The Brick Yard (14 page)

“The door’s locked,” Dray announced. “I thought we might talk a minute about what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. I just needed a minute.”

“Bullshit,” Dray replied. “Something’s bothering you.”

“Just ghosts.” Lucky glanced at the large clock on the wall. “We need to get ready to leave.”

Dray didn’t move. Instead, he opened his arms and waited.

It was the first time Dray had initiated any kind of romantic contact at the gym, and Lucky was more than surprised at the offered gesture of comfort. He stepped into Dray’s embrace. “I can’t talk about it,” he said, trying to ward off further questions.

“Is it something I said?” Dray asked, running his hands up and down Lucky’s back.

Lucky shook his head. “I told you, just ghosts from the past.” He moved in for a kiss, sweeping his tongue between Dray’s parted lips. He tried to lose himself in the moment of passion, tried to push the memories of his stoned mother helping her equally high boyfriend prove a point about kicking people. He tried to forget using toilet paper and scotch tape to bandage a wound that should have been medically treated.

Dray broke the kiss and stared into Lucky’s eyes. “Sure you’re okay to fight?”

Lucky grinned. “Fighting’s exactly what I need to do.”

Dray licked his lips as he studied Lucky. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t judge you for your past.”

Lucky did know that. “Yeah.” The reason he couldn’t tell Dray had nothing to do with trust. If people, including Brick and Dray, had any idea of what went on in his home growing up, they would think he was a fool for helping his mom throughout the years. With her getting out of prison soon, Lucky had no doubt he’d end up helping her again, and he didn’t want the people he cared about most looking down on him for it.

* * * *

Dray knocked on the office door before stepping inside. He found Brick stretched out on the old sofa. “You feeling okay?”

Brick removed the wet washcloth from his face and glanced at Dray. “My stomach’s acting up.”

Dray noticed the trashcan next to the couch and cocked his head to the side. Brick hadn’t eaten enough to feed a bird, so he couldn’t help but wonder what the older man had to even throw up. He stepped forward and, as much as he hated to, peered into the wastebasket. “Fuck!” He stumbled back and clasped a hand over his mouth as he fought to settle his own stomach.
Blood. Fucking blood coated the scraps of paper in the trash.
“Goddammit, Brick!”

Dray moved the can of blood and knelt beside Brick. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

Brick shook his head. “Lucky won’t fight if he knows.”

Dray didn’t know which he wanted more, to strangle the old man or wrap his arms around him. He settled on pressing his forehead against Brick’s temple. “You’re a hell of a lot more important to Lucky than a fight.”

“I’m going to be gone soon,” Brick said. “Fighting’s his future. I’m his past.”

“Don’t fucking start with that shit, Brick. If you continue to try and hide how bad you’re feeling, you’re not allowing Lucky the time he needs to prepare himself.”

Brick stared up at Dray. “I was talking to a friend the other day about what’ll happen at the end, and he said I needed to pray it doesn’t get that far.” He grabbed the front of Dray’s T-shirt. “I want you to promise me you won’t let me suffer.”

It took a few moments for Dray to figure out what Brick was asking. When he did, he reared back.
Holy fuck.
His heart plummeted at what Brick had asked him to do. The nausea he’d felt earlier at the sight of the trashcan returned in full force only for a much different reason. “You want me to kill you?”

Brick shook his head. “No, I just want you to help me die.”

“Just?” Dray fought to keep his anger under control. “No fucking way,” he spat, getting to his feet. He’d seen firsthand with his uncle what happened in the days leading up to death, but even knowing what he did, he couldn’t imagine helping Brick end his life. He pointed his finger at Brick. “And don’t you fucking dare ask Lucky to help you either. It would destroy him, and you know it.”

Brick turned his head, breaking eye contact. “I’m not going to the fight. Tell Lucky I’m tired or something, and remind him to listen to Flint.”

Dray rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. As angry as he was, he couldn’t ignore the fucking problem that sat in the can between him and Brick. “Will you let me take you to the hospital after he leaves?”

“Only long enough to get something for the throwing up,” Brick said. “I’m not staying.”

Dray headed for the office door. “I’ll be back.”

While searching for Lucky, Dray tried to calm himself. No way in hell would Lucky leave for a fight if he knew what was going on in Brick’s office. He eventually found Lucky leaning against the doorframe of the storage room. “There you are.”

Lucky glanced over his shoulder. “You looking for me?”

“Yeah. Brick’s not feeling well, so I’m gonna take him back to the apartment.” Dray put a hand on Lucky’s shoulder. “He said to tell you to listen to Flint.”

“He’s not coming?” Lucky asked.

“Not for this one. I think he’s overexerted himself.” Dray couldn’t meet Lucky’s eyes because of the half-truth, so he looked around Lucky to Jax. “How’re you feeling today?”

Jax shrugged. “Fine,” he mumbled.

“Liar,” Lucky said. He gestured to the sixteen year old. “He’s so sore he can barely move. I was offering to cook him some soup.”

Jax pointed to his split lip that was so swollen he could barely open it. “Not eating.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dray soothed. “I’ll get him to eat something before I take care of Brick. You just go and knock the fuck out of those assholes.” He thought of the episode earlier in the locker room. The sounds he’d heard from behind the stall door had broken his heart. He didn’t know what ghosts were plaguing Lucky or why, but their training session had sparked it. He’d gone over and over it, and he still hadn’t figured it out. As wrong as it seemed, he knew the answer was the key to the darkness that had locked Lucky away for so many years. Against his better judgment, he pushed. “Remember what I told you. You have to kick as well as throw punches.”

“I’ll do what I have to do to win,” Lucky growled before pushing by Dray.

Dray watched Lucky walk away. Even though he now knew the trigger, he still wasn’t sure what it meant or what he could do about it.

* * * *

Head down, Lucky stared at his bruised and swollen knuckles as Flint drove him home. Although he’d won both fights, thus continuing on in the tournament, the victories had felt more hollow than ever. He wasn’t sure if his earlier mood was still affecting him or if winning his first fight without Brick in his corner had soured the wins.

“You did good,” Flint said, turning a corner. “Brick’ll be proud of you.”

“I guess,” Lucky answered. Bottom line for Brick was winning, but Dray wasn’t so easily pleased. Lucky knew Flint hadn’t taken the time to shoot video, so, hopefully, Dray wouldn’t know that Lucky hadn’t kicked his opponent once during either fight. He lifted his head to stare out of the passenger window. “Did Brick talk to you about training me after he’s gone?”

“Yeah, he mentioned it, but I told him it wasn’t his decision. It was yours.” Flint double-parked in front of Lucky’s building. “I know this thing with Brick’s got your head out of it right now, but when you’re ready, and if you want me, I’ll be there.”

Lucky liked Flint well enough, but he also thought the ex-fighter was unbelievably good with the young teenagers who came into The Brick Yard for lessons. “The problem is, if I pull you away from your young homey’s, they’ll hunt me down and kick my ass. Flint style,” he added.

“I might be able to do both,” Flint argued. “Anyway, the offer’s out there if you need me.”

Lucky opened the car door before reaching over to slap Flint on the arm. “See ya later.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Flint called out through the open window as Lucky crossed the sidewalk.

Lucky used his key and entered the building without looking back at Flint even though he knew his friend was waiting to make sure he made it safely inside before driving off. Lucky bypassed the temperamental elevator and hiked up the stairs to his apartment. Letting himself in, he whistled for Gatsby, but his four-legged friend didn’t come. “Dray?” he called, taking off his sweatshirt.

When he received no answer, he continued to the bedroom. He needed a shower, but before he gave into his need to wash the sweat and blood from his body, he opened his gym bag and called Dray.

“How’d you do?” Dray asked, his voice soft and low.

“I won. You upstairs?” Lucky toed off his athletic shoes.

“Yeah. You home?”

“Just getting ready to hop into the shower. Want me to leave the door unlocked?” Lucky pushed his warm-up pants and underwear to the floor before stepping out of them.

“Ummm,” Dray began. He sighed deeply. “Why don’t you come up after your shower instead?”

The odd request put Lucky on edge. “Why? How’s Brick?”

“He’s asleep, but he’s still not feeling well, so I don’t want to go far.”

Lucky wondered how one flight down could be considered far unless Dray was truly concerned that Brick might need something and not be able to get to a phone. He looked down at his chest. As much as he wanted to run up to see what was really going on with Brick, he couldn’t do it without washing first. “I’ll be up in ten minutes.”

“See you then.” Dray hung up without another word.

Lucky stared at his phone. More worried than ever, he wasted no time in the shower. Lately, Dray had ended all their calls with the same phrase, “Can’t wait to see you.” What had changed, he wondered.

He continued to stew over Dray’s parting words as he dressed only in an old, comfortable pair of gray sweatpants and a faded red Brick Yard T-shirt. He slipped on a pair of flip-flops before running upstairs to Brick’s apartment. He tried the doorknob, but found it locked. He knocked softly, trying not to wake Brick.

The door opened to a disheveled-looking Dray. The pale green eyes that had always drawn Lucky’s attention appeared to be slightly swollen and red-rimmed as if he’d been crying.

Lucky knew Dray wasn’t the kind of man who cried without a damn good reason. Fear filled him as he looked around Dray to Brick’s empty chair. “You okay?” Lucky shoving his trembling hands in his pockets as he followed Dray into the living room.

Dray sank onto the couch and picked up a beer. “I had to take Brick to the ER. They pumped some fluids and anti-nausea medicine into him, but he refused to let them keep him.”

Lucky looked toward the closed bedroom door before dropping down beside Dray. “What’d they say?”

Dray bit his lower lip as his eyes filled with tears. He swallowed several times before he spoke. “He’s got a week. Maybe two.” He shook his head. “He was vomiting blood, but that seems to have stopped for the moment. More important, he’s not eating.”

“He’s giving up?” Lucky asked, his own eyes starting to water.

Dray scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Lucky. “It’s not that he’s giving up. It’s part of the process. One of the last stages. The hospital thinks it’s time we called hospice.”

Lucky pulled away from Dray and sprang to his feet. “They’re wrong. I just talked to him today, and he seemed weaker but not on his deathbed.”

Dray stood and walked toward Lucky. “He’s not leaving us tomorrow,” he said, no doubt trying to soothe him. “We just need to really prepare for it.”

Lucky took a step back. His short nails bit into his palms as he clenched his hands into bruising fists. He felt like someone had lit a match to his temper as sweat began to drip down his face. “Stop.” He wasn’t angry with Dray, but a rage he hadn’t felt in years was building within him. After another glance at Brick’s door, he turned his back on Dray. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“Don’t.” Dray grabbed Lucky’s shoulder in an attempt to still him. “You need to talk about what you’re feeling. Running away isn’t the way to handle this.” He stepped closer and started to wrap his arm around Lucky’s waist.

“I know you’re trying to help, but I need to do this on my own. At least for now.” His anger was palpable and the last thing he needed was for it to spill over onto Dray.

Dray kissed Lucky’s neck. “Take your phone with you and call if you need me.”

“I’ll stop by my apartment and grab the phone, but you probably won’t hear from me tonight,” Lucky said before pulling away to open the door.

Chapter Eight

After checking Lucky’s apartment, Dray drove the few blocks to the gym. The last time he’d been upset, Lucky had gone to The Brick Yard to work off his anger. Dray prayed that’s where he’d find him because other than home or work, he didn’t know where else Lucky went when he was troubled.

He let himself in through the back door and started turning on lights. It was nearly seven in the morning anyway, the usual time Brick opened the place. He searched the gym, Brick’s office, locker room and finally, he opened the storage room door.

Jax was sitting in a chair beside the twin-size bed where Lucky was stretched out. He quickly put his finger to his battered lip and got to his feet. He motioned for Dray to precede him out of the room.

Dray nodded in acknowledgment, but before leaving, he moved closer to Lucky. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat at the sight of the man he’d grown to care so deeply for. There were two nasty-looking cuts on the right side of Lucky’s face—one above his eye and one on his cheekbone—but it wasn’t just the lacerations that disturbed Dray. The entire right half of Lucky’s face was bruised and swollen. He glanced back toward Jax with a questioning expression. He’d seen Lucky after his fight the previous night and knew the injuries hadn’t been sustained in the cage.

Jax, once again, pointed toward the open area of the gym.

Tearing himself away from Lucky, Dray followed Jax. “What the hell happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Jax said. “I heard someone banging on the front door.” He swallowed several times. “I thought my dad had found me, so I snuck out of my room to use the phone in Brick’s office, but then I heard someone calling my name.” He glanced up at Dray. “My dad never uses my name, so I knew it wasn’t him.”