In the Ring: A Dario Caivano Novel Read online

  “Ugh!” I yelled out loud, as I shook my head in disgust.

  It always amazed me how, when a woman was finally fed up enough to leave, that it was the only time that a man really wanted to do right by the relationship. It should never take leaving to wake a fool up out of his sleep. With Tyler, he didn’t understand that when I said I was done, I was really done. Women had never been a shortage for Tyler and that was our problem. Professional athletes had women throwing twat, booty, and breasts at them all day long, and they took them up on their offers . . . all day long.

  At a point in time, I could neither resist nor see past the butterscotch-complexioned tight end, with the physique of a damn god, deep brown eyes, the immaculately-lined fade, and perfect goatee. But over time, it grew old, and I grew up. Thank God.

  Upon entering the freeway’s entrance, my mind floated back to the scene in the parking lot. I couldn’t help grinning. I’ve never been one of those women who got off on men fighting over me, but to see a man defend my honor was some of the sexiest shit ever. Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t just any man—it was Dario Caivano, undefeated heavyweight champion, who was ready to step in on my behalf. I couldn’t believe it. And he was fine as hell too, if I had to admit it to myself. The smooth skin, that fell somewhere between fair and olive-toned, was appealing against his sand-colored mustache and nicely groomed hair. The soft layer of a slightly darker tone that trailed along his jaws just added more to his lure.

  Even through the dark slacks and the button-down shirt he wore, I could tell he was sporting a physique that was something close to perfection . . . if not perfection, itself. And I was really digging the way he had that fedora slightly tilted on his head. He had swag about himself. His eyes had suspense inside of them, the way they sat low. It was almost as though he was studying me while we talked. But the glare was something very different with him and Tyler when they stared each other down; it was an intense scowl, like he was daring Tyler to make a move.

  I leaned my head back onto the seat as it warmed my backside and thighs. I fell into relaxation mode for the remainder of my ride home. I was tired as hell after an early morning and long night. I loved being the owner of my own club. Like, really loved it! But it was hard work and a lot of late nights. But hey, I signed on for it, so I would not be the one to complain. Being a self-made woman was huge, and I was very proud of myself.

  Thirty minutes later, I arrived at my exit and could already envision my shower, the hot water, and California King waiting for me. Relaxation was so near that I could taste it, and I couldn’t wait to embrace it like a long-lost love . . . or fine-ass Idris Alba!

  When my phone buzzed, I jolted from my euphoria. I was nanoseconds away from accepting the call until I looked at the all-too familiar number. In my effort to let the past be the past, I’d deleted his number from my phone, but after years of calling it, I’d memorized it enough to avoid a mistake. I guess he hadn’t gotten the message loudly or clearly enough, and now Tyler Johnson was going to be sent to voicemail soon—exactly where he belonged.

  Damn shame.

  CHAPTER 3

  Dario

  When I sat back into the comfort of the leather sofa, I immediately relaxed. Well, it wasn’t really relaxation, but it was something like it. Coming in to see Dr. Cephas Upshaw was something like my down time. I had a love/hate relationship with these visits. I hated that I needed them in the first place, and that I might spiral without them—maybe. I say maybe because after last night when I was able to leave the situation with Chanel, without laying a single hand on that liar of a dude, it showed that I’d grown a bit in reining in my temper.

  I rubbed my hands down my jean-clad thighs as if ironing out invisible wrinkles. I was anticipating what this session’s flow would be like. When a few seconds had gone by and Dr. Upshaw still hadn’t arrived, restlessness kicked in. I stood up from my seat. I inhaled a thick sigh and when I released it, the sound came out more like a whistle than just air.

  “I’m so sorry, to have kept you waiting, Dario . . . really sorry,” Dr. Upshaw said as he breezed in, shook my hand and quickly took a seat. “Please sit down. I had to make a pit stop. How’s it going?”

  I reclaimed my seat. “It’s going.”

  Dr. Upshaw pushed out an exasperated sigh and then smiled over at me. “I saw the fight. You got that Muhammad Ali thing going on where you maintain that distance between yourself and your opponent. Those long-range punches that you throw . . . and land with such precision. You expertly wear them down,” he boasted, nodding his approval, “before putting them out of their misery. I've seen some brawler tendencies in you too. Pretty good switch-up, and at just the right times, if I do say so myself. And to top it all off, you’re still undefeated. Does it ever grow old?”

  I returned the smile, both surprised and impressed with his knowledge of the sport. “Not at all.”

  “Ever think it’s time to walk away while you’re still in the winner’s circle?”

  His delivery pissed me off and I gave him a long, hard stare to accompany my response. “I don’t walk away from shit, Doc.”

  For some reason it just sounded off for him to even say something like that after having given me the ultimate compliment. And for that reason, I didn’t feel the need to let him know that I was planning to retire at the end of the year.

  And then he attempted a failed retraction. “I wasn’t insinuating that. It came out wrong. I didn’t mean it the way it obviously sounded. I know you’re not a quitter. I was just saying—”

  “You don’t need to elaborate. We can get this session underway now.”

  “Oh. Okay,” he expressed in defeat. “Well, let’s start with me asking how your sleep’s been since the fight? You taking your meds that I got you approved for?”

  “Nope. I can’t risk it.”

  “There’s no risk, Dario.”

  “There is a risk. There’s a risk of me losing my spot.”

  “That can’t happen. I have all of the necessary documentation to submit to the commission if an issue ever arises. They’ll know it’s not ‘drugs’, per se.”

  “I don’t think so. And I really wouldn’t even want the organization in my business at that level.”

  “So, then the last few prescriptions that I’ve written for—”

  “Haven’t been filled,” I said, cutting him off. “I don’t need dope to cope.”

  “So, then what’s all this for, Dario?” he asked, seemingly frustrated with me. “Why even entertain the sessions if you’re not interested in feeling better about the PTSD symptoms? The anxiety, the bouts of depression? How am I to help you, if you don’t help me . . . help you?”

  “You’re the psychotherapist; that should be something you can answer. Why stuff me with medication when you went through years of school to get inside people’s heads authentically and without aides?”

  “A-a-and I do that,” he stuttered, probably insulted that I questioned his so-called area of expertise. “I assisted you with figuring out that you don’t encounter any of the symptoms when you’re preparing for fights. I assisted you with figuring out that it’s due to a control factor that you’re experiencing during those times. Right? When you have a bout coming, you put all your energy into it because you know that you’ll get ‘permission’,” he said, demonstrating with air quotes. “You’ll get the permission you need to beat the hell out of someone without consequence and you look forward to that. I’d like to think I’ve been instrumental in helping you come to those conclusions as it relates to your . . . uhhh . . . condition, for lack of a better word.”

  I couldn’t help but release a few short strokes of laughter. He was right. He has definitely helped in certain areas, and more than I was willing to admit. The truth of the matter was that just the conversations with him made life a bit easier. He was pretty much the only one who knew of my struggle to gain control and have a chance at living a consistently calm life.

  “See! Didn’t think
I had your back, huh?” he kidded.

  I swiped my right hand through my hair and let out a trapped breath of relief. I’d come in tensed-up, and now felt that for the remainder of my time in Dr. Upshaw’s office, that I could just be cool.

  “You got me, Doc. There’s times where I forget even the fight itself, because I zone out.”

  “Understandable.”

  “But hey, I appreciate these sometimes-Sunday talks. I really do. It’s really the only place I got to come to when I know I’m about to be back in that place with the insomnia, and the anxiety and all that shit that just kinda controls me. You know?”

  “I get it. The loss of your cousin and you being right there and not being able to help him. It’s a lot to take on. In the three years that I’ve known you, I see how it pains you. And you’re stronger than a lot of people because what happened to you isn’t something a lot of people would be able to live with.”

  What he didn’t know was that there was a time in the days of losing Lucas that I almost wasn’t able to live with it. There were many nights and days where I couldn’t even stand to blink because the whole scene would come back, rushing me like a swarm of loose bees. I just wanted it erased or to be a nightmare—but it wasn’t.

  “And you know what, Doc?”

  “What?”

  “My biggest regret is letting that dude get away with his own life. My biggest regret is not grabbing him right there and killing him with his own gun and standing over him, watching the life drain from his body.” I looked up at Dr. Upshaw. “That’s my biggest regret. I would rather have been doing that than watching my cousin . . . my brother . . . take his final breath.”

  “Dario . . .” I heard Dr. Upshaw call out in the distance. Then, “Dario!” again, in a much firmer tone.

  “What?” I said, staring through him. I didn’t realize that I was out of my seat and that my fists were clenched, until I noticed that I was looking down at him instead of across at him.

  “It’s okay,” he reassured, with one palm forward. “It’s okay.”

  I stared at him for a long few minutes. At least it seemed that way. My breathing had increased and my heart was beating fast and unpredictable. When I unclenched my fists, I could feel the dampness that had formed inside my palms.

  “It’s not okay,” I managed. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be,” I stated on my way out of the front door of Dr. Upshaw’s office.

  CHAPTER 4

  Chanel

  “How was last night, little girl?” my mother asked. She had a bad habit of calling me early mornings when she knew I’d been working the night before. Today was no different.

  “‘Interesting’, is the word that I would use to describe it.”

  “Club life, huh? I guess you see a lot of that . . . interesting stuff,” she stated.

  “I do and you should really come one night with some of your girlfriends and hang out. But when I said ‘interesting’, it was more about what happened after the club than what went on in the club.”

  “What happened after? Don’t tell me somebody got shot or some ghetto mess like that!”

  “No, Mama. That’s not the kind of environment that my club is in, for one. And for two, I got the Nation of Islam up in there as security. Nothing like that will ever happen. Girl, please,” I said confidently.

  “Well, what then?”

  “More like, who. Tyler’s ass showed up.”

  “For what?”

  “Trying to get me to talk to him. He’s been calling and I haven’t responded, and instead of seeing that as me having nothing to say, he kicks into full can’t-take-rejection mode.”

  “Get a restraining order against that fool. He has no business coming near you if you don’t want him there. Maybe the message needs to be stronger than words.”

  “That’s just it, Mama. There haven’t been any words—which is why I thought he’d get the message.”

  “Clearly he ain’t up for scholar of the year. Maybe knocked around too much on that damn football field in his heyday or something. Shit, I’ll tell his ass.”

  “No, Mama. That won’t work.”

  My mother was always in Mama Bear mode. And she was good at it. Because she missed a huge part of me and my sister’s childhood, she was now eager to recoup and make up for lost time. I’d forgiven her, honestly. I didn’t really miss a beat because luckily for me, she’d picked a good father for my life. My sister, even though she’d had a good life with her other side of the family as well, rebelled. She ended up being the one venturing in and out of lifestyles that weren’t good for her.

  You’d think that with both of us lacking the maternal presence, and being our mother’s only kids, that we’d cling tight to each other. However, that couldn’t be further from the truth. We were as estranged as Michael Jackson was from the rest of his family. And as much as it affected me when we were younger, the older I got, I actually preferred it that way because we had long reached a point of no return.

  “Why won’t my telling him work, Chanel? I’ll let him know, in real life terms, that he needs to move the hell on and find him—”

  “Mama. . .” I stopped her. “It’s really okay. He’s not gonna do anything to me. He’s just throwing a mantrum now because he hasn’t been able to get his way. He’s been calling for the past six months. I used to hold mini conversations with him but then when I realized that he was trying to lead me back to that place long buried, I pulled back.”

  “So, then you really don’t want anything to do with him?”

  “Not at all. That ship sailed. And especially after we broke up and he took that shit out on Rai by dismissing him too. Never in my life will I deal with a man that does that to my child. Never. Whatever we had while we were together was something completely separate from what he had with Rai, so that shouldn’t have ever happened like that.”

  “You damn right it shouldn’t have. That’s a fuckin’ half-assed man that would do that.”

  “That’s how I felt. I couldn’t believe he pulled that mess on my baby with how much he claimed to love him like his own and all that shit. But he did. So, even if I thought about taking him back at any point, it would never happen. One thing you don’t do—”

  “Is fuck with your baby!” my mama interjected, with a light snicker.

  “Right!”

  “Even ya mama knows that. You are an amazing mother, Chanel. I’m so proud of you and everything that you are to my grandson. So proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Ma. I appreciate that. He’s my everything. Everything I’ve done since he came into my life has been about him and it will always be.”

  My mother grew quiet on her end of the line. “And you sure didn’t inherit that from me.”

  The stubborn part of me didn’t want to come behind her comment and stroke her back in comfort. Every now and again, she’d sneak in part of her sob story about why she wasn’t there, and I’d fall in line with every line of consolation I knew she wanted to hear. But today wasn’t going to be one of those days.

  “My baby gave me life,” I responded. “But anyway, you should try coming to the club one night. The busiest nights are on the weekends, but we’re open during the week too. So, y’all should go kick it. Just let me know when you do, so that I can make sure y’all are all set up and got your little section going on and all that. Or you can bring Ronald.”

  “I might just do that—with the girls,” she said, with a smile I could hear through the phone. “I could go and find me a lil’ young tender and—”

  “Uhhh, yeah,” I stressed, jumping in before she went too far into details. “…and now I think I need to remove myself from this conversation.”

  I laughed out loud, alongside her, as we disconnected the line.

  I had a lot to do today, but at the top of my agenda was a full conversation with Tyler. It didn’t make sense to keep avoiding him, if he only saw that as me holding out for more time before he wore me down. The way I felt about the situation was
nowhere near that and since he needed to hear it out loud and in stereo, then that’s what it would be.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dario

  I’m sure that Dr. Upshaw was still sitting in his seat, taking down notes regarding my behavior at today’s session. I was also sure he was making plans to incorporate that episode as part of our next discussion. But little did he know, I had no intentions of returning for anymore sessions. I just didn’t see the need. Sure, he’d shown me some things along the way and even provided some temporary coping mechanisms, but I was done. Some kind of way, I’d find my own medium to hold onto.

  I hit the freeway, heading back across the bridge from San Francisco. I couldn’t get off that island fast enough. And whatever the reason was that everybody found the scenery so beautiful, the only time I went to the city was to see Dr. Upshaw. Personally, I hated being over water like that. I just didn’t trust it. So, me gunning my Chevy all the way would come as no surprise to anybody that truly knew me.

  When I arrived into Oakland, I should’ve been taking the split to 880-South for Fremont, but instead, for reasons I didn’t understand, I ended up on the overpass headed to Highway 24, in the direction of Broadway Terrace. It was a decision that was completely spontaneous, but it was also a decision that I hadn’t made any attempts to talk myself out of.

  At the foot of the incline to Lake Temescal, I made a right turn onto a small, quiet residential street and slowed my car to a mere 10mph—if that. The neighborhood was one long street with a dead end at the very end of it. The street was pristine, and every one of the lawns was perfectly manicured. The homes were attractive and quaint, with single family design layouts.