Faking It(39)

She even sent an emoji of a microphone with a smile next to it.

Then my phone buzzed again. I looked down, already smiling, ready to see the latest installment in the Alyssa Edwards saga, but the message was from Janie.

That took the smile off my face. Janie was my little sister and the most important thing to me in the world. “Call me!” She was also a hassle I didn’t want to deal with right now. Janie’s mental handicap—sorry, handicapable, as the new buzzword went—made everyone protective of her, but it could also make her exhausting. Her cerebral palsy had also put her in a wheelchair, which made things tougher on my mom. I felt bad about even thinking that, but it was true. Janie didn’t read cues as well as some people, which was ironic, since she read more books than anyone I knew. Also, she wasn’t able to understand things as quickly as others, and even though this legitimized her need to be more dependent on other people than would have otherwise been the case, it could still get exhausting. Case in point: before I had even thought about responding, my phone was ringing. Janie wasn’t one for waiting around.

We definitely had that in common. Who was I kidding? There was no way I was going to put her off.

“Hey Janie,” I said.

“Hi Braden! How was your fight?”

I gave her the rundown and she tried as hard as could to listen. “Oh, that poor guy,” she said when I told about my fallen opponent. “I bet he’s going to have the worst headache tomorrow.” Then she asked about Vlad. I did my best to tell her about the potential plans for the fight, but she wound up interrupting me near the end of the story, like always, and of course she mentioned that Vlad was a war hero, and took over the conversation. I liked to think of Janie on the floor of the Senate, delivering endless filibusters that would allow her to pass any legislation she wanted just because she could outlast everyone.

“You’ve really got to come home. Mom is really sad. She misses you bad. I do too. When are you coming home? We could probably put your old room together, and we could stay up late and watch movies on nights when you didn’t have to train the next day. I think it would be a really good thing for her. So, when?”

“I’m not sure, Janie. There’s a lot going on.”

“Well, mom really misses you, and you shouldn’t let your mom miss you when you can change it.”

“I know she does, Janie. I know. But it’s not that simple. I have obligations here.”

“And it’s hard for her because everyone else is gone. She really misses you, and you’re the only one, beside me, who’s actually on this side of the ocean. Sean and Ryan haven’t been able to talk as much lately. That bugs her. It bugs me too. I want it to bug you. I think it should.”

I clenched my jaw. “I know that too,” I said, harsher than I intended. “Everyone” meant my brothers Sean and Ryan, who were both in the armed forces overseas. Marines. Semper Fi, Duty and honor, and all that jazz. Why should they be home taking care of my mom? They were too busy taking care of the world. I felt the familiar flush of anger, no, something that was closer to shame than anger, and I hung up on Janie with a rushed goodbye.

I’m telling you, strong and weak, it sucks. I could fight a man in a cage who wanted nothing more than to kill me, but I couldn’t end a conversation with my little sister in a civil fashion.

In truth—a truth I hated to admit—Sean and Ryan were doing exactly what I had wanted to do. Serving. Testing themselves. We had all been on the same career path. Our dad had died when we were young and he had been a military man. We all planned on doing the same. The only difference was that I had suddenly blossomed into a prodigy of a fighter and people started throwing money and promises at me. My brothers had been supportive. Maybe they had even been jealous. I was so amazing that sometimes I was jealous of myself! (Mostly kidding). But I had never been able to shake this feeling that they were also disappointed, like their sense of duty had turned out to be more finely tuned than mine. I was still testing myself, but it wasn’t like what they were doing. My mom told me she was proud of me, but there was no mistaking the difference in her tone when she talked about my brothers. They were heroes. I was just a tough kid who was making lots of money.

Guilt didn’t suit me. I had to do something to shake it off. So I did what I always do. I hit the gym and put in my mouthpiece, ready for some hard practice.

Someone was going to hurt so I didn’t have to.



Chapter 5



I was skeptical when his texts started coming in—this was probably just another game of his and I would wind up humiliated by the end of it—but I was still determined to get the interview. I didn’t want to let my dad down and Braden was a good story, if he could just break character long enough to give me a few decent quotes. He had proposed that I meet him at the gym where he practiced. Good enough for me. At least there would be an audience to keep him in check if he was feeling too sassy.

There was also the possibility that, if it turned out to be a trick, that I could make that the story. There was always a way to spin the narrative to suit you. I just hadn’t ever had to do it that way, but I think part of me had always known that it could happen. I didn’t want it to happen to one of my dad’s fighters, though.

But I would. He was too much. If it turned into an exposé on him, rather than some puff piece of flattery and fluff, so be it.