Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Fine,” they said in unison.
“Glad you two are on the same page again.” I clasped my hands. “Is it possible for us to discuss this week’s upcoming schedule?”
They didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed against the table.
Text from Mr. Carter:
Can you ask my wife to pass the pepper?
THIRTY-ONE
TRAVIS
Las Vegas, Nevada
Operation: Fake Fiancee
Weeks 4 & 5
All the Days
Stay the hell away from each other.
ACT EIGHT
BACK THEN
TRAVIS
Parker Hotel & Suites
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“I just couldn’t stay away!” Penelope twirls in front of the camera screen, showing off a sparkling pink costume dress. “I changed my mind and bought this one at the last minute. What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful, Crown.” I smile. “What did your coach say?”
“He doesn’t want to see it yet.” She rolls her eyes. “I have a few competitions before the Sochi Olympics and he’s a stickler for focusing on one thing at a time.”
“He’s the best in the business for a reason.”
“He’s the best at sucking the fun out of everything.” She plops down into a chair. “Thank you for paying his ridiculous rate for me, though.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I bought a sweater for you to wear in Sochi.” She holds up a grey and red knit that says, ‘I’m the Best Figure Skater Alive.’
“I bought an iron-on patch that says, ‘My Sister Is’ for you to put on top of it,” she says. “You have to promise to wear it when you get here. Well, if you actually come, that is.”
“I’ve told you that I’ll do everything I can to be there. I’ve said it a million times.”
“You say that about every competition lately, and yet…” She gives me a look I’ve come to know all too well.
We’re usually mid-argument, and she calls me “the worst brother in the world” before hanging up in my face, but for some reason, it stings more when she’s calm like this.
Then again, to say that I’ve been “the worst brother in the world” lately is an understatement.
It’s far too nice.
I’ve missed every single one of her competitions by canceling at the last minute to take a fighting opportunity or a meeting with a potential sponsor.
Although I’m making more money than before and can take care of both of us a bit more comfortably, the one thing I can’t afford is spare time. Not when I’m this close to making it, this close to lifting our family’s debt off my chest.
The UFC commissioner keeps stringing me along, promising that “soon,” “super soon,” he’ll allow me a chance to fight for a title so I can enjoy more promotion, benefits, and the much-needed freedom to do the things I want to do. Alas, I’m still fighting mediocre opponents during the pre-shows and using my talents in various underground leagues.
“I’ll do my best to be there Penelope,” I say. “We should get a picture near the rings together for Mom’s sake.”
“I’m ten steps ahead of you.” Her eyes light up, and she grabs a frame of our mother when she competed at the Olympics. “She’s the inspiration behind my costume. I think she’d be proud of me.”
“I know she would be.”
“She’d be disappointed in your career choice, though.”
“Not as much as Dad would be.” I smile, and for the first time in forever, we laugh and share memories of our parents that don’t hurt.
The minutes pass by, stretching into hours, and it's a little after midnight by the time we’re debating who gave our dad the most challenging time as kids.
“Shit!” She gasped. “I have ballet practice in a couple hours. I gotta nap. Love you, Travis.”
“Love you, too, Crown.” I shut my laptop.
Walking into my kitchen, I pick up my phone and see that I’ve missed a call from Tatiana.
Shit. I haven’t seen her in person in months.
Despite talking to her as much as possible and sending gifts occasionally, I haven’t been the best boyfriend.
I’m fucking up with everyone in my life.
Holding back a sigh, I return her call.
It doesn’t ring.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
“Hey Tati,” I say after the beep. “I’m sorry I missed you. I’ll try again in a few hours. If I don’t reach you then—” I pause, remembering we both have a hectic upcoming week. “Good luck on your business school placement interview this week, and let me know how it goes.”
I unwrap my hands and mix a protein shake. Then I set up a makeshift weight area in the living room and order a late-night keto box for dinner.
Although the men I’m scheduled to fight this weekend are nowhere near my level, I never underestimate an opponent. I still can’t afford to lose, and I never want to know what that feels like.
Fifty bench presses later, the delivery guy bangs on my door.
“One second!” I say, grabbing a couple of twenties.
“You can keep the change since it’s…” I stop talking when I see Tatiana in the hallway.