19. Cheyanne

"You didn't?" Liam's words over the phone sound more intrigued than disapproving. That's a good sign.

"Yeah, we did." I smile but suppress a laugh. I'll wait to see what all my brother says before I gush.

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Uh, thanks. Okay, now you're acting weird."

"How am I supposed to act? You just fessed a hook-up with Ronan. Guys don't talk like this, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah." I scribble on a pad of paper. It's my nervous habit when I don't really want to be on the phone. I draw a circle and a square with happy and angry faces. The angry square is Liam's face. I draw in furrowed brows.

"Listen, I'm happy for you two…"

"But?"

"Well, big picture. I'm not sure this is good for your business."

"Business? Liam, do you see everything in terms of the bottom line?

I hear a chuckle. "Well, maybe not everything."

"Okay, this is why I called you to tell you. Cough it up. Tell me what's what from your cold-hearted lawyer side."

Another chuckle over the phone. I add big clown feet and hands to my Liam doodle. Good thing my brother never sees these.

"Hey, screw Ronan all you want, but you should tell all concerned before they find out about it from somebody else."

"You're talking about our dad, aren't you?"

"I'm just saying, that's all. By the way, I caught replays of your latest shows. You're rocking Disastra, seriously, Chey. Mom would be so proud of what you've accomplished.

I feel tears coming on.

"Listen, I have to run. Talk later?"

"Sure thing. I bill by the hour."

"Funny."

I cut the call. The screen goes back to my wallpaper, a picture of my mom and me. Maybe if I stare at it long enough, Mom will say something. Maybe about my career. Maybe about Ronan. After a while, I click the button and the screen goes black. Waiting for ghosts, you could waste away your life.

* * *

I push wide the double glass doors wide open later that afternoon and stride into the Raucous gym. The place is hopping compared to the mom-and-pop gyms where I secretly train with Ronan, and the difference always feels like night and day.

Still, even though I'm never excited to be here these days, the smell of sweat and gymnastic mats fill my nostrils. The mix always gets me revved. I'm happy and relieved the place is full because fewer people here means more chance of them examining me and my every move.

I notice some groupies hanging out in the stands. It's the usual suspects, one being Dee Dee Dauterive, Ronan's slobbering fan. I assume she's hoping Ronan will appear at some point. I shake my head and wonder why these girls don't have lives.

I gear up and quickly go through my warm-up session, then practice my Archimedes set-up. I miss my cues. I overstep. Hell, I even stumble once.

"Chey, what the hell is going on? You're acting like this is your first day in the ring."

Mac's arms are crossed. Not a good sign.

I exhale, throw my hands on my hips, and gaze at my shoes.

"Frig, I know. My heart isn't in it today."

Mac turns and hollers. "Hey, Lottie, get in the ring. Help Chey out here."

"Sure thing."

Lottie leaves her mat and jumps up.

"Okay, Archimedes, do your best." Lottie beats her chest as her Torrential. She's already rocking her Amazon woman look.

I turn my head and shake the tension out of my shoulders, focus, and we go at it.

Lottie bobs. I weave and trip over my feet.

Lottie weaves, I bob and fall into the ropes.

"Stop! Stop! I can't do this."

Lottie, slack-jawed, looks at Mac. He just shrugs his shoulders.

I feel like a Muppet without a human stuck up my butt. I don't tell Mac or Lottie why I'm physically beat, emotionally confused, and so elated all at the same time about Ronan and me.

"Chey, I get it. There's not been much time to practice the footwork for this next gig, but you really have to up your game." Mac's face tries to look sympathetic, but the expression fails. I know what he's thinking. He's thinking I'm acting like a stupid kid who doesn't know one gangly limb from another.

"Okay, how ‘bout we change it up? I'll go into my Disastra character against your Torrential. Perform a few moves."

"Bring it, girl! Let's get this rumble on the road."

I smile, and we go at it. I'm so engrossed in my foot work and rope tricks that I fail to notice Dee Dee and a few of her idol skulking hangers-on have moved closer to the ring to watch.

After the three practice rounds where I'm still screwing up cues I had down cold with Camie, Mac yells. "Stop! Enough. I can't watch this trainwreck anymore. Get out of the ring. Lottie, thanks, by the way. Chey, meet me in the locker room. We need to talk. Now."

My forehead furrows and my lips purse. I utter a few choice curses and angrily pull off my hand tape. I burst through the locker doors and wait for Mac's berating. I know it's coming. Today's session was beyond embarrassing.

The door closes. "Okay, Chey, cough it up. What the hell is wrong with you? I mean, even Lottie felt sorry for you, and she loves beating your butt."

I turn around and look down at the demon. His beady black eyes penetrate my soul, or at least that's how his look feels.

I plunk down on the bench. My butt hits it so hard that I think the wood will split. It doesn't.

"I… I, well, I haven't been at my best probably ‘cause I've been going from show to show. I'm beat, Mac. That's all there is to it. And the worry, you know, about ticket sales and my plummeting rep with Archimedes. I've been fighting so hard, maybe too hard, to reverse the course."

Mac sighs. "Okay, well, this news may lighten your load. I checked the stats for your last few shows. Your popularity has increased, and more importantly, the higher ups at Raucous have noticed. They've told me they are considering you for a four-part story arc. They're throwing a ton of dough into the promotion end — newspaper, TV, social media ads, the works."

I raise my head and look at Mac with no effect.

"Chey, what the hell? This is huge. How can you sit there and act like I just read my grocery list to you? Do you realize the significance of what Raucous is offering you here?"

"Yeah, I get it, and I'm pleased. I am."

"Well, your mouth needs to send a memo to your face."

"Ignore my face today. I'll send it a memo, like you said."

Mac takes a seat opposite me. He never does that. I swear he's busting a gut trying to care. I'd laugh if he weren't being so serious.

"Chey, I know you don't want to hear this, but you need a dose of reality here. If I were you, I'd be kicking Raucous to the curb and joining my father's brand-new franchise. He's offering the world on a string. But like the stubborn so-and-so you are, you've refused that offer. So, here's the cut-and-dried of it. Raucous is giving you this gift. Get grateful, fast, and focus on what you have and not what you want. Got it?"

"Got it."

I lie. I have nothing right in my head. A part of me wants to beat myself up for not being thrilled at this four-part gig. I know it could be huge for my rep and for my bank account.

I should be happy to have interest back in Archimedes. It's the character I've been fighting all this time to hold onto. My plan finally seems to be paying off, so why am I not feeling anything right now? This should be the best news I've heard all year. My brain, if it were an appliance, would be sparking right now. Career and loyalty lines are fitzing like frayed wires.

Mac gets up and heads for the door. His long legs make quick work for the exit.

"Coach, I'll be with it tomorrow. Promise. Give me a day to get all this straight in my head."

Mac turns around and points his thin finger at me. "One day. Then I want Archimedes back. No hems. No haws. No damn excuses. You're a pro, Cheyanne. Act like it."

I silently nod my head. Mac doesn't see it. He already burst through the door.

I lean back against the cement wall. It's cooling on my sweaty back. I didn't tell Mac about the inner fight I'm having that pits Raucous against my dad, Archimedes against Disastra, and all of it set against the loyalty I feel for my mom. My hands hold either side of my head, keeping my skull from exploding from the conflicting thoughts.

I whisper. "If I don't get my shit together, Lottie or someone else will take my starting position in the roster. And then the decision will have been made for me. Jesus, Chey, get it together, girl. Shit or get off the pot, as Dad would say. What, or who, do you want? Where does your loyalty really lie?"

My hands fall by my side, and I whisper a name that solves nothing.

"Ronan."