Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

November 10th.

It’s almost time for Ty’s fight. This is the date when he’s scheduled to walk into the Vegas cage and face the biggest challenge of his career, the biggest fight of the year.

The past three months have gone by excruciatingly slowly without him. Days melded into each other, sticking together like glued chunks of paper in a new book. I offer myself the dumbest excuses for Ty not contacting me. He doesn’t have my new phone number. He’s busy preparing for his fight with Jesus Vasquez. He’s waiting for our anger to blow over. Or maybe he still hasn’t gotten out of his binge-drinking phase.

No. I know that’s not true. I know for a fact that he’s doing better.

Mary visits Ty every weekend. She takes two buses to get to his house. She cleans, cooks and yells at him that he’s an unbearable slob. (A bit rich coming from her, I know.) She rants when she washes his dishes and cusses at him when she does his laundry. But she’s taking care of him, and I know that because I talk to her whenever I can.

Mary never brings up the subject of my relationship with Ty, and I never volunteer anything about how I’m feeling.

Career-wise, I’m doing better. Or at least I’m doing better than Shane, who continuously reports to me about his days serving coffee and being bossed around by people who are only slightly older than us.

Me, I spend the first week at my new job sitting in front of a dead computer (the tech guy didn’t have time to sort it out before my arrival) and trying not to cry out loud. I miss Ned’s so much. But then at the start of week two, when I stare at the black screen like an idiot through blurry eyes, I feel a hand resting on my shoulder. I look up and see Cam’s knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like to leave a safe job. I was a butcher at my local big box store all through high school. Out of state tuition fee.”

I duck my head in embarrassment, annoyed that he’s seen me cry. “Where are you from?” I sniff.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

I shake my head. “I can’t do that. I suck at hiding my feelings.” I point at a damp trail on my cheek left by one of my tears to prove the point.

“Fair enough.” He offers me his hand and when I grab it, he yanks me up so he can go and have a smoke. “Arkansas. I’d barely left the state before I came here for school.”

I laugh, of course I do, because it’s so out of the blue.

"What made you stay in San Fran? I’m sure it wasn’t the high rent and crazy people the city has to offer."

"Too lazy to move again, I guess." Cam runs a hand through his hair. "Then there’s this ex back home I dread seeing. There’s always an ex, isn’t there?"

I guess there is. I’m just not sure I need to hear about one from my new boss.

"Let’s get you started and give you something to do," he says.

And that is how my journalism career officially started.

The first month was brutal.

Trying to catch up on years of history attached to the local football, baseball and basketball teams is a real bitch. Each team has so much legacy and its own little quirky traditions and important statistics. It’s funny how I thought I’d get rid of homework once and for all after I graduated, but for weeks, all I seem to do is memorize more and more info about the Golden State Warriors, San Francisco Giants, San Jose Sharks and San Francisco 49ers.

By the fifth week, I already have all the coaches’ phone numbers on speed dial, and quite a few of those basketball, baseball and hockey players even know my name. I also realize that I love basketball and hate hockey. Same problem as I had with MMA—hockey is way too aggressive for me. The injuries, broken noses and the way players crash into each other intentionally…Ouch.

By the time October swallows up summer, I’m a sports expert who knows which college football players are injured this year and which ones are draft prospects for the spring. I now the name of every coach in the NFL, the NBA and MLB. I even know who Floyd Mayweather is, which impresses Shane. Not to mention that I’ve already written two articles for Diablo Hill magazine and contributed to the website, which updates on a daily basis.

And the best part? I know I’m good. To begin with, I suspected that my success on my journalism assignment was purely a fluke. Now? Now I’m even starting to like writing about sports, which is something I never thought I’d enjoy.

November is just around the corner, and so is Ty’s title fight. He’s going to be fighting in Vegas again, and I’m sure Cam will cover the event, but I try not to think about it.

The fact that Ty still hasn’t spoken to me drives me nuts. I’m not going to chase him around. I offered to clear the air months ago, but he didn’t seem too eager, and my ego is still wounded from the huge secret he kept from me.

But that doesn’t stop me from wandering to the XWL website to check now and then to see if there are any updates on him. It’s part of my job to know what’s going on with local athletes. Right?

One chilly day, I’m scanning the site for news, when Cam stops at my desk. I don’t have an office. I share a big, open area with a dozen or so people. I’m actually grateful for the constant company and prefer the hustle and bustle to being alone.

"Hey." I flash Cam a smile that I’m certain doesn’t reach my eyes. My smiles never do nowadays. "Winter is coming."

"Sure looks like it. So… November 10th," he announces, looking down at a paper in hand. "Tyler ‘The Zombie’ Wilder Vs. Jesus Vasquez. Wilder is from Concord. We have to cover this."

"We? You mean the magazine.” My stomach knots, my cheeks flush, and my pulse speeds up.

"No, I want you to help." He studies me from behind his glasses. "Bumped into your name on TMZ the other day. You have history with the guy.”

“I haven’t spoken to him in months.”

"But you’re obviously following the fight.” He glances at my computer and the XWL site on the screen. Busted. Dammit. Why couldn’t Brain do its job and keep Heart and Hormones in control.

“You don’t have to write the story,” Cam continues. “I doubt you’d be objective anyway. All I’m asking is that you come with me to Vegas and try and get Wilder to let me interview him. He doesn’t do interviews, as you’re probably well aware. If we manage to get him to talk to us, we’re going to get a lot of buzz and new readers."

So many things are running through my head right now. The first one is that I may see Ty again, in the flesh, only a few weeks from now. The second is that Cam is pulling something completely unethical. The third? The last time I asked Ty for an interview, he demanded a date from me in exchange.

"Cam…" I readjust in my seat, because it feels so awkward to share this with my boss, no matter how nice and supportive he’s been until now. "Ty and I aren’t really on speaking terms. If I ask him for an interview, it could even decrease the magazine’s chances. I don’t want you to get your hopes up."

"It’s a long shot, yeah, but it’s better than nothing. And we need to cover the fight anyway, right?" Cam combs his fingers through his messy shag, but his hair stands up, looking even messier. "I mean, you can still say no, but why would you? Free hotel room, free plane ticket, free first row ticket, championship fight." He motions at my computer screen. There’s a picture of a very angry, very bloody Jesus Vasquez. "And you get to see your ex-boyfriend getting punched. Which, according to Emilia and a few more girls who work here, is a serious bonus."

I nibble my lip. "People know you’re asking me to do this?" Great. More pressure. And most definitely more humiliation when Ty turns me down.

"Well, no. I was asking Emilia this hypothetically, because I didn’t want to come off as an insensitive prick."

I fold my arms. He is kind of an insensitive prick for asking me to do this, but I’m not going to say anything because...well, because I totally dig this job.

A few seconds pass in uncomfortable silence before Cam speaks again.

"Just think about it."

"I don’t have to go to Vegas for this. I can stop by The Grind and ask him face to face."

Or better yet, go straight to his house. If there’s less of a crowd around us, there’s less of a chance of me trying to hurl myself under a bus when this whole thing blows up in my face. But Cameron shakes his head, eyes shut.

"Wilder’s not in Concord anymore. He set his camp in Vegas four weeks ago. So unless you want to do this by phone..."

Nope. I really can’t do it by phone. One, because I don’t have his number, and two, because even if I get it through Jesse, Dawson or Mary, there’s a good chance Ty won’t answer my call.

"I’ll do it," I hear myself saying, and even though the words coming out of my mouth are freaking me out, I know that it’s the right thing to do.

I love this job.

And I freaking love Ty.

Vegas was bad to me the last time I was there, but maybe things will be different the second time around.

Maybe I’m already over his secret.

And maybe, he still isn’t over me.