Broken Boys Crave Chaos by JB Heller

ChapterSix

I’m sittingon my couch, coffee number three in hand as I studiously ignore my cell while it repeatedly lights up, Trick’s name plastered across the screen.

I give it a shove with my toe, making it slide across the ottoman and onto the floor. Much better. Out of sight, out of mind. I smile and go back to flicking through my Netflix watch list that’s been neglected for way longer than I thought. Any time I come across a show or movie I might like, but I’m not in the right mood for at the time, I put it in the list and move on. Apparently, I have three-hundred and fourteen items in said list. And now is the perfect time to either give it a good cull or start working my way through it.

I settle back into the cushions and start scrolling when a thumping sounds through the front door, followed by, “Quit being a pussy and answer your damn phone!”

Well shit. Looks like Trick doesn’t know how to take a hint.

Reluctantly, I get to my feet and shuffle to the door then swing it open. “Why are you here?” I ask, knowing exactly why he’s here but choosing feigned ignorance.

He shoves past me into my apartment, and straight to the coffee machine. Once he’s made himself a mug, he turns to face me, leans back against the counter with crossed ankles, and proceeds to stare at me.

By now I’ve made myself comfortable on one of the nearby stools, leisurely sipping my coffee and pretending his stare doesn’t bother me at all. But knowing me as well as he does, the prick is fully aware I hate awkward silences. Which is exactly what this is.

When I can’t stand it any longer, I heave a sigh and meet his gaze. “Was ignoring your twenty thousand phone calls not enough of a hint for you?”

He takes a long pull from his mug, then sets it on the counter beside him as he folds his arms over his chest. “Why didn’t you come to the class this morning?”

I shrug. “Because I didn’t want to.”

“Elaborate,” he says.

“There’s nothing to elaborate on. I didn’t want to go, simple as that, man.” I drain the last drip of coffee from my cup, get up to rinse the mug in the sink, then place it in the top shelf of the dishwasher.

Trick hasn’t moved a muscle, and he’s still staring at me.

“Jesus, would you stop looking at me like that. It’s creepy.”

He continues to stare, his expression saying everything his mouth isn’t.

I glare at the stubborn bastard. “Friggin’ hell, man, just say something.”

“I’m just waiting for you to tell me why you really didn’t show this morning.”

Running a hand through my hair, I lean back against the counter beside him. “It’s not my thing, okay. I’ll find some other way to see Ariel again.”

“I know you haven’t come into the gym since that day everything blew up between Chance and Carter. I didn’t really know you back then, but I do now, and I can’t help but wonder why you’re the only one in our little family—” his nose wrinkles on the word, but he presses on. “—who doesn’t come round. Even the girls take the women’s classes once a week.”

I didn’t think he’d noticed. Actually, I didn’t think anyone except Chance had noticed. I’ve never had to explain it out loud to anyone before, and now that I need to, I find that the words escape me.

Trick gives my shoulder a light squeeze as he says, “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I won’t be pissed or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.” Releasing his hold, he takes a step back and picks up his coffee again. He lifts the mug toward his mouth but pauses before it touches his lips. “Unless you got a membership at Shipley’s. Then I’ll be fuckin’ pissed.” He narrows his eyes.

I laugh, hold up my hands, and tell him, “No man, I would never. Swear it.”

“Good,” he says with a stiff nod. “So, what’s the problem.”

Stalling, I go to the fridge and get myself a bottle of water then return to my abandoned stool. I can’t sit still as Trick eyes me with a mix of confusion and worry. Resting my elbows on the counter, I hunch forward and drum my fingers on the smooth surface. Then I sit back, lacing my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling.

“Kass,” Trick urges. “Just say it, man.”

“I used to enjoy watching the occasional MMA and boxing match on TV or whatever, the way they moved was both brutal and beautiful. I was intrigued by it, but never had the time to give it a go myself. I liked watching though,” I tell him, then I shift in my seat again. Going back to leaning on the counter.

“Umm, okay?” Trick says, his brows furrowing.

“A few years back, I found out my grandfather was a raging alcoholic and would use my dad as a punching bag when the mood struck. He’d take his anger and shit out on him with his words and his fists.” I swallow and shake my head. It still makes me sick thinking about it. “Anyway, not long after that, Chance and I turned up at the gym, and seeing Carter in that ring…”

It’s hard to explain exactly what happened in that moment. I found myself admiring his ability to predict his opponent’s next move and counter it before it even happened. He moved with such fluidity and power, it was enthralling. Then Chance bolted for the exit, palm over her mouth as she held herself back from vomiting.

I shake myself from the memory then meet Trick’s intense gaze. “When Chance reacted the way she did, I realized while I was standing there admiring the skill involved in the sport, she was picturing her father beating on mine. By the time I went after her, Mase already had her. She was a fucking mess…”

“I remember,” Trick says quietly. “I wasn’t a fan of Chance and Carter’s relationship for a long time. She dulls all the parts of him that made him such a formidable fighter. He’d always been ferocious in the ring, no mercy, no remorse. He was so full of anger, and he used it as fuel when he stepped into the ring—it was his release.”

I nod, I know all of this. Carter was all kinds of fucked up back then, and I can’t really blame him. His parents are elitist assholes who treated him like a commodity and pretended his sister didn’t even exist because she has down syndrome. Carter hasn’t spoken to them in something like three years now.

Trick walks around the counter, drags out a stool, sits, leans his elbow on the counter, then turns his face to me. “What does any of that have to do with you coming in though?”

“You know that day when Carter came after Chance? I goaded him. I’d just seen him kicking ass, and I goaded him.” I shake my head at my own stupidity. “I called him a psycho with a split personality, and a few other things.”

“Yeah, I came out just as Mase pinned Carter to the wall to stop him coming at you. I remember thinking you were either the dumbest shit I’d ever seen, or you had balls bigger than me.” He chuckles.

I laugh and shove him. “Just plain stupid, man. Truth is I knew had things been different for me, I very well could have been just like Carter, and that scared the shit out of me. So, I put it all on him and my grandfather. I looped them into the same circle and tagged them with the same brand.”

“What do you mean you could have been like Carter?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“I get angry, man. Like, a lot. Say I learned to fight, if I let myself cross that line from pacifist to aggressor, I don’t think I could look at myself in the mirror and not see my grandfather. I don’t want that kind of violence to be a part of me. It’s not a person I’m willing to become.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes as the conversation comes to an end. There’s nothing more to say; I’ve laid out my cards, and there’s no solution.

After a while, Trick clears his throat and says, “Well shit, you do a good job of hiding it. I never would have guessed you struggle with anger issues, Kass. You’re always so chill.”

I just shrug. “For the most part, I am chill. But some things get under my skin, and that’s when it feels like I could boil over.”

“How would you feel about coming in just to work out? I know my place is predominantly an MMA gym where fighters come to hone their skills, but you don’t have to participate in the classes or spar with anyone. You could just use the equipment…”

Turning my head, I eye him. “Yeah, I guess I could. But I don’t really see the point. I run or swim every day. I don’t need a gym for that.”

Trick gives me a deadpan stare. “Do you, or do you not, want to cross paths with Ariel again?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“So come and run on my fucking treadmills, you difficult little shit.”

The corner of my mouth kicks up in a grin. “I guess I could do that.”

Trick slugs me in the shoulder. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“You love me,” I taunt.

“Fuck off with that, you sound like Mase,” he shoots back, getting to his feet. “My work here is done. I’ll see you at six tomorrow morning. She’ll be there.” He strides for the door.

I gape after him. “On a Sunday?”

He ignores me, leaving my apartment without a backward glance as I sit there still smiling like a fool.

* * *

It should beillegal to make people get out of bed before six a.m.

My alarm went off a few minutes ago, and I’m flat on my back, staring at the ceiling and wondering why the hell Ariel will be at the gym so damn early. It’s insanity. There is no reasonable explanation for it. But I’m not going to get an answer, logical or not, unless I get my ass out of bed.

Groaning, I roll to the edge of the mattress and swing my legs over the side, then I drag my feet all the way to the shower. I feel slightly more awake when I get out, thankfully. I throw on my running shorts, a plain white tank, and my sneakers, then head for the kitchen. Grabbing a mug, I go to fill it with coffee, but it occurs to me that the last thing I want to do when I’ve got a stomach full of coffee is run. Shit.

With a heavy sigh, I return my mug to the cabinet and take a bottle of water from the fridge instead. I snatch my keys and cell off the counter then stride out the front door.

There’s a steady breeze as I walk to Trick’s a few blocks from my apartment building. Driving would be pointless when it’s less than a fifteen-minute walk, and it’s not like I’m in a rush. I enjoy the soft sounds of birds singing and chattering as I stroll down the sidewalk. The air is crisp and fresh at this hour, and I kinda like it.

Being the only one out on the street is surprisingly peaceful.

It’s just after six when I trudge across the parking lot at Trick’s, surprised to find it half full. I push through the entrance and head over to the check-in counter where a perky girl with a huge smile and high ponytail greets me.

“Good morning,” she chirps.

“Uh, hi.” This girl is way too chipper for the hour.

“How can I help you today? You must be a newbie, I definitely would have remembered a face like yours,” she says, shooting me a flirtatious little wink.

“Stop cracking on to the members,” Trick growls, appearing out of nowhere.

I glance around. “Where’d you come from?”

“Fuckin’ magic, man. I teleported from my office,” he deadpans.

“Oh, good to see you’re as pleasant in the mornings as you are every other hour of the day.”

He shrugs. “I am who I am. Now let’s go.” He strides through a set of glass doors.

I follow along obediently, my eyes widening as we enter the main area of the warehouse. He’s done a lot of work here over the last few years. Last time I was here, the front entry and partition separating it from the rest of the gym didn’t even exist.

He’s got an area dedicated to machines now, too, ellipticals, treadmills, rowing machines, and stationary bikes. “Wow, the set-up’s certainly changed a lot.”

Trick nods. “Wanted to make it more inclusive, a gym for everybody, you know? Not just fighters. Even got a chick starting up yoga classes next week.”

“It’s impressive, man. I knew you’d expanded but had no idea just how different it would all be,” I tell him, moving my eyes around the expansive area. It’s still one big open plan, but there are dedicated areas for everything. The machines are the first thing you come across when you clear the entry, to the left of those is a gated off childcare area, then two rooms that I assume classes are held in.

Shifting my gaze to the right, I spot a petite chick sitting at a chest press, her long black hair tied in a knot on the top of her head, and unsurprisingly she’s wearing a black tank and long, black tights.

She’s even prettier than I remember…

“Go get her, lover boy,” Trick says, shoving me toward the weights area.

I stumble and nearly trip over my feet. “Asshole,” I mutter, glaring at him.

He just smiles, gives me a salute, and says, “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.” Trick tips his head in the direction of a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed.

“Catch ya,” I say to his retreating back, then turn to Ariel. What am I supposed to do now? Just walk up to her and be all, ‘Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here’ like I didn’t basically stalk her ass. “Fuck me,” I grumble under my breath, running a hand through my hair.

I’m about to turn around to go hit the treadmill for a bit when she lifts her head, and our eyes lock.

She tilts her face to the side as she stares at me, a smile slowly curving her lips. My heart pounds against my ribcage as she stands, grabs a towel, wipes her brow, then drops it to the floor and strides toward me. She radiates confidence, and it’s so fucking sexy all I can do is stare right back.

Ariel stops a mere foot from me, the same smile playing on her mouth as she says, “Kass.”

That’s it. Just my name.

And I’m a goner.