Paradise Fought: Abel (26 page)

I had the plans to move in with Lindee and her roommates. I just wanted to collect my belongings from the apartment. Secretly, I desired to check on my mom. I didn’t feel right leaving her without her seeming partially coherent of my desertion. That’s what I felt, like I was deserting her, but she had left me behind so long ago. I couldn’t dwell on that either. After disappearing the other night without a word, I’d called and left messages. It was only a half-truth, what I told her. I said I’d be staying at Lindee’s, which would happen in the future. Currently, I was staying at Abel’s for a week, and I didn’t wish to share that information.

I felt guilty to have the private happiness of Abel. In my heart, and in his bed, there was a sense of forbidden paradise. A secret excitement I didn’t deserve yet wasn’t willing to give up. Abel was a good man, a fulfilling lover, and a true friend. He had taken me in, protected me, and loved me. I couldn’t be certain of the last one, but he was paying me attention that seemed like a lover would shower on a loved one. He’d brought me fresh meadow-looking flowers the morning after our first night. He simply said, “For giving me something special to you.” Then he didn’t mention anything more. It was touching. It was romantic. Once again, I was reminded that Abel didn’t really need training in how to woo a girl.

Entering the shabby place of my mother’s, I shivered at the memories. It was so different from Abel’s clean, sparse townhome, even less spacious than the apartment of Lindee’s. The place was a sty. Alcohol bottles covered the counter. Dishes stacked precariously, ready to tumble and break. The floor was sticky in the kitchen. I entered my mother’s room to find her alone, thankfully, but laying there looking used. Her dirty blonde hair tumbled over her head. Her bare back exposed. A trashcan stood next to the side of the bed. The smell of vomit filled the room. I gagged as I followed my pattern of removing the bag inside the can and placing it inside the kitchen bin.

I decided my final act of kindness would be to clean the place. I cleared garbage, washed surfaces, and scrubbed the bathroom. I entered my room with two garbage bags and tugged bedding off the mattress. It was therapeutic to fold the items and shove them inside the black plastic. I would wash it fresh in the apartment’s laundry. I would start anew. I found a suitcase for my clothes. Filled a box with the few items I had after our move from Vegas. Journals, awards, report cards were things that seemed silly but necessary to keep as we emptied our house and dismantled our lives.

I had made several trips to the garbage and to my small car that was now filled like a homeless person when it hit me; I was homeless. I reentered the place to make one more attempt to rouse my mother.

“Momma, I’m leaving,” I said, as I brushed back her hair. She lay facing the door, rolling as I worked around her to empty the trash, pick up her clothes, and crack a window for fresh summer air. I pulled the sheet up over her, like she was the child.

“I love you, Momma, but I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Love you, too, Montana,” she mumbled. My heart dropped to my stomach as I removed my hand.

“It’s Elma, Momma. I’m leaving,” I said a little firmer, determined that she recognize me.

“Have fun,” she muttered in reply. I stood from my crouched position then stared down at her. How did my life get like this? Despite my hurt, I still bent forward and kissed her forehead, as she had done to me when I was a child. I sighed heavily and pushed away the tears on my cheek.

“Bye, Momma,” I exhaled softly then turned to leave.

I went for a morning run again, my body clearer than the day before, after the night’s activity with Elma and another round in the morning. I came home prepared to head to the gym early. I was focused. My body electrified from my connection with Elma. Shepherd and I planned to talk about my next fight. As I sprinted my final stretch into the parking lot of the townhome, the black SUV stood out amongst the other student cars. My stomach roiled. My heart dropped. Trouble sat before me in the form of Kursch.

He exited the vehicle slowly, looking like the calm bodyguard he was. Dark aviators covered his eyes, and the sun beat off his bald head. He smiled kindly at me, but I knew his visit was anything but friendly.

“Abel,” he addressed me.

“Uncle K,” I answered.

“I warned you,” he spoke sadly, shaking his head.

“How does it feel to always do his dirty work?” I snapped. I’d never spoken back to Kursch. He was the soothing one in the Atom/Kursch combination. He was the one that would comfort me, attempting to make amends for the harshness of my father.

“This isn’t dirty, Abel. I’m bringing the prodigal son home.” The reference wasn’t lost on me, but I wasn’t the son who went into the world to collect riches. I had been cast out when I didn’t compare. There would be no fattened calf to welcome me home, either. An angered man would greet me to belittle my efforts to make it on my own.

“I’m not going,” I said, heading for the entrance of my place.

“Yes. You are,” he demanded, his tone fatherly, despite not having children of his own. He loved Cain, I had no doubt. Loved him like his own son, as he tried to protect him in a different way from my father. He loved me, too, but kept himself reserved from me.

I had just opened the door when he spoke again.

“He’s got the girl.” There was a heavy pause, as oppressive as the heat. “You aren’t supposed to know until you get there, but I knew it was the only way to make you come to him.”

I froze; my hand still on the knob. My head bent forward so my forehead could bang against the wood. My father was determined to destroy everything. It wouldn’t be enough to berate me. He needed Elma to make sure I was demolished.

The private jet awaited us. I expected to find Elma on the plane, but shouldn’t have been surprised that she wasn’t present. Every question I asked Kursch was met with resistance.

Where is she?

What have you done to her?

Who has her?

How could you let this happen?

Kursch’s responses were minimal. She was with my father remained his only reply. I had hours to stew on the plane. The adrenaline inside me was flowing stronger than any fight. This would be the fight of my life. Atom Callahan was a mean man, plain and simple. Damaged from the betrayal of a woman, my mother, he made the rest of those around him suffer. Most particular, was his first son, who he loved and yet sacrificed in equal parts. He worshipped his first born, but made his life hard. He resented his second son. He ignored his daughter by casting her out, like he’d done to his wife.

My mother, Evelyn, was introduced to the underground through my father. He was a hotheaded fighter, who risked it all and often. He wanted too much, too fast, and he dragged his wife through his garden of delight. Unfortunately, she was tempted in her own way. Once she took the poison, she was addicted to it, and the man who introduced her to it. Atom threw her out, leaving behind three children too young to understand how a mother could disappear. I later learned she was lonely, just like me.

Returning to our family home, just outside of Vegas, was not something I did regularly. The dry air and dusty winds were anything but a paradise. The sunshine was almost overly bright, which was an odd contrast to the cover of darkness people preferred in the adult playground. The gated community of Paradise was built for the elite of a time gone by. Our home was in an older district, part of the history of Vegas, from when movie directors and mobsters first came to the area to develop it. Atom Callahan wanted to fit in with the top echelon, although he was still a scrapper at the bottom. He didn’t make it as far as he hoped in the fighting world, so he made certain his son would.

By the time we reached the house, I was on edge enough to take down the door of the white stucco home and any fighter standing behind it. I just needed to get to Elma. I needed to know she was safe. Whatever my father’s reasoning, someone else wasn’t going to take the beating for me, least of all her. Barging into his office, I found my father perched behind his domineering desk. The one I stood before on many occasions and took the lashing of his cruel tongue. Cain was also present, casually leaning against a sideboard, head lowered as if in thought. His expression was guarded.

“Elma.”

I breathed out her name in relief, as she sat without a scratch in one of the upright leather chairs opposite my father’s mahogany desk. Cold dark eyes met mine the instant I glared at him; his fingers steepled under his chin as he held my stare. My father was an imposing man, even seated. His broad shoulders, thick neck, and angular face were hard. He was still very fit for an older man. His dark hair only slightly peppered with gray.

“What is she doing here?” I blurted, completely confused as to how Elma was related to anything concerning my father.

“Is this what I paid for?” he smirked. His eyes wandered to Elma, dragged up and down her seated body then returned to mine. If I was hot blooded before I entered the room, my insides instantly iced-over at the predatory look on my father’s face.

“Paid for?” I choked then cursed myself. I could not let an ounce of weakness seep out of me.

“Yes, apparently, I paid two tuitions this semester. One for you. And one for a Ms. Elma Montgomery.” My father had picked up a statement, reading off of it as if to clarify information he clearly knew. It was intimidation. He’d perfected it and I’d witnessed it often.

“I was going to pay it back,” I spoke, not daring to glance at Elma. Her eyes averted mine regardless. Her fingers worked at the edge of a short dress hardly covering her thighs. The movement showed her anxiety.

“Well, how do you intend to do that, Betta?”

The use of my fighter name caused me to glare at my father. My fists clenched at my sides. His meaning was evident. If he knew my fight name, he had to know all my secrets. There was nothing he would disapprove of more. Cain was the fighter; I simply was not.

“I had it figured out,” I answered. The winnings from my fights where collecting nicely. By the end of the semester, I’d have the full return of what I’d loaned to Elma.

“Seems your calculating didn’t account for me. That means she owes me.” My father glared in the direction of Elma, who was refusing to look up at him.

“Actually, she owes me,” Cain muttered, interjecting. He’d been silently leaning against a large cabinet to the right of my father. His dark hair was still shaved close to his head. His face was clean of scruff at the moment, but his eyes were the cold darkness of my father. They were almost twins, except the son had surpassed the father in stature. I couldn’t figure out his angle in responding. Of all the times he protected me in the past, I didn’t understand what he was doing in the present.

“I owe you nothing,” Elma spit, the venom in her voice shot across the room. Cain’s subtle response was his sly smile. He was amused by her, like a snake with a mouse.

“It appears you owe him something. And he owns you until you pay,” my father interrupted their stare down.

“What?” I choked again.

“Well, if
Cain
,” my father sarcastically stated his name, “believes he paid her tuition, then he owns her until she’s paid him back. How do you intend to pay him, girl?” My father’s intention was clear. He believed Elma should provide sexual favors for Cain’s financial investment.

I stepped forward, as if my presence next to Elma would prevent my brother from taking what he felt belonged to him. His face twitched in that smile again, but his eyes remained focused on the floor. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his ankles intersected as well. He leaned back like a man of leisure. Only the hand over his mouth hardly covered his smirk. He appeared to be playing a game with my father and I couldn’t think straight to decipher what he found so amusing about my situation. In that moment, I wanted to sock that look of his smug face, and I’ve never wanted to hit my brother before.

The silence filling the room was awkward and slithered amongst us with the slow passage of time. I was holding my breath, waiting for the rattle of the snake to pause before it struck.