks his word is law or some shit. If he had it his way, I’d be back in the ring regardless of the risks. His failure of a son.”
“Don’t say that,” Ren declared. “It isn’t your fault you can’t fight anymore. You can’t blame shit on a freak accident.”
A freak accident right on my spine. Multiple times. There was nothing freak about it, and I could tell she was only trying to be nice. That day, I happened to fight a cheat, and that was that. Irreparable damage was pretty darn final.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?” she asked when I didn’t bother replying.
Picking up the plastic container I’d stashed on the desk that morning, I stared at the load of pills inside. It was like a rainbow of pain meds. Three with breakfast, two with lunch, two at dinner, and one before bed. It wasn’t until I was laid up in the hospital that I understood why some people got hooked on this shit. It was euphoric, giving up control and not giving a stuff. The allure of downing the entire thing was strong with a father like mine.
Anyway, the pain usually didn’t get that bad—I didn’t allow it to—because there was no way I was digging a hole into addiction. I’d deal with it. I’d been dealing with it just fine.
“Yeah, I’m right,” I said, beginning to wonder about my future. The long-term shit no one ever seemed to want to face. I looked out there, and it was hazy. Completely fucking hazy.
“Caleb.”
“Give it a rest, Ren,” I snapped. “Leave my father to me. You just ignore him, all right? He’ll get it through his thick skull sooner or later. He never gave a fuck when I was in the hospital, so rest assured, this is a fleeting annoyance. He’ll go back to being too busy, which is his way of punishing me for my circumstance, and everything will go back to normal.”
“Caleb, shit. I didn’t mean—”
“Forget about it, okay? I don’t want to hash it out. Nothing good will come of it.”
“Okay. Got it. Daddy is a sore point.”
“Anything else you wanted to talk about before I hang up on you?”
“There’s the cheeky bastard I know!” she declared, starting to laugh. “Keep up the morale, Carmichael. You’re a champ!”
Rolling my eyes, I disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the desk.
Popping the lid on my next round of meds, I downed the pills and chased them with water. Leaning back in the chair, I closed my eyes, letting the air-conditioning blow directly on my face. My thoughts dismissed my pushy father and settled directly on the woman. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about our short conversation had gotten under my skin.
