The Brick Yard (2 page)

* * * *

Lucky shot up, blinking his eyes at the sound of knuckles rapping against the table he’d fallen asleep on. “What?”

Brick chuckled. “I’m calling it a day. Dray’s in the shower, so do me a favor and lock up when he leaves.” He eyed the spiral notebook Lucky had used for a pillow. “How’s it coming?”

Lucky shrugged. “I’ll get it done.” He still had more than half the report to write, but at least he’d started the damn thing.

Brick laid his hand on top of Lucky’s head and mussed his hair. “I’m proud of ya, kid.”

Uncomfortable with the tender gesture, Lucky swiped at Brick’s hand. “I haven’t been a kid in a long time, old man.”

“And for that, I’m truly sorry,” Brick said, slapping Lucky on the back. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Lucky got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. “Can we train this weekend?” It wasn’t often Brick had spare time to work with him, so he tried to train on his own, but he knew how important it was to learn from the best.

“Yeah. You been keeping up with the routine I wrote down for you?” Brick asked from the doorway.

“Every day.” There were times when Lucky’s days had been so busy he’d had to do the circuit training at night after the gym closed, but he was starting to see the difference in his body when he looked in the mirror. He’d never been big and would probably never bulk up enough to compete in anything beyond the welterweight class compared to Dray’s light heavyweight status, but he was proud of his muscle definition.

“Keep it up, and you’ll go far. You’re quick and hungry and those are two things you have in your favor.”

“Thanks,” Lucky acknowledged the compliment. Brick didn’t give them out easily when it came to fighting, so to hear his mentor’s praise meant everything.

“Get some sleep.” Brick gave Lucky a surveying glance before turning to walk away.

Lucky opened the dryer and began to fold the towels. They were cold, which meant the dryer had finished its cycle while he’d been sleeping.

Towels folded, he lifted the stack and left the laundry room, secretly hoping he’d catch Dray in some sort of undress in the locker room. He’d done just that several weeks earlier. Dray had walked out of the shower while Lucky had been mopping the locker room floor. Instead of waiting for Lucky to finish the job, Dray had dropped his towel and had started rifling through his gym bag before pulling on his clothes. It had been one of the best and worst moments of Lucky’s life. He’d been struggling for a while with his attraction to men. The girls he went to school with were okay for a blowjob behind the equipment shed, but he didn’t dream of putting his hands all over them like he did with Dray. He hadn’t said anything to anyone—and he’d definitely never acted on his desire—but it was always there in the back of his mind.

Hoping to catch a peek of Dray, Lucky entered the locker room and was assaulted by steam and the sounds of fucking.
Holy Hell.
He quietly loaded the shelf with the clean towels before sinking onto one of the benches. It wasn’t Dray’s grunts that surprised him. It was the echoing moans of an equally deep voice that shocked him.
Fuck, was that Vince?
He shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Dray was with another man.

“Fuck,” Dray drew out, his voice lower than Lucky had ever heard it. “So fuckin’ tight.”

“Yeah,” Vince answered. “Fuck me with that big cock.”

Lucky pressed the heel of his hand against the growing bulge in his jeans. If he’d had doubts of his true sexual preference before, he didn’t anymore—he wished he was Vince. He couldn’t think of anything he’d ever wanted more than to be bent over while Dray drove his cock inside him.

After unzipping his jeans, he felt a moment of guilt, but shoved his hand down the front of his underwear anyway. He wrapped it around his aching dick and squeezed as Dray groaned again.
Fuck.
He’d had a few sexual experiences in his life, but he’d never made noises like Vince and Dray were making. He wondered if it had something to do with his partners.

The steady slapping sound of skin on skin drove Lucky to pump faster. There, among the smells of Clorox, sweat and clean towels, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Dray fucking. What would it be like to have access to Dray’s muscular, tattooed body? Would he sink to his knees and worship Dray’s cock with his mouth or just bend over and open his ass?

“Tell me I’m the best,” Vince begged between moans. His voice echoed in the tiled locker room, and Lucky suddenly hated the asshole more than he ever had.

“Drop it,” Dray ordered, sounding out of breath.

“I’m tired of being your secret,” Vince continued. “At least acknowledge me to your friends.”

Lucky heard a loud slap followed by a cry of pain.
Shit!
Had Dray slapped Vince’s face or had it been his ass.

“I said, fucking drop it,” Dray growled.

Lucky’s balls drew tight, seconds before his cock shot a volley of cum into his hand. “Fuck!” he ground out, trying to keep as quiet as possible. He continued to squeeze his cock, milking his dick for every drop of seed.

The shower shut off. “Did you hear something?” Dray asked.

“What the hell, man? You can’t just pull out like that. I was close,” Vince complained.

With one hand still down the front of his jeans, Lucky jumped up and raced out of the room. He didn’t stop running until he reached the storage room he’d called home more nights than he cared to think about. There were only three people in the entire building, so if Dray’d heard him cry out, he’d know exactly who’d been listening.

Lucky stripped out of his soiled jeans and underwear, and reached for his jock and the only pair of workout shorts he owned. Once dressed, he hurried to the laundry room and began to transfer another load from the washer to the dryer.

“Hey,” Dray said from the doorway.

Lucky glanced over his shoulder. “Hey,” he replied, before returning his attention to the job. He silently prayed Dray wouldn’t mention the most embarrassing situation of his life.

“I know you heard me and Vince.”

Lucky cringed. He shut the dryer and switched it on before turning to face Dray. He hoped his pallor had returned to its normal Irish pale instead of the embarrassed crimson it had been when he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the storage room mirror. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t say anything.”

Dray held Lucky’s gaze for several seconds. “I’d appreciate that. Things could get messy if word got out.”

“Yeah,” Lucky acknowledged. There had never been an openly gay UFC fighter, and he doubted there ever would be. It was a brutal sport, both inside the cage and out. “I get it.”

* * * *

Lucky’s friend, Sid, passed him a cigarette as they walked toward the gym after school. Most days he went home first to check on his mom, but after hearing the rumors about Dray in school, he knew he had to go to The Brick Yard. It had been three months since he’d overheard Dray and Vince in the shower and he hadn’t uttered a word about it.

“What’s up with the fag? Did you ever catch him checking out someone’s ass?” Sid asked, taking the cigarette back.

“Dray’s not like that.” Friend or not, Lucky wouldn’t let Sid bad-mouth Dray. It hadn’t been Dray’s fault Vince had fucking sold him out. He wondered how much a man’s career was worth. Had Vince even warned Dray before selling the photos to the entertainment rag?

“You seem awfully defensive,” Sid accused. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Fuck you.” Lucky elbowed Sid in the stomach. “Dray’s a damn good fighter, the best that’s ever come out of The Brick Yard.” He shrugged. “I just feel bad for him and Brick.”

Sid stopped walking when they were outside the mass of photographers that had camped out in front of the gym. “I told Cassie I’d meet her at the diner. Later, dude.”

“Yeah.” Lucky ducked down the alley to the back door of the building and let himself in with his key. He passed by Brick’s office, wondering if he should knock or get right to work. Although Brick was a tough old bastard, he suffered from high blood pressure on a good day, and no way was the hoopla surrounding Dray good for him.

“Brick?” Lucky knocked but didn’t immediately enter.

“Later, kid,” Brick yelled.

At least if Brick answered, it meant he was still alive. Lucky stowed his backpack in the storage room before getting to work by wiping down the exercise equipment. The members were supposed to do it after using them, but, like the towels, one in four thought they were too good to clean up after themselves.

“Did ya hear?” Flint, one of the fighters, asked.

“About the pictures? Yeah.” Lucky didn’t want to talk about it to anyone but Brick.

“Two of his sponsors have already cut ties with him.” Flint shook his head and nodded toward Brick’s office. “They’re in there trying to salvage the fight on Friday, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Shit.” Lucky picked up a few stray towels. “Talk to you later.” As much as he usually hated the chore, escaping to the quiet of the laundry room sounded good. Before the news had broken, he’d been close to talking to Dray about being gay. Despite the realization that men definitely turned him on more than women, he didn’t completely rule out fucking either sex. He knew that made him bisexual and not gay, but it didn’t make him straight either.

“I thought I might find you in here,” a deep voice said from behind him.

Lucky turned to find Dray standing just inside the room. Dray’s light green eyes were normally breathtaking, but now they were red and swollen as if he’d broken down more than once that day.

Lucky dropped the towel into the washing machine. “I’m sorry about what’s going on.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my fault for trusting someone like Vince.” Dray leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “I’m leaving,” he announced.

“What?” Lucky took a step toward Dray. “You mean you’re going into hiding to get away from the reporters?”

Dray shook his head. “I’m finished with fighting, so I’m moving back to Kansas City.”

“You can’t just give up.” Lucky gestured toward the front of the building. He couldn’t imagine the UFC without Dray. Worse, he couldn’t imagine The Brick Yard without him. “They’ll get bored and go away if you give them some time. You’ve worked for years to get where you are. You can’t just let them run you off.”

Dray stared at the floor. “It’s not the reporters or the sponsors that are running me off.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s the fans. They’re pissed. I know some fighters might be okay with being hated by the fans, but I’m not one of them. If they’re not behind me, I can’t do this.” He pushed off the wall. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Anything.” Lucky took a deep breath, trying like hell to keep his emotions in check.

“Take care of Brick. I love that old sonofabitch.” Dray dug into his pocket and removed a slip of paper. “Here’s the phone number to my cousin’s tattoo shop. If anything happens, you can probably reach me there. If not, Berto can get you in touch with me.”

“There’s nothing that says you can’t come back to see Brick,” Lucky pointed out.

Dray shook his head. “I can’t stand to see the disappointment in his eyes. I know I fucked up.” He met Lucky’s gaze. “Do yourself a favor and don’t make the same mistake I made.”

Did Dray know?
Lucky nodded.

“Sex, no matter who with, isn’t worth giving up your dreams for. Remember that,” Dray said before walking out of the room.

Lucky stared at the closed door long after Dray had gone, promising himself he’d never forget his idol’s departing advice.

Chapter One

Eight Years Later

“Dammit, boy!” Brick yelled. “Get your head out of your ass!”

Lucky blinked several times as Brick smeared more Vaseline over the newly-opened cut on his left eyebrow. “I’m fine,” he mumbled around the mouthguard. His opponent in the amateur match, Jake ‘Lightning’ Boone, had a better record and was higher ranked, but in Lucky’s opinion, the guy’s heart wasn’t in it.

“The hell you are. We both know your power’s in your fists. You can’t use your best asset if you let this joker engage in dirty boxing.”

Lightning was a clinch fighter, someone who preferred to hold his opponents too close to land punches. The prick was good at using his elbows to inflict injury, thus the cut above Lucky’s eye.

“I’ll finish him this round,” Lucky declared. He needed the win. His record was good, but not great. Definitely not good enough to get the UFC’s attention.

Brick slapped Lucky’s chest before sending him back into the cage for round two. He stared at Lightning and knew the next three minutes meant everything. Four more wins and he’d have a shot at a title match—something he wanted more than anything. He’d given up too much not to succeed in the damn sport.

“I’m taking this,” he told Lightning.

Lightning smirked as much as the mouthguard allowed, but despite the attitude, the fire in his eyes had been snuffed at some point since the fight began.

Lucky waited for the referee to signal the start of round two.
Do it.
He took a deep breath then landed two power punches to the fucker’s nose and an uppercut to his chin. Lightning’s eyes rolled back and like a giant redwood, he toppled with a loud thud.

Lucky stared down at his opponent, wondering why the victory didn’t feel as good as it should have. At twenty-four, he was already behind a lot of fighters due to the time he’d taken off to deal with his mom’s legal shit and subsequent incarceration. Each knockout was a notch on his belt.

Lightning’s crew shoved Lucky out of their way as they raced to their fighter’s side.

Lucky barely acknowledged the referee as his arm was lifted, signaling the clean win to the cheering fans. He needed the wins, loved the challenge of the fights, but knowing his victory was another man’s loss bothered him. It was always the same and something that drove Brick crazy. The passion Lucky felt for the sport went beyond the wins, and he was sure the guys he fought—at least some of them—felt the same way.