The Brick Yard (3 page)

Staring out at the crowd, Lucky couldn’t help but see them as the people who had turned their backs on Dray—who was still the best fighter Lucky had ever followed. He refused to give those same people the power they’d held over Dray.

As Lucky watched Lightning’s crew get him to his feet, he had the overwhelming feeling that he’d just beaten the last of Lightning’s passion out of him. He stepped forward and held out his hand. They may have been opponents in the cage, but he knew Lightning was a good man, too good to be helped from the ring, bloody and defeated.

Lightning stared at Lucky’s hand for several heartbeats before taking the offered gesture. “Well done.”

For some reason, Lucky felt the need to offer the man encouragement. “They don’t call me Lucky for nothing.” He knew it was a lie—he was a damn good fighter—and by the slight smile on Lightning’s bloody face, he knew it, too.

* * * *

Dray put the DVD into the player, but held off on starting it. He knew what was on the disc, but he still didn’t understand why Brick continued to send him copies of Lucky’s cage matches. It was a sick hobby, but he couldn’t stay away from it. No, that was a lie—one he’d told himself a million times. It wasn’t the sport that still held him, but the fighter and the old man in the corner.

After moving his recliner closer to the fifty-inch television, he took his seat and pressed Play. The quality of the video was a little grainy and without sound but good enough for him to get a decent look at Lucky. He still couldn’t believe the muscular fighter on the screen was the same skinny teenager who’d once heard him fuck Vince in the shower.
Vince.
Dray shook his head. Falling in love with Vince had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Vince’s betrayal had broken something in him that he doubted could be repaired—not that he hadn’t tried at least twice a week since returning to Kansas City. His dick worked better than ever. It was his heart that was still stone cold.

His gaze was glued to the screen as Lucky disrobed.
Fuck.
The man’s body was perfection. Dray stared at the creamy-white skin of Lucky’s torso. The first time Brick had sent him a DVD, Dray had been surprised by Lucky’s lack of ink. He wondered when Lucky had changed his mind about getting tattooed and why. Glancing down at his own arms and hands, he shook his head. There were few places on his body that didn’t have art. Ink had always been his way of expressing his pain and after the life-altering affair with Vince, he’d gone crazy.

His eyebrows furrowed as he returned his attention to the fight just in time to see Lucky’s opponent clock him with an elbow. “Get the fuck away from him,” he yelled at the television, scooting to the edge of his chair.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. During the minute between rounds, the camera only zoomed in on Brick and Lucky once and only for a few seconds. Still, he could see the anger on Brick’s craggy face. He grinned, remembering what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Brick’s sharp tongue. Lucky appeared indifferent to Brick’s tirade, staring at his opponent instead.

“What’re you thinking?” he asked Lucky, wishing he could get an answer to his question. He hadn’t spoken to Lucky since the day he’d left him in the laundry room—not that he hadn’t wanted to.

Lucky charged back into the ring with a determined expression on his battered face. Lucky’s light brown eyes zeroed in on Lightning, and Dray had no doubt the man was going down.

Lucky came out swinging as if he was possessed, landing three punches in quick succession, felling the taller man in seconds.

“Holy shit!” Dray yelled, jumping to his feet. He reached for the phone and called Brick.

“Did ya see it?” Brick answered without pleasantries.

“Yeah,” Dray acknowledged while still watching the TV. “The ref’s just called the fight.”

“Keep watching,” Brick urged, “and tell me what you see.” He started to cough, prompting Dray to pull the phone away from his ear until it stopped.

The referee lifted Lucky’s arm in a sign of victory, but Lucky’s expression didn’t change. Although the video didn’t have sound, it wasn’t hard to gauge the crowd’s reaction to Lucky’s win.
Christ.
The fan reaction had always been the high for Dray, but it didn’t seem like Lucky even heard them. “What the fuck’s wrong with him?”

“Wish I knew, but it’s getting worse. He loves to fight, but I can’t get him to interact with the fans at all, and we both know the UFC loves fan favorites and winning records. Victories alone won’t get him there. He might have a chance as a villain in the sport, but he won’t even interact to earn that title. He’s totally indifferent, and the fans know it.”

“Yeah, I know all too well what part the fans play in the game.” It was the loss of support from the crowd that had cost Dray his career.

Before Brick could answer, he was racked by another series of coughs.

“You sick?” Dray asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Brick replied. “I’ve had a damn chest cold for several weeks, but I’ll get over it.”

The hairs on the back of Dray’s neck prickled. “You been to the doc?”

“Yeah, I got some antibiotics a week ago, but they haven’t kicked in yet.”

At Brick’s age, pneumonia was the first thing to come to Dray’s mind. “Maybe you should go back and have him check you out?”

“No time. Lucky’s got another fight in two weeks, and I’ve gotta find a way to make him break out of his shell.” Brick cleared his throat. “I’d hoped you’d talk to him. Give him some pointers.”

Dray fell back to his chair and closed his eyes. He’d lusted after Lucky since Brick had sent him the first fight DVD nearly two years earlier. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“How many fighters took the time to give you pointers when you were moving up in the ranks? Don’t you think you owe Lucky the same treatment? He’s got no one but me and that loser friend of his, who continues to tempt him with the darker side of this life.”

Dray heard the reproach in Brick’s voice loud and clear, but his attention was drawn to the bit about Lucky being tempted by the dark side. “Drugs?”

“Yeah. You’d think with his history, he’d stay away from that shit, but I’ve caught him a couple times with glassy eyes between fights. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d used, but nothing’s shown up on his piss tests.”

“Is he trying to ruin his career before it gets started?” Drugs had never been Dray’s thing. He glanced down at his ink, knowing what he’d used to dull the pain. Suddenly, his attraction to Lucky took a backseat. “Hell. Give me a minute to find a piece of paper,” he growled.

Tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear, he opened the junk drawer in the kitchen in search for a pen. “Goddammit,” he cussed, coming up empty. “I can’t find shit in this house. Just give him my number and tell him to call anytime.”

“Thanks,” Brick’s reply was cut short by another round of coughing.

Dray winced. “I’ll do this on one condition. You have to promise you’ll go back to the doctor.”

“I will. Lucky could really use a friend beside that little fucker Sid,” Brick said, his voice sounding wheezy.

Dray hung up and wondered what he’d agreed to. He’d planned to stay in that night, but with thoughts of Lucky churning around inside him, he changed his mind.

* * * *

Dray was leaning against a wall in the back of his favorite bar, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced down at the twink giving him a decent blowjob and pulled out his cell.
Shit.
He considered not answering Lucky’s call, but decided he owed it to Brick.

“Hey,” he answered, sticking a finger in his ear to block out the obnoxious music. “Can I call you right back?”

“Uhhh, sure,” Lucky answered.

Dray ended the call before burying his fingers in the twink’s hair. He held the younger man’s head still while he fucked his throat, searching for a release that was just out of reach. Closing his eyes, he pictured Lucky’s lips wrapped around his cock, and within seconds, he shot his load, coating the twink’s throat.

Resting his head back against the wall, he reached for his zipper. “Thanks,” he panted, “but I need to go.”

“What?” The twink got to his feet. “It’s early.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a phone call to make.” Dray felt bad that he didn’t know anything about the guy. “What’s your name?”

“Brandon.” He dug into his back pocket and handed Dray a small, pale blue card. “That’s got my phone number and email address on it.”

Dray glanced at the business card, printed simply with Brandon’s name, phone number and email.
For fuck sake. How many of the damn things did Brandon pass out in a single evening?
He shoved it into his pocket to be polite but had no plan to use it.

With a smile, Dray kissed Brandon’s cheek. “See you later.”

Once he was in his pickup, he called Lucky back.

“Hey,” Lucky answered. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you or something?”

After years of hiding who he was, Dray no longer attempted to lie. “I was getting a blowjob.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” Lucky replied.

Dray found it interesting that Lucky didn’t seem shocked or appalled by the confession. He’d had inklings that Lucky was gay—or at least bi—but he’d never followed up on the feeling. “No big deal. It wasn’t that great.”

Lucky laughed. “Now that’s a damn shame.”

“Tell me about it.” Dray’s nerves began to settle at the ease of the conversation. “I watched your last fight earlier. Good job. That uppercut is a killer.”

“Thanks. Grappling is my weak point, but I’ve been working on it.”

As he sat there, staring through the windshield at the front door of the club, he realized he had no idea how to get Lucky to open up to the crowd. “Let me ask you something. Do you enjoy fighting?”

“I love it,” Lucky answered.

“All of it?” Dray pushed.

“Well, no. I like the training and the actual fighting, but once the bout’s over…”

“You shut down?” Dray offered.

“No.” Lucky sighed. “Not really shut down, but let down. Don’t you dare tell Brick this, but most of the time, I couldn’t give a shit if I win or lose. It’s the fighting that excites me. Standing there listening to the crowd does nothing for me.”

It was as if Lucky was speaking a foreign language. Dray had never known a fighter who didn’t get off on the fans that came with winning. “Without the crowd, you won’t be able to fight at the level you deserve. I’m not saying you have to kiss their asses, but you need to at least try to smile and wave to them. Play up the win, get them fired up, and the UFC will take notice.”

“You sound like Brick,” Lucky grumbled.

“You should listen to him. Brick’s the best, but he can’t get you where you need to go. Only
you
can do that.” Dray hoped he wasn’t pissing Lucky off. “When’s your next fight?”

“I’ve got Indianapolis in two weeks. If I win that one, I might get a shot at a title fight.”

“I remember seeing you in the crowd when I was fighting. You were pumped, animated and always had a big smile on your face. When you get to Indianapolis, I want you to imagine you’re one of the fans. After the fight, throw your arms up like you used to and cheer. Hell, it doesn’t matter what you say, the crowd’ll be so loud they won’t hear you anyway. All they care about is that you’re having as good a time as they are.”

“I’ll look stupid,” Lucky argued.

“No you won’t. Trust me.” Dray hoped he was right. “In the meantime, I need you to make sure Brick sees a doctor about that cough.”

“Yeah, that’s some nasty shit. He spits stuff up all the time. Really gross.”

“Promise me you’ll get him in there, no matter what you have to do to make it happen.” Dray refused to tell Lucky what he was most afraid of. His uncle had died of lung cancer four years earlier, and Dray wouldn’t wish that kind of death on his fiercest enemy. He tried to soothe his fear by telling himself that Brick had never been a smoker, but just as quickly, he was reminded of all the smoky arenas he’d fought in. “You’ll let me know what the doctor says, right?”

“Me? Shouldn’t you ask Brick to do that?”

“Brick won’t tell me the truth and you know it,” Dray pointed out.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Lucky agreed. “Okay, I’ll call ya.”

“I’d appreciate it. Talk to you later and think about what I said.”

“Of course I will.”

“Good. Later.” Dray hung up the phone and smiled. Lucky’s voice was a lot deeper than he remembered. He sat back in his seat and opened the browser on his phone, wondering what the fans really thought of the fighter.

As soon as he typed Lucky Gunn into the search engine, a series of pictures popped up, all of them either videos of Lucky’s fights or candid shots of him with his arm around a woman. It didn’t escape Dray’s notice that a different woman seemed to be in each photograph, most of them with big tits and fake smiles.

He shook his head, knowing he was simply torturing himself for no other reason than to push thoughts of Lucky from his mind. How pitiful was he that he’d fallen in lust with a man on a screen.

A headline caught his eye, pulling his attention away from the bimbos. He clicked on a link titled ‘The Ice Man is Coming.’
What the hell?
A mixed martial arts enthusiast who’d attended several of Lucky’s matches had written the article. It talked about the lack of emotion in Lucky, despite his winning record.

“Shit,” Dray groaned, knowing the fan was right. The article went on to say that by the time Lucky made it to the pros, he’d be devoid of all emotion, giving the UFC and the spectators an Ice Man for a contender. It also questioned whether the fans and the industry were doing Lucky a favor by supporting him at all and begged Lucky to seek professional help.

The damn thing was written by someone who obviously seemed to care more about the man than the fighter, something that warmed Dray’s heart. He considered reaching out to the author. Unfortunately, if the guy had followed the sport for long, he’d know exactly who Dray was and what had forced him out of the MMA world.

Dray turned the phone off and tossed it in the seat beside him. Before he could start his truck, the twink from earlier walked out of the bar alone. Dray rolled down his window. “Get in.”