The Brick Yard (6 page)

“Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

Lucky shook his head. “I won’t tell him how I got it.” He left the laundry room and looked around the gym for Brick. When he didn’t see the old sonofabitch, he knocked on the office door.

“What?” Brick yelled.

Lucky walked into the office and threw the towel on Brick’s desk before crossing his arms over his chest. “I need you to be honest with me.”

Brick snatched the towel and shoved it back into his drawer. “You been snooping?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lucky answered, refusing to give up Jax. “How sick are you?”

Brick took a sip of water. “Cancer. Stomach and lungs.”

Lucky dropped into one of the chairs in front of Brick’s desk. He bent over and rested his forearms on his knees, trying like hell to catch a breath. For over two months he’d watched Brick struggle with the damn cough. Yes, he’d pushed him to go to the doctor, but he’d known in his gut Brick had lied about the diagnosis and he’d done nothing.
Fuck!
He fisted his hands, trying to get his anger under control. “What’re they doing about it?” he finally asked.

“Nothing,” Brick replied. “And that’s my choice, so don’t start bitchin’ about the doctor.”

“What the fuck? You’re just going to give up?” Lucky pounded his fist on the desk. “What about this place? And Jax?” He tried to swallow, his throat thickening as he fought down the urge to hit someone. “What about me?”

“You’ll be fine.” Brick rubbed his face with his palm. “I’d planned to eventually talk to you and Dray about taking over the gym with the condition that you’ll continue to watch over Jax and anyone who might come along after him.”

Lucky thought of the bloody towel. “How long were you going to wait to tell someone?”

“If you’re worried about your fight schedule, don’t be. I should make it through the end of the season,” Brick grumbled.

Lucky shot to his feet. “Fuck you!” He walked to the door but couldn’t make himself go through. He knew he wasn’t angry with Brick, no matter how stupid the old man’s statement was. It was the situation that made him feel like he was about to explode. “Sorry,” he said as he leaned his forehead against the door.

“I know,” Brick replied. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to break it to you.”

“Yeah, well, let me clue you in on something. Asking me if I care more about the fucking fight season than the man who’s been the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real parent isn’t it.”

“I just wanted you to know that I can make it through the season,” Brick said. “That’s one thing I don’t want you to worry about.”

“I’m not.” The cage was the farthest thing from his mind. “Are you going to call Dray?”

When Brick didn’t answer, Lucky shook his head. “You want me to do it, don’t you?” Lucky guessed.

“I’d just fuck it up like I did with you.”

The last thing in the world Lucky wanted to do was make the phone call to Dray. “I’ll tell him,” he conceded. Although there was a lot he still needed to discuss with Brick, Lucky wanted to get his head on straight first. “I’m going out for a while. Do you need anything?”

“Time.”

“That’s what treatment could’ve given you,” Lucky snapped.

“Yeah,” Brick agreed. “According to the doctor, I could’ve bought myself a month—two at most—but I would’ve been going through chemo and shit in the meantime.” He shook his head. “That’s not the way I wanna go.”

Lucky sucked in a breath. “I guess I can understand that.” Given the same diagnosis, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have made the same decision. “I’ll go figure out what to tell Dray and check on you later.”

“I don’t need a damn babysitter,” Brick said with a huff. “Just have your ass back in here at eight in the morning and be prepared to work. We’ve only got one more day of training before we leave for Indianapolis.”

“Fuck the fight,” Lucky stared at Brick. “The last thing you need to do is travel right now.”

Brick narrowed his eyes. “If I gotta leave this world, I plan to go out a winner.”

What the hell could Lucky say to that? “We’ll see.”

Chapter Three

Dray wiped the excess ink from the tramp stamp he’d just finished on a twenty-three year old woman named Amber. The young lady had a pretty ass, but the sight of it did absolutely nothing for him sexually, which was why her boyfriend had insisted Dray do the tat.

“Phone,” Manny, one of the artists, said over the partition.

“Get a name and number and tell ’em I’ll call them back,” Dray replied without taking his eyes off the fresh ink. Tramp stamps, in general, weren’t his favorite, but the intricate tree he’d designed for Amber was more a lower back piece. At first she’d thought it would be too big, but after discussing it with Dray, she’d finally agreed.

“It’s gorgeous,” Brad, Amber’s boyfriend, commented.

“Yeah,” Dray agreed.

“Hey, Dray, the guy on the phone said his name was Lucky and that you should call him as soon as possible.”

Dray’s gaze shot to Manny. “Did he sound upset?”

Manny nodded.

“Shit.” Dray stopped admiring his own work and finished cleaning and bandaging the tattoo. “Manny’ll give you a sheet for aftercare, but I assume you already know the drill.” He pulled off his latex gloves and tossed them into the trash. Brad had been Dray’s client for several years and had a myriad of tattoos on his body. Evidently, Brad wasn’t bothered by Dray’s out and proud status, but a lot of guys were. Dray didn’t mind. He’d rather not work on the assholes anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.” Brad held out his hand. “You’re the best, man.”

“Thanks.” Dray grabbed his phone off his worktable. “Sorry, but I need to return a call.”

“Sure,” Brad said, letting Dray go.

“Thanks,” Amber called, as Dray pushed open the door to the break room.

Dray grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and pressed speed dial.

“Hey, sorry for bothering you at work,” Lucky answered.

“Don’t worry about it. I was about done anyway.” Dray dropped into one of the chairs that surrounded the small kitchen table they’d set up. “This about Brick?” It was the call he’d hoped would never come, but one he’d expected.

“Yeah. Jax found a bloody towel in Brick’s bottom drawer. I confronted the old bastard, and he finally laid it all out. Cancer in his stomach and lungs. He’s refused treatment because the chemo or radiation would only prolong his life for a short time instead of cure it,” Lucky explained.

“Fuck!” Dray threw the half-full water bottle against the wall. “How long?”

“Hard to say, but Brick’s determined to last through the rest of the season. I told him I didn’t give a shit about the fights, and he informed me that he wanted to go out a winner.”

Like always, there was a pen and pad of paper on the table, all the artists used for doodling on their off moments. It was a nervous habit they all shared, and one Dray frequently used to rid himself of his excess energy while in the shop. “You’re with him every day. What do you think?”

Lucky sighed. “I think he’s strong enough to make the Indianapolis trip, but after that, my next fight isn’t for another three weeks. With the amount of blood on that fucking towel…”

“Indianapolis will be his last,” Dray surmised.

“Yeah, I think so.” Lucky cleared his throat. “I put a call into Ray Bruno. He’s got a winner take all tournament coming up next week. The weight classes are broad, but anyone can enter for five hundred bucks. The more entries, the more fights.”

“Don’t do it.” Dray rubbed his hands over his bristly scalp. Ray Bruno’s tournaments often turned into blood baths, pitting trained fighters against regular men who thought they were just as tough but weren’t even in the same league as their skilled opponents.

“I can win,” Lucky declared. “Not only will I need the release while dealing with this shit, but it’s local, so I can give Brick the only thing he wants before he dies.”

“And what happens if you don’t win?” Dray asked. “What happens if you go against someone who fucks you up so bad your dream of going pro is over?”

“If some schmo in Bruno’s tournament can fuck me up enough to put me out of the game, I don’t deserve to go pro.”

Dray added some shading to the portrait he’d drawn of Lucky. Even as a teenager, Lucky had been high-strung, only really settling down when he was in the ring or working one of the bags. Fighting for Lucky was like a drug, whereas it was the fan reaction that had always driven Dray. Although he didn’t like it, he understood Lucky’s need to do it. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“There’s something else,” Lucky said. “Brick’s leaving The Brick Yard to the two of us. He wants us to look after Jax and anyone else who comes along who needs it.”

“What the fuck is he thinking? I can’t just pick up and move back to Chicago. I’ve got a life here—a house, a job.” Not to mention the fact that Kansas City was far enough away from Lucky not to pose a threat to the younger man’s career.

Lucky was quiet for several moments before he exhaled. “I think he’s worried about the kids, and this is his way of insuring they have somewhere to go. He’s asking us to pay it forward.”

Dray thought of the farmhouse he’d worked so hard on. It was still far from perfect, but it was his—or at least it would be in another twenty-one years after he’d paid off the mortgage. He wondered if he should be honest with Lucky or if knowing how much Dray wanted him would put Lucky in a worse position.

Lucky made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “I can’t do this alone,” he finally said.

Motherfucker!
Dray closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing he couldn’t ignore the plea. “Okay. I need to take care of a few things, but I’ll head that way in a few days. I’m not promising I’ll stay for good, but I’ll be there to help take care of Brick.”

“Thanks,” Lucky mumbled.

“In the meantime, keep me updated on what’s going on,” Dray ordered. How the hell was he going to tell his cousin Berto that he had two days to find a replacement for him at the shop? “What about Indianapolis? You still gonna go?”

“Yes, but we’ll be home on Sunday.”

“Expect me on Sunday then,” Dray said.

“Dray?” Lucky’s voice was softer than Dray had ever heard it.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I know coming back here is probably the last thing you want to do and if I could handle the fights, the gym, Jax and Brick on my own, I would.”

“I know,” Dray replied. “I just don’t want to cause problems for you, and I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

Lucky chuckled, but Dray could tell it was forced. “At least you’ll be here to help me sort the shit out if it happens.”

“If I fuck up your career, you may not want my help.” Dray stared at the realistic drawing of Lucky under his fingers. He tapped the paper several times before pushing it away.

“Don’t worry about my career because I’m not sure I can fight without Brick,” Lucky confessed.

“You can, and you will.” As the realization of the situation sank in, Dray’s hands started to shake.
Fuck!
He needed to get off the phone before he totally lost his fucking mind. “Hey, can I call you later?”

“Sure,” Lucky replied.

“Thanks.” Dray hung up and dropped his phone to the table before he threw it across the goddamn room. He sprang to his feet and kicked backward, sending the chair crashing against the wall. He couldn’t imagine The Brick Yard without the man that had become its heart and soul. The old guilt came back full force. He shouldn’t have walked out on Brick like he had. Running back to Kansas City with his tail tucked between his legs had been a purely selfish move. After everything Brick had done for him, Dray had paid him back by turning his back on his mentor and the gym. He owed everything he was to Brick, and he knew in his gut it was time he paid back all that he’d been given.

One thing he knew for sure, Lucky had what it took to become a champion. There were two kinds of fighters—those who learned and those who were born to the sport. In the cage, Lucky moved with a natural grace and single-mindedness that couldn’t be taught and one way or another, Dray was going to push Lucky into reaching for the stars he deserved to touch.

* * * *

Lucky studied Brick closely as they made their way through the parted crowd to the cage. The three-hour drive had definitely taken its toll on the older man, but Brick had refused to rest when they’d finally arrived at the hotel. Instead, Brick demanded Lucky run through a series of warm-up drills and exercises until it was time to leave for the arena.

A woman with big tits pushed through the crowd and grabbed Lucky around the neck. “I love you!” she screamed, trying to kiss him as her big breasts pressed against his chest.

In no mood for the unwanted attention, Lucky pushed her away from him. Unfortunately, he was already pumped and focused on the fight and the move threw her off balance. As the woman fell to the floor, the entire crowd started to boo.

Lucky immediately bent over and tried to help her to her feet. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done as far as the fans were concerned.
Shit
. He glanced over his shoulder at Brick before returning his attention to the woman. “You okay?”

“You’re an asshole!” she yelled in his face, jerking her arm out of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to apologize.

“Fuck off,” she shot back, before disappearing into the crowd.

His concentration obliterated, Lucky continued toward the cage. He had five minutes before he had to step inside, and his mind was so fucked, he doubted he could win. He thought he’d dealt with the Brick shit, but faced with the very real prospect of losing in front of the man who meant everything to him, he was hanging on by a thread. “Give me my phone.” He held out his hand and waited for Brick to comply.

“What the fuck’re you talking about?” Brick growled.

“Give me the goddamned phone!” Lucky felt like his world was crashing down around him.

With a loud curse of his own, Brick handed Lucky the phone. “Four minutes.”

Lucky shrugged out of his robe as he waited for Dray to pick up. “Come on. Come on,” he chanted.