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My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I leave it there. I haven’t looked at it all day, and I’m not going to now. Instead, I continue to stand in the middle of my living room and stare down at the armchair in the corner, which is staying here with all the other furniture in this apartment. Everything of mine worth taking with me to St. Louis is packed in my car, and I am ready to leave tonight. Even though I told everyone I was leaving tomorrow. But I just can’t stay in this apartment any longer.
However, I just keep standing here…
I let out a huge sigh and cross my arms. I’ve always hated this fucking chair. It’s butt ugly and looks like it’s straight out of the seventies with green and orange flowers on it. It’s seriously the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen. But my brother loves it, so we kept it. And for some reason, I hung onto it even after he went to prison seven years ago. But the next person to rent this apartment wants it furnished, so I’ve donated all of our furniture to the landlord to make that happen. Chair included. At least it’s going to kind of a good cause… my brother fucking stole it all anyway.
I let my eyes wander around the apartment, surprised by how good I’m feeling about this. I guess it’s a fresh start, as I can now, finally, leave everything behind. Trevor raised me here, and after he was arrested, I couldn’t make myself move out. I felt some weird sort of duty to keep it for him. Or us. But he’s never coming back here. Drug charges are steep, and he just keeps fucking up in there and extending his stay.
As I stare at the chair again, I let one final rush of anger take over. Living here, with this fucking chair, has been a constant reminder of just how much of a fuck up he really is. I was eighteen when he went in, and now at the age of twenty-six, I see it clear as day. That nagging hope that he would come back, and we would live here together again, has faded over the years. And now it’s just a dark void of disappointment.
But his sorry excuse for a life is the motivation I need to make sure mine doesn’t end up the same way. As I watched him blow his life up, and throw it all away, I made a promise to myself to never end up like him. I was going to be successful and make something of myself. In MMA.
Ever since I started MMA as a teenager, my goal was to fight in the UFC, and each year since, that determination has only grown. To prove to myself that I am not, and will not be, a fuck up like my big brother. And now, my hard work has paid off.
When Max called me, and asked me to join his team in St. Louis, it felt like a leap in the right direction. And not the small steps I’ve been taking here on my own. He’s going to help me be the best fighter I can be, and I will not fuck this up. I’m going to have access to some of the best training I can get so I can throw myself into this completely, and I can finally start fighting guys who bring me more of a challenge than Luca fucking Mitchell.
I finally tear my eyes away from the ugly ass chair as my phone continues to buzz with texts. I should have just turned it off. I wasn’t going to look at any of these until I got to St. Louis, but fuck, they’re coming in non-stop.
I scroll through the notifications from the day and cringe at the never-ending string of texts from Haley. I haven’t purposefully seen or spoken to this girl in one month, and she thinks we’re in a fucking relationship. One hookup, that’s it, and she sunk her claws in. Deep.
Haley
Hey, so you’re leaving tomorrow *sad face emoji* how about I come spend the night with you and make your last night here one you’ll never forget?
I’m sure you’re busy, so just let me know when you’re free tonight and I’ll come over. No rush!
Or would you rather come here? My bed is pretty comfy *winky face emoji*
Should we do dinner first? You’ll probably be hungry
Or I could bring dinner over, that’s probably better. What do you think, pizza, pasta? I’ll bring candles *heart emoji*
I close out her texts, not bothering to read any more. I haven’t responded to a text of hers in literally a month and have only seen her because she hangs around the gym with one of the guys’ girlfriends. She likes the idea of dating an MMA fighter, and I made the mistake of thinking she was hot and fucked her once. Then I actually spoke to her and regretted everything. I don’t date, and she doesn’t take no for an answer. It’s a recipe for disaster. Plus, the sex was fucking awful anyway as all she did was lay there and moan like she was injured.
I continue scrolling though the texts, skimming messages from the other mechanics at the garage wishing me well and the guys from the gym blowing up a group chat I‘ve never actually participated in. They were texting this afternoon, asking me to come train one last time with them this evening. Which I don’t understand. We’re not close. Well, they are, but I’m not close with them. They keep trying to get me to come out for drinks or to hockey games with them, but I always find an excuse not to. It’s just easier and saves everyone from a really uncomfortable experience. I’m aware I come across as an asshole, but I’m not here to make friends. I have a goal to achieve, and my focus has paid off. So, I’m doing something right.
And everyone I’ve been close to has just left anyway, so why bother?
My eyes slide up to the corner of my phone screen. It’s after 9:00 PM. It’s too late to meet with them now even if I did want to. So I tap out a message to say thanks but I missed their texts, and I’ll stop in next time I’m home. Even though that’s not true. Because I won’t be home. The only thing that kept me here was some kind of delusional loyalty to my brother, which is now lost. And this opportunity is the kick in the ass I needed to finally wrap up this show I’ve been putting on for the both of us, and move on without feeling like I am abandoning him. Even though he abandoned me.
I’m the only person I can count on, and I’m doing this for myself.
I head for the door and pause for a moment before opening it. But I don’t look back. As I finally shut the door on my past, a rare feeling of pride runs through me.
I am doing the right thing.
This is fucking wild.
The gym is bright and airy, and I am at a loss for words at how incredible this place is. Max went all out when he built this place, as it is truly state of the art. There’s a cage and a boxing ring in the middle of the gym, with rolling mats, speed bags, heavy bags, and pads and shields all around the perimeter. At the far end I see a weight training room, and there’s even a running track.
“Ty Roscoe!”
I turn towards the voice to see Max making his way towards me with a big smile.
I reach my hand out with a smile in return as he approaches, grasping it in a firm handshake.
“You’re here bright and early. When did you get into town?” he asks me.
“Late last night,” I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
