Takedown (2 page)

“
M
om
? Everything all right?”

Mitchell didn’t usually hear from his parents during the week—or much at all, these days. Every few weekends, they called. That was about it.

His heart clenched with worry about what could be making her call him on a Tuesday evening.

“Oh, not much has happened in the weeks since we’ve talked.”

Mitchell knew that was a jab at him, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Is something wrong?”

“You’ve been holding off on visiting ever since Uncle Toby’s funeral. We’ve been spending all our time settling his estate. It’s time for you to man up, face Luke, and sell the damn gym.”

A series of shudders ran down Mitchell’s spine. His lips numb, he swallowed to make sure his speech was clear, then murmured, “I haven’t had time to visit yet. I signed the paperwork, though—”

“That’s not enough. You have to come into town. Without Toby there, the business is dropping like a rock. Everyone’s talking about it, and the fact that you’re too scared to face—”

“I’m coming this week,” Mitchell interrupted, his voice hardening.

Fuck that. He wasn’t scared to face Luke, and he never would be.

“In the meantime,” his dad chimed in, startling him—he hadn’t even known he was on the line. He cleared his throat. “We can act as owners in your stead, and—”

“No. Toby left it to me.”

He was met with stony silence for a few moments, but he didn’t back down. Even Mitchell wasn’t sure why the idea sent a shudder of
wrongness
through him.

Mitchell knew his mother was right: it was about damn time he got there himself, Luke or no Luke.

“
M
itch
! Come on in.”

Mitchell returned his mother’s hug, smiling although he was bleary-eyed and disoriented. The flight from New York had been turbulent, and the ground still felt like it was moving a little under him. He’d come straight from Lincoln after picking up the rental car.

“You got here just in time for lunch.” That was his father, who was setting out sandwiches and fresh-squeezed juice.

“Hi, Dad.” Mitchell half-hugged him loosely, then moved straight to the table. “Oh man, that looks good.”

“I don’t suppose the flight attendants fed you,” his mother commented.

“Nope.”

His dad snorted. “Cheap, they are these days.”

“I know. He did give us free pillows, though. Early-morning flights don’t usually get them like overnight flights.” His parents exchanged looks.

“Ah, when we flew back to Chicago to deal with the estate, there was a male flight attendant,” his mother remarked. “He was a bit… odd.”

Mitchell raised his eyebrow.

“I don’t suppose you know him. He was a blond—”

Mitchell snorted with laughter and cut her off. “No, I don’t think so.” Just because they knew he was gay, they assumed he was fucking every gay man on the planet. They didn’t seem to grasp that there were more than ten gay men out there.

He dug into his sandwich, eager to be out of there.

“All right, I’m just saying. Speaking of that… have you decided how to handle Luke?”

Mitchell drank some of the fresh-pressed apple juice, sighing at how good it was. One of his parents’ neighbors ran a network of orchards, and they got unlimited apple juice from him. Then he brought his mind back to the moment, almost calm enough to answer the loaded question. “Handle him?”

“Well, you can’t let him… get into your confidence.”

My bed, you mean.
Mitchell stared flatly between his parents. “Why?”

“You know, he’s one of
those
sorts. The gym’s been dying since Toby died. I’m sure Luke uses it for all sorts of things,” his father shuddered. “God only knows.”

Mitchell leaned back in the chair. He refused to show that they were getting to him. “I’m sure there’s nothing the health inspector would shut the place down for. Otherwise he already would have.”

They murmured agreement, mostly because they were in a corner. Conversation turned to lighter topics for a few minutes while Mitchell finished his sandwich.

Then, the dreaded question. “You still haven’t brought anyone home to meet us, you know. It’s been three years,” his mother told him as they gathered the dishes.

“Would you really want to meet someone if I did?” Mitchell asked, raising his eyebrow. He stopped stacking glasses to wait for a reply.

“Of course. You’re important to us, and we want to see you settle down again once you’re ready. I’m sure it would help you professionally to seem more mature. New York City might be full of… easy nights, but a more mature man will do much better, I’m sure.”

“More mature?”

His father interjected, “Your mother organized more parties for me than my secretary ever did. A woman’s touch can—”

Mitchell tightened his jaw, then relaxed it. “It wouldn’t be a woman’s touch,” he said, speaking over whatever his dad was trying to say. “But if you think a man’s touch would help me professionally, I’ll think about it.”

Both his parents shuddered at the same moment, and Mitchell’s lip curled briefly. He fought back the sneer. Of course they weren’t thinking about a man’s touch. Or they were thinking too much of it. They’d implied before that he loved New York because he could fuck strange men every Friday night.

They had no idea he hadn’t even been on more than half a dozen cringeworthy first dates.

Christ, he was a loser.

“Anyway,” Mitchell added, bringing the glasses to the sink and dusting his hands off. “I’ve got to get going. I have a lot to do in two weeks.”

“Do come back for supper this week,” his mother told him, as if the last few minutes had never happened. She was sunnily smiling. “You can’t come all the way here without seeing us more than once.”

Mitchell was forced to smile back. “Of course.”

He couldn’t pull out of the driveway fast enough. As he navigated his way through the streets, still too familiar despite years of absence, Mitchell grumbled. “A woman’s touch. Bullshit.”

Everyone
in this goddamn town, let alone his parents, knew he’d cheated on Emily. He’d been spotted in a gay bar in Lincoln three weeks before the wedding.

Spotted by his good friend Luke, whose fucking conscience had compelled him to tell Emily. Luke had had to out himself in this dumb hick town. And then Luke had realized the dim bar light and a little too much booze had made him see not quite straight.

But it was too late. Mitchell had never bothered to correct people on the finer details. He might not have been to that bar, but he’d wanted to be. Same difference.

Mitchell’s fingers tightened on the wheel at the memory of Emily confronting him.

How could you do this to me?

Christ, he hadn’t even been in the damn place, but the other question… well, he couldn’t lie.

Are you really gay?

That wasn’t a question you wanted to hesitate about. Emily had filled in enough blanks. He’d known, even then, that he wouldn’t feel good about himself if he’d said
no
. He couldn’t deny one charge and not the other.

To her credit, Emily had been good about it. She hadn’t dragged out their relationship, hadn’t even asked him for anything. They’d split up the next day, dropping off boxes of each other’s shit.

But she had to have known. Even a young guy honoring his moderately Christian wife-to-be would have wanted more than a couple handjobs before marriage. Plus, Mitchell hadn’t known the faintest fucking thing about what he’d been doing in return. Somehow she’d still come a couple times, which always astounded him. It had been enough to convince her that he was shy, not gay like the town rumormongers would have it.

It was a miracle they’d made it almost to the marriage, and a much bigger one that it hadn’t gone through. Mitchell didn’t thank God for anything but that.

And then he was parked in front of the gym with barely a memory of how he’d gotten there.

Uncle Toby’s gym.

He hadn’t expected so many emotions to flood him at the sight of the plain commercial building. It had a steel door and a simple, dusty sign.

“The Good Fight,” Mitchell murmured. His lips curled into a smile before he shook himself out of it.

Uncle Toby had died from a sudden heart attack last month, and Mitchell had drowned his reactions to it in wine. Everything was bubbling up again now. His uncle had left him this place for some reason, presumably because he trusted him to handle it or sell it.

It was his job to do that.

He had once been a lot closer to his uncle. In the years since leaving for New York City…
running from Emily
, Uncle Toby would have put it…

They hadn’t really talked.

God, he wished he could do those last few years over.

Mitchell tightened his jaw and slammed his car door after he climbed out. He left his bags in the car, his eyes drawn to the second floor. There wasn’t much to it, but he knew there were two apartments.

One was Uncle Toby’s apartment, which his parents had cleaned of everything but a couple basic pieces of furniture and housewares.

The other was Luke’s.

Luke lived and worked there, paying his rent by keeping the gym running. Between Luke and the lead trainer, Hugh, the place ran pretty well from what he knew.

Once he was across the parking lot, Mitchell pulled open the door and squinted down the hallway. A friendly face was already coming to greet him. He vaguely recognized Hugh from visits years ago.

Hugh Decant, one of the top MMA fighters in the Midwest, had chosen this gym to train in after retiring from pro-level fighting. Toby had offered him a share in the gym’s profits. From what Mitchell knew of him, Hugh was a good guy.

“Mitchell, right? It’s been years!” Hugh shook his hand, his grip like iron.

He was ripped, and it was hard not to notice—retired or not, his t-shirt clung onto every plane of muscle. Mitchell was suddenly aware of how few times he’d been to the gym in his apartment building.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Mitchell agreed. “You’re still in great shape, holy shit. I’m gonna be the scrawny little guy here…” he trailed off with a laugh.

“Probably,” Hugh grinned. Then his smile faded a little. “So you’re here to… settle things, huh? Your parents send you?”

Mitchell grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry if they’ve been stopping by or anything.”

“They weren’t much bother.” Even as he said it, Hugh was grinning in a way Mitchell knew meant
they fucking were
.

Mitchell nodded. “Okay. So, um, do you have a couple minutes to show me around before I get lost in paperwork?”

“Of course.” Hugh led him through to the main gym area, and Mitchell hardly knew where to look. Rows of punching bags and boxing training gear filled one area. Another area was filled with traditional gym equipment. Between the two… there was the MMA cage.

Two men were on the ground, and a good seven or eight guys watched from the edges of the cage. It was almost a casual atmosphere considering the brutality of the moment.

“If you’ll excuse me…” Hugh nodded. “I have to make sure this stays safe.”

Mitchell was taken aback, but he nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

Hugh strode over to the cage, the guys stepping back to let him get a better look. In his wake, Mitchell had a clear view through to…

Luke.

His old friend was at least thirty pounds heavier with muscle now. His back and shoulders rippled under the bright gym lights. He had the other guy trapped on the ground for a few moments. Then, Luke effortlessly pushed himself to his feet again to let his opponent up.

His movements were utterly confident. It was fucking spellbinding.

Luke pulled the other guy in for a quick consolation hug. He scanned the crowd, and then…

His eyes fixed on Mitchell’s. They were dark and intense with adrenaline from the fight. Mitchell’s heart pounded when Luke’s eyes flashed with recognition.

“Mitch.”

It had been years since he’d heard that rough, low voice. There was no reason it ought to make every nerve in his body tingle and root his feet to the ground.

“Hi, Luke. S’been a while.”

Luke hopped out of the cage, still shirtless but barely sweating even after the fight. The tattoos covering his body… those were all new, too.

“It has.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. When Mitchell reached out, Luke flinched. That drew a gasp from the other guys. Nosy bastards.

He probably doesn’t flinch a lot.
But Mitchell had good reason to be reaching out for anything but a handshake.

Luke stared at his outstretched hand for a moment. Then, he closed his hand around Mitchell’s and pumped their hands.

It was an uneasy alliance, then. Mitchell could work with that.

B
efore Luke was even done
with his resistance training, Hugh was in. Sometimes he came in early, especially since Toby’s death. Luke thought nothing of it until Hugh leaned against a machine next to him.

Luke grunted and pushed forward against the band, redoubling his efforts to sink to the ground. No exercise could ever recreate the feeling of trying to grapple a tough-as-nails fighter to the ground, but this was pretty close. Rubber resisted even better than a human.

“Watch your feet.”

Luke internally cursed, but he didn’t have breath to spare to acknowledge Hugh’s comment. He just shifted his feet to turn one a little further in and steady his balance. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be blindsided.

“Better. So, Mitchell’s coming into town.”

Luke nearly let go of the band—which would have been a painful mistake. With that amount of force, the band snapping into his face would knock him clean out. He tightened his grip on it, telling himself his sweaty palms were a sudden reaction to the exertion. “Nnh.”

“That’s Toby’s kid. His brother’s son, isn’t it? Seemed like an all right kid, but you two…”

Luke eased up until he was on his feet, grabbing his towel to mop his face. He tossed Hugh a careless shrug. “Yeah, we used to be buddies.”

“All that about the wedding…”

Luke grimaced. “It’s true. Mostly.”

“He didn’t seem like the type.”

Luke flinched. The type to be gay? No, Hugh knew about Luke and he’d never commented either way. Around here, that was a good sign. The ones who hated you wanted you to know. “What type?”

“To cheat on his wife. Well, wife-to-be.”

Luke grabbed his bottle to down water, then glanced around the gym. Only a couple other guys training here. “I didn’t know everyone knew.”

“But the rumor grew legs.”

Luke shrugged again, feigning ignorance and detachment even though his heart squeezed with anxiety. He wasn’t gonna be the one to out Mitch again. Mitch had every right to be pissed at him for what he’d done. Even if he’d thought it right at the time, he… well, he didn’t think much anymore about it.

“Must be some grain of truth.” Hugh eyed Luke carefully. “You won’t be distracted when he comes around, will you?”

Luke settled onto the closest bench, adjusting the backrest without even thinking about it and grabbing weights. “Depends what he’s here to say.”

“Well, Toby left him the gym. He could be out to sell it.”

Luke clenched his hands, then relaxed them around the handles. He turned his gaze to the mirror, watching his form as he raised his arms for a few quick sets. “Better than if he’d left it to Mitch’s parents.” They’d stopped by a few times. They were full of fake flattery for Hugh, one of Toby’s close friends, and contemptuous scorn for Luke.

Fair enough—he’d ruined their son’s life right as Mitch had been about to marry the prettiest girl in town. But he hadn’t been
wrong
. Just… mistaken about the finer details. They obviously thought he’d turned Mitch gay. The way they addressed him made that clear.

“Right,” Hugh agreed. “But we could be under new ownership soon. If so…”

“We’ll figure out what to do.” Luke turned to Hugh, watching his reactions carefully and letting the weights drop to his sides. “It’s only a couple weeks ’till the fight, and I’m the favorite to win. A lot of owners would kill to have a kickass trainer and a shining young prospect.”

“In Nebraska? And… I hate to say it, but…”

Luke wasn’t
secret
about his sexuality. That was the clincher. MMA was pretty gay. A lot of guys on the coasts didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t look at them in the showers. But here, in the Midwest?

Yeah, that might be a problem.

Toby had been bi—not loudly, but people knew. He’d understood Luke’s struggle. He’d taken Luke in, giving him a place to live, a job, mentors in himself and Hugh. Really, just a new direction in life.

But that was over.

Christ. Luke
really
needed to move somewhere better, but free rent and training was going to be hard to give up. He took the management grunt work while Hugh did the fun PR management stuff. Their income from gym memberships and training covered their expenses. Hugh’s retirement fund paid his rent in a nice house nearby while Luke was fine living above the gym. It was a sweet arrangement. Since Toby had died, they’d kept the gym going until Mitchell deigned to visit now.

“Are you set on Nebraska?”

Hugh pushed himself away from the machine. “We’ll talk about that if it comes to it. I want you to go up against Aidan in an hour or so, once I’m done with him.”

“The new kid?” Luke winced. They couldn’t be picky about who they took on, but he was at least a weight class lower, and nowhere near pro.

“Don’t give him a concussion before he renews his membership.”

Luke laughed and picked up his weights again, turning his mind to the demo fight ahead of him. That would get his mind off things, at least.

A
idan had too many tells
. He looked where he was going before he moved, he tensed his arm before he hit, and he couldn’t dodge fast.

The guy was going to have to work a lot harder and take criticism a lot better if he wanted to compete even at an amateur level. It was impossible—and a little cruel—to tell an enthusiastic young guy that.

Instead, he and Hugh showed them. Luke kicked their ass gently, letting them show any strengths they had before he took them down. The ones who stuck around after losing were more likely to have the balls to train there.

At least Aidan took it well and managed a few good jabs before Luke mounted him. And the kid was smart enough to tap out, not try to force a choke hold.

It was enough to get Luke’s blood stirring, but no more. Yeah, he was riding a hot young colt, but the fire in his eyes didn’t match his skill level. He stood up coolly and offered Aidan a hand up, nodding jerkily. “We’ll work with you,” he muttered, leaning in to clap the guy’s back in a casual half-hug and handshake.

“Cool,” Aidan muttered back. Luke knew that voice: trying not to be embarrassed. But they all had to start somewhere. He could use a skilled opponent other than Hugh.

Luke pulled back, his gaze sweeping the small gathered crowd to find Hugh. Instead, his heart lurched in his chest as his eyes settled on a too-familiar face. Narrow cheekbones, dark honey-brown eyes, and a full lower lip that was curved in… appreciation? Contempt? He didn’t know which.

Mitch stood there in a loose white linen shirt with his hair pushed up and to the side like some preppy young lawyer.

Three fucking years later, and his ex-friend was twice as hot as when he’d left. And twice as gay. He screamed it now in the way he stood, his hand tucked in his pocket. And he dressed too nicely in the middle of a gym full of half-naked guys.

Luke wanted him.

Oh, shit.

If he hadn’t recognized Mitchell, his libido would have shot through the roof from this one look alone. But they
did
know each other. Mitchell either wanted to fight him or fuck him, and it looked like he hadn’t decided which.

“Mitch.” Luke acknowledged him first, walking toward the edge of the cage.

“Hi, Luke. S’been a while.”

Luke still knew that tone: Mitch’s cautious, cool, distant voice. His professional voice. This was what they were reduced to? Well, it beat the last time they saw each other.

He remembered Mitchell’s fist in his stomach, nowhere near as painful as Mitchell had no doubt hoped. The emotional pain had been worse, though.

And what Mitchell had said.

Fucking liar. You fucking liar.

Luke stepped out of the cage and hit the ground solidly. “It has.”

He could see the others around them shifting as if they expected a second fight to unfold—this one without rules.

On a level with each other now, they watched each other. Luke let Mitchell be the first to talk or move, but he wasn’t expecting a kind greeting.

Luke saw the tell a good half-second before Mitchell’s arm moved. He flinched, fully expecting another punch to the stomach. These days, guys regularly punched him in the chest and stomach just to keep his core tight. But Mitchell probably deserved another hit if he wanted it.

Instead, though, Mitchell’s delicate hand was outstretched for a handshake. Those long, thin fingers drew Luke’s eyes to them. He hardly knew what to do with it, but he took it. He was conscious of his own strength, not wanting to crush Mitchell’s fingers as he shook hands once.

Mitchell’s shoulders sank. Luke heard a few exhaled breaths from nearby and cast an annoyed glance around to the others. That and their dashed hopes for a good scene was all it took to scatter them.

There was still a raw tension between them, and Luke couldn’t look away from those dark, burning eyes. Mitchell was simmering with something, and he couldn’t tell what.

“So, you’re the new owner.”

“Yeah.” Mitchell slid his hands back into his pockets, his stance casual and loose. It was almost cocky, and it made Luke pay attention.

And his cock.

Fuck, no. You can’t get turned on by him.

Of all the goddamn guys to want, Mitchell was about the bottom of Luke’s list. And no doubt vice versa, after what he’d put Mitch through…

Mitchell cleared his throat. “I had some things to arrange before I came out, but… I’m back to sort this place out.”

“Right.” Luke resisted the urge to bristle. It didn’t need
sorting
. He was managing it just fine with Hugh. “We should talk, then.”

“We should.”

Hugh interrupted from Luke’s shoulder to hand him his t-shirt. “Go take half an hour. But get your protein shake.”

“Right.” Luke didn’t know what he’d do without Hugh to remind him to load up every few hours. This close to a competition, his meal schedule was fucked up to very carefully fuel him without bringing him over the weight limit. Next week, he’d start cutting back on water before the weigh-in. That was his least favorite part. “Come on,” he jerked his head toward the staircase, and Mitchell fell into step beside him. Almost like old times.

He could have sworn he saw Mitchell’s eyes on him as he shrugged his t-shirt on. Then again, he’d gotten half his body covered in tattoos.

A lot had changed.

They were both dead silent as he led Mitchell up the narrow staircase, their arms brushing once or twice. Each time it did, Luke resisted the urge to suck in a breath.

Mitchell made something in his chest spark—something he’d ignored in favor of training harder and winning faster.

Christ, this was the
worst
time to remember how fucking gay he was.

“Sorry it’s so… minimalist,” Luke spoke up, pushing open his apartment door.

Toby’s apartment had been across the hall. Mitchell’s asshole parents had cleaned it out one day. Luke and Hugh had left the gym for the day to train in the park instead. It had still been too raw for them.

“It’s fine.” Mitchell glanced around.

Luke followed his gaze to see what he saw: the neatly-made bed in the corner, shielded by a screen from the living room futon. The walls were bare aside from a few of his favorite fight photos, framed. Without much furniture, the floor was empty—better for pushups in the morning. The kitchen… well, most guys found it weird. He had four different blenders, and the fridge always had two or three cartons of eggs. And that was just the beginning of his meal quirks.

Mitchell jerked his thumb back toward the hall. “Guess mine will be the same.”

He’s living there now?
Luke’s heart rose into his throat. He ignored it and headed to the fridge to grab the other half of his morning shake. “Yeah. Want water?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Luke slid a glass of water onto the coffee table and took a seat on the futon next to Mitchell. He gulped down his protein shake before setting the glass on the table.

Mitch was so damn focused on him. His eyes barely left Luke even as he tipped the glass and water trickled across those full lips…

Don’t do that,
Luke told himself firmly, watching Mitchell’s eyes instead. “Look, I should apologize…”

Mitchell sat up straighter, gulping down a little more water before he put the glass down. He stayed quiet to let Luke speak. Last time, Mitchell hadn’t given him a chance to say a thing.

“I shouldn’t have outed you—especially since I was… half-wrong. And not on the better half.” He’d been wrong about Mitch cheating, not him being gay. Mitch had never seemed like the cheating type, but Luke had never guessed he was gay in years of knowing him.

Mitch furrowed his brow, figuring that one out. “It would have been better to be wrong about me being gay?”

“You never denied it.” It had driven Luke mad for the last three years not knowing why Mitch hadn’t defended himself.

“I… I’m glad you outed me, in a twisted way,” Mitchell said slowly. He picked up the half-empty glass again to fidget with it. “Things worked out. I got a career, and I got out of here.”

Luke bit back the wave of envy. Clearly things had fucking worked out for
him
. He’d gotten to escape goddamn Beatrice, and he’d built some career for himself.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t Googled Mitchell in the last couple of years. Mitchell had built a name for himself selling fancy fucking places in New York City.

He wasn’t jealous of
that
, exactly—as far as he was concerned, rich people were more trouble than they were worth. Especially when they were sponsors or front-row ticket holders.

But Mitchell was out now… in every way.

“You didn’t come back for Toby’s funeral.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Mitchell’s guard had been slipping down. His body had even been turning to face Luke, his expression more open.

Now his face snapped into a wary, distant…
cold
look.

“I had my own reasons. You know… you
caused
… some of them.”

Luke winced and looked down. He hadn’t meant it as a criticism, exactly. Well, maybe a bit. It had been a little infuriating that the guy Toby had left the goddamn place to didn’t even bother to show up.