The Hurricane (19 page)

“Hey sister,” Emily said as she picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Hey,” I said quietly, without finding the need to cover my sadness. I didn’t have to with Em.

“Sweetie, it’s 4 a.m. your time, you should be sleeping,” She said.

“I tried, I can’t!” I whined, throwing my head back on my pillow, staring into the darkness.

“You still haven’t heard from him?” she asked, sadly.

“No, it’s been four days. I’m constantly waiting for him to call or show up at my door and tell me he changed his mind. But I don’t think it’s going to happen.” My voice cracked and the tears started to flow again. Shit. This had been happening for days now. When were they going to stop?

“I’m sorry,” Emily said quietly.

Emily sat in silence for a few minutes as I sob and sniff, trying my hardest to suck it up, but it’s not working so easily. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that’s making everything worse, but I wasn’t expecting the emotional toll this was taking on me.

“Sorry,” I whispered when I was finally able to speak, clearing my throat.

“Have you told Brooklyn yet?”

“No, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been making excuses, just telling her he’s busy with work. She keeps asking to call him. Damn it, Em, this is hard.” I cried out, the tears falling again.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“I just thought we meant something to him, more than some damn fight.”

“Me too, Nat, it doesn’t make any sense,” she said, the same thing she has repeated to me for the last four days.

“I know. Listen, I’m gonna try and get some sleep,” I lied.

“Ok, but I’m always here. Call me if you need me, ok?”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she said, and we ended the call.

I spent the next three hours walking around my room, staring out the window, and tossing and turning in my bed. Sleep never came.

Once Brooklyn was awake and fed, we were going to spend the day at the beach. We didn’t have much longer before it got too chilly for Brookie to swim, so I figured we should take advantage of the nice weather.

“Momma?” Brooklyn asked as she walked out of her room, wearing her new neon green bathing suit I had picked up on clearance, killing time during my lunch hour at work.

“Yes ma’am?” I asked, wearing a smile. My heart was broken, but Brooklyn was my happy place. Her little smile put a bandage over my brokenness.

“Can Ryker come to the beach with us?” she asked, standing next to me.

“No, I don’t think so, honey,” I said, feeling the lump in my throat and the knot in my stomach that hadn’t gone away since Ryker walked out my front door.

“Why?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest, staring at me. I knew she wanted answers. She deserved to know the truth. At least, the version of the truth I could give a five year old.

“Listen, Brookie,” I said softly, sitting on the floor in front of her, so I could be eye level with her.

“Ryker isn’t going to come over anymore,” I said, rubbing my hand over her shoulder down her arm, forcing the tears to stay away.

“What? Why?” she asked, her eyes wide and her bottom lip starting to quiver. This. This is what I was afraid of.

“Honey, sometimes things just don’t work out with grown-ups.”

“He doesn’t want to be around us anymore?” she asked, tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s not that, baby, things are just complicated sometimes.” My brain was mush right now; I didn’t know what to say or how to explain this. I had gone over it a thousand times in my head, but I couldn’t think right now. The only thing I could focus on was her face. Her pain.

“Don’t you love him?” she asked. I did. I really did. And so did she.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, and wrapped my arms around her.

“Is it because you’re scared?” she asked, and I pulled away, staring into her eyes. Because it was true, I was scared. Scared of being alone. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of Brooklyn hurting. She was so much smarter and intuitive than I gave her credit for.

“I am scared sometimes, Brooklyn. But things are also just hard, sometimes. That’s why we can’t see Ryker anymore, I’m sorry.”

“Why can’t you just be brave, momma?” she asked, tears falling from her eyes, her nose running, and her face was red. It shattered my heart seeing her this way.

“I’m trying, baby.” I’m trying.

“Fight without fear, momma!” she yelled, and then turned her back on me, running to her room and closing the door. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I wish she could understand that everything I did was in her best interest. I had to protect her. It was the one thing I couldn’t mess up.

I stood to my feet, making my way to her bedroom door. I opened it slowly and saw her lying on her bed, facing the wall, with her back to me.

“Brookie?” I said quietly, but she didn’t respond with her words, only sobs.

“Brooklyn,”

“I’m sorry, momma, but I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said through her hiccups, her voice shaky.

I wanted to go over to her and wrap my arms around her, cry with her, hold my baby. But I knew her, she needed a minute, and I would give her what she needed.

“Ok,” I whispered, and closed her door, giving her the time she needed.

I walked into my room, threw myself on my bed, and curled into a ball. I let the tears fall that never seemed to dry up. My emotions were all over the place.

I was hurt because he chose to fight.

I was angry because he chose to fight.

I was scared because he chose to fight.

I was broken . . . because he chose to fight . . . over us.

About twenty minutes later, I heard Brooklyn’s door open and I waited. I could hear her feet dragging across the floor as she walked into my room. I tried to wipe the tears from my face before turning around to face her. She made her way to my side of the bed before I could turn over, and she stared at me. Both of us tear stained, red faced and hurting. I tried my best to smile at her, but it wasn’t in me at the moment. She crawled on my bed and curled into me, her back against my chest. I draped my arm over her and she put her hand on top of mine.

“I love you, momma,” she said quietly.

“I love you more than anything in this world, Brookie,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

“But I love Ryker, too,” she said.

“I know honey,” I said, and kissed her damp forehead.

“I know you love him too, momma.”

“I do,” I whispered. I couldn’t lie to her about it. I did love him. Even if I never got the chance to actually tell him, it was the truth. I had to protect her from this situation; she was too young to know the details. But the one thing I could be honest about was love, because my daughter understood love. I had no doubt in my mind or my heart about that.

Fuck Him Up

“Ryker,”

I could smell it in the air. The adrenaline. The excitement. The money. That smell used to fuel me. I loved fighting. Fighting for fun. Fighting for pride. Fighting for domination. It wasn’t personal. Until now. I didn’t care about any of the other shit. It was him. I wanted to hurt him.

“Ryker, look at me.” I heard the faint grumble of Cain’s voice.

Fuck him up.

“Ryker, goddamn it, look at me!” He grabbed my chin, forcing my neck to jerk up at him. I grabbed his wrist with my taped up hand and stared into his eyes.

“Don’t touch me!” I seethed through my teeth.

“You need to get your fucking head in the game,” he stared at me, wearing a worried expression.

“You need to focus,” he said kneeling in front of me. I could feel my breathing quicken and my neck was getting tight.

“I am focused!” I growled, standing to my feet, pacing back and forth, my fists clenched.

“Do you hear that crowd out there?” he said with a chuckle.

I didn’t care.

“It’s fucking packed,” he said, glancing out of the office door, down the hallway that led to the warehouse floor. Dalton didn’t host many fights anymore, but he made an exception for this one.

“His music is up,” Cain said as he turned to look at me. All I could see was Natalie running through my mind. Then I glanced at the small round table and saw the folded up picture, screaming at me. He wouldn’t get away with this.

Fuck him up.

“You’re up, brother,” Cain said as he slapped my bare chest, my muscles flinching uncontrollably. I heard my familiar music, the first few chords causing the bile to creep up my chest. I fucking hated this. But I hated him more.

“Let’s go,” Cain said as I followed him down the short hallway.

“Now at six foot one, one hundred and ninety two pounds, Ryker “The Hurricane” Hamilltooooonnn!” Dalton’s voice roared over a speaker, and I wanted to knock Cain in the fucking mouth. But as soon as those double doors opened, my eyes were drawn to my prey. My walk turned into a sprint into the ring. Three men grabbed me from all directions and held me back. My eyes met Johnson’s. His cocky grin was mixed with a hint of fear. A loud roar escaped my throat as I shoved everyone away from me.

“I’m not going to pep talk you, brother, I can see it in your eyes. Take care of him,” he said, and slapped my cheek. I heard him, but didn’t see his face. My eyes were fixed on Johnson.

Fuck him up.

The sounds of the crowd were drowned out by my breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. My prey, waiting for me. Begging for this. I heard the faint ringing of a bell and knew it was finally time.

No stalking. No waiting. No analyzing.

Pounce.

I slammed my left fist into his cheek. Connection. My right fist into his forehead. Connection. Upper cut to the jaw. Connection. He slumped onto the ground as I climbed on him. Connection. The sound of a bone cracking fueling me. Again and again and again.

Violent. Ferocious. Destructive.

I felt arms around me, pulling me as I continued to assault this piece of shit mother fucker.

“He’s out, Ryker, he’s out!” I heard the faint sound of Cain’s voice. But as I looked over, he was right beside me, his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me off the floor.

The roar of the crowd pulled me back to the present. I looked at the floor, examining the limp body on the thin mat covering the concrete. The smell of blood and sweat hit my nose, causing the bile to creep into my throat.

Blood.

It was everywhere. It was all over the floor, all over Johnson, I could even taste it. Realizing that it wasn’t mine, I spit it out on his lifeless body and then turned my back on him. As I left the ring, I heard my name being announced and the cheers screaming in my ear as I walked past them. I didn’t want the cash. I didn’t want recognition. I wanted to get the fuck out of here.

An hour later, I was finally standing in a hot shower, trying to scrub the day off of me. I left the ring and went straight to my truck. I walked into the hotel the same way I walked out of the warehouse: shirtless, barefoot, with blood covering my hands and splattered on my chest. I tried to ignore the scared looks and gasps as I passed people in the lobby.

Now that it was over, I regretted it. Although I knew in my gut that this taught Johnson his lesson, it didn’t give me the gratification that I had hoped. The feeling I needed that justified my actions. I still felt empty. I didn’t have Natalie anymore. And it was my fucking fault. She deserved better than me. She deserved someone with control, who didn’t have ties to the world of underground fighting. She deserved stability, not someone who shut her out to handle things the wrong way. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve either one of them.

When I finally felt clean, I jumped out of the shower, putting a towel around my waist and opened the door. I found Cain sitting in the chair next to the window that overlooked downtown Austin.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to bring you your bag,” he said, and then continued, “and to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I said, pulling boxers and a pair of basketball shorts out of the duffle bag sitting on my bed.

“You were pretty out of control in the ring,” he said as he stared out the window.