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“Well, I’m curious,” Lance insists. “I mean, I get that Matthew is a big shot of sorts, taking over his father’s businesses and now running his own. And I understand Jason started his own business from scratch and that it’s booming right now. So, what is it you do?”
I give him a long look, wishing he’d caught the hint and let the subject rest. “I’m in the UFC circuit. And I train kids at the community center back in Providence.”
“Train kids?”
“Yeah. Kickboxing, MMA, Krav Maga. Mostly for self-defense and discipline.”
Lance nods slowly. “What’s a UFC?”
“It’s a mixed martial arts championship,” I tell him. “Big money, big celebrities, lots of media presence... a darling of the sports betting industry.”
“I see. Pretty cool. Why do you do that?”
“Why do I do what?” I ask, inwardly screaming. I think I know where he’s going with this, but my self-restraint is ironclad.
“Fight. I mean, you could’ve done anything with your life after you got out of the military. Do you like violence that much? Beating people up?” He makes it sound so crass, so pointless and tasteless. I’m almost disgusted with myself.
“Sports fighting is more than that. It’s not at all about the violence,” I tell him. “It’s about discipline and self-control. About technique and understanding your opponent. Of seizing an opportunity and knowing when to switch to defense. It’s an art in and of itself.”
And yes, it soothes my hunger for violence, too. But it also soothes my soul and keeps me on the right track. Where does this preppy-ass prick get off on judging me, looking at me with pity and disgust, like I’m some misdirected idiot he just wandered across? Cynthia’s brown eyes are on me, twinkling with amusement. She knows he’s pushing my buttons closer to the point of pressure where I’m either going to snap and kick Lance’s teeth in or I’m going to hurl insults at him for being a snob.
The joke’s on her, though.
“I don’t know, man, it seems pretty pointless to me,” Lance goes on, slowly shaking his head. “I mean, how much longer are you going to be able to keep it up? You’re getting older. Don’t you want to run a business of your own? And teaching at the community center… that just sounds like a waste of time. Those kids in the projects always end up either dead, in juvie, or ultimately jail, but never in the right place. Listen, if you want, I could introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s just started a business with a capital infusion from his dad. Solar panel roofing. He could show you the ropes and get you involved. It’s a pretty penny in this economy and with the most recent EPA regulations that came into effect this year—”
“Thanks, Lance, but I’m doing just fine.”
“Are you sure? You’ve got, what, maybe three or four years left before the younger fighters come up and start bashing your skull in?” he chuckles dryly.
There is only so much my ego can take. “I’m still good at bashing skulls of my own,” I reply, eyeing him intently. Finally, he gets it and gives me a meek nod. “And I wouldn’t trade coaching kids for anything in the world. People like you think you have them all figured out. They still have a shot as long as someone like me has the patience and care to work with them, and if there’s anything I can do to keep at least one kid off the streets, I’ll do it.”
“Oh, Sully, always the brooding fighter but with a heart of gold,” Cynthia chimes in.
I don’t feel like finishing my beer. Frankly, I don’t feel like putting up with these two anymore, either. Carefully loading the chopped wood into a large metal basket, I toss the beer bottle into a nearby trashcan we keep in the backyard and bid my guests farewell.
“You two should head back to your cabin and tuck yourselves in. I’m pretty sure there’s some heavy snow coming today,” I say and look up at the graying sky. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Wait, where are you going?” Lance asks with an insolent smirk. “The conversation was just getting good.”
“For you, maybe. I’ve got work to do.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Cynthia tells him. “We’ll head home and put on a movie or something.”
“Alright,” he mumbles.
“You know your way out,” I say and go inside with my firewood, the blood boiling in my veins.
As soon as I shut the door behind me, I give myself a moment to breathe. But it’s as if a boa constrictor has coiled itself around my throat, tightening its grip until I almost choke. I drop the firewood basket and curse under my breath, tension gathering between my shoulder blades as I listen to their voices fading outside the cabin.
The nerve of him. The audacity of her. He may not know what she’s up to, but he’s a peach all on his own. An arrogant jerk who thinks he’s better than me. Just because I don’t make as much money as Matthew, or I’m not as successful as Jason doesn’t make me any less worthy of respect. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I letting this buffoon’s words get to me like this? And why is Cynthia’s presence so toxic and suffocating?
Deep down, I know precisely why.
It’s my sense of self-worth that is fragile. It’s always been fragile. For as long as I can remember, people have doubted me and my ability to get ahead. Matthew and Jason were the only ones who consistently supported and encouraged me, even when I felt like the road ahead was bleak and hopeless. Even when all seemed lost, they were there. They still are. Yet all it takes is someone like Lance to knock my ego down to bits and pieces.
“Hey, Sully,” Selina comes downstairs. She finds me standing in the kitchen, snow melting from my boots and onto the floor. Damn, she looks beautiful in a deep green velvet onesie that’s one size too big yet still able to suggest her full curves under my gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah…”
