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  “I’ve just had a rough day. I’ll be happy to tell you all about it later tonight over a glass of wine, but right now I’ve got to get back to the gym.” I didn’t intend to be so dismissive, but I was just so…over it.

  “Are you okay? No one will tell me anything. I know you physically assaulted someone, the cops were called, and you cussed out your Dad, but other than that, I’m getting nowhere,” she pleaded, sounding less demanding and more concerned.

  “Well, most of that is inaccurate, so you should probably just stop asking around and hear it directly from me later tonight.” I knew she’d received her limited information from the guys at the gym, who were sometimes worse than a bunch of gossipy teenagers. “How was your date?”

  “Way to change the subject. It wasn’t a date. It was just lunch. Only Adam came and he was wearing skinny jeans, so I won’t be having another lunch with him anytime soon. It’s just mind bottling how any man can think skinny jeans look good on him.”

  “Boggling!”

  “What?”

  “It’s mind boggling, not bottling.” It never gets old.

  “Whatever.”

  “Anyway, I can’t wait to hear about it all later.”

  ***

  When I walked into the gym, all activity ceased, the room got quiet, and everyone turned to stare at me. I tried to ignore it all and walked directly back to the office. I planned on just hiding out in there until my father came in at the end of the day. It was already after five, so it wouldn’t be long. It took all of five minutes for him to walk in, shut the door, and sit down in a chair across the desk from me. The energy in the room was tense and he was obviously waiting on me to start talking, so I did.

  “Look, Dad. I owe you an apology for earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that and I’m sorry that I disrespected you. Please for—”

  “Oh, would you just shut up?” he said, interrupting me mid-sentence.

  “Excuse me?” I questioned.

  “Brianne Abigail Murphy, you are my baby girl. You are my heart. I was scared half to death, goddammit. I woke up to those calls saying someone had broken in and that you were here. I didn’t know if you were hurt or dead. I didn’t mean to yell at you straight away. And then you just stormed out of here with no word where you were running off to. You can’t do that to me. I worried myself into a damned ulcer,” he said, trailing off. I could tell that his blood pressure was rising by the pinkness in his cheeks. They were turning more fiery red every second.

  I could see now that his outburst at me earlier was just his messed up way of coping with how worried he actually was, and it made me feel guilty for reacting the way that I did. He asked me what happened and I told him my account of everything as I remembered it. He was surprised and proud. I was embarrassed and exhausted. We sat there for a while, just talking, really talking for once. I actually felt myself being heard. Finally my dad leaned away and looked me in the eyes, a troubled expression on his face.

  “Bree, are you happy?” he asked softly.

  “What? What do you mean?” I responded, caught off guard.

  “Are you happy? Here? With me and Liam? With your life? Are you happy? All I ever want for you is to be happy and you just seem so, I don’t know, off lately,” he confessed.

  “I’m actually surprised you even noticed,” I said, sounding unintentionally rude. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I’m just maybe not as happy as I could be.” I looked down, almost regretting even having said that. I should be appreciative for what I’m blessed to have.

  “You know you can talk to me, Bree. You can always talk to me,” he assured me, hope in his eyes.

  “I just recently have been feeling overwhelmed,” I admitted. “The gym, Liam, you, cooking, cleaning…it’s just a lot. I don’t ever feel like I have time to be a normal twenty-two-year-old girl. I feel guilty when I want a day off. Ever since Mom died, I’ve just been expected to do all of it and I’m worn out,” I revealed, looking down at my hands. I can’t believe I just said that. “I love you and of course I love Liam, and living with you guys, but I don’t love having to fill the wife and mom role all the time when I’m the sister, the daughter. It gets old. And the gym. It’s our family business, our livelihood, and I enjoy working here. But it isn’t my passion.”

  In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just breathe, I tried to tell myself as my father sat, silently processing what I’d just unloaded on him.

  “What is your passion? What do you want to be doing?” he asked sincerely.

  “You really want to know?” I questioned, doubt lacing my voice.

  “Yes. Bree, I want you to talk to me.”

  I looked up from starring at my fidgeting hands underneath the desk to make eye contact with him. My father was looking at me, really looking at me, waiting for a response. I had never seen this expression on his face before and it caught me off guard. He looked hopeful, sincere, and genuine. He wanted to know me.

  “Okay. Just promise me that you won’t get mad and start yelling at me.”

  “Jesus Christ, is that what you think of me?” He sneered as he threw his hands up in defeat, reclining back in his chair. “Just tell me.”

  Great. Now I’ve offended him. And just as he’s finally offering a chance to open up to him.

  “Okay,” I started, taking on last deep breath. “I’ve actually been talking some college courses online. In fact, I have enough credits to already be considered a sophomore. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I was just scared.”

  His eyebrows rose and his posture corrected as the shock set in. “Are you serious? How? When do you do this? How are you paying for it? What are you going to graduate in or major in or whatever?” he rambled, firing one question after another at me, surprise and disbelief written all over his face.

  Now he was offended for me NOT asking him for money?

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down. I’ve been saving money for a while now,” I explained. “Living at home, I don’t have many bills. And I study when I can and take my course tests online when they’re scheduled or late at night. It’s becoming harder and harder to fit it all in, though. I’m feeling stretched a little too thin lately, which I guess is why I’ve been a little short fused. I’m sorry, but it’s stressful working a full time job, going to school, and being a homemaker so to speak. This is what I really want, though, a career that I choose for myself,” I said firmly.

  “What do you want to be? When you’re done, what will you do?”

  “I want to be a special education teacher. I want to teach kids like Liam, with learning disabilities or special needs. I’ve never liked doing something as much as when I got to homeschool Liam for those few years. Just seeing his face light up when he finally understood something, and seeing my patience and determination result in his happiness and accomplishment—that was it for me. That’s what I should be doing.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just smiled and rose from his chair to walk around the desk, grabbing me up into a tight bear hug. He told me that he couldn’t imagine a more perfect career for me and that he would support me one hundred percent, including financially. He wanted me to still help out at the gym, but only on a part time basis whenever it fit in with my school schedule. He insisted that we have a “family meeting” to discuss how he and Liam could help out more around the house with cooking and cleaning so that all of the burden wouldn’t fall on me.

  I couldn’t believe the conversation was actually happening, and without anger or raised voices. My father was being understanding and agreeable. I truly felt, in that moment, that he loved and appreciated me and just wanted for me to be happy. I believed him and I felt like it really was going to change. I was hopeful that my life was about to finally begin, and my story would continue only as I wrote the pages. Not someone else.

  Chapter Twelve

  DREW

  Feeling chilly from the breeze that the ceiling fan was blowing over my body, I searched for the covers with my fe
et. I continued to search with my arms and hands, feeling around, not wanting to open my eyes yet. Nothing. I finally barely opened my eyes into slits to find myself sprawled out in the center of my new bed with no sheet or blanket to be found. Apparently I had kicked them all to the floor at some point during the night. I didn’t remember having any nightmares, in fact, I felt relaxed and well-rested. I sat up, stretched my arms above my head, and turned my head left. Smiling ear to ear was the only appropriate response for the sight that greeted me. The ocean was right there before my eyes, saying good morning, infusing an instant feeling of calm and contentment into my body. I was extremely happy to wake up this way.

  Thankful that I stopped by the grocery store last night and stocked up on a few necessities, I blended myself my standard breakfast protein shake with six raw eggs, protein powder, a healthy scoop of peanut butter, almond milk, and ice. If I pretended, it almost tasted like a chocolate peanut butter cup in liquid form. Almost.

  As if it was pulling me like a magnet, I headed out to the deck to enjoy the view while I drank my breakfast. The weather was perfect, warm with a cool sea breeze, not a cloud in the sky. There were a handful of people walking on the beach, but not many, and they were all pretty far down. I was definitely going to like it here. This morning routine would certainly take no getting used to. It occurred to me that I rented this place for an entire summer, and paid in full, without even checking out the gym Mick recommended. Well, I tried to check it out and got the shit kicked out of me. Finishing my shake, I resolved to return to the gym today, during business hours, and re-evaluate the situation. It was 8:20; plenty of time for me to take a shower and get on with it.

  Not wanting to appear too eager to jump in with a workout, even though I was itching to get into a ring or octagon, I dressed in a black t-shirt, casual cargo shorts, and sneakers. I navigated my way back towards town and found the gym in no time. There were cars all over the parking lot, and since it was nearing 10:00 am at this point, I was confident that they were open.

  I pulled the entrance door open and was instantly hit with a wave of ambient noise and the smell of sweat. People were sparring, the sound of leather meeting leather as bags collided with body parts music to my ears. I could close my eyes and picture exactly what size the fighter was by the sound of his fist striking the bag. I stood, calmly looking around, just taking it all in. A much younger skinny guy approached me and asked if he could help me.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Pat Murphy. Is he around?” I asked.

  He turned his head and pointed to the center ring, where two guys were sparring. “He’s right over there. I’ll go tell him he has a visitor.”

  “Thanks,” I responded. As I waited, I glanced around the gym, mentally running through a workout in my head.

  It took about ten minutes for the guy who I assumed was Pat to come over from the ring. As he walked over and got closer to me, he started laughing. Laughing right at me.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Our Bree really did a number on you, huh? I’m Pat,” he said, offering me his right hand. “And you’ve already met my daughter, I guess. Right? That was you yesterday, right?”

  “Uh, yes sir. Guilty as charged. I thought you were open. The door was unlocked. I tried to get her attention, but she had her earphones in and didn’t hear me. Next thing I knew, I was laid out on the floor, seeing stars, and she was gone,” I replied with a smile.

  “Oh, no worries. She’s a little jumpy; you just scared her is all. Between having a brother and working here at the gym, she’s learned a thing or two about defending herself if she feels threatened. She was actually worried about you afterwards. And she’s a little embarrassed,” he confided.

  “She shouldn’t be embarrassed at all. She’s got one hell of roundhouse kick, that’s for sure. I feel bad that I scared her. I would love to apologize if she is here,” I offered.

  “She’s not, actually. She should be back later this afternoon. What brings you in anyway? You’re not from around here, right? I never forget a face, especially one attached to a fighter’s body,” he said, assessing me while he spoke.

  “No sir, I’m from Arizona. I’m actually here for the summer and your gym, and you, were recommended to me by a friend. Mick Spaulding sent me.”

  “Oh, you’re Mick’s guy. He called me about you. It’s nice to meet you. Mick is an old friend, and he spoke very highly of you.”

  Thinking about Mick and recalling the conversation that I overheard between the two of them made me smile shyly. Pat was just as Mick described. He was jolly and funny, but serious when he needed to be. He was proud of his gym and spoke of his fighters like they were his own sons. He showed me around the gym and I was impressed. For a small town, they had quite the set up. All the latest equipment and gear and even some training instruments that I had never tried before. They had one area off to the side that looked more like a CrossFit training area than one designed for martial arts. I got a real positive vibe and had a good feeling about what I was seeing.

  Pat asked about me and I gave him a rundown of my previous training, workout routine and regimens, my amateur record of 18-2, and my hopes and goals to turn pro. He had me fill out some paperwork, made a copy of my identification, and scheduled me for a complete health physical and blood work with the local physician he preferred to use. I signed up for a full membership without hesitation and filled out the form for automatic debit withdrawal of my monthly dues. He raised his eyebrows and got an optimistic, hopeful look on his face when I told him my height and weight.

  “I can’t wait to get you in and see you in action. My son is a fighter as well. He’s in your same weight class and pretty close in size, so I’d love to pair you two up for a sparring session tomorrow. What are your other commitments? Do you have a job?” he asked.

  “No sir. This is my job. I’m serious about this. I will be successful. This has to happen for me. Failure is not an option,” I confessed in a serious tone.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing you prove it,” Pat said. “Now go get that physical and I’ll see you at 8:00 am sharp tomorrow!”

  ***

  BREE

  With four heavy plastic shopping bags on each wrist, I struggled to open the back door with it all in tow. It’s both comical and idiotic that women will nearly break our arms at the wrists to get all of the goods inside in one trip rather than dare walk back out to the car to retrieve another load. And yet, here I was, as usual, doing just that. My monthly trip to the office supply store took two hours too long today because some random computer glitch had wiped our account completely out of their system. I’d already completed a four mile run and skipped breakfast to “quickly knock out” the errand, so I was in a foul mood. I had just ripped open the plastic wrap from a granola bar I stashed in my top drawer when a knock sounded on the office door.

  “Come in,” I called out, my mouth full of granola.

  My father and Liam both walked in and sat down. They looked at me, then at each other, then back at me, not saying anything.

  “What?” I asked, holding my arms up in question.

  “Well, good morning to you too,” my father said. “You’ll never believe who came in to the gym today.”

  “Who?” I questioned.

  He hesitated, almost looking nervous to tell me. “Let’s just say we have a new member. Your ‘intruder’ from yesterday paid me a visit this morning. He’s interested in fighting for me,” he explained, handing me a folder, “so I signed him up. He got his physical and everything done already. He checks out clean and looks promising. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

  I stared at the packet of paperwork in front of me with shock on my face and skepticism in my mind, almost scared to open it. Dad walked out of the office, reminding me that the new guy would be here tomorrow morning. Liam stayed behind, still in his chair, fidgeting in his seat.

  “You okay with this, Bree?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah. I guess. Why wouldn’t I be?
I don’t even know the guy. I’m just ashamed and embarrassed,” I said, hanging my head lower. I dreaded having to see this guy face to face after freaking out like I did. How humiliating.

  Liam got up and came over to the other side of the desk to hug me. “It’ll be okay, Bree. Tá grá agam duit,” he whispered in my ear.

  A few minutes after Liam left the office, I closed the door and opened the file. I read his new member questionnaire first. Drew Dougherty carried the elite rank of a first degree black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which I understood took more than ten years to earn on average. Yet he had only been training for seven years total. He was also quite accomplished at Muay Thai and listed his strengths in the ring as grappling and submission holds. He had an impressive amateur level record. He trained at a gym in Phoenix, Arizona, five to six days a week while helping at his family’s pub for employment. Interesting. He understands working for a family business. And an Irish name too. He was twenty-three years old, no college education, new to the area, currently unemployed, and left the emergency contact information blank. Goals were listed as going professional and to one day be successful in the UFC. I found myself staring at his ID photo. Most people are appalled by their driver’s license pictures, but his was quite attractive. Even his handwriting was attractive; masculine and confident and actually legible. I had to admit, I was intrigued. And nervous. And excited. I needed to get a grip.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DREW

  After not stepping foot inside a gym for nearly two weeks, I should’ve been dead on my feet. I should’ve been winded, sluggish, my footwork dragging, and my reaction time slow. But it was the complete opposite. I felt alive. I felt on fire. The only physical activity I had seen recently was manual labor and novice horseback riding at Mick’s house, but my body’s muscle memory kicked into gear and it was truly like riding a bike. Pat certainly wasn’t holding back. He took me through what he called his introductory warm up session first thing this morning. It was on a whole different level from what I was used to. He put me through an exercise, stood back and watched, critiqued my form slightly or commented in a positive way, and then immediately redirected me to another movement or action. It was invigorating to be pushed so hard right away. I came in thinking that I had to go all out and show up ready to prove myself to Pat and his crew, but I was actually being driven to give one hundred percent without even having to think about it. Pat was in your face, loud, obnoxious, and harsh, but my body and mind had never responded so well to a coach before. I had never been exposed to a trainer like him before and in this moment, as I sat drinking my jug of room temperature half sports drink/half water, I was thankful for Mick. Thank God my truck broke down on the side of I-10 in front of him. Thank God he welcomed me into his home and into his life. Thank God he encouraged me to come to Fernandina Beach and meet Pat. Mysterious ways indeed.