Nate Colton
This is a story about the boy who got everything he ever wanted.
Troy Combat Systems was unlike anything Nate Colton had ever experienced.
It wasn’t bad, by any means. The only real problem Nate had with the place was the smell. There wasn’t one. Sure, there was the stink of individual people as they exerted themselves far beyond the capacity of their deodorant, but it hadn’t seeped into the building itself. And a gym without a weird smell…well, that just wasn’t natural.
So no, not bad. Just…different.
A far cry from the ramshackle equipment he’d grown up with, the facilities at TCS were top of the line and could accommodate anyone’s workout preference, from weightlifters to runners to those CrossFit weirdos.
It was also wildly different from the Asylum, lacking the smoothie bar, the mural, and all the other personal touches added by its owner. No matter what you thought of Timo Bolamba, there was no denying that he put a lot of his own personality into the Asylum.
In comparison, TCS was sleek and functional. Everything about the place, from the trainers to the equipment to the paint on the walls, made it feel more like a factory; the people were here to make superstars, not friends. He’d commented on that when he first arrived, telling one of the other trainees that the place “felt cold.” The response was, “Bust your ass, that’ll keep you warm,” even though that obviously wasn’t what he meant.
Usually Nate would find that abrasive, but lately he preferred it. After months of being hounded by his family, and the others at the Asylum, and occasionally Justine Calvin on Jabber…the last thing he needed was people digging into his personal life.
The other reason why he liked the strictly professional nature of TCS is that nobody would question if he left early.
Which he was doing.
In Nate’s defense, he’d gone at it as hard as he could today. It just wasn’t as long as he usually put in, and nowhere near what he’d been doing at the Asylum. Besides, he had a social engagement coming up, and needed time to rest and clean up. He didn’t need people bothering him about it, but he knew that wouldn’t be a problem here.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Until it was.
The voice belonged to Alex Creed, head trainer for this TCS facility. Nate knew him by reputation, and had watched his wrestling and MMA matches in his youth. He admired “The Mecca” for his dedication, his demand for excellence, and his ability to be a hardass without being abusive. Alex Creed was driven to perfection, and nothing less would be tolerated.
Nate turned to face Creed, who still cut a very imposing figure despite being out of the business for a few years. “Hey man,” he started. “I got a thing tonight, so I need to call it early. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“It wouldn’t be,” Alex answered, “if this was the first time. But I swear, you’ve put in more half days than full ones since you got here.”
It was all Nate could do not to snap back at the Mecca. Two things held him back; first was that he knew Creed was just doing his job–making sure everyone who trained here was at the top of their game.
Second…he wasn’t wrong.
“I know, man. I’m sorry. It’s just…I got a lot on my plate right now.” It was a weak rationalization, and didn’t expect Creed to go for it. He was right.
“You mean like picking a fight with the boss? The same who who invited you into her gym? And now you wanna put on your big boy pants and tell her how to run her company?”
Nate’s face flushed out of shame as well as anger. He knew he’d been out of line in that meeting with Troy. Sure, he meant every word he said, especially about worker safety. But he only talked about that because he was mad about Troy calling him out on his behavior the last few months.
He also didn’t appreciate Creed bringing up the same thing. “Maybe I’m just sick of seeing guys leaving the shows in an ambulance. When the tires aren’t fucking slashed–”
“Spare me,” Alex fired back with a snarl. “You got your own problems, and right now I’m at the top of the list. You know, I keep hearing about your great attitude, your work ethic. But I haven’t seen a goddamn thing. All I’ve seen is a guy who doesn’t have his mind on his work.”
“Bullshit I don’t!”
“Oh yeah? Then how come you ain’t working half as hard as anyone else in here? Hell, the guy who handles the laundry is busting his ass harder than you! You think you can keep up with PRIME like this? You think you can keep up with Nova? You won’t last five minutes if you keep sandbagging like this, and then the boss will have you out on your ass so fast your head will spin.”
Colton almost fired back. He certainly wanted to…but something caught his attention.
The noise that permeated the workout area? The clang of weights, the grunts of exertion, the slams in the ring?
That had all stopped. Every eye in the room was on Colton and Creed.
Nate cast a quick glance around the room, and noticed most people making one of two expressions–both of which he knew well.
Several people looked shocked, like they couldn’t believe what was happening–or what might happen next. Tempers got heated all the time, but they seriously thought that the head trainer and a PRIME superstar were about to start throwing hands.
Others–a lot more, in fact–had a different expression. They looked…eager? No, that wasn’t right.
They looked hungry.
They stared Nate down like they could smell weakness. Like the golden boy was losing his shine, and the moment he stumbled they’d tear him apart like a pack of hyenas. All because he had something they wanted. He had that spotlight, that golden ticket…and given the chance, any one of them would devour him for it and not even bother to look back at his bones.
Time to take a step back.
“Look, Alex…”
“You call me Mister Creed.”
“…sure. You’re right; I haven’t been putting in as much time as I should be. And I’m sorry about that. Tomorrow I’ll give you a full day; just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. I promise.”
“Your promise and a dollar won’t even buy me a Coke.”
You sound like my dad now. “But I really do have something going on tonight. After this, I’ll be ready to do what you want in order to get ready for Nova. Okay?”
He was hoping that would soften The Mecca a little bit. And maybe it did. But a soft Alex Creed was still pretty damn hard.
“Ain’t no skin off my ass if you win or not. Just quit wasting my fucking time. Clear?”
Colton nodded.
“Good. Now get the fuck out of here; you’re useless today anyway.”
His eye twitched a little at the insult, but Nate bit his tongue again and headed for the locker room.
By the time he came back out again, he’d forgotten all about the confrontation with Alex Creed. All his thoughts were on the night to come.
# # #
The Strip might be the entertainment capital of Las Vegas, but no matter where you were in the city, there was always something to see.
A new modern dance program had opened at the Charleston Heights Arts Center. It had nowhere near the glitz and glamour of shows at the major hotels, but it did have excellent dancers on the verge of perfecting their routines and hoping the show was good enough to take on the road. The reviews were great so far; many people had attended multiple shows.
Nate Colton, for example, was seeing it for the fourth time.
He’d arrived as soon as the doors opened and took his seat in the front row. Dressed up in slacks and a blue silk shirt–which had seen a lot of use in recent months–it would be easy to assume he was there on a date…only he always came alone.
Unfortunately, he wouldn’t stay that way before the show. A complete stranger sat down next to him.
“Hey…ain’t you Nate Colton?”
Nate confirmed his identity, mostly with a nod. He loved talking to the fans, just…not right now.
“I thought so!” the man continued. “Must have seen every show last year. I used to watch your old man, too. God, when was that…’95? Him and Jerry Gallows beat the shit of each other all over town. Man, those were some great fights.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him,” Nate replied with a smile. Praise for his father gave this person a little more leeway, but he still hoped to end the interaction as soon as possible.
“I hate to bother you, but…can I get an autograph?” He held out a Sharpie and the program for the show they were about to watch. “Sorry, it’s all I got.”
“No problem,” Nate said as he took the marker. “Who do I make it out to?”
“Don’t bother. Looks better on display with just the name.”
Looks better when you sell it online, Nate thought, but scribbled his name on the cover regardless.
The stranger smiled at the program, then flipped through the page until he came upon the dancers’ pictures and biographies. “So…which one is yours?” he asked conspiratorially.
Nate scowled. “C’mon, man. That’s no way to talk about them.”
The man put up his hands defensively. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, just can’t figure out another reason why a guy like you would be here by yourself. I’m only here ‘cause my wife dragged me along.”
“I hope you both enjoy it,” Nate replied. “It’s a really good show.”
“Nah, the Palomino is a good show. Don’t see the point of dancin’ if they’re gonna keep their–”
“Excuse me, sir?” another voice said. Both Nate and his new “friend” looked up to see a middle-aged couple. One of them said, “I believe you’re in my seat.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” The autograph seeker stood up, much to Colton’s relief. “I was just talkin’ to my friend here. I gotta find my wife anyway. Hope y’all enjoy the show.” He sidled past the seats in the other direction, allowing the two newcomers to sit down.
They immediately began a conversation with each other, which Nate ignored. Instead he stared at his watch, as if he could make time faster by will alone.
At long last, the house lights turned down and the crowd settled. There was a brief speech about turning off your phones, and then the stage went dark. Nate sat upright, his attention fully focused on a single spot. The place where he knew she would begin.
A soft patter of footsteps trickled across the deck as the dancers took their marks. A moment later the lights came up, and there they were.
There she is.
The music started, and the motionless bodies turned into whirlwinds of activity. The dancers began as a synchronized unit, before slowly breaking down into smaller and smaller pockets of individual motion. Some made fluid movements, others jerked and gyrated, and a few alternated between the two. Together, their routine presented a story told without words.
Nate only got a small fraction of that story, and didn’t care about the rest.
A stupid grin grew across his face as everything else faded into the background. Her movements were well practiced but still seemingly effortless. She had full and complete control over her body…and in the middle of that control, had found absolute freedom.
He was fully captivated, like he had always been. He felt himself become overwhelmed by happy memories, the moments with her that he cherished above all others.
Age fifteen. He watches her dance from across the room, and a whole new world of beauty opens in his head.
Age seventeen. They talk to each other for hours, an island of silence in a sea of loud music and teenage hormones. Every question she asks or answer she gives fascinates him even more.
Age eighteen. They stare at each other in the moonlight, about to make love together for the first time.
Age twenty-one. They walk across campus, hand in hand. His struggles forgotten, just like his algebra class.
Age twenty-three. He sneaks out of the house to see her while she is back in town, ignoring quarantine like he used to ignore curfew.
He was so transfixed, so lost in the moment, that he didn’t realize the act was over until the applause started. He joined in with enthusiasm, though his praise–just like his attention–was directed at just one person.
The next piece was performed with honed precision by three extremely talented women who were at the peak of their skills.
But she wasn’t one of them, so Nate kept an eye on his watch the whole time.
Ten minutes, and she’ll be back out for her next dance.
He glanced down the front row, idly curious if that guy from earlier and his wife were enjoying the show. He couldn’t see them, but that didn’t mean anything. It was pretty dark out here.
Not that it mattered. It could have been as bright as the sun out there, and he still wouldn’t have seen the autograph hound or his wife. Probably because he didn’t have a wife.
Or a ticket.
# # #
Behind the theater was a door marked “Employees Only.” That’s the door performers used when they left the theater, a fact that was not shared to the general public….however, by spending an hour signing autographs and taking selfies with security, it was something you could find out.
Nate stood near the door, holding a bouquet of roses. He had to run back to his car to get it, but these are the things one does for love.
When the door finally opened, a group of young women swarmed into the alley. They all seemed to be drawn into conversations with each other, or engrossed by their phones.
Damn, he thought. Should have texted her.
He didn’t have to search the sea of faces for very long before he spotted her…and when he did, he almost forgot to do anything about it. Whether she was in costume or street clothes, smiling at the audience or staring at her phone, she always took his breath away.
In fact, she’d almost walked past before he finally thought to call out. “Kelsey! Hey, Kelsey!” he shouted.
She didn’t look up…but the person on her right–a shorter girl with red hair, tied back in a ponytail–did. Nate waved to her and asked, “Can you–”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Sure, Johnny,” she said, and tapped her neighbor on the shoulder. When the other girl looked up, Kelsey jerked a thumb towards Nate.
Nate’s heart soared as their eyes met, and all the other dancers faded into the background, just like they did during the show. She ran up to him, causing a few of her coworkers to stop short for fear of getting knocked over.
They threw their arms around each other, and he lifted her off the ground. It wasn’t until he set her down again that he thought to give her the roses.
She made little jumps out of excitement, and grinned as she inspected the flowers. But when she went to express her gratitude…well, there’s one of the pitfalls of sign language; it’s tough to do while you’re holding stuff.
She flagged down one of the dancers and gave her a pleading look. The newcomer took the bouquet, but not without a cross look towards Nate.
“Again, Johnny?” she said. “Gotta give her something more practical if you’re going to do this every other night.”
Nate grinned sheepishly, and gave the other person a half-hearted wave. But soon his attention was right back where it should be.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to a spot with an overhead light. “You were perfect tonight,” he signed.
She playfully slapped at his arm before responding, “You say that every time.”
“It’s true every time.”
She blushed slightly, somehow caught off guard by the combination of sincere compliment and blatant flattery. “It’s good to see you, babe. But you know, you don’t have to keep coming to the shows.”
“I know. But I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening that watching you dance.”
The pair shared a kiss, just as the last few straggling members of the troupe walked past. “Hey, Johnny,” they said. Most loaded the name with derision, but one of them seemed to say it with…interest?
Once the kiss had ended–far too soon for Nate’s liking–he asked, “Okay, why does everyone keep calling me Johnny?”
She looked in the direction of the girls who just walked past, and her eyes narrowed. “Don’t listen to those bitches,” she signed. “It’s short for ‘stage-door Johnny.’ That means…it’s like our version of…ring rats, I think?”
Nate frowned. “We call them ‘courtesans’ now.”
“Classy. I like it.”
“So, I was thinking,” Nate signed, trying to be nonchalant. “Wanna do something tonight? We’ve both been pretty busy lately, and it would be nice to celebrate your success.”
Her smile, which he would list among the world’s greatest masterpieces, faded into a pouting frown. That change in expression was almost as heartbreaking to Nate as the news that followed.
“I’m so sorry. I’m super tired tonight, and we’ve got two shows tomorrow. I just can’t.”
GOD FUCKING DAMMIT
“That’s cool,” he signed. “Get some sleep; we’ll get together soon. Love you, babe.”
“Love you too. I’ll text you when I get some free time.”
They kissed again, then she headed off in the direction the other dancers had gone. With every step she took, Nate could feel his heart sinking; by the time she rounded the corner it was all he could do not to slump against the wall. After a few moments, he mustered his courage and started walking toward his car.
Nate tried to distract himself as he walked, forcing his brain to think about something–anything–else. But his mind kept turning back to the past.
Age fifteen. She’s sitting on someone else’s lap, laughing at a joke she couldn’t hear.
Age seventeen. By the time he came back with drinks, she’d already pulled off the Irish Goodbye.
Age eighteen. He was waiting for a message, and instead saw pictures of her with someone else.
Age twenty-one. She was leaving town to follow her dreams; the cloud of dust behind her car told him he wasn’t one of them.
Age twenty-three. She ran after the first sign of freedom, leaving him behind again.
That dark cloud would follow him all the way home. It relented slightly when he checked the bathroom for her toothbrush, but it wouldn’t go away completely until the next afternoon.
It was the same problem he always had, really. When he started thinking about her, those thoughts took up every available space in his mind. And when they ran out of space, they pushed other things out.
Things like vigilance.
# # #
Just a bit earlier.
A man stood in the shadows of a nearby alley, snapping pictures as quickly as he could. Nate would have recognized him as the man he’d talked with before the show, if he’d been looking. But of course he wasn’t.
He got a few of them talking, and some of the awkward flower business.
“C’mon,” he muttered. “Get to the good stuff. Grab her butt or somethin’.”
Eventually the two lovers shared a kiss, which his camera captured perfectly. It wasn’t as saucy as he would have liked, but it was enough to make a sale. The man slinked farther back into the shadows, then tiptoed through the alley to the far side.
By the time he rejoined polite society, he was already placing a call.
“Hey. I got him.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. He even gave me an autograph, the idiot. Got some good pictures of them together, too. And a name.” He didn’t actually have a name yet, but it was just a matter of looking through the program.
“Nah, he wasn’t looking. Can’t say I blame him; she is a piece.”
“You love it. Anyway, what’s your offer?”
“Ha! Tempting, can’t lie. But the only color I’m interested in tonight is green.”
“That’ll do. I’ll get you what I’ve got by morning. Always a pleasure, Savannah.”
This is a story about the boy who got everything he ever wanted.
And how it blinded him to the price he’d have to pay for it.