The Brick Yard (11 page)

“I don’t know, but be careful handling it. Might have some kind of disease,” Dray replied, stepping closer. He stared at the kitten stretched out in Lucky’s palms. “I don’t think it’s going to make it.”

The kitten lifted his head and mewed.

“He’ll make it,” Lucky said, smiling down at the helpless creature. “He’s a fighter.”

* * * *

With a towel wrapped around the kitten, Lucky curled up in the corner of the couch and held a tiny bottle of milk-replacer to the cat’s mouth. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as the kitten greedily sucked, getting more on his face than down his throat. “You need a name.”

According to the veterinarian, the kitten was female, four to five weeks old. She’d been severely malnourished and full of worms, but the vet had given her medicine for the worms and assured Lucky that as long as she was fed regularly, she should pull through.

He’d made Dray go with him to the pet store to stock up on supplies, including a litter box, milk-replacement, a tiny bottle with extra nipples and a small stuffed animal. The last was something the vet had recommended. Evidently, kittens liked to cuddle when they slept. He had to take the vet’s word for it because he’d never had a pet—unless, of course, he considered the rats and cockroaches he’d grown up with.

Lucky ran his finger against the soft pad of one of the white paws. He had no idea how to go about naming something, but he didn’t want to rush it. He knew a name stayed with you for the rest of your life, so it needed to be special, needed to be right.

He heard the knock he’d been expecting. “Come in,” Lucky called.

Dray used the spare key Lucky had given him and entered the apartment. He shut the door and smiled down at Lucky. “How’s it going?”

Lucky wiped the kitten’s mouth with a corner of the towel before resettling the bottle in the kitten’s mouth. “Good. We’re trying to come up with a name for her.”

Dray pointed to the kitchen. “Mind if I have a beer?”

“Not if you bring me one, too,” Lucky replied. He tore his gaze away from the kitten to watch Dray walk across the living room to the kitchen. There was something in the hunch of Dray’s shoulders and the set of his jaw that bothered Lucky. “How’s Brick?”

Dray opened the fridge, removed two bottles, and closed it. “He’s having a hard time this evening. Told me I could use his bed from now on because he’s found he sleeps better if he sits up in his recliner.” He passed a beer to Lucky before sitting on the sofa beside him. “I told him I’d take him back to the doctor as soon as he can get an appointment. I think he needs to be put on oxygen—or at least have it available to him.”

“What? He seemed fine this morning. Well, not fine, but not bad enough to need oxygen.” Lucky wondered if Dray was being an alarmist. He knew from talking to Dray that the time would come when Brick’s lungs wouldn’t be able to draw in enough breath, but it was too soon for that.

Dray stretched his arm across the back of the couch and brushed his fingertips across Lucky’s neck. “He’s been hiding shit. I don’t think he would’ve confessed if I hadn’t walked in on him gasping for air after one of his coughing spells.” He leaned in and kissed the spot he’d just touched. “I’m sorry, Lucky, but he’s failing.”

Lucky stared down at the kitten, needing something other than Brick to focus on. He pulled the bottle away, realizing it was empty and set it on the coffee table. “She’s a fighter,” he mumbled. He glanced at Dray. “Do you think it’d be wrong to name her Gatsby?”

“Why would it be wrong?” Dray asked.

“It’s a boy name.” Lucky wiped the kitten’s face with the towel. He lifted the sweet little thing to his face and rubbed his cheek against her soft black and white fur. “I want her to be happy with the name I give her.”

“Does the name Gatsby mean something to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how could she ask for more than that?” Dray petted the kitten’s side with the back of his index finger.

“Hey, Gatsby,” Lucky crooned. “I don’t really know how to take care of you, but I’ll figure it out.” He kissed Gatsby’s head. “Promise.”

Chapter Six

Out of the corner of his eye, Dray watched Brick scream last minute instructions to Lucky. The crowd was different from the fans in Indianapolis. In the dark and dirty warehouse Ray Bruno had secured for the tournament, the audience seemed to cheer more for the anti-hero. The place reeked of onions, which he knew from experience was body odor and whatever had died in the warehouse before the cage was constructed.

Worse, instead of hiring off-duty cops to handle the crowd, Bruno had gone cheap and pulled his own guys in.
Stupid fuck.
He overheard the man beside him talking on his cell phone.

“Yeah, give me two hundred on the Ice Man,” the man said. “That fucker’s gonna tear this place up!”

Dray’s gaze went back to Lucky, who was jumping in place, shadowboxing with a determination on his face that didn’t bode well for his opponent. It was obvious Lucky was pumped, and Dray knew the crowd had a lot to do with it. It was also obvious the Ice Man didn’t have fans in attendance—at least not ones who would openly cheer for him. He glanced at the pinhead beside him. Lucky may not have had the hearts of the crowd, but they definitely knew who was going to win.

Lucky climbed into the bright white cage. Unlike a lot of promoters, Bruno chose the color white specifically to showcase the crimson that would spill from the fighters throughout the tournament. By the time a winner was declared, the entire floor of the cage would be red with blood.

The bell rang and Lucky stepped up to his no-name opponent. The sonofabitch had been taunting Lucky for the last ten minutes. Lucky said something to his competitor and stood his ground.

Lucky threw a single punch, aimed at the asshole’s nose and the jerk who’d been full of himself only seconds earlier fell flat on his back, out cold.

“Yeah!” Dray cried, pumping his fist in the air. He turned to the pinhead. “That’s the way to do it!” he shouted in excitement.

Smiling from ear to ear, the pinhead retrieved the phone from his pocket and started dialing.

Dray leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He couldn’t stop grinning as the referee lifted Lucky’s arm over his head. Lucky still had one more match before they could go home and Dray could show him just how proud he was.

Lucky stepped out of the cage and immediately went to Brick’s side. He wrapped an arm around the old man and disappeared into the crowd with Flint following. Dray waited, praying that Brick was okay. He dug out his phone and held it in his hand, waiting for a call.

Instead of a call, Flint appeared in front of Dray. “Lucky wants you. He’s in the locker room.”

Dray nodded, pulled his baseball cap lower on his forehead and followed Flint out of the main part of the building and down one of the darkened hallways. “Is it Brick?”

Flint shrugged. “I guess so. Brick keeps telling Lucky he’s fine, but Lucky keeps arguing the point.” He glanced over his shoulder at Dray. “I think they’re both wrong.”

“How’s that?” Dray asked as Flint stopped in front of a door.

“Brick’s the same as he was earlier today. Nothing’s changed. I think the real problem is Lucky. I think he’s so focused on Brick that he can’t concentrate on anything else. This last match wasn’t a big deal because the guy was a fucking joke, but the pretenders will be weeded out within the next two days.”

Dray took a deep breath. “Is this a shared room?”

Flint snorted. “It’s more like a closet, and, no. Lucky worked that into his deal with Bruno. He didn’t want anyone around if Brick had trouble.”

“Okay. Keep an eye on the door and don’t let anyone in,” Dray instructed. He entered the room to find Flint’s description accurate. There was room for three chairs, a small cooler, and Brick’s bag of supplies.

Brick and Lucky both looked up at him from their seated positions, but it was Brick who spoke. “Would you tell this wiseass that I’m perfectly capable of being out there?”

Before Dray answered, he took a moment to study the rise and fall of the old man’s chest. By the exaggerated breaths and tinge of blue on Brick’s lips, it was obvious he was having a hard time, but Flint had been right, Brick wasn’t any worse than he’d been before the fight. Dray put his hand on Brick’s shoulder. “Maybe Lucky wouldn’t be as worried if you’d calm the fuck down. He knows what he has to do, so you screaming at him, especially in your condition, isn’t doing either of you any good.”

Brick glowered up at Dray. “You telling me how to do my job now?”

Dray released his hold on Brick’s shoulder and held his hands up. “Don’t listen to me, and keep doing whatever the fuck you want, but don’t be surprised when you have to deal with Lucky and his mood after every goddamn fight.” He knew he sounded harsh, but so did Brick, and he’d learned from the best.

Dray swung his attention to Lucky. “Good drop on the asshole out there. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and keep your mind in the cage instead of worrying about Brick. I’m here. Flint’s here. Let
us
worry about Brick.”

Brick huffed and Lucky opened his mouth to argue, but Dray continued without giving him a chance. “You’ve got a whole fucking room of people out there who are just waiting for you to fall.”

Lucky stared up at Dray like he was crazy. “Did you not just see me take that fucker down with one punch?”

“Yeah, I saw it, but that asshole looked like a desk jockey who had five hundred bucks he wanted to piss away—not a trained fighter.” It wasn’t the whole truth, the guy did have a nice body, but nothing like Lucky’s. “Who’s next for you?”

“Depends on who wins the Braun vs Triple Threat fight,” Lucky replied.

“Triple Threat? Are you kidding?” Dray had fought Triple Threat nearly nine years earlier. “I can’t believe that fat bastard’s still around.”

“He doesn’t compete much anymore, mostly tournaments like this,” Lucky explained. “Still, he’s got nearly fifty pounds on me.”

“More, from what I remember.” Dray hooked his thumb to the door. “I’d better get back out there, but I’ll give you a piece of advice. If you go up against Triple Threat, he’s always had a weak chin.”

“I’ve already told him that,” Brick grumbled.

Dray looked at Lucky and Lucky gave a slight shake of his head, indicating Brick hadn’t said anything. “Okay, well, I’ll get outta here then.”

“Thanks for coming back,” Lucky said, before Dray could get out of the door.

Dray glanced back, wondering if Lucky meant back to town or back to the locker room. By the warmth in Lucky’s eyes, Dray understood it was both. “Sure thing.”

* * * *

Cuddled on the sofa with Lucky and Gatsby the following night, they were going over rough footage of the fight Flint had taken, when someone knocked on the door. Dray glanced at Lucky. “You expecting company?”

Lucky pressed his lips against Dray’s neck before handing over the kitten. “Nope. I’ll get rid of them.” He stood and stepped over Dray’s legs to the door. “Briley,” he said in a surprised tone.

Dray looked over his shoulder to see a young woman standing in front of Lucky. He recognized the name as a friend Lucky had mentioned several times on the phone, but by the way Briley was smiling at Lucky, Dray guessed they were more than friends.

“What’s up?” Lucky asked.

Briley popped her head inside and spotted the kitten. “Oh my God,” she squealed, moving toward Gatsby.

Dray had two choices, hand the kitten over or allow Briley to grab Gatsby out of his lap. He chose the first option. “Her name’s Gatsby.”

“Gatsby?” Briley echoed and rolled her eyes before turning them on Lucky. “You and that dumb book.”

“It’s not a dumb book.” Lucky shut the door. He picked up his empty beer bottle off the table. “You want another?” he asked Dray.

Dray really didn’t, but he hoped accepting would let Briley know he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon. He stared at Briley, who rubbed faces with the kitten. He hated to admit it but she was pretty, and not the kind of fake pretty which pissed him off even more. “Sure,” he finally told Lucky.

“You’re Dray?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

With Gatsby snuggled under her chin, Briley turned her attention to the TV. “This from last night?”

“Yeah,” Dray repeated as Lucky opened the refrigerator.

Briley waited for Lucky to come back into the room. “How’d you do?”

“Won both,” Lucky replied, handing Dray a beer. He took a seat on the sofa, although on the opposite end from Dray. “The first one was a piece of cake, but the second wasn’t as easy. Dray and I were just trying to figure out what went wrong.”

Briley glanced at the screen again. “You let him get you in a clench,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dray hid his grin behind the mouth of his bottle. He’d tried to tell Lucky last night that Triple Threat almost beat him with the clench. As good a fighter as Lucky was, he sucked at the wrestling aspect when it happened.

“Shut up, Briley,” Lucky shot back.

Dray was surprised by the outburst, but even more so when Briley just laughed.
Damn.
Not only was the girl pretty but nice, too, and it was obvious she could hold her own with Lucky.
Sonofabitch!
Never in his life had Dray been jealous of a woman.

Briley swayed back and forth, holding Gatsby in her hands. “You’d better be nice or I’ll take this little honey home with me.”

“Over my dead body,” Lucky said, getting to his feet.

Briley smirked and nodded toward the television. “If you fight like that tomorrow night, taking your cat won’t be a problem.”

Lucky exhaled. “Did you come by just to torment me?”

“Oh shit! I forgot why I came over.” She handed Gatsby back to Dray. “I just saw Sid at Jerry’s Place. He’s really messed up, and he was starting to get mouthy.” She bit her plump bottom lip. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Hell,” Lucky groaned. He closed his eyes and winced. “Yeah. I’d better go get him home.”

Briley gave Lucky a soft kiss on the lips. “You’re too good to him, and everyone knows it, including him.”