Rival (8 page)

"I know you don't want to do this, but
having a cotillion for the daughter's eighteenth birthday is one of
our important family traditions."

"What about our
other
family
traditions?" I ask.

Her expression darkens. Why did I open
my stupid mouth? Why can't I ever make her happy?

"Will you at least come to my match? I
have the semi-final in the morning, and then, if I win, the
final."

"I don't know, honey."

That's a no.

The disappointment tastes bitter in my
throat.

"You haven't seen me fight in years," I
say. Not since before dad died.

"And I don't want to," she
whispers.

She stands up. I turn my face away so
she won't see the hurt.

"I wish you could understand that I
just want to protect you," she says.

I
can
understand that. But when dad
died, he left a void. If everyone gets scared, and no one Chases,
who will protect normal humans? They don't deserve to be
slaughtered by vampires.

"Good night, dear," she
says.

I mumble a goodnight, but I stay awake
way later than I should. All the warm fuzzies from my time with
Brett, gone.

I wish my mom loved me. If
she did, she would understand why I
have
to fight. I can't stand by and
let innocent people be killed. It's not in me.

But she doesn't want to see the real
me.

And that's what hurts.

14 - Brett

The next morning, I do all right in the
semi-final round, beating the six-six dude I nicknamed The Hammer
after seeing the size of his fists yesterday. It takes me nearly
twenty minutes of intense fighting.

Emily kills in hers, taking out the
slender-but-quick guy in the first round with a knockout
punch.

We'll have about an hour before we face
each other in the final. We have to suffer through the finals for
the lower-colored belts first.

She joins me in the competitor area,
sits next to me on one of the wide platforms. That she sought me
out has me flying high.

"Happy birthday." I bump her gently on
the shoulder. "Looking good out there."

"Thanks. You too." She flips her braid
over her shoulder.

I take the opportunity to grab her
hand. "You came early to watch?"

Her cheeks pink and that’s answer
enough. Wow, she's adorable.

"You gonna invite me to your party?" I
ask.

"You don't want to come to my
party."

"Yes, I do."

We both watch a red-belted kid pummel
his opponent. Nice.

"
I
don't even wanna be at my party,"
she continues when the match is over.

"Why not?"

She hesitates. I squeeze her hand.
After clearing the air last night, she can't be afraid to tell me,
can she?

Another moment passes, and I shift on
the block where we sit, stretching one leg out across it while the
other is off the side toward the floor. She follows my movement and
turns to face me, one leg bent at the knee and tucked beneath her,
while the bare toe on her other foot brushes the hem of my pant
leg.

"Too much family, too many
expectations," she finally says.

"Ah. Your mom?" I clasp both of her
hands in mine, lace our fingers together.

"Among others."

I shake her hands in mine, jog her head
upward so I can wink at her. "If you let me come, we could always
sneak away and spend the evening making out. Your house is huge
enough, I'm sure we could find a good hiding place. And if we get
caught, you can blame me."

I waggle my eyebrows and smile wickedly
at her, but all I get is a soft, "ha!" and a half a
smile.

Tough case.

"Do you not... want me to meet
them?"

I let my eyes slide away when she looks
up this time, unable to bear it if she is ashamed of me. Because of
the arthritis? Or just the newness of our relationship?

She squeezes my hands. "No, you dummy,
that's not it."

When I look back at her, she's sincere.
So then it has to be about the secrets she and Erick have between
them.

I let it go. For the moment.

I nod toward the arena floor. "I saw
this brown-belt fight yesterday. She looks pretty good. Here." I
tug her slightly closer, so she can see the match better, and so I
can slide one arm around her waist.

I'm gratified when she doesn't look
around to see who's watching, because I don't care.

The girl on the floor gets beat in the
first round but comes out swinging in the second. This could be a
longer fight.

"If I win today, will you let me come
to the party?" I ask, low in Emily's ear.

"Need incentive?" she
returns.

"Ouch." I cover my heart with my free
hand, playing it up.

She thumps my knee.

Then covers the spot with her palm,
rubbing softly. "How's your pain?"

"Nothing like before," I say, and it's
true. Today is about a normal day for me, and I intend to give our
match my best shot.

"You're not going to take it easy on
me? Now that you know?" I ask.

She scoffs. "You planning to take it
easy on me because I'm a girl?"

"'Course not."

She smiles at me. We're so
close. I really want to kiss her again, but I refrain. There are a
lot of other participants,
senseis,
and parents around. I don't want anyone to think
we've got funny business going on before the final
match.

"You know, most girls would be worried
about their boyfriend's ego. Maybe thinking they need to throw the
match so he would think he's the stronger partner."

I meant it as a joke, but there's a
minute hesitation before she comes back with a softly-spoken, "I'm
not like most girls."

I squeeze her waist. "I know. That's
why I lov…—like you so much."

I rush to cover my blunder. If Emily
has reservations about dating me, I don't want to declare that I
love her. It's been me pushing for this relationship the whole
time, but if she's not sure... And the fact that she's not inviting
me to this party is pretty conclusive.

I don’t think I can take a rejection if
I tell her how I really feel.

15 - Emily

Brett goes silent and even though we're
sitting close together, we’re suddenly disconnected.

But I'm not sure how to fix
it.

What I said is true. I'm not like most
girls.

I'm a Chaser.

And after seeing how my mom shut down
after my dad died, am I crazy to even consider a relationship with
Brett?

The usher waves to Brett and me, and we
stand. There is one more match before our final.

He is silent as we move to the warm-up
area and start stretching. I'm still warm from the match earlier,
limber and ready.

Only I don't know if I'm
ready.

What if Brett and I go forward with
this relationship, but me being a Chaser drives a wedge between
us—just like it has with my mom? After tonight, she won't be able
to stop me. I'm determined to talk to Uncle Felix tonight and get
him to agree to let me fight. Especially with the recent vamp
attack, we need more Chasers than ever to combat their
numbers.

It's life or death.

Do I dare have a boyfriend while I'm
trying to Chase?

I don't have a good answer. I feel just
like I did last night, riding on the back of his bike. I don't know
what I'm doing.

Finally, it’s time. We walk
side-by-side to the arena floor, then square off. The referee
reminds us of the match rules, and we knock fists.

He looks so serious, no trace of his
usual, jovial demeanor. Is he angry that I haven't invited him to
the party? Does he feel my hesitation about where this is
going?

The ref waves us into the match, and we
circle briefly before he strikes first with a quick jab. I block
and take a punch of my own, but he ducks it.

One corner of his mouth is drawn down
in a concentrated frown, and I find I miss the good-natured ribbing
he would normally be doing in one of our sparring
sessions.

I haven't promised him anything, but I
never really answered his earlier question, whether he could come
to the party if he wins the match.

He's fighting like I agreed, though.
Spinning, kicking, ducking to avoid my moves, grunting once when I
connect with his lower abs.

It's pretty sexy,
especially when I keep glimpsing his sweat-slicked chest beneath
his
gi
.

The ref calls the end of the first
round, and we step off the mat.

I glance back to see him toweling off.
I take a swig of water from my bottle, and it only reminds me of
the other day, when I shared his drink.

After sixty seconds, we settle back
into our starting positions. His eyes are intense, no longer
avoiding my gaze, but watching me. Asking a question? I can't
tell.

He comes after me with a vengeance. His
first lunge surprises me and knocks me back, but I turn the fall
into a backward roll and come to my feet, only to find him there. I
fend off a high kick with an elbow-block and jump over his sweeping
reverse kick.

Enough of this defensive crap. I launch
into a jump with both feet, aiming for a jaw-shoulder combo-jab,
but he's quick and slides to the side, sending me to my hands and
knees with a push to my back as my momentum takes me past
him.

The ref calls a pause and I stand up.
The ref asks me if I'm okay, and I am. Just mad at myself for
letting it happen.

Brett's eyes glint. A hint of humor? Is
he enjoying himself?

The ref waves us back into the second
round, and this time, I take the offensive. I roll and sweep out
with a floor-kick.

He hops over it, but I crouch into a
second one and send him to his rear on the mats.

He scrambles up with a half-wicked,
half-determined smile.

And winks, ever so slightly.

And the realization hits me.

I'm in love with Brett. Unplanned,
unexpected, totally shocking.

He settles into a crouch, ready to go,
but I'm frozen, standing tall in my corner of the mat.

The referee again asks me if I'm okay,
and I shake myself out of my daze.

I have a match to win.

Except... With the realization still
tingling through my system, everything is electric around
me.

I'm in love with Brett
Carson.

And following the realization comes the
thought that my dad fought for everything he believed in, until his
very last breath.

He never gave up.

And I can't give up on
Brett.

The ref waves us into the last round,
and Brett comes at me, flying forward in a roundhouse
kick.

16 - Emily

I stand with my back to the full-length
mirror in my luxurious bathroom, almost too afraid to turn around
and see what my mom has done to me.

The magenta dress fits like I remember,
snug across my chest and hips and flaring out around my
thighs.

It wouldn't be so bad if not for the
torturous three-inch heels my mom insisted on. Flats would've been
just as good, in my estimation, but nooo...

She sent a make-up and hair artist in
to attack me an hour ago, and I've been waxed, clipped,
straightened, curled, jabbed. I’m afraid to see what image will
stare back at me from that mirror. I’m sure it won’t be
mine.

But all I have to do is get
through this night, and she'll
have
to let me Chase. I'm eighteen now.

There's a knock.

"Are you about ready, dear?" My mom's
voice is muffled through the door.

It's now or never.

I turn to face the mirror and cringe.
Is this how she wants me to be?

My hair is piled on top of my head in
an elaborate style, with ringlets cascading down the back and my
bangs curled to one side.

The dress fits perfectly, the strapless
design showing off my biceps and delts and making me look like I
have at least a little cleavage. I half-spin, craning my neck to
see my backside, and I have to admit, Brett was right that day at
the mall. The heels do show off my legs.

But the face paint makes me look like a
clown. Black liner around my eyes, dark shadow, dark
blush.

I hate it. Makeup isn't my style, nor
are the glittery painted nails.