Takedown (4 page)

T
roy was
not
giving
up today. While it was nice to have a challenge, Luke wanted to save his energy for something more important.

But that was a losing mindset.

Every bit of him had to go into this fight. He couldn’t afford to take it easy just because he felt like he was superior now. He couldn’t do that for a fucking second. He didn’t even need Hugh to shout that at him.

Luke went just as hard, not holding back on Troy. He’d been fighting for a couple years; he could handle himself. He drove them both to the mat and tried to pin him. Troy hooked his legs and flipped them over, making Luke think on his feet. He had to dive to the side and give him two jabs to the sides so he could yank free. Luke bounced back to his feet, standing and circling until Troy pushed himself back up, too.

They squared eyes for a moment, fists held loosely at the ready, circling each other again. This time, Luke had a lot more grudging respect for Troy. He’d been training hard. Those hits hadn’t been lightweight like usual. They stung.

Luke drove in aggressively in the center. He wasn’t giving Troy the chance to unleash the wicked new right jab he’d discovered in the bench press.

Before Troy could blink, they were on their knees and Luke had him in a triangle choke. Luke was in it to win it, not to lose to some asshole who thought he could beat him on
his
turf.

Troy tapped out and Luke let him go, watching him sway for a moment before he caught his breath. Alex was nearby, whooping his approval.

“Shit, man. I didn’t know you had that in you,” Troy breathed out.

Luke grinned. “I’m not holding back with you next time. Nicely done.”

Hugh was watching him when he pushed himself to his feet, and Luke shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. That had been awfully aggressive for a training fight. And Troy wasn’t a bad guy, whatever his thoughts in the heat of the fight.

Even he wasn’t sure why he’d gone in that hard on him.

“I want you two fighting more,” Hugh told them, bracing his arms against the cage and leaning on it. “Troy?”

It was up to him, since Troy had a day job like most of the other guys here. It was hard not being around a lot of other full-time fighters.

“Fine by me,” Troy nodded and Luke let out a breath of relief. He could use a proper sparring partner.

“Well done, Luke. You’re gonna have to fight like that to win this one. The other guy’s—”

“Aggressive, I know.” His opponent, Pascal, had a fucking deadly right-hook, too. He pounded hard, even if he was lighter than Luke. The crowds wanted exhausting, show-offy, brutal, bloody fights. Pascal could do that, or he could end things quickly with that right hook given half a chance.

Then, for the first time since he’d stepped into the ring, Luke looked at Mitchell.

Mitchell nodded slightly, but there was something odd on his face. It looked like judgment, but he couldn’t tell. Sweat was running into his eyes anyway. He swiped his arm across his forehead and started to unwrap his knuckles.

The savage glee from bringing another man to his knees and getting utter control over him, a hold on him so tight he had to give in or be taken out… It was primal, and the reason most guys fought. Even a brutal loss could be followed by that thrill in the next fight. It kept every one of them hooked on the sport.

There was no way Mitchell would want a brute like that. Not old Mitchell, and definitely not new Mitchell.

But Mitchell didn’t see the rest of it: the code of honor, the grace, the skill. He didn’t even see the rules on what
couldn’t
happen in the ring. He certainly didn’t see the respect earned between guys by beating the shit out of each other.

Sure, some assholes took it out of the arena, but everyone knew who they were. They got punched a little harder when they were in the cage.

Luke had given up finding an MMA guy to date—too small, too risky a world to try that. Few others seemed interested in someone whose whole life and soul went into the sport.

He was a bachelor for life, pretty much. And he
wasn’t
going to make the first move on Mitch.

Mitchell.

It was weird to use the old, familiar nickname for this new, cool, put-together man. Mitchell looked and talked like a city boy, except those brief moments like wrestling him that morning. He wasn’t the sweet boy next door anymore.

When Luke looked again, Mitchell had disappeared into the office and closed the door, no doubt to continue his paperwork. Had he come out just to watch the fight?

Luke’s heart soared, but he was distracted when Troy nudged him. “So, Mitchell’s back in town, huh?”

At least when I move, I won’t have people bringing up old news for years. Fuck.

Luke took a breath to calm down and nodded. “Mm.”

“Think he dumped whatever guy he left Emily for?” Troy snickered. “Looking for something a little closer to home?”

“Not everything’s as dramatic as this damn town likes it to be, you know,” Luke laughed. He flexed his hands and rubbed them slowly, making sure nothing was strained or broken.

Troy’s buddy, James, was sitting on the other side of him on the edge of the elevated cage platform. “You’re defending him?”

“Yeah. Everyone fucks up sometimes, and… I’m living proof of that.” Luke flexed his hands, then pushed himself to his feet. “You getting to work soon?”

“Yeah, I gotta go. Good fight today.” Troy clapped Luke’s hand and shoulder hard, then nodded as James fell in beside him to head to his car. They both worked in the power plant nearby, and they tried to get shifts together so they could train with each other.

Even
that
relationship would be nice.

Okay. He was getting emotional. It was obviously time for more protein.

G
od
, Mitchell was about ready to throw the books into the ring and fight them himself. He didn’t mind numbers—it was why he made a good living as a realtor, after all—but Toby’s handwriting was terrible. Accounting was a whole different beast from what he was used to.

But the revenue was good. The place had lost some business in the last month, no doubt from customers mourning or feeling weird about coming back here. Some people around here had known Toby for his whole life. But enough people still walked through the doors or paid their fees that The Good Fight wasn’t closing tomorrow.

If he were to sell it, Mitchell could get a couple hundred grand. It’d take maintenance and paperwork to make the transfer seamless, but it was an option. Since Toby had owned the building, there was ongoing income from leasing the place. Otherwise, the outright sale of the building would add another hundred thousand to the price.

Without losing a fee to a realtor, selling it himself, he could pocket most of the profit. He’d easily be able to buy Luke off with fifty grand so he could buy a house and get himself stable.

His parents would flip their shit if he gave Luke that much, though. He could hear his father already:
What about twenty thousand? What would he take? Ten?

Mitchell didn’t know how to explain that that made his skin crawl. They’d respond that Luke had destroyed his life—he ought to want revenge.

But no, he wanted to stand up for Luke against his parents. Where was this impulse coming from?

Was he smitten with Luke already?

Shit, no. Luke wouldn’t want to be with me of all people. I’m the scourge of the town.
For the first time, he regretted not speaking out in his own defense. He had thought it a fitting punishment for his deception—not cheating, but hiding who he was behind his own… issues.

He slammed the last account book shut and turned off the aging PC on the desk. He had to get ready for another tense meal with his family.

“
C
ome on in
. Supper’s nearly ready,” his father greeted, and Mitchell tried not to let his heart sink. He sounded serious, like they’d been talking about the gym sale just before Mitchell arrived.

“So, how did yesterday go?” his mother asked from the kitchen, where she was stirring a pot of vegetables.

This felt like a loaded question. Mitchell leaned against the cupboard, glancing at the table to see if it needed setting. “Good. Hugh and Luke were pretty welcoming. Good member turnout, too. I’ve been going through the books and there’s a sizeable membership base.”

“Good.” His father ushered him to their round dining table and sat opposite him. “So, have you been thinking about the sale?”

“Yes. I think it’d be a good sale, but that depends on the buyer.”

“We have some ideas—”

“Before we get into them,” Mitchell interrupted as politely as he could. “I should tell you: I’m not selling this week.”

A ringing silence descended on the table, broken only by the quiet clinks and clatters of serving utensils in the kitchen. Then his mother set plates on the table one at a time. Her movements were brisk and sharp.

She sat, and his father picked up his utensils. “Why not?” he asked.

Mitchell’s heart thrummed with anxiety. “I’m letting them keep running the gym for another few weeks—until after the competition Luke’s in.”

The name was what seemed to distress them more than anything else. They both flinched, exchanging glances.

“What?” Was he bad news these days? Were those tattoos a sign of something worse?

His father spoke up in a barely-polite tone, like he was holding back stronger thoughts. “We don’t think it will be the most profitable use of your time and money.”

“Why not? If they win the competition, a lot of people will want to train. Not just pros, but amateurs. Kids who want to lift weights and be the next Luke—”

His father scoffed, and heat ran through Mitchell’s veins. “They don’t want to be the next
him
. Hugh, perhaps, but not him.”

“Hugh’s long since retired. Luke’s just beginning his career. It’s Luke’s prestige we’re banking on.”

His parents exchanged looks, and Mitchell’s heart sank. Of course they were on about
that
.

“You don’t want your money tied up with that man,” his mother spoke up. “Not in this town.”

“Why not?” Mitchell was going to make them say it.

His father interrupted. “Why don’t you just sell it? Let someone else take the risks?”

“What risks?”

“That…” He trailed off, looking at Mitchell’s mother and then back at Mitchell. “You must have noticed it’s infested with
his
type now.”

“His type?”

“Gays.”

There we are.
Finally, Mitchell could vent a little of his spleen. They’d never actually
talked
about the rumors about Mitch after the wedding was called off. His parents had just been furious at Luke’s lies, but then they’d figured out the truth. But he’d never sat down and told them.

But they goddamn
knew
.

Was this an attempt to get it straight from him? Fine. “Excuse me? The gays?”

“You know what we mean.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I’m sorry your feelings are hurt—” his father began.

Mitchell shook his head. This wasn’t his
feelings
being hurt, goddamn it. “No, you’re not. You say that crap around everyone? Did you just forget I’m one of
his type
, too?”

They exchanged looks for long moments as if their fears had been confirmed. Then, his mother nodded. “It’s easy to forget. You’re one of the good ones.”

“One of the
good
gays? You mean good as in I don’t bring boyfriends home to meet you, so you can conveniently ignore it?”

“We appreciate your concern for our comfort,” his father said.

Fuck their
comfort
. If he had a boyfriend, he’d bring him home tomorrow just to rub their faces in his gayness now. He was done with neither confirming nor denying.

He choked down the last few bites of his food, even though he wasn’t hungry anymore. He couldn’t stay in their house for longer than he had to. “I’ve just realized—I have an appointment with one of the lawyers.”

“Lawyers working after supper? There’s a rare breed,” his father laughed while his parents both watched him. The hardness in their eyes was painful.

Mitchell pushed back his plate. “Thanks for supper. I should get back to it.”

“Consider what we said about the sale.”

“I will.” Mitchell grabbed his light summer jacket from the coat rack. He wanted nothing more than the four walls of the apartment they’d stripped bare of any bit of Toby’s life.

If Mitchell didn’t leave now, he was going to say something that destroyed his relationship with his parents. He still had hope that
something
could change.

T
he supermarket
always seemed glaringly bright at this time of day. Luke liked to shop at odd, and often late, hours. He avoided the rush of people with traditional jobs and a desperate need for Corn Pops and crap.

It was pleasant with just the hum of the freezers and fridges. A couple of checkouts chirped in the background. He tossed a few more bags of frozen veggies into his cart, then checked his phone. With fewer smoothies and shakes and more solid food in the last two weeks, he had to carefully check his meal plan. Nobody wanted last-minute supermarket runs.

Eggs. He needed another couple cartons.

Before he got to the fridge, he passed a guy for the third or fourth time since he’d started his shop. That was unusual enough to get his attention. Nobody had fucked with him in a long time—since he started training, really—but there was always a first time.

And open carry was legal in Nebraska, but worse yet, so was concealed carry.

Luke didn’t expect anyone to be
that
crazy about him, but he never knew. Unwanted attention could come from anywhere. He tightened his jaw and glanced up and down the guy in the usual spots—ankle, waistband, wrists, jacket. No sign of danger.

Then he noticed the guy looking him up and down, but not in the same way.

Oh, shit. It’s like that.
Luke turned to grab cartons of eggs, and then the guy was beside him looking at the cream.

“You clearing out the shelf?” the guy grinned. He had a wedding ring on as he picked up a carton of cream, but looked more at Luke than the carton.

“I like eggs.” Luke’s voice was clipped, but as polite as he could manage.

He was sick to death of married men. The tightness in his chest was frustration, a little disgust, and above all else, hopelessness. Was this all he was ever going to get? Attention from married guys who felt tingly about a man who looked like they wished they did?

“You’re that fighter, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” Luke had to smile for a moment, remembering that he was the gym rep.
Be polite, but not too friendly.

“How’s training going?”

Luke shrugged. “Great. Coming up to a fight soon. Pretty big one, out in New Jersey.”

“No kidding. Good luck. Do you say that? Or break a leg?”

Luke cracked a smile. “Definitely not break a leg. I might actually.”

The guy laughed. “You’re at that Keane boy’s gym, aren’t you? The MMA one?”

Obviously.
He wasn’t training at Curves. Luke nodded.

“Do you take new members, or…?”

They had a couple older guys around, although they couldn’t go at the same intensity as the younger guys. “Yeah, we do. We open at seven a.m. every day. If you come by, I’ll get Hugh to give you a rundown of the place.” He wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t going to be cozying up to the guy. “Best hours are seven to eight a.m. and about two to six p.m. The most guys will be around to help out and show you around.”

He purposely wasn’t telling the guy the quietest hours of the day. He was going to act clueless about the guy’s signals until it made it obvious he wasn’t interested.

“Thanks.” The guy looked him up and down again, then made his appeal. “I might come by sometime.”

Luke blandly smiled, avoiding eye contact. “Cool. See you around, if you do.” With enough of a brisk brushoff for anyone, he strode off down the aisle. Luke pushed his cart quickly toward the front as anger burned in his chest.

Everyone here thought he gonna fall over himself just because some guy—and not even a hot one, like Mitchell—looked at him twice.

He couldn’t wait to be out.