Seeing Red [Story Preview]

Chapter 2: Emory

The music blares loudly throughout the crowded bar and I can feel the vibration in my chest. Rosette's was always a good time, but I'm definitely ready to put these sweaty, drunken nights behind me as good memories from my twenties. Some people never stopped going to Rosette's. I don't want to be one of those people.

"Emory, dance! You're being such a stiff." Melanie pulls me out further onto the dance floor and I let my hips move with the beat of the music. This will be my last night out in Chicago. My bags are neatly packed in the childhood bedroom of my parents rundown house in Haystacks. After going to community college, I've worked for a few years at a local accounting firm and was able to save up enough money to pay off of my debt and create a small savings account for myself. But now at twenty-six, I'm more than ready to get out of my parents house and leave the only town I've ever known.

"I'm going to miss you! I can't believe you are actually moving to New York City. What's your plan for when you get there?" Melanie chugs a water at the bar, finally needing a break from the dance floor. The girl is a Rosette's fiend.

"I have some money saved up. There's a handful of apartments I've scheduled tours to see. It's just too hard to try and interview for jobs from a distance. I'd rather just be there, you know?" I pull my sweaty hair up into a bun to let the back of my neck breathe. I was definitely nervous about leaving, but I was also excited. I wanted a fresh start, one where I wasn't known for being the daughter of a washed-up boxing gym coach.

"Do you even know anyone in New York?" Melanie brings me back to the here and now at the bar and waves down a waiter for another round. The girl is tiny but I'd seen her drink two-hundred pound frat boys under the table.

"No, not really. I do know two girls from my college class who are there and I figured I'd reach out once I'm settled into an apartment. But not knowing anyone is kind of the point, Melanie." I shove her shoulder playfully. She and I are total opposites in that way; she loves knowing everyone and everything is this banged up Chicago neighborhood and I want nothing more to do with it. It hadn't been the worst place to grow up, but there was no future here for me.

"You know who is supposedly in New York?" Melanie's face lights up and she slaps my exposed knee in excitement. "That crazy talented boxer Red! There's a rumor he's in New York now, probably doing something dangerous and hot." She wags her eyebrows at me and I roll my eyes. No one had heard from or seen Red in years. He was somewhat of a town legend, and I know more than most about how insanely talented and scary he was in the ring. My father and I would have many one-sided dinner conversations after he'd come home late from a gym session. Red had been one of the most notorious fighters at one of the gyms where my father had been an assistant coach. Red had the potential to make it all the way in the heavyweight circuit. He had both strength and agility. To be a really good boxer you had to be clever and cunning, not just brawn, and it was clear from the way he fought that he had the foresight and the ability to plan out his entire attack. At least those were the words I overheard the men discussing at the gym or at the dinner table, when I was usually daydreaming about anything other than fighting. Apparently, Red's only problem was that he couldn't stay out of trouble. He was drawn to the underground circuit with its quick money and daredevil fighting style. People in Haystacks thought Red did it for the money, but my guess was that he did it for the lack of rules.

"Yes Melanie, I'm sure that when I land in JFK, Red will be there with a huge 'welcome' sign to meet me among the literally millions and millions of people in New York." I laugh and toss back the vodka shot she ordered us, telling myself this would be my last for the night. Nothing worse than being too hungover on a plane the next morning.

"Oh I love this song!" Some overly repetitive rap song belts out over the speakers and Melanie is grabbing my arm, pulling me to the dance floor before I have a chance to protest. I give in, feeling the sweat, the music, and the alcohol one last time at Rosette's.