Page 74 of House of Scarlett
Instead of decking me like Q looks like he wants to, he turns and paces to the door. I assume he’s going to rip it open and march out, slamming it behind him, but he doesn’t. He spins around and leans back against the frame before jamming his hands in his jet-black hair.
“I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, man. I’m really not.” He finally meets my gaze again. “I’m just fucking worried about you. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve had tunnel vision. You never once took your eye off the fucking prize. And now ... shit, man. I feel like I don’t know who you are anymore, and that scares the hell out of me.”
Having a best friend who knows you almost better than you know yourself can be a blessing and a curse at times. I could tell Q to fuck off and mind his own business because I know what I’m doing, but I owe him more than that. Not just because of our years of friendship, but also because he has some of his and his family’s money tied up in the club too. His reaction is partly motivated by his fear that I’m going to let them all down.
“I’m here, Q. I’m working on a plan. One so fucking good that if it pans out, we might be able to wipe away every penny of debt and live free and clear.”
Q drops his hands and cranes his neck like he’s trying to see inside my brain. “What the fuck are you talking about? That fight night? That’s not going to bring us enough to pay off all our debt. I’ve been ballparking numbers since you raised the idea, but there’s just no fucking way, even if they let us keep the entire gate, which will never happen.”
Emotions play out across his face as he tries to figure out what I’m thinking. I haven’t said it out loud yet, so there’s no way for him to know what’s in my head right now.
“We negotiate for fifty percent of the gate, double the drink prices, and I fight Bodhi Black as the main event of the night and bet every cent I can on myself.”
In Q’s defense, his jaw only drops an inch as his face pales. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again before shaking his head.
“No. No fucking way, Gabe. You aren’t fighting Black. That’s a fucking death wish if I’ve ever heard one. Besides, you’ve barely even been training. They want to hold this thing in like thirty days or something. You’re not ready for that kind of battle, and I’m sure as hell not losing my best friend while you try to play hero and save us all. Not fucking happening.”
“Black’s knee will never be a hundred percent after that last fight. I can get in shape. I know his moves. I’ve spent plenty of time studying the tape of our last fight. I can beat him again.”
Q shakes his head like he’s staring at a lost cause. “This is a terrible fucking idea, Gabe. Not to mention that you’d have to get the promotion company on board and bump the main event down to take its place. There’s no way in hell they’d let it happen.”
“That’s where you underestimate the power of greed, my friend. A street-fight grudge match brought under the umbrella of respectability would draw a fuck ton of fans and eyes. The promoters will buy into it. My only question now is whether you’ll be in my corner for it.” Q knows I’m not only asking about him working with my cornerman and cutman, but whether or not I can count on his support for the whole damn thing. “You’ve been with me every step of the way in this city, man. I need you with me for this. I need to know you’ll still bet on me too.”
Q rubs at his forehead with his index finger and thumb before looking up at me. “Why do you always have to put it all on the line? Why can’t we just do shit halfway sometimes?”
“Because that’s not how legends are born.”
He huffs out a chuckle, but there’s little humor in it. Still shaking his head, he stares at me. “You’re fucking crazy. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
He pushes off the doorjamb, and I meet him in the middle of the rug. “I’d still bet on you over anyone else, any day of the year. If you think you can do this, then may God have mercy on all of us.”
I lean in and give him a hard, back-slapping hug. “One more fight, and then I’m hanging up my gloves forever.”
Q pulls back. “I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.”
I want to tell him I definitely don’t have all of it figured out, but I’m going to get there, because this is the fight of my life. Instead, I tell him, “Call Bodhi’s manager and let them know there’ll be a call coming in, and the answer they need to give isfuck yes.”
“You mean after the meeting with the promotion company.”
I jerk my chin to the side. “No, I mean right now. Because I’m making this happen.”
There’s a knock on the door, and I call out, “Come in.”
I see Zoe for a split second before Bump darts around her to slam against me in the form of a tackle-hug. Roux zips right alongside him, jumping up to put her paws on our arms as Bump presses his fresh buzz cut to my chest.
“I missed you, Gabe! It feels like it’s been so long. Roux has been keeping me company, though, and I’m taking good care of her. Aren’t I, girl?”
Roux pushes off of us and lands with all four paws on the floor once more. She nuzzles into my leg, and I reach down to stroke her soft head.
“You’ve been doing a great job, Bump. I really appreciate it, bud.”
Bump finally releases me and steps back. “You look the same, but you smell different. Prettier.”
Zoe and Q choke on laughter, and I think of where I showered last and the scented soap. With a wry smile, I say to Bump, “But you’re saying I smell good?”
His head bobs. “Way better. You look good too. Are you coming home tonight? I’m going to the bar with Big Mike to watchMonday Night Football, but you can come with us if you want.”
