Devoured Read online

  We “danced” some more. This time I was jabbing back and I actually connected a few times. I often thought if we could combine his skill and expertise with my youth and hard body we really would be a machine. I’d be like a robo-fighter. Just as I had that thought his fist connected with my right ear. It stung like a son of a bitch and I was hearing bells, but I never stopped moving. I kept going in part because I did want to get better so that I was practically impossible to beat, and partly because I didn’t want his grizzly paw upside my head again.

  We worked on some round kicks after that and then before he finally released my battered and exhausted body for the day, we did some grappling. As long as I kept moving I had the upper hand, but the second he got hold of me, I knew I was going down, hard. One thing about Sam, he could never be accused of going easy on me.

  I have to say though that I was pretty proud of myself on the way home. It had been a great workout and I had kept my head completely in it for the first time in a while. I was still patting myself on the back when I drove up and my whole day was instantly shot. My father was parked in front of the apartment, and he was casually leaning against the hood of his old, beat up car. He didn’t have the ’58 Buick anymore. I’m sure he had sold it for gambling money.

  “Shit.”

  He was the last person on earth I wanted to deal with right now. I stepped out of the truck and he smiled.

  “Hi son,” he croaked, like it was an expected visit.

  This was the first time I had seen my dad in six months.

  “Dad, what’s up? Is Callie okay?”

  Callie’s my little sister who is still unlucky enough to be underage and living at home with my Dad.

  He shrugged.

  “She’s as good as she always is,” he confessed.

  What a stupid freaking answer for a father to have. I wondered how long it had been since he’d seen her, or had a real conversation with her, the poor girl. I had stopped in front of him. I didn’t have my keys in my hand and I hadn’t gone towards the door. I was hoping he would get the hint. I didn’t plan on inviting him in.

  He always sucked at taking a hint.

  “Can I come in for a minute?” he asked.

  “Why, Dad?” I asked, not even trying to hide my irritation.

  I already knew what he wanted and he wasn’t going to get it.

  “Can’t a father come by to visit his son? It’s a little rude to leave your old dad standing in the parking lot.”

  I sighed, loudly. He was a fine one to lecture on the merits of manners.

  “Okay, but just for a bit. I’m wiped out and I was planning to hit the sack early.”

  “Okay, I won’t stay long,” he promised as he followed me inside.

  “This is nice.” He sat down on the couch and asked, “You got any beer?”

  “No,” I said, flatly.

  I had told him a thousand times before that I didn’t drink. I wasn’t about to fuck up my fighting career or my future. It was a concept that his shallow mind just couldn’t understand. I forced myself to sit down and before he could try his hand at small talk I spoke.

  “Okay Dad. What is it that you need?”

  It wasn’t like we both didn’t know what the next words out of his mouth were going to be…

  “I need some cash, son.”

  He only called me “son” when he wanted something. Otherwise, I’ve been called everything else under the sun. I stood up; the nervous energy inside of me was threatening to erupt.

  “No, Dad,” I grumbled at last with finality in the tone.

  The ability to say that word to my father had been a long time coming. My first two years of fighting I used to give him whatever he asked for and he was asking for a lot back then. At the time, I thought I was helping out my little sister who was suffering as he spent every dime he had on alcohol and at the track gambling. He would tell me he needed money for food or electricity. I hated the idea of my sister doing without anything, so I never said no. The final straw came about six months ago, right after I had given him five hundred dollars for “utilities.” I’d gone over to see my sister and found her burning candles for light.

  I asked her, “Callie, what did Dad do with the money I just gave him for the electric bill?”

  “Braxton, please don’t give him money any more. He probably took it straight to the bar, the track, or both. He’s gone more than he’s here and he’s drunk more than he’s sober.”

  “We have to get you out of here then Callie,” I insisted.

  “This is my last year of school, Brax, and then I’m gone. If we go tell someone about him they’ll put me in a group home or a foster home. I don’t want to spend my senior year in high school like that.”

  I understood what she was saying. I wished that she could just come live with me, but my father had grown so resentful of me he would never let that happen, just to be mean.

  I waited for my father to come in that night. When he got there, he was drunk, as usual.

  He looked at me like I was an intruder, and said, “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

  I considered responding, I’m your only son. Remember that bundle of money I loaned you?

  Instead, I said, “I came to see Callie, but I stayed to see you. I’d like to know what you did with the money I gave you a couple of days ago. You said it was for electricity, but my sister is still sitting here in the dark.”

  He had rolled his eyes at me. I know I’m a fighter, but I am not violent. I get all that out in the octagon. But that night I had wanted to punch him in the face extremely bad.

  “You’re sister’s not a little girl anymore. Maybe if she wants electricity, she should get a job. Besides, you worry like an old woman. You need to learn how to relax.”

  Then he had gone to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. When he came back, he tried to hand me one.

  “They’re warm.”

  I just looked at him like he was an idiot, so he shrugged as if to say “Suit yourself” and he sat down and drank his warm beer. I had planned on saying more, but as I looked at him I realized that talking to his alcohol soaked brain was going to be a big waste of my oxygen. I had left him sitting there, vowing not to ever give him money again. The next day I paid the electric bill and I told my sister to let me know if she ever needed anything again. I hadn’t seen him since, until today. Now I sneak over and see Callie when he’s not home. I try to have lunch or dinner with her at least once a month.

  “Just no?” he was saying, shocked for whatever reason. “You don’t even want to know what it’s for? You would let your little sister be homeless?”

  “Get off it, Dad. You and I both know it’s either for a gambling debt or a “sure thing” you heard about. Either way, I’m not supporting your fucking habits any longer. If Callie needs anything, she’ll let me know. She will never be homeless, I guarantee you that. I wish I could say the same thing for my father who used to be someone I could look up to. Now, Dad… you’re just an embarrassing mess.”

  My dad stood up. He wasn’t drunk today, but I could tell he had been drinking from the aroma coming off him. I don’t think he can drink anymore without getting sick. He got really close to me, trying to intimidate. He used to do that when I was a scrawny fifteen-year old. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. I had come a long way from that mousy, skinny kid. I stood my ground without flinching and I could tell it was pissing him off.

  “Listen, you little piss ant,” he barked, showing his true colors at last.

  He was finished asking for the money, now he was going to try and demand it.

  “I raised you and did without while I gave you everything. I sold my prize car to pay for your schooling. Now you sit here on God knows how much money that you won with your fists, a brand new truck, and a different pussy in your bed every night. You think you’re better than me. I have news for you boy… You’re a big fat nobody and you always will be.”

  I don’t know many people who woul
d be unfazed by their own father saying things like that to them, but I was used to it. It didn’t faze me in the least. If it did, then he wins. Instead, I smiled at him and that really pissed him off. He puffed out his chest and he looked like he was ready to fight. I continued standing my ground.

  “Get out of my house,” I demanded, not raising my voice but in a tone that he knew I meant business.

  He didn’t leave though. Instead he stepped up closer to my face.

  “What are you gonna do if I don’t you little shit?” he grumbled.

  I heard the floor in the hallway creak then and I knew that Emmi had come home. There was no way that she didn’t hear that. He heard her too and looked up. I had thought that there was no way I’d ever lay a hand on my dad, no matter how much he needed it. But I swore at that second if he said anything to Emmi, I might just kill him. He must have sensed that.

  He just sneered again and said, “We’ll finish this later son.”

  Emmi just stood there looking at him wide eyed as he pushed past her to get to the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EMMI

  I didn’t know what I had walked in on exactly, but even when he was in the octagon I had never seen such a look of pure rage on Braxton’s face. When the man pushed past me and headed out the door I thought for a second Braxton was going to go after him. Instead, he turned around and punched the wall. I flinched when I heard the thud, then I just stood there, kind of stupidly. I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t want to just walk away and leave him alone either. Finally he turned and looked at me.

  “I’m sorry,” he told me. “I’m really sorry you had to walk in on that.”

  Now I felt like I was the one who should apologize for the intrusion. I went over to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  He was rubbing his knuckles.

  “Yeah, it hurts a little but I’m fine.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the hand,” I said softly. “But I’m glad that your hand is okay too. Do you want to talk about that?”

  If the guy hadn’t looked so much like an older version of Braxton, I wouldn’t have even known who he was.

  “You want to go for a walk? I need to get the fuck out of here. It’s suffocating,”

  “Okay, sure.”

  I followed him outside and he strode ahead. I could tell at the outset that this wasn’t going to be a leisurely stroll. I struggled to keep up with him for about half a mile and then he abruptly stopped.

  “That’s really embarrassing. My dad… he’s a drunk and a gambler. He’s pretty much an all- around loser.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said since I didn’t know what else to say.

  My heart was breaking for him, he looked so distraught. He managed a smile.

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m used to it. I think I’m just more embarrassed than anything.”

  He stomped ahead again and I followed along.

  “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” I told him. “You’re not a drunk and a gambler, and you’re not your father’s keeper.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stopped walking for a minute and bent down and picked up a rock. He threw it off into the distance and confessed, “Nobody can make me as mad as he does.”

  “Parent/child relationships can be complicated sometimes,” I informed him.

  I knew that sounded so cliché even before he kind of said so.

  He smiled a real drop-dead gorgeous Braxton smile and he puffed out a weak laugh.

  “Maybe you should go into counseling instead of business.”

  At first I thought he was being sarcastic, but I realized he was being genuine when he said, “It makes me feel calmer to talk to you. Thanks.”

  “Sure… Where’s your mom, Braxton?”

  “She died when I was fourteen. She had breast cancer. That was when he started drinking heavily and it only got worse from there. He hardly ever goes to work anymore. Hell, I don’t even know if he still has a job. He’s lost about four of them since Mom died.”

  Now I really did feel like my heart was breaking, falling into the pit of my stomach. I thought about that awkward kid he told me he had been, trying to make it through the most terrifying part of a teenager’s life- high school- after losing his mother and being left with an alcoholic father.

  “I’m sorry about your mom,” I said, finding it difficult to look at his hurt expression.

  “Yeah, me too. She was pretty damn amazing. She definitely held us all together. Once she was gone, it all fell apart. I feel the worst for my sister. I check on her often but I hate that she has to live with that fucking monster.”

  “How old is she?” I asked.

  “She’s seventeen. She has one more year of high school and then she can get the hell out of there. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  He realized then how far we had walked.

  “Wow, I think we’re about six miles out. I guess we should turn around.”

  He laughed a little then; I think he was trying to calm his nerves.

  “I’m ready whenever you’re ready.”

  “You remind me of her,” he admitted.

  “Who do I remind you of? Your sister?”

  “No, my mom.”

  I think when he said it; it just kind of slipped out. A look of shock spread across his face.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but just forget it. Let’s go home.”

  We walked home in silence after that. Even though I still felt a little awkward about intruding on something so personal, I at least felt like I had discovered another layer to him. I had a philosophy teacher once who said that we all have preconceived notions about people we meet based on what they look like and how they live. I realized how true that was today. Looking at Braxton, anyone would think that he had a perfect life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BRAXTON

  I woke up Friday morning with a whole gamut of emotions raging inside of me. I was pumped up for the fight that night, but I was still pissed at my dad and I was still a little embarrassed that Emmi had walked in on it. Then I had to tell her my whole, sordid life story.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  My hand hurt like a bitch too. It was a little bruised across the knuckles. I was going to have to wrap it before Sam saw it. If he knew I was hitting walls the day before my big fight… I rolled out of bed, trying to put everything else out of my mind except for the fight. That was what today was about, it was all that mattered. A couple more and I’d have the championship. I’d have enough money to get my life started when I graduated, and to help Callie out while she was going to college. The old man could piss off completely then. I doubted that I’d even show up at his bedside when the cirrhosis claimed his liver.

  Emmi wasn’t up and about yet when I went to shower, either that or she had already left. That was a good thing. I didn’t know what to say to her after yesterday. I kind of wondered if she thought of me differently now that she knew how messed up my family is. I stood in the shower for a really long time just letting the hot water loosen up my muscles. I felt all tight since the altercation with my dad. I’m still applauding my self-control. I think a lesser man would have punched him in the face. When you combined all that with the fact that I hadn’t had sex in over a month it’s no wonder I was wrapped up in knots.

  After I dried off, I wrapped a towel around my waist to get to my room, just in case Emmi was still here. I had promised her no more overtly sexual stuff, and no matter how hard that promise was to keep, I intended not to break it. As soon as I opened the bathroom door, she was opening the door to her bedroom just across the hall. She had on a long t-shirt that came just to the top of her thighs. I don’t know if she was wearing shorts underneath it or not, but I liked to think not. I tried not to stare at her legs, but they were just so damn gorgeous.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she said with a smile. “How are you
feeling this morning?”

  “Good. I’m ready to win this fight tonight. I have some tickets for you and Zoe. I’ll leave them for you before I go.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  We kind of did an awkward shift then so that she was able to head into the bathroom and me down the hall. I was proud of myself for not dropping the towel. If it was any other girl I would have done it, but it likely would have just made our awkward exchange even more so.

  When I came out of the bedroom, Emmi was in the shower. It was nine o’clock and I figured the old man would still be passed out for a while. I wanted to go by to checkup on Callie and take her some breakfast before I went to the warehouse. After yesterday I needed to see for myself that she was okay- then I would spend the rest of the afternoon pumping up for the fight.

  I left the tickets for Emmi with a note that said, “Wish me Luck!” Then on my way to see my sister I stopped and got us some bagels and coffee. Sometimes I worried that she didn’t get enough to eat. She always said that she did, but she was awfully skinny.

  “Is the old man up?” I texted her right before I got there.

  She texted me back, “Not here.”

  She met me at the door when I got there. A smile painted her face when she saw the bagel bag.

  “Yum!” she yelled. “I’m starving.”

  “Do you not have groceries?” I asked as I followed her through the shabby house into the kitchen.

  I was a junior in college and I had nicer digs than this. This man should be so ashamed of himself. Callie kept it clean, but everything was falling apart.

  “We have food. Nothing sounded good, but bagels do.”

  Callie got us out some plates and a knife for the cream cheese. Then she sat down at the table.

  “Did you and dad get in a fight last night?”

  “Kind of,” I said around a mouth full of bagel.

  That was the beauty of eating with your sister… table manners be damned.

  “It was an argument, not a fist fight. Why do you ask?”

  “Because he came home right afterwards and he was pissed. He was calling you all kinds of names. I went into my room and turned the stereo up because I didn’t want to listen to him. Did he ask you for money?”