Totaled (16 page)

“Yeah, he’s actually going to be staying with me, I think. I spoke to him yesterday on the phone. He’s excited. Apparently this shrimp festival is a big deal.”

It amazed me how easy it was to talk to Drew. Our conversation flowed effortlessly. He asked all about my family and how we came to own the gym. I told him about my mother dying when we were just teenagers and how much of an impact that had on all of us. He seemed to truly understand and listened without giving me the generic, obligatory responses when you tell someone that your parent is dead. I asked about where he came from and what he was running from. That’s when the energy of our conversation took a turn. All I got from him was a closed off response that he just simply needed a fresh start.
Oooookay then.

He was handsome, downright sexy. I’d never been attracted to another man as much as I was to this man. He was just flawless. Even with his nose still swollen and the purplish bruising under his eyes, from my blows to his head no less, he was breathtaking. I was surprised I could even concentrate on what he was saying. I had to keep reminding myself to look around because my eyes were glued to his involuntarily. His warm, incredible, emerald eyes. He was charming and flirty, but not over the top in a creepy or arrogant way. Just enough to make me want more. We were long finished with our coffee and dessert, but I wasn’t ready to go home yet.

As if he could read my thoughts, he asked, “Do you want to walk down to the water and keep talking? I mean, only if you want to. I just…it’s nice to have someone to talk to. I don’t really know anyone here yet, other than Liam.”

We left the coffee shop and strolled down toward the inter-coastal. He gestured over to a public dock, suggesting we head that way, so I walked ahead and sat down first. He sat to my left side. We sat in silence for a moment, taking in the beautiful evening. A nice breeze was blowing, the marsh lands were calm, and activity was quieting down for the day. Most of the charter fishing boats were already in and docked. A few stragglers were coming in and tying on to sort and clean their catch of the day. The sun was hiding behind a blanket of smooth clouds, easing its way down for the night, and beautiful oranges and pinks colored the sky, contrasting perfectly with the deep gray-blue of the water and bright green marsh grasses. It was nice. Peaceful and comfortable.

“So what’s the deal with Liam?” he blurted out as if it had been on the tip of his tongue forever and he could no longer contain it.

“What do you mean?” I asked, fishing, curious to see how he would describe my brother’s disability. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been asked the same question a hundred times before, but something about the directness in which Drew asked me prompted me to want to test him.

“I guess, I mean, well, I can tell he’s a little different, but I can’t figure it out. I’ve been too nervous to ask your dad and Liam is kind of always around us anyway, so I figured I would ask you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive or pry. It’s none of my business,” he said, turning slightly away from me. He looked down at his lap, where his hands were clasped together; he was rubbing his thumb over his calloused palm.

“It’s okay, Drew. It is your business. You’re essentially training partners, and hopefully friends. You should know. I just hope it doesn’t change anything, because Liam is my heart and he’s excited about finally having a friend. It would kill him to have you treat him any differently,” I stressed.

He brought his head up, looking at me with surprise on his face. “I would never treat him any differently.”

I believed him.

I told Drew about Liam’s “condition,” including his low IQ, learning disabilities, difficulty in school, and trouble handling what others perceive as normal social situations. I told him how I homeschooled him, which garnered a shocked look, and how much better he did with me than ever before. I tried to explain our “connection” and bond the best I could, but if you aren’t a twin, you really don’t get it. He watched me talk and appeared to hang on my every word with true interest and astonished expressions. It was refreshing to feel like I could talk freely and openly about Liam and not be compelled to censor how I felt about the whole situation. Something made me want to tell Drew how I felt. I wanted him to understand me—to know me.

“Thank you for telling me. And you need to know that I’m not just some meathead,” Drew assured me. “I’m a good guy. I’m not going to do anything to hurt Liam. I want to be his friend. You telling me these things doesn’t change how I’ll treat him at all. If anything, it’ll help me be a better friend to him, and a better training partner. He’s
so
talented. I’ve never been matched with another fighter so in sync with me before. It’s challenging and fun. I’m excited about it. I’m excited about being here,” he confessed with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me. I just have to watch out for him. He isn’t really able to discern when someone is being genuinely nice to him verses taking advantage of him, so I worry constantly about that. And you’re a new person to all of us. I don’t know you or that your intentions are good,” I warned.

“In time, I hope that you’ll see that I have nothing but good intentions. I’m just thankful for the opportunity here. I’m thankful that Liam wants to be my friend, and that your dad is willing to work with me, and I’m thankful that you’re willing to get to know me,” he said, grinning.

We stayed there quietly for a minute or two before he spoke again.

“So, how did the boxing gym get introduced into MMA?” he asked, seeming genuinely curious. “I mean, no offense, but it’s just unusual and peculiar to me that a bunch of Irish men would be into jiu-jitsu.”

“I’ll tell you. But, on one condition. A story for a story. I’ll tell you something about my family, and you’ll tell me something about your family,” I suggested.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. My parents are dead and they’re the only family I had. It’s a sad story and I don’t ever talk about it,” he responded curtly. “I can’t talk about it.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said apologetically. “I just want to know more about you. Where you came from, what kind of childhood you had. What were your parents like before they died? How did they die?” I swore I saw him wince a little when I mentioned his parents dying. He sat there thinking about how to answer me, I assumed. Guilt swarmed me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.” I felt horrible and had no idea how to make the conversation go back to being comfortable again.

“It’s okay, Bree. It’s not you. I know you aren’t trying to be pushy. These are normal questions that I should be able to answer. I’m just…I’m no good at this. I have a lot of…baggage. It’s too painful to talk about. I’m not strong enough yet,” he said sadly.

“Nonsense. Even your name means strong,” I said to reassure him.

“What? What do you mean my name means strong?” he asked.

“Brian. The name Brian is an old Celtic name, meaning strength and honor,” I responded.

“How did you even know my real name was Brian?” he questioned.

Shit.
Busted.

“Um…I may have possibly, maybe, looked at your driver’s license. I do all the books for the gym; I see every member’s information. I’m sorry if that’s weird. You intrigued me. I was curious, so I read the file. You know, just to make sure that we all of the necessary paperwork,” I replied jokingly.

“Sure, stalker! But how do you know what my name means?” he asked.

“It is sort of my thing. I know names. Especially Irish ones, of which you have three, Brian Andrew Dougherty. Even your last name, richly Irish, means harmful. So, Drew, you are strong and harmful. Even your initials spell BAD. Maybe somehow I sensed that when we first met,” I teased.

“I guess so. Maybe you should run away now,” he suggested flirtatiously.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. I’m stuck here forever probably—family business and all. Actually, my real name is Brianne, the feminine form of Brian. We essentially have the same name, which means that I’m also strong. Strong enough to handle anything you tell me. Try me,” I challenged.

We both chuckled but when he didn’t say anything further, I thought it best to redirect the conversation to what he asked me in the first place.

“So anyway, the gym,” I proposed.

“Oh yeah, the gym. Tell me about the Murphy family gym.”

We sat on the edge of the dock, staring out into the inter-coastal, and I told him of Paulo Gonzaga and Murphy’s Gym.

“We used to be your stereotypical, run of the mill, Irish Catholic family,” I began. “My great-grandfather, Conor, was born in Londonderry, Ireland. He immigrated over here at the age of seventeen in 1943, during World War II, and wound up here in Fernandina Beach, working on shrimp boats for mere pennies. He managed to save up enough money to buy an old, run down metals warehouse that he converted into the boxing gym. He married a lovely Catholic girl, also of Irish descent, and took up roots. The Murphy family is kind of well-known in Fernandina. It was implied that if you grew up in the Murphy family, you were going to somehow be involved in running the gym.

“My grandfather, Kearney, was really the one that’s mostly responsible for introducing mixed martial arts into the gym. His wife, Meara, was a local schoolteacher. She was having issues with one of her students ‘acting out’ in her class and being violent with other children on the playground. She called for a conference with the parents, but only the father showed up. I remember her telling the story of how Paulo Gonzaga came into our life around the dinner table many times as a child.

“She told us of this poor, broken man, originally from Brazil. He’d fled his country to avoid going to jail and wanted nothing more than to be able to provide for his children and wife. Sadly, his wife was gone, having tragically passed away before they came to America, which he feared was the main reason his son was acting out at school. He didn’t know how to be a mother to his sons. He only knew what he knew. When she asked him what it was that he did for a living, he started crying in front of her. Apparently, he was quite famous in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, as a Muay Thai and jiu-jitsu fighter and trainer. He was fighting for money and one day was paired up with a very influential politician’s son. He knew better, but was desperate for the money at the time. During the third round of the fight, he had his opponent in a submission hold and was going for the win. He could feel the man’s arm ripping from his shoulder, could hear the bone snap as he broke the man’s arm and tore his shoulder to shreds. He refused to submit, out of pride or pure stupidity, he wasn’t sure, but he knew in that moment that his life would be changed forever. He was never a fearful man, but in that instant, he feared for his life, and his family’s lives. He knew he must leave. He knew he was supposed to lose that fight. He collected his winnings, cleaned himself up, and rushed home to be with his family. When he got home, he saw that the front door frame was busted and broken into; he found his wife’s throat slashed. His young sons were asleep in the next room. He grabbed what he could stuff into a small suitcase, snatched his sons up, and fled. He knew he would be blamed for the murder of his wife and then his children would have no one. He traveled through Brazil and South America and, by the grace of God, ended up here in 1986. He was scraping by, picking up odd jobs cleaning fish at the docks, shrimping with anyone that would let him join, and working construction jobs for people that would pay him under the table. My grandmother, who was probably some sort of saint reincarnated, vowed to help the man. She introduced him to her husband, my grandfather, and insisted that he be given a job at the gym.

“Paulo Gonzaga started out cleaning mats and equipment. One day he got into a scuffle with one of the boxers over his headgear apparently stinking of sweat. The fighter blamed him for not cleaning it and started pushing him around. He put up his fists and egged him on to box him. Paulo knew he needed this job and knew he should just walk away, but he wasn’t going to be pushed around. He let the man get a few punches in and then went to town. He soon had him on the mat and his opponent’s poor attempt at wrestling and grappling got him into an arm bar submission hold. The man was screaming for mercy, a foreign concept to Paulo, but he released him. In broken English, he told the boxer to never ever try him again. The boxer nodded and the few gym goers that had gathered around the scuffle dispersed as he walked away, barely even winded.

“The following morning, my grandfather called him into the manager’s office and sat him down. Paulo just knew he was getting fired and was already thinking of what he would do next. But to his surprise, Kearney Murphy was intrigued. Instead of getting fired, Paulo was given a promotion. My grandfather wanted him to start teaching jiu-jitsu classes at the gym. Over the next six months or so, membership to the gym nearly tripled and there was a waiting list to get into Paulo’s jiu-jitsu and Muay Thai classes. He was even teaching some Taekwondo classes to kids and self-defense classes for women. Paulo Gonzaga was the best thing that ever happened to Murphy’s Gym. He was like a member of our family from that day on.

“My father was fourteen years old when Paulo, twenty-four at the time, started working at the gym. He took my dad under his wing and taught him everything he knew about all things MMA. He made my dad respect and love the sport and the two of them really moved the gym towards MMA training.

“Paulo’s sons, Ricardo and Tomas, who are twelve and ten years older than Liam and me, ended up being like older brothers to us. Liam had a really special relationship with Paulo. They always seemed to have some sort of understanding of each other. He was Liam’s only true friend and was such a great support to him when our mom died.” I trailed off, remembering how amazing Paulo was with Liam, never babying him, and always challenging him in the gym as well as with life in general. I missed him.

When I was finally done with the story, Drew caught me off guard by asking, “What ever happened to Paulo? Why haven’t I seen him around the gym?”