“WHERE’S NADIA? SHE’S usually here with you,” my father said as I stepped into the study where he and Dax already sat in leather club chairs. My stepmum Clara and my stepsister Blythe played on the floor with a puzzle.
I shrugged noncommittally at my father, knowing it drove him bonkers.
We’d just finished a five-course dinner with rather stilted conversation in the dining room, where my father had talked about his business projects and the various vacations he and my stepmother, Clara, planned to take in the coming year. My four-year-old stepsister, Blythe, had been fed by the nanny in the kitchen while the adults chatted.
My family lived a prestigious life, which I guess wasn’t surprising considering he came from a long line of privileged military men and she was the daughter of a real estate mogul.
My mum, on the other hand, had been a secretary and merely a casual fling that had resulted in a pregnancy. He’d married her when she’d refused to have an abortion and then he’d promptly given her a small house, a lump of money, and divorced her. Most of that had been to save his career and reputation.
Mum should have been the one living in this huge colonial mansion with a pool, tennis courts, and a stable full of Arabian horses, not the younger version Father had replaced her with.
The sharp ache of a distant memory touched me, one of Mum lying on her bed. Weak. I’d been upset—even angry—with her, too naïve to see her illness. All I’d focused on was that the giggly woman who’d made the best shepherd’s pie, the woman who’d come to my martial arts classes and cheered me on, was missing.
God, that cut deep, and I closed my eyes, wishing I could jump back to that one point in time and tell her I was sorry, that I didn’t mean any of the stupid shit I said.
She hadn’t told us until the very end.
I’m dying and your father is coming to take you away.
She died a week later.
A man I hadn’t seen in nine years had shown up at our house the next day, his face a mask of iron, his eyes dismissive as he took in our small house filled with the belongings of two messy boys. He’d heaved a great sigh and told the packers to forget bringing anything with us. We’d left behind our cozy home in London for a mansion in Raleigh, North Carolina.
It had been the beginning of my hell.
“Declan, I asked you about Nadia.”
Still I didn’t answer, my eyes touching on the huge plate glass window behind my father’s desk, and I recalled how angry he’d got with Dax one summer in high school over his failing grades. He’d shouted loud enough at Dax that I’d heard them and came in to see my father waving his fists at him. A big barrel-chested man, he’d got in our faces plenty of times, but had never used his fists. I don’t know if he would have that day, but I didn’t give him a chance.
Rage had driven me to use my own fists. We’d wrestled on the floor of the study, his hands connecting with my face more times than I care to remember. Sweat and blood had flown, and when he tossed me off him and I’d stumbled, the force of it sent me straight into that window and right out onto the concrete drive.
I’d ended up in the hospital with a concussion and over a hundred stitches across my back.
To say things had been rocky between us since was an understatement.
I turned to face his hard stare. “We broke up this summer.”
Wearing a frown, he set down his tumbler on a coaster. “Why? She’s the perfect girl, plus I like the thought of you going to law school settled in a steady relationship.”
Perfect?
I’d rather have imperfect.
It dawned on me that perhaps I’d been drawn to Nadia because dating her had been a small attempt on my part to do one thing to please my old man.
My father sighed. “What stupid thing did you do to lose her?”
“Caught her screwing a Ninja Turtle.”
Clara gasped, her eyes flashing angrily as she looked pointedly at Blythe. “Really, Declan. Have you lost all sense of decorum?”
I grimaced down at Blythe, who looked up at me with big green eyes, her curly brown hair in angelic ringlets around her face. My dad might be a wanker, but she was innocent and completely unaware that her parents were arseholes. “Sorry, poppet. I forgot you were there. Forgive me?” I grinned and pulled out a pack of gum I’d picked up on the way over. “Look, I brought you a treat. It’s orange sherbet, your favorite.”
She took the gum in her small hand. “Which Ninja Turtle was it?”
I laughed. “Donatello.”
She pursed her lips. “How do you screw a Ninja Turtle? Do you twist his neck?”
Dax barked out a laugh from across the room.
I smiled. She was as cute as a button. “Yep, that’s exactly how you do it. Want to sit with me?”
Truth was I needed a buffer between my father and me.
She nodded and climbed into my lap as I sat down in one of the chairs.
He got right to business. “Dax has informed me he isn’t going to graduate on time—I’m not surprised considering his dismal grades—but I hope you will be walking the line this spring, yes?”
I nodded.
He sent me a pleased look. “At least someone is studying around here.”
“Dax’s got other skills,” I reminded him. “He’s the president of Tau and head over so many bloody clubs I can’t keep track of him.”
“Yes, we’re all aware of Dax’s penchant for social activities.”
“Right here,” Dax muttered. “I can hear you loud and clear.”
Our father stiffened and swiveled his cold eyes toward him. I saw the moment Dax drew up, radiating nervousness.
I patted Blythe’s hair, trying to keep my fists from clenching.
Dax had always been the weaker one, and Father picked on him the most.
“I bought a gym,” I announced.
Dax’s eyes flared wide and he shook his head rapidly back and forth. His eyes said, No dude, no dude, don’t fucking do it! He’s going to flip.
Too late now, mine said.
I ignored the flush that started taking up most of my father’s burly neck, easing up to his face.
I sighed. “I got my half of the inheritance from the barrister that handled Mum’s estate. Law school isn’t going to happen. I know it’s what you had planned, but fighting—training people—it’s what I want to do. Someday I might want my own shot at a UFC championship.”
Tension ramped up the room.
Clara fluttered around him. “Now, Winston, don’t get upset. Here, let me get you another Scotch.”
His gray eyes bored into me. “You wasted your inheritance on a sweaty gym for white trash karate wannabes?”
I stiffened. “We have all kinds who come in to take classes. Blacks, Hispanics, a few Muslims—”
He slapped his palm down on his armchair. “Don’t get smart with me, Declan. You will apply for law school at Harvard like you should.”
I set my cup down. “It’s done. You can’t get money back that I’ve already spent.”
“No son of mine is going to toss away a first class education and a high IQ to be a common laborer.”
I let out a resigned sigh and poked Blythe in the side, making her giggle. “You better go see your mum. It’s time for me to go.”
As usual, I’d made him angry. I just couldn’t be what he wanted.
I was never good enough just the way I was.
AN HOUR LATER I was at my gym.
Built in the late seventies, it had been constructed in the historic part of town that was being revitalized. Several of the neighboring homes had been re-modeled and upgraded with young and hip families moving in.
No matter what my father said, the gym was a good investment.
Anybody can pop up a gym and say its MMA qualified, and it didn’t mean shit, but Front Street Gym would have real credentials. Max was one of my trainers, and although he’d got his start in traditional martial arts, he’d transitioned over to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai, and Krav Maga in his later years.