Chapter 14

Every day,someone’s at my apartment to check on me, bringing food and light doses of verbal abuse.

Wednesday, Remy shows up early to take me to my doctor’s appointment.

“Let’s go, princess,” he shouts.

“I can’t wait until we can get in the ring and do some sparring,” I mutter, hobbling to my front door. I grab a sweatshirt off the hook on the wall and slowly ease my arms into it. Remy stands and watches with a grave expression I want to punch right off his face. “Thanks, I got it.”

He flicks his serious blue eyes up. “You need me to zip it up for you like you’re headed to kindergarten?”

“No, jackass.” Gripping the tiny zipper with my still-sore fingers takes a few tries but I finally get it done. Biggest accomplishment of the morning.

At the top of the stairs I stop and reconsider my plan to leave the building.

“Just take it slow,” Remy says, holding out his arm.

Shame prickles over me. I shouldn’t still be this fucked up almost a week later. But at least Remy doesn’t crack any jokes as I grip the railing and ease myself down the stairs, keeping as much weight as I can off my fucked-up knee.

“I know this visit is for your kidneys, but you might need to see someone about that knee,” Remy says when I finally land on the first floor.

“They x-rayed it down there. It’s fine.” Fifty-fifty chance it doesn’t need surgery.

Black Beauty’s sitting in the first parking spot, gleaming like Remy ran her through the car wash before picking me up. “I figured you might not want to climb into the Bronco.” He holds out the keys to me. “You can drop me off at the house when we’re done.”

I wave them away. “You better drive.” I ease into the passenger side and run my hand over the dash. “How’s my baby?”

Remy slams the driver’s side shut and snorts. “Fine. I’ve been taking her out once a week or so. Otherwise, keeping it in the garage out back.”

“Thanks. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened to it if I left it sitting here.” I gesture to the apartment building’s small parking lot as Remy fires up the engine.

I cock my head, listening to the throaty rumble, a slight smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Told you I took care of her.” Remy shifts into reverse and eases out of the parking spot.

“Thanks.” I clear my throat. “Molly’s car still at Jerry’s?”

“Yup.” His tone’s clipped, intended to stop any additional questions.

“I’ll need to go look at it and?—”

“It’s been there all summer.” He flips the blinker on and makes a left out of the lot. “It’ll be fine for a few more days.”

“I guess.”

“Eraser and I cleaned up the mess.”

Well, shit. Now I feel bad for ragging on Eraser’s haircut the other day. “How bad was it?”

“Bad.” He blows out a long, irritated breath. “I really don’t want to talk about it, though.”

Tough shit. I had to go weeks without knowing what the fuck happened. “Jesus, Remy. Did she really go at it with a bat?”

He glances at me sideways. “Yes.”

“Did she get hurt?”

“Her arms were sore for a few days.” He taps the side of his fist against the steering wheel. “And I think she had a few scratches. But most of the damage was to her pride. Oh, and her broken heart,” he adds with a murderous glance in my direction.

“Remy, you know I never?—”

“You know where I found her that day after I talked to you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “At the fucking airport trying to leave town.”

I open my mouth, then close it as that sinks in. Molly must’ve been in a bad way if she wanted to leave home and get on a plane all by herself.

“Then she had to deal with every nosy fuck around here asking her about you or the show. She worked three fucking jobs all summer so she didn’t have to see her friends.”

No, I bet she did that to keep herself busy, not just to avoid her friends. “Where?” I’m ashamed I have to ask the question. That’s information I should already know. “Besides the clinic and Miller’s Farms?”

“The internship at the hearing aid clinic wasn’t so bad,” he answers. “Apparently their clients aren’t the target audience for cage fighter reality shows.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” I mutter.

“She kept her shifts at the grocery store. But so many people bugged her there, they ended up moving her to the flower shop where she didn’t have to deal with a lot of customers and the other cashiers.”

“Shit.”

“Eh.” He lifts his shoulders. “She said it wasn’t too busy, so she got a lot of reading done.”

At least that sounds like something Molly would say.

“She helped me out at the bar most nights and on the weekends after Miller’s,” he continues.

“She always wanted you to let her work there.” It’s not the safest environment, though. Remy’s had his share of unexpected events. “Was she okay? Customers didn’t bother her, right?”

“We had a few issues. But they were dealt with.”

“Like what?”

“Not your concern.”

“The fuck it isn’t.”

“It’s really not.” He glances over. “You weren’t here.”

He’s going to throw that in my face forever. “Remy.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” He turns into the parking lot of the large medical complex, glances at a large board of signs and makes a right turn. “I’m glad you’re home. But more than your face and body got fucked up by that show.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I grumble.

He pulls into a spot next to Building A. “Sign says it’s in there.”

Glad one of us was paying attention.

“You want me to go in with you?” he asks.

“Not really.” I draw a lazy circle in the air with one finger. “This has all been humiliating enough.”

He hums a thoughtful noise. “I wish they hadn’t made it so…personal. Gone after Molly the way they did.”

Guess that’s his way of telling me he’d have more compassion for my situation if the producers hadn’t fucked with his sister. “You and me both, brother.”

The door squeaks as I open it. Gonna have to take a look at that soon.

In the waiting room, the receptionist points me to a chair and hands me a stack of forms to fill out. “People still do this on paper?” I lift an eyebrow.

She scowls at me. “Just fill it out. Payment has already been arranged but we need your signature on those forms.”

At least Jordan did what he said he’d do. I’d half expected the producers to fuck me over and get handed a massive bill at the end of this appointment.

After filling out the forms and handing them back to the receptionist, she again tells me to take a seat. I park my ass in the corner and pull out my phone.

None of my texts to Molly have gone through.

I check her social media next. She’s never been into it much, but she has an Instagram account.

That I’m no longer able to see.

This account is private.

What the fuck? Her profile picture used to be one of us from prom night. Now, it’s her face turned to the side, chin up like she’s looking at the sky but most of her features hidden by her hair or obscured by some filter. But I know my girl. It’s definitely her.

Did she lock down her account to hide from me? Or because people who were watching the show harassed her?

I check my own account. Diane had “curated” it when I first arrived at the house. As far as I can tell, all that meant is she posted a series of obnoxious shirtless thirst traps of me from different events at the house. It worked, though. Each one has thousands of likes and comments. I’m not even going to bother reading all that shit. How fucking embarrassing.

Any photos I’d posted before the show Diane must have set to private. That’s probably for the best. My bio still says “in a relationship.” Gee, surprised Diane didn’t change that too while she was busy fucking up my life. I navigate my way through the settings and change my password. Not that it probably matters. Those fucks had my phone for so long, they could’ve put God only knows what spyware on it. Maybe I should have Remy take me to get a new phone while we’re out.

“Griffin,” a nurse calls out.

It takes a second to realize she means me. Almost no one ever calls me that. I stand and shove my phone in my pocket.

I hope this isn’t gonna take all day.

* * *

After the appointment,Remy talks me into coming back to the house with him for dinner. He seemed so annoyed with me earlier, I should probably be more cautious.

We’re sitting at the dining room table finishing plates of lasagna when I sit back and take my phone out of my pocket. I check it quickly. Still nothing from Molly.

I clear my throat. “You know, I’ve tried calling Molly and sending texts.” I hold up my phone. “She must’ve blocked me. None of my texts to her have gone through.”

Remy’s eyes narrow and the corner of his mouth curls up in a pissed-off sneer. “You’re damn right she blocked you, motherfucker. She won’t even talk about you. She definitely doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Remy, you gotta?—”

“I don’t gotta do shit.” He aims a blistering glare my way. “I warned you what would happen if you hurt her.” He runs his disgusted gaze over me. “Kicking your ass when you’re in this condition doesn’t seem fair. But keep pushing me, and I’ll reconsider.”

“Why’d you want me to come over so bad, then?”

He takes a long, slow breath and curls his hands into fists on the table. “You’ve been my best friend…like my brother for a long time. Even though I want to choke the living daylights out of you,” the harsh edge in his voice fades, “I’m also worried about you.”

Doesn’t that make me feel guilty as fuck. “I’m all right.”

“We need some ground rules.”

I already sense what he’s going to say, but I still ask, “Such as?”

“No more updates on my sister. If you two work things out, great. If not?—”

“Wait a second.” I lean forward. “Not working things out isn’t an option, Remy. I love her.”

“Well, you have a piss-poor way of showing it, Griff.”

“I—”

He holds up his hand, cutting me off. “I won’t keep going in circles about this with you.”

“Will you at least ask her to unblock me?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re resourceful. If you really want to talk to her, you’ll figure it out.”

He’s right to a certain extent. I can’t ask him to play mediator between Molly and me. I’ll have to repair the wreckage I caused all by myself.

Still, I have to know. “Just tell me one thing—is she happy at school? Is she adjusting well?”

The corner of his mouth twitches but I can’t tell if it’s amusement from thinking about Molly or annoyance at my question. “Yeah,” he answers with a heavy sigh. “I think so. The roommate thing has been an adjustment, but she fixed her schedule so all of her classes start after ten a.m. She’s pretty excited about that.”

I chuckle. Sounds like Molly. And that’s all I’m going to ask him about school. Those are stories I want to hear from Molly, not Remy.

“She did okay…working all those hours over the summer?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He answers slow, like he’s not happy about dipping into this conversation with me. “She’s a hard worker. Helped me out at the bar quite a bit, honestly. I probably should’ve let her work with me sooner.”

“Holy shit. I hope you told her that.”

His lips quirk. “I might have said it once or twice.”

“Wish I’d witnessed that conversation.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, the full force of them rams into me with painful clarity. I missed so much time with my friends. The people I love and consider my family. I allowed some show biz weasels to cut off all contact with the only people who have ever mattered to me. It’s not even like I was away doing something noble like serving my country. I did it for a cheesy, third-rate reality television show. Disgust blows through me like a tornado.

Fame wasn’t even my goal. I just needed to win the money. Improving my skills and getting trained by actual professionals was part of it too, but there are easier ways I could’ve done that. Ways that wouldn’t have included alienating everyone I care about.

And I still don’t even know what everyone saw. What Molly saw. Why everyone seems so convinced I’m a cheating asshole.

Remy stands and clears the table. “Go on.” He tilts his head toward the living room. “I recorded the Eli/Costa fight. You want to watch it?”

“Sure.” A fight’s the last thing I want to watch but I slowly make my way into the living room anyway. Fatigue pulls me onto the couch. How am I still so tired when I haven’t done anything all week? One visit to the doctor and a few conversations with Remy have me ready to pass out.

A few minutes later, Remy joins me in the living room. He sits in his recliner, and swivels around to face me. “You good?”

“Let me see it.” I nod to the television.

Remy frowns. “The fight? Yeah, you sure you can stay awake for it?”

“No, the show. Let me see it.”

Remy stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “The show? Your show?”

I nod quickly.

His slack-jawed expression shifts into anger. “What the fuck for?”

“I need to know…” I ball my hands into fists. “I need to see what she saw.”

“You really haven’t seen any of it?”

“No. The place was locked down tight. They took my phone almost immediately.” I hesitate, not sure if Molly ever told him I brought a burner phone. “I even had a burner phone hidden but after the day I talked to you, it disappeared.”

“What the fuck kind of insanity did you sign up for, bro?”

“I guess I thought it was going to be like one of those training camps.” I gesture toward the TV. “Remember that show we saw about how Eli went off and trained with all those kickboxing and muay tai experts and shit?”

“Yeah,” he answers slowly, “but that was for an official fight. Not a bunch of trailer park, wannabe Conor McGregors living in a house as some trashy social experiment.”

Thanks for that oddly specific, but highly accurate description that really drives home what an idiot I am. “I thought it was something simple like that. Each week, there’d be a match and one person would go home. At the end, the top four would all go home with some money and the winner a big prize. That’s how Diane explained it to me.” I gesture toward the television. “I didn’t know it would turn into a circus.”

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t what you thought,” he says with an edge of you’re-an-idiot sarcasm. “I don’t know if I can sit through all of it again. Which one do you want to see?”

Now I give him the are-you-stupid stare. “The episode.”

“Christ, Griff.” He swipes the remote off the table next to his recliner and turns the TV on. “From the beginning?”

“Yeah.”

An opening montage introducing each of the fighters flashes across the screen, complete with cheesy background music and brief, stereotypical, bordering on insulting descriptions of each of us. Venom is the wise, old sage—who’s possibly too old to fight. The dude isn’t even thirty. What the fuck? Naptime’s described as having charisma as bright as the sun—hard disagree on that one. I supposedly have “classic movie star looks” but my reluctance to say much and blank expression points to not much going on behind my pretty face.

“Seriously?” I wave my hand at the television. “I don’t run my mouth like an idiot all the time, so I must be dumb?”

A picture of Molly fills the screen. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she says goodbye to me. Hollow pangs of regret thrum through my chest. If I could go back to that day, there are many things I’d do differently.

“Wait a second, did they call Molly jailbait?” I ask.

Remy glares at me. “That’s the nicest thing they said about her.”

The show starts with all the contestants prepping for a fight. “This was before they brought actual coaches to train us,” I explain.

A lot of time is spent on the girls. Their portions must’ve been filmed in a part of the house I never visited. Kiki’s front and center talking about goals for her future. The interviewer gets her to admit she likes me and thinks I’m “husband material.”

“Christ, that’s creepy,” I mutter. “I never knew they were asking them stuff like that.”

Remy grumbles an annoyed sound.

Then the footage flips to a day they took us out to get fitted for suits to wear to a dinner. “This was a whole different day.” I frown at the television. It’s been so long, all the days have blended together but I’m pretty sure the suits and dinner thing happened days before the fight we were getting ready for.

“This is so weird.” I flick my hand toward the screen. “We did the suits thing before this particular round.”

Remy rolls his head and throws me a sideways glance over his shoulder. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

The dinner sequence is worse than I remember. The camera spent a lot of time on Deadass, who didn’t know which fork to use and ended up eating with his hands at one point. I snicker, remembering how annoyed our host, Matt, had been.

Then it skips to us back at the house. Kiki keeps trying to hang on my arm and I brush her off.

I jump up and point at the television. “You can tell I’m trying to get away from her.” On the screen, I clearly shake her off. Then she trips and I help steady her.

She follows me to my room.

“Is Kiki going to make her move tonight?” the voice-over asks. “And will Griff give into temptation just this once?”

“I wasn’t ‘tempted’ by anything!” I shout, frustrated at the way this whole night is framed.

I’m at my door trying to get into my room when Kiki walks up behind me. She stumbles again and I react quickly, stopping her from hitting the floor.

The show cuts to commercial.

“She never went in my room,” I tell Remy. “She tried. That’s why I walked her back to the living room and left her there.”

“Keep watching,” Remy says in a tight, angry voice.

When the show returns, it’s Deadass and two of the other girls splashing around in the pool and eventually making out.

“I’m so glad I never went in the pool,” I mutter.

Then it catches up with Venom on the phone with his wife.

“What the fuck?” We were only allowed phone calls once a week. At least, that’s what I thought.

“Wait for it,” Remy says.

Bull and Pirate appear in the downstairs gym, sparring in a cage. “That’s not even the same night.” I point at the screen. “I was there for this. Look! You can see my red shirt in the corner, right there.”

Remy leans forward and squints. “It could be anything.”

“They sure did some creative editing.”

The screen switches to the grainy black-and-white footage that seems to be reserved for the personal quarters and bedrooms.

“Wait a minute. Did Griff invite Kiki into his room after all?” the voice-over asks in a dramatic stage whisper.

Two people appear in bed, under the white comforter. Loud moaning.

“Looks like Griff has a difficult conversation with his girlfriend coming up,” the announcer says.

“Oh, fuck this guy!” I shout.

Acid crawls up my throat as the camera focuses on the guy’s back. The girl digs her nails into his shoulders and they’re clearly fucking. Or at least putting on a good show.

“Jesus Christ.” I stab my fingers through my hair and fall against the couch. It’s worse than I thought. So much worse. I’m not surprised Molly took a bat to her car at all. Shit, I’m amazed she didn’t light my car on fire after watching and listening to that.

“Yeah,” Remy says barely above a whisper. “You get why we all thought?—”

“Nah, bro.” I shoot a glare at him. “I’m still pissed at you for not sticking up for me. You know me.” I shift toward the screen again. “But now that I’ve seen this, I get why she lost her shit.”

It stings. But there isn’t a single piece of me that’s angry with Molly. Mad at myself, sure. Rage and shame keep boxing my heart against my ribcage.

Idiot. Stupid, lazy, foolish.Nothing is simple. Nothing is ever easy. Hard work and working hard—the only true path to anything worth having. I know this. How did I let that little pink-haired witch fool me into thinking otherwise?

The moans and whispers coming from the television turn my stomach. Tough shit. Suck it up. I force myself to watch. So I know what Molly saw—what everyone in the world saw.

Even though I know damn well I didn’t sleep with Kiki, watching the footage while listening to the voice-over disorients me. Like, I’m questioning my own fucking memories and sanity as I watch every grainy, disgusting minute.

Thank fuck it’s over fast. Gotta keep the show “family friendly” after all.

What bullshit.

I open my mouth to say something snarky to Remy but my sweaty face flashes on the screen looking guilty and contrite.

“See.” I point at the screen. “I’m all sweaty from the match I thought I’d lost.”

“Or,” Remy answers slowly, “from some other vigorous activity.”

“Fuck off,” I snarl, annoyed that he’s right. That’s exactly how the show set it up to look.

The camera switches to Kiki gushing about how much she’s into him. Unlike the earlier clip, she never actually says my name. But the way the events were edited, it absolutely seems like she’s talking about me.

Even so, I point out, “You realize she never actually says my name here, right?”

Remy cocks his head and stares at the screen. “I didn’t see this part. Molly had already run out of the room, and I went after her.”

Anguish twists my chest. My Molly had her heart ripped out and I wasn’t here.

“That’s good. I guess,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Hayden or one of the other girls blabbed the whole thing to her. People couldn’t stop giving her helpful ‘updates’ all summer long. Why do you think she left for college early?”

“That’s why you won’t let me talk to her?”

“You haven’t exactly put in a lot of effort.”

“Bro, you saw how I came home. You literally took me to the doctor this morning.”

He shrugs. “Well, I caught you checking out her schedule in the kitchen. You know where she is.”

“Fuck off.” I gesture toward the television. “This isn’t some happy horseshit rom-com. You think me showing up on campus unannounced would be good for her?” I lower my voice. “I don’t want to do anything to distract her from school.” I swallow hard, fighting off my annoyance with Remy so I can make him understand I’m trying to do the right thing. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt her more than I already have.”

He stares at me for a few long, thoughtful moments. “You’re right.” His gaze slips to the side and the corner of his mouth twitches. Guilt? About what, though? “You’re not really in any condition to drive, either.”

“No shit.”

“All right.” He finally relents. “I’ll tell you the next time she comes home.”

My heart stops. Finally.

“Pax has been talking about having a costume party at Zips,” he adds. “She was excited about coming home for that.”

Costume party?Molly probably has an outfit ready to go.

“You should probably think about a costume.” He scowls. “Although, honestly, if your face still looks like that you won’t need a mask.”

“Thanks, fucker.”

“I should warn you…” He glances away like he has to gather his thoughts.

“What?” I prompt.

“Pax wants to throw a big welcome home party for you at some point.”

“Please, no.” I can’t have any pictures taken until after the reunion show. Besides that,I’m too fucking embarrassed to show my face anywhere yet. Not because of my injuries. Because I lost to the biggest dumbass in the house and whenever that episode airs, everyone will know it.

“Can we do it sometime when it’s just our crew?” I don’t need a bunch of strangers in my business.

He tilts his head in his obnoxious way. “Having your moody ass there might be a big draw for Zips. Pax could use some more legit business.”

“Really?” I cock my head. “Second-place finisher from a third-rate reality show?”

“This is backwater New York.” He cough-laughs. “A D-list celebrity is still pretty exciting.”

“More like Z list,” I grumble and fall against the couch. Fabric rustles over my shoulders. The blanket Molly and I snuggled under not that long ago in this very spot. Instead of Molly’s familiar cherry-vanilla scent, the carefully woven yarn now smells like detergent.

“If you’re looking for a pity party, I can’t help you.”

“I’ll tell Pax I need some time. Right now, I look like hot garbage.”

“Nah.” He waves his hand in the air, dismissing my concern. “You look like a warrior. Girls love that shit.”

I glare at him. “Only one girl’s opinion matters to me.”

He does that guilty shift of his eyes again. “You plannin’ to stay over, or you want me to drive you home?”

I toss the blanket toward the end of the couch. “You mind if I stay?”

“Nooo,” he answers slowly. “I said you could move in and take over the basement.”

“But I’d need to bleach all the surfaces.” I blink at him with complete innocence. “And pry the mirror off the ceiling.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’d say move into the back bedroom down here, but it’s still crammed full of Nana’s stuff.”

“I don’t know if I can do the basement stairs right now.”

“You want me to install one of those stair lift things for you?”

I burst out laughing. “What’s wrong? Are you lonely without Molly around?”

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows. “Lonely? No.”

“I’ll think about it.” I lift my chin. “Who’s gonna help me move all my shit?”

“You mean your one bed, one dresser, sad little collection of clothes, nightstands, and TV? I think we’ll manage.” He gestures toward the basement. “It’s furnished. You can sell your stuff if you want.”

“How much rent are you gonna charge me?”

“We’ll work something out.”

I stand and stretch. “Thanks.”

Remy stands and faces me. “For?”

“Watching that with me.” I tilt my head toward the TV. “I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

He studies me for so long, I drop onto the couch cushions and wait for his judgment.

“They did you dirty, for sure.” He works his jaw from side to side. “At the time, I didn’t know what the fuck to think. You see how they made it look.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.

“Then Jerry called the next day about the car,” he continues. “Molly took off…It was a mess. I thought after I talked to you, you’d come home—at least for a few days, to clear things up?—”

“I couldn’t!”

He holds up one hand to stop my protests. “I think I understand that a little better now. For what it’s worth, I did tell Molly that you denied it and I didn’t think you’d do that to her. But when you didn’t come home or call again…”

I should’ve tried harder.

“I talked to Vapor and Juliet,” I answer miserably.

“I know.” He nods. “Juliet kept me up to date on your calls.”

“I couldn’t tell her much.” I shrug and groan at the pain in my shoulder. “I guess I thought, you guys know me. You know I’d never do that. I wanted to get through the filming and the fights, then come home and make things right.”

“It’s not only the cheating thing. You saw the way the show talked about Molly.” He sighs. “Although Ella said after that episode they never mentioned her again.”

“I told them they had to knock it off or I’d walk home.”

Remy lifts an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Fuck yeah, I did. They threatened to sue me into oblivion. Leaving with no money and having to defend myself in a lawsuit against people with deep pockets…seemed like a bad choice.”

“Jesus Christ.” He blows out breath. “Even if they didn’t win, they’d drain you dry with legal fees. And if they got a judgment against you, you could say goodbye to ever buying Jerry’s Garage—if you still even want to do that.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Finally, he seems to understand. “I bluffed my way through it, but they had me by the nuts.”

He nods slowly. “That’s what happens when you swim with sharks.”

I should’ve known Remy’s understanding had limits. “No kidding. I thought I was going to be in Rocky and instead I ended up in Saw.”

He doesn’t laugh like I expected. “I know it wasn’t you.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the television.

It’s not an apology, but I’ll take it for now.

There’s only one more person I care about convincing.