Where It All Came True

Early January.

“We’ll miss you around here, Mr. Hanlon.”

Hayes blinked twice, snapping out of a memory long gone by, and managed to creep a smile behind his dark mustache.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Candace,” he said, sliding his key card across the marble counter for what was likely the last time. And he was sincere; with all the unpredictability of the past three years, returning home victorious, or a failure, or in some drug-fueled haze, Candace the Front Desk Agent had been the only constant. Hayes could always count on a bright smile, and a flirtatious thirty seconds before stumbling into the elevator.

He was going to miss that.

Candace did her best to hide her smile, brunette locks dangling in front of her face as she tapped away on her keyboard. She leaned over behind the lobby’s desk, enough to show off the curves of her tan uniform dress. Maybe intentionally, maybe not.

“Sign away,” she smiled, placing a sheet of paper on the granite, alongside a black pen, trimmed in gold.

Hayes pushed a bittersweet exhale through his nose, and scribbled a messy signature at the bottom of the page, effectively ending his lease agreement with the MGM Grand.

“See you someday,” he said with a wink, sliding the paper back across.

“Oh, you’ll be back,” she countered with the wave of a hand. “Guys like you always make their way back to Las Vegas.”

The thought lingered as he turned away, luggage in hand, and made moves toward the lobby’s exit; “Guys like me.” The words tumbled for a bit as he stepped into the dry, Nevada air. He scanned the Strip, bright and alive in the afternoon, letting the place he called home for over three years permeate and percolate, for just a little longer.

“What is this, a fucking Hallmark movie?”

Olivia’s voice brought that sentiment to a screeching halt.

“Let’s go, you idiot!” throwing a hand up from behind a white SUV, tossing a suitcase into the back. “The lines are going to take for-fucking-ever and I don’t have preCheck anymore!”

Right on queue.

He stepped into the back seat to join his older sister after tossing his own luggage into the back, and they were soon on their way to Harry Reid airport to start their first leg of the journey to Australia.

“Jesus, just bend her over the desk and get it over with or something,” said Big Sister, sitting back with an exhausted huff, chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders.

“I woke up with a lot of people in that suite,” Hayes deflected, resting back into his seat and pushing his hands into the pockets of his gray hoodie. “But I never had the guts to invite her up.”

He tilted his head to the window, eyes drawing over the MGM’s Golden Lion entrance as they turned onto the Strip. “Wonder why.”

Olivia, settling in after her hurried departure, studied her younger brother’s broad frame. He looked tired, from head to toe. A far cry from the strong, athletically gifted sibling she grew up with.

“You’re really gonna miss that place, aren’t you?”

“I really am,” Younger Brother replied, shifting his head and offering a smile to Big Sister.

“This is where it all came true.”

Mid January, 2022

“Bro, check out these digs!”

Paul tossed his bag to the floor as soon as he stepped through the door, his gangly frame sauntering into his younger brother’s freshly cleaned suite. Hayes followed behind, dark eyes studying the two bedroom unit inside the MGM Grand Casino.

He could barely believe it.

“Damn, man, you’ll be livin’ large! Kitchen, balcony…”

Ambling about the suite’s living area, he paused at a glass coffee table. Paul reached into his pocket, retrieving a small baggie of white powder, and flicked it back and forth in his fingertips with a smirk.

“...and good surface area.”

Hayes laughed through his nose, setting his bag down next to the couch.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head, peering into the kitchenette. “It’s still hard to soak this in, Paulie.”

“You’ll get used to it, bro. You deserve it. All of it…”

“And what if I lose?”

The question forced a pause.

Paul could recognize the look in his brother’s eyes. The uncertainty. The anxiety building in his chest. He knew Hayes’s heart was starting to beat a little faster, a little more erratically. He had to be careful. This could spiral, and in a hurry.

“Hey. C’mon, man,” said Big Brother, gripping his brother’s shoulder. “They haven’t even announced the Almasy brackets yet. It’s too early to let anything get in your head.”

“Man,” said Hayes, smoothing his mustache. “I just don’t wanna fuck it up, you know? I’m just some dude from the indy track. I don’t wanna…”

“Stop. That shit won’t help,” said Paul. “Besides, just think about it, man! You could end up against Youngblood! Or Nova! Fucking Nova, dude!”

Those names compelled a smile, but uncertain eyes still drew themselves to the lights of Las Vegas through the balcony’s sliding glass doors. He’d only just arrived, and already wondered if he belonged. Or if he’d earned it. Or if he should have stayed in Portland.

“Mom left me a letter,” he said. “It wasn’t good.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Big Brother replied with frustration. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I tossed it. But...it said…”

“I don’t give a shit what it said…” Paul interrupted, digging back into his pocket, his time retrieving an orange pill bottle and twisting the top, shaking a couple bar shaped tablets into his palm.

“We’re here for you…”

Younger Brother grinned wide, and plucked one from Paul’s palm.

“...and no one else.”

She didn’t like the thick, dark beard resting on her son’s tired face as he stood in the doorway of his apartment.

She didn’t like how she stood there, hands folded across the belt of her brown duster, like a struggling neighbor, asking for a cup of sugar.

She didn’t like the city of Portland, with its homelessness, and liberal politics.

And she didn’t like that her oldest child hadn’t yet made any sort of effort to embrace his mother.

But she was glad that he had answered the door at all.

“Are you sure you’re here for me?” he asked, flatly.

Sofia fought a lurch, hearing his voice for the first time in many, many months.

“Yes,” she replied quickly, with a short, rapid nod. “Yes, Paulie.”

He held his calm, dark stare against his mother’s blues for a long moment, then turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. Sofia took a long breath in through her sharp nose and followed behind, closing the door as she walked in.

She didn’t know what she was expecting.

Maybe some drug den, with graffiti all over the walls. Or a bachelor pad, with dirty clothes and empty bottles everywhere. Maybe a carpet that had never been vacuumed, or windows never washed.

Instead, she found herself in a tidy, one bedroom apartment. Uninspired, and quite plain, but clean.

She carefully removed her duster, hanging on a peg by the door. Peering past the entry, she watched Paul sit heavily onto a white linen sectional couch, taking one last drag from a cigarette before stubbing it out in a glass ashtray on a wooden coffee table.

She didn’t like that, either.

“How…long have you been here?” she dared to ask, heels tapping against the linoleum of the apartment’s entry before transitioning to faded white carpet.

“Close to a year,” he replied. “I hope you weren’t expecting the Ritz-Carlton.”

She certainly would have preferred it, but remained glad that she hadn’t found her eldest son face down in a puddle of vomit. Anything more than that was a blessing.

The living room where Paul shared the same space with a small kitchen, with a row of cabinets with a cheap, white particle board counter to separate them. Paul was watching a show, she assumed about Egyptian pyramids and aliens, for some reason, from a cheap flatscreen resting on top of a small Ikea entertainment center.

“And do you…like it?” she asked, stepping into the kitchenette, finding the counters to be fairly clean, and nearly empty.

“‘Like’ is a strong word,” he said, draping an arm over the couch’s backrest. “But it’s what I can afford right now.”

She offered a nod that he didn’t see. She felt so awkward, standing in this small kitchen, her son’s back turned to her, with a strange television show the only noise to cut the silence, and the stench of cigarette smoke in her nostrils. Again, she didn’t know what she was expecting.

But mother’s instinct took over, regardless, and she peeked into the cabinets…

…and found a bottle.

Vodka. From Eastside Distilling. Still sealed, plastic on the neck and everything.

Her mind wandered. Wasn’t he meant to be in Alcoholics Anonymous? Was he drinking? Were there pills hiding in the drawers? Cocaine tucked into window blinds? Why was this one still sealed?

“It’s okay.”

She whirled around, caught in the act, clutching the bottle to her chest to see Paul had turned, arm hanging over the backrest, dark eyes set and certain.

“You can open it.”

Sofia steadied herself as Paul turned back to his TV. She had been so critical of the…habits…of her children over the years, Paul maybe the worst of them. Her red fingernails teased at the plastic wrapped around the bottle’s neck. Would this be a trigger? Would it set him back and ruin all the work he’d done?

We all have our weaknesses.

She tore the plastic, and pulled the bottle’s cork, before finding a short water glass to pour a heavy shot. She brought the glass to her lips, but paused, looking back to Paul on his small couch. Calm, near-black hair longer than it had been since he was in high school. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

She mustered the courage to step into the small living space, and carefully sat next to him, leaving one cushion of separation.

And only then, when he remained comfortable in his seat, and with no barbs to spit, did she dare to take a long sip.

“Are you still…”

“Sober? Yeah. Got my one-year chip a couple months ago.”

He pointed to the TV, where a bronze coin sat unceremoniously on one of the shelves.

She smiled a guilty smile, before taking another sip.

“I’m glad to hear that. And…I’m glad to see you’re doing well. This is a fine place you have here. I’m sure it will…”

“Who was he, mom?”

A shiver in her chest, nearly spilling her glass. It was a question she’d successfully avoided for so many years. Her eyes grew wide, and she held the glass with both hands, wondering if he’d continue to press. He reached for the remote, killing the TV, and shifted to face his mother’s avoidant stare.

“Who was he?” he asked again, calm, but insistent.

“Paul, I can’t…I don’t want to talk about that…”

He snorted behind his black beard with a small grin, expecting nothing less. At least right now. He turned his eyes to a window over his shoulder, while Sofia sat frigid, hoping he wouldn’t ask again.

“You know, for a long, long time, I thought I was just protecting him,” he said, dark irises drawing over Portland through streaked glass. “But it turns out, all those years…”

Sofia stared straight ahead, into the empty, black screen of the television. In its reflection, she could see her eldest son’s head turn back, to finish the thought with certainty.

“...I think I was actually protecting you.”

2000.

Paul didn't understand why there was a white SUV in their driveway. It wasn't their mom's. It wasn't their dad's.

The yellow school bus pulled away with a throaty turn of its diesel engine, leaving Paul, aged seven, alone at the edge of his home on Skyline Drive. Red Converse sneakers shifted restlessly on the gravel, and hands clung to the straps of the backpack hanging off his shoulders. Everything looked normal; picturesque white house, green lawn, clear spring day.

Except for the strange car in the driveway.

Cautiously, Paul walked to the front door of his West Linn, Oregon home, careful not to slam the screen door before turning the brass knob to the main entrance, and stepping inside. He scanned the first floor of his house. Nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchen, or the living room. Everything normal.

Except for the dull thuds, coming from upstairs.

“Hel…hello?” he said, more a whisper. “Mom?”

He didn’t dare raise his voice, and was careful to set his backpack to the floor, gently. No responses. Only thuds.

Paul crouched and untied the dirty laces of his sneakers, and placed them by the door mat, leaving stocking feet to pad across the living room’s white carpet, and to the base of the stairwell. He clung to the bannister, and held his breath to listen up the stairs.

Thuds, now accompanied with muffled groans.

He exhaled slowly, and held a deep breath, before ascending the stairway. Silently.

With each step, the thuds turned into smacks, and the groans turned into suppressed voices.

Reaching the top of the oak staircase, Paul turned to face the dark, walnut door of his parents’ room; the smacks more sharp, the voices more clear. One belonging to his mother, unmistakably. The other, he didn’t know.

But it wasn’t his father’s.

He felt helpless. Unwilling to accept what he knew was probably true, even at his young age. He turned his dark eyes to the stairwell. Run downstairs and into the yard? Pretend he hadn’t heard anything?

Risk getting caught?

Or maybe it was a mistake, or a misunderstanding?

“Mom?” he called, hoping that to be the case.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Paul heard from behind the door, a gruff voice belonging to a stranger.

“God damnit, shit. SHIT,” from his mother, without a doubt.

“You fucking said they were in school, what the FUCK, Sofia!”

“He’s fucking supposed to be! Stop fucking yelling!” Paul could hear her, whispering harshly.

“Why is he here?? Where are the other ones?”

“I don’t know! They go to a different school! Just…figure it out!”

Paul trembled outside his parents’ bedroom door, confused, and frozen. He could hear them stomping around frantically, and the sound of fabric ruffling. When he heard the doorknob click, and watched it turn, he gripped the stairway railing tight.

A strange looking man emerged, his waist and legs covered by what looked like bedsheets. He stood awkwardly with the door half open, chest proud with graying hairs. He had a square, stubbly jaw, and long, graying hair slicked back.

“Hey, sport,” he said to Paul, with squinting blue eyes.

Paul gripped the railing tighter, and didn’t say a word.

“Listen, kid,” the man started, a voice full of gravel, jaw shifting uncomfortably. “Everything’s okay, you understand? Your mom just needs help getting a good workout in once in a while…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” came his mother’s voice from behind the door, pulling the stranger away. His rugged frame was swiftly replaced by his mother’s sleight figure, wrapped in a towel and feigning a wide smile.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she said, high pitched. “What’s going on? Why are you home?”

“We…we had a half day,” Paul explained, shifting from foot to foot. “You were supposed to pick me up at school...”

Sofia slapped her hand to her scalp, shaking her head in fabricated confusion.

“Oh my gosh, Paulie, I’m so SORRY! Mommy completely forgot. Are you okay?”

“Mom, who is that in there with you?”

Sofia set her jaw, and exhaled through her nose.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she deflected. “Mom has a friend over to help her get some exercise.”

“Oh…okay…”

“Go downstairs, honey. We’ll go get ice cream when your brother and sister get home, okay?”

She closed the door before Paul could reply. He shook the dark strands of hair from his eyes, still gripping the railing hard.

Scared, confused, and disappointed, he chose to ignore the muffled voices as they picked back up, and took silent steps back down the stairs.

“Paul would love it here.”

Hayes followed his sister’s spirited gaze as they wandered through downtown Tokyo, at a far later hour than necessary. He nodded, quietly agreeing with Olivia. In another time, the eldest Hanlon sibling would have flourished in Japan, especially Tokyo; with all the bright animations, incredible food and smells, and active nightlife. In truth, it wasn’t all that different from Las Vegas. Only cleaner.

But that wasn’t meant to be. The guilt seeped into Younger Brother’s chest, knowing, just knowing how miserable Paul must be. Sober. And alone.

And he was the one who drove him to that fate’s front door.

“So,” said Olivia, pulling Hayes from what could have been a dark rabbit hole. “You go from Night One, against this non-talking psychopath, in a match where you willingly smash each other with chairs and barbed wire and shit…”

“An Intense match," he corrected.

She waved him off. “Whatever. You go from that, and then doing something called a Man? Hunt? The very next night? Are you sure this shit isn’t fake?”

“I’m definitely sure,” Younger Brother laughed, white teeth shining against the lights behind his mustache. “But don’t worry, I’ll have the jolf clubs to help me out.”

“God that’s so fucking stupid,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

They shared a comfortable silence. Half drunk, and enjoying each other’s company, while maybe unwilling to admit it. Olivia gave in first, turning to look toward her younger sibling.

“Is it really worth it?” she asked. “Do you get that much from getting the shit beat out of you?”

Hayes mulled it over, rocking his head side to side.

“Yeah,” he replied, confidently. “I do.”

She squinted, arms crossed across her chest against the night’s chill.

“It’s like, being on the hunt for something bigger,” he expanded, seeing she was unsatisfied with the answer. “Every time I walk down the ramp is another opportunity to figure myself out as a man, I guess. I didn't always think of it that way."

When he received no response, he looked down toward her as they walked.

"Does that make sense?”

Olivia exploded with a short-lived burst of laughter, pinching her lips shut and pushing the rest through her nose.

“No, not at all,” she managed to respond, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

“That’s fine,” he said, giving her a playful shove as they took a turn down the sidewalk. “It doesn’t have to.”

“But I’m glad you came along to help me figure it out.”

Paul’s ears perked up as the sound of school bus brake pads screeched to a halt outside their home.

He popped up from the living room carpet, and scurried in his socks to the front door, looking through the window to see his younger brother, Hayes, clamber up the steps.

“Hey Paulie!” Hayes greeted him excitedly as he pushed the front door open, Donald Duck backpack comically large across his back.

“Hey, Little Brother,” said Paul, closing the door behind him.

Hayes, age five, struggled and fought against the plastic straps of his backpack before tossing it to the floor.

“Hey, Paulie?” Little Brother asked. “Whose car is that outside?”

Big Brother flashed his eyes toward the stairway for a moment, then redirected them back to his brother’s matching dark stare.

“Nobody, buddy,” he lied, turning Hayes by the shoulders and ushering him toward the living room, where a pile of action figures waited. “Just one of mom’s friends.”