Free The Cruiserweight by L. Anne Carrington Page B

was proud of what a
'little punk eighteen-year-old skinny kid’ became after two years
under his wing.”
    “Was it worth all he put you through during
wrestling training?”
    “Hell yeah. All those days in a room with no
air conditioning above a dive restaurant in the Texas heat, doing
the same moves over and over until they were perfect, puking our
guts out, and coming back for more. A lesser person would give it
up in a day or two, but I was determined to finish. Earning
Michael’s respect was a bonus.”
    “Have you started training for your shows
yet?”
    “My two weeks of torture begins eight o‘clock
tomorrow morning,” Brett replied. “Patrick took the liberty of
reminding me that I’m getting ‘a little chunky.’ Some friend he
is.”
    “It wouldn‘t kill you to gain a few pounds. The
last time I saw you on television, your rib cage was almost
visible.”
    “You’re good for the morale, but I miss my
abs.”
    “That will be resolved once you’re back in the
ring. But don’t worry, I still think you’re perfect the way you
are.”
    Karen heard a beep on the other end. “Shit,”
Brett said, “Hate to cut you off, sweetheart, but that’s Gil
Preston. Probably wants to discuss the details of my SCE match. Can
we talk online later?”
    “Of course. I need to get back to working on an
article anyway.”
    She hung up with a smile on her face. “One
thing about having a friend in the wrestling business, my own
life’s been far from dull these last few months.”
    What Karen didn’t know was that Brett was
pursuing yet another project, one which would involve her.
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 13
     
    “Come on, Kerrigan! Put some more power into
it. You’re supposed to be killing your opponent! You didn’t get
soft in the last two weeks, did you?”
    Brett glanced at Ron Fairchild, the head
trainer who was assisting in the upcoming Squared Circle Express
show. He still had confidence in his abilities and hadn’t lost his
touch in the ring. “Soft and I don‘t belong in the same sentence,
man.”
    “See you’re still a smart ass, too. Now do the
move again, this time with more effort.”
    Four more hours of this. At least
I’m being trained by one of the best guys in the
business.
    Brett was relieved when lunch break was
announced. He was having a nicotine fit and hungry. At a nearby
taco stand, Brett leaned on the counter, stomach rumbling. If he
didn’t eat then, he would pass out from the rigorous practice runs
scheduled for that afternoon. It felt like an empty pit had opened
up inside him. “Hey, my man, think I could get a couple of tacos to
go?”
    A man working behind the counter looked at the
blond man Happy to see his customer, he wasted no time coming over
to take the order. “Would you like something to drink with those, senor?” he asked, a smile on his face.
    “Sure, why not? Spare the hot sauce,
though.”
    Brett headed back to the practice center with
his lunch. No one else had returned yet, so he smoked a cigarette
and then wolfed down the tacos. “Oops. Excuse me,” he said after a
loud belch.
    “You fucking pig. No wonder you’re getting a
little chunky,” a voice behind Brett said. “Ever hear of a
salad?”
    He turned around and saw Patrick standing
there, grinning. “What are you doing here? I thought you were
filming today.”
    “I was, but we finished early. The director had
some kind of an emergency. I figured since I was nearby, I would
stop in and see how you were doing.”
    “Ron’s been putting us through hell, but I
think I’ll live.”
    “Yeah, forgot to warn you about him. He’s a
brutal perfectionist.”
    “I figured that out when he had us doing
jumping jacks at seven this morning.”
    “That’s why he’s one of the best SCE
trainers.”
    “Hey, Sanchez-Garcia, here for more
punishment?” Ron asked. “Wait a minute … I don’t
recall you being added to the card.”
    Patrick gave the burly man a hug. “Love to, but
I haven’t been