Undefeated Read online

  Undefeated

  Against All Odds

  C.D. Gill

  Published by C.D. Gill, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  UNDEFEATED

  First edition. September 9, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 C.D. Gill.

  ISBN: 978-1393194002

  Written by C.D. Gill.

  Contents

  More from C.D. Gill

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Gratitude

  Read more from C.D. Gill:

  The Freedom’s Cry Series

  Behind Lead Doors

  On Wings of an Avalanche

  The Apricot Underground

  Chapter 1

  He hadn’t expected to make it to today alive.

  The chain link gate clanked shut behind Xander Reinerman with noisy theatrics, announcing his separation from the barbed-wire capped walls of purgatory. His breath came in ragged bursts as his stomach burned. He clamped his eyes shut. Having stared at white-washed walls for five years, the vibrant colors were too much to take in.

  The morning breeze held no trace of the stale body odor or human waste that stained the air of the prison’s interior. His lungs couldn’t drag in enough sweet-tasting oxygen. Occasional shouts from the inmates in the yard mingled with the birdsong from the surrounding pines.

  For once, yellow sunlight bathed his world with possibility. No sterile white fluorescents hummed a never-ending song in his cell. No abrasive metal clanged as a way to pass the hours. The near quiet was unnerving.

  Perspiration moistened his palms. He tugged at his expensive charcoal suit which hung on him more than it had when he’d surrendered it at the beginning of his prison term. But that didn’t matter because it slid across his skin like silk compared to the state-issued sandpaper uniform he’d become accustomed to.

  So this is what it felt like to be free again.

  A quick glance around the parking lot dissolved his elation. The lot stood empty where his parents should have been waiting in their car. Their absence plunged a knife into his tentative hope for their acceptance. Years of trying to convince himself it didn’t matter if they showed or not begged him to shrug it off as their loss, but the bite of their rejection drew blood.

  His parents patented the no-apologies, sweep-hard-feelings-under-the-rug tactic. They clearly weren’t sweeping his imprisonment under a rug of any size. It’d been five years of no contact. Family was everything. He had to have them back in his life. The familiar surge of anxiety stole into his chest but didn’t overwhelm him. This time, the sweet adrenaline of freedom won out.

  Relief relaxed his muscles. In the last few years of intimately knowing Lady A (anxiety sounded too nebulous considering how familiar he was with it), this was the first time she’d granted him a reprieve from her usual tantrum. Perhaps the difference was this situation wasn’t life or death as it had been on the inside.

  Or was it life and death?

  The stark reality of his situation was that he had no concrete backup plan for restarting his life if his family didn’t show. When his sentence started, all his friends had faded into the silence. It turned out that the whole prison vibe was a friendship buzz kill, as was the rotten taint of scandal and felonies that were attached to his name with super-duty adhesive. He shoved the thoughts aside.

  He just needed to get into civilization again.

  At the edge of the parking lot, a narrow road led only one direction. A grizzled tree whose roots created natural speed bumps on the blacktop bore countless deep notches in its trunk, bearing witness to the many others that had taken this walk before him, loosed to try their hand at surviving the outside once more. He added his slash to the number with a sharp rock, grateful to be defacing nature instead of concrete, metal, or paper.

  Signposts standing tall at the T-junction of a four-lane road offered Denver to the east or Rockies wilderness to the west. He longed to catch a bus to a random destination and see what had become of the country while he was put on a shelf. Unfortunately, the meager savings left in his bank account provided no leeway, in that regard.

  Denver, it was.

  The sign indicated eighty-four miles to Colorado’s capital. At a minimum of seventeen minutes per mile, he’d be walking for twenty-four hours.

  The sooner he set foot in Denver, the faster he could start his life over and maybe find the lunatic who’d set him up for the crimes for which he’d finished paying. He’d mulled over who hated him enough to destroy his career by pinning illegal steroid use and sales to minors on him. The coaching world at the University of Colorado was competitive, but it had never been cutthroat.

  Until his name showed up on the short list for the assistant coaches for the US Men’s National Soccer Team.

  Then suddenly, he was being publicly arrested at work and paraded through the campus in a squad car like public enemy number one for crimes he didn’t commit.

  He sighed.

  Despite his nagging pride, hitchhiking seemed to be the best option. Although his muscle tone had never been better, his wilderness survival skills needed a tune-up since he’d left Boy Scouts twenty years ago. Tossing his suit coat over his shoulder, he rolled up one shirt sleeve and then the other, attempting the stranded businessman look. As a car approached, he shoved aside his reluctance and stuck out his thumb. Switching lanes, the car sailed past him. So did the next couple hundred. He plodded on in the summer heat for over two hours before an old Ford pickup stopped in front of him.

  A silver-haired man with a bushy beard nodded toward the passenger side. “Hop on in. Name’s Ed.” He looked normal enough.

  “Alexander,” Xander said, ducking in. His shirt clung to his sweaty back. He laid his coat across his lap and latched his seat belt, his fingers lingering on the texture of the fabric.

  “Where ya headed?” Ed yanked the stick into gear.

  “As close to Denver as you’re going.”

  “Help yourself.” Ed pointed to the unopened water bottles sitting on the floorboard. “This your first day out?”

  Tension stiffened Xander’s shoulders. His life was none of Ed’s business, but the sharp retort stuck in his throat and clung to an erupting flame inside him. He freed a water bottle from the plastic, twisted it open, and downed half in two swallows. The water tasted like mountain air and springtime, unleashing a cool thread of happiness through his veins. The rest of the water disappeared in seconds.

  Xander eyed the empty plastic. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Naw.” Ed shot him a tobacco-stained grin as he merged on to the road. “I drive this road every day. I know what to look for. Not too many men go hikin’ alongside this highway in a suit on a warm June day. Heck, even the religious ones wear short-sleeved, collared shirts.” Ed snorted and leaned over to spit tobacco juice into a red plastic cup in the console.

  As the mile markers flew by, the conversation lapsed in favor of feeling the wind from the open windows on his skin and listening to its roar. Crooning melodies playing
on the truck’s after-market radio reminded him how much life had passed him by.

  Ed broke the silence again. “If you don’t mind me askin’, how long were you in solitary?”

  Xander flexed his foot and drew in a steady breath, not sparing a glance in the driver’s direction. Didn’t he know what being nosy could result in? “I’m naturally quiet.”

  Ed let out a guffaw and slapped the steering wheel. “You got your head hanging out the window like my old coon dog. Like a man starved of seein’ the light of day. Your fingers haven’t stopped runnin’ over every surface within reach. I served two tours in ‘Nam. I know all too well what prison does to a man.” He jerked his thumb toward the veteran’s cap stuffed between the back window and the top of the seat. POW pins decorated both sides. “I also know how solitary eats at your soul. Your eyes more than give you away.”

  Were they dead? Lifeless? Angry? Revealing his mental flirtations with insanity? For a moment, Xander held Ed’s steely blue gaze, daring him to see what he wouldn’t share. “Thank you for your service to our country.”

  Ed smirked and pointed to a green sign. “I’m goin’ as far as Saxon Mountain. Got a log cabin that sits alongside my favorite fishin’ hole. Best place in the world to get away from life’s troubles for a few days. As for you, ten dollars oughtta get you a ticket on the bus to Denver.”

  Throwing on his blinker, Ed guided the truck onto the exit ramp. “If you don’t got ten dollars, I imagine there’ll be a trucker that’ll take you the rest of the way. People here are friendly enough. Better than in the city where you’ll barely get a second glance. Don’t ask the tourists. They call the cops about that kind of thing.” He maneuvered into a fueling station that accommodated both semi-trucks and cars and pulled to a stop in an open parking space.

  How was Xander supposed to know the difference between locals and tourists?

  “I appreciate your kindness. Thank you for picking me up. I’m really grateful.” Xander unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. He faced Ed before exiting. “I was in and out every couple of weeks for three years until the law changed.”

  Ed jerked his chin upward. “You’ll find your way back. The body has a way of rightin’ itself after a while, but the mind takes lots of patience. Ask for help if you need it.” He tapped his chest. “Some wounds can’t be healed by anyone but the good Lord.”

  Offering a small smile, Xander pushed the rest of the way out and closed the door behind him.

  “Here. Take one for the road.” Ed tossed a water bottle out the window.

  Xander ducked his head to see in the window and held up the bottle. “Happy fishing.”

  Ed saluted and drove away, leaving Xander in a sea of human activity. He swallowed hard. Surely they could see he was a criminal. Kids skipped across the pavement as doors slammed closed. A motorcycle’s shotgun backfire slammed his heart in his chest and frayed his nerves. Maybe he wasn’t ready for life in Denver. Maybe somewhere with a slower pace would ease him into the masses.

  Thirty minutes and an embarrassing number of refusals later, Xander bumped alongside Tucker the trucker headed for West Pleasant View, about twenty-five miles west of downtown Denver. He’d take what he could get. Tucker didn’t seem to mind the silence between them. If ever a job required an introverted personality, driving the concrete slab ruled them all. Life alone on the road sounded like its own kind of prison.

  Tucker lowered the radio’s volume and tugged at his mesh Bronco’s cap. “I have to make a stop in Golden before I drop you off in West Pleasant View.”

  “How far apart are they?”

  “Oh, I’d say about three, four miles at most.”

  “I’ll get out in Golden then. Don’t worry about West Pleasant View.”

  Tucker cocked his head. “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “There’s an awesome bakery in Golden called Mother Hen. The doll-face that runs it, Miss Lucy, is the sweetest lady you’ll ever meet. You ask for two muffins, and she’ll pop in a third for the road. I always get the same thing, but she has a lot of options.”

  “Sounds like an interesting business model.” He bit his cheek when his words came out flat and lifeless rather than teasing.

  Tucker’s shoulders shook with laughter, but no noise escaped his curved lips. “I’d marry that woman if I weren’t on the road so much.”

  “Free muffins sound as good a reason as any to offer a woman a lifetime of happiness.”

  With a smile that lifted only half his face, Tucker grabbed his coffee mug and raised it in Xander’s direction. “It’s the silent ones who always have the best sense of humor.”

  And they also had the most to hide. If only Tucker knew of Xander’s convictions, he’d join the media in the rage of mudslinging.

  “Tucker, do you mind if I use your cell phone?”

  “Go ahead. Just don’t jump out of the truck with it.” Tucker unsnapped the phone from his belt and handed it over. “It’s my lifeline.”

  Xander dialed his parents’ cell phones. Both went to voicemail. On principle, they let “the machine” pick up every unfamiliar number. Why have a phone if you never answer it? He left a message for his mom. Surely there was some piece of her heart with a shred of compassion left for her firstborn.

  “Hey, Mom. It’s Alexander. Today was my release date as I told you in a couple of voicemails this past week.” Tucker glanced at him and shifted in his seat, probably putting the pieces of Xander’s situation together. “I’m getting dropped off in Golden which is fifteen, twenty miles outside of Lakewood. Can’t wait to see you both. I miss you. You can find me at the Mother Hen bakery in Golden, when you come to get me. I love you.”

  He clicked End and laid his head against the headrest. If you come to get me. Inhaling deeply, Xander handed Tucker’s phone to him. “Thanks.”

  Tucker shrugged and snapped the phone onto his belt. “No problem. Anyone else you’d like to call to come pick you up? I hate to have you stranded in Golden. Although if you can get on Miss Lucy’s good side—”

  Xander held up a hand. “My parents know where to find me when they’re ready.” Was it too much to hope that they’d be ready to see him in an hour or two? Why again hadn’t he bothered memorizing his brother’s phone number?

  The gas station at the corner of Washington Avenue and Main Street boasted of a truck-friendly parking lot according to a minimum of five highway billboards, so that’s where Tucker parked. As soon as Xander’s door slammed behind him, Tucker jammed the lock into place. Xander absorbed the sounds on Washington Avenue, listening for something out of place. It was a Thursday, yet people milled the streets like they had nowhere to be. To be fair, noon was lunch hour. With the warm temperatures and the sun shining, he wouldn’t like being stuck inside, either. Actually, that was true regardless of the weather.

  A painted wooden sign with a hen on it swinging above the doorway popped into view when they stepped off the crosswalk. Xander opened the door and sent Tucker in to the human contact firing squad first. Poor guy didn’t know he was a shield.

  Tucker sighed. “Best part of my week.”

  Xander’s gaze followed the aproned brunette as she floated around behind the counter. She seemed a little out of his league, but Xander had a feeling Tucker already knew that. Lucy wasn’t at all like he had expected. She appeared to be in her thirties and trim, not the middle-aged muffin top he’d imagined. Her ponytail swished with each bouncing step of her small frame. Her button nose and hazel eyes completed the picture.

  “Hi, Tuck. Your usual? Or can I tempt you with something different today?”

  Xander sucked in a slow breath as Tucker cleared his throat and stuttered an indecisive “uh.” He was glad he wasn’t the only male whose mind had skidded to a halt at her offer.

  Tucker scoured the baked goods in the glass display as if the decision were the most important one of the day. Some of the muffins were as big as Xander’s fist, and they all looked un
questionably worth being chosen. “I’ll have one chocolate-pecan-pie muffin and one French toast muffin.”

  “Very good choices.” At her praise, Tucker’s posture straightened, hiding his small gut. Lucy bagged his muffins with one hand and tapped the register with the other. “Don’t worry. I have a fresh batch of bran muffins right out of the oven so I’ll make sure you get one. A coffee to go?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She reached behind her and plopped a coffee beside the bag with a grin. “I saw you coming. That will be $6.25.”

  “Oh.” Tucker motioned to Xander. “And whatever he’s having.”

  “I’ll have a cup of water, if you don’t mind,” Xander said.

  “Mm hm.” Lucy propped a hand on her protruding hip and glared at Tucker. “Tuck, you could’ve told him the rules before you came in here.”

  Xander swallowed. He’d offended her. She wouldn’t let him wait here for his parents if he didn’t purchase something. He wanted one of everything on the menu, but Tucker probably had as much money as he did. Then again, truckers got paid well for their road warrior status, didn’t they?

  Tucker clapped a hand on Xander’s shoulder with a grin. “Well, Miss Lucy, I got so caught up talking about your beauty that I completely forgot to tell him you don’t let anyone walk out hungry.”

  Like a mother hen—how appropriate. Xander paused with his mouth open and stared at the chalkboard menu above the coffee machines. He craved so many things he didn’t know where to start.

  Lucy tapped the buttons on the register again. “The cinnamon roll and the meat-lovers omelet come highly recommended, unless you’re allergic. $6.25, Tuck.”

  Tucker handed over his cash, a silly grin on his face. He grabbed his bag of muffins and coffee.

  “You boys sit down. It’ll be right out.” Lucy disappeared into the back room, her ponytail swaying behind her.

  They lowered themselves onto two chairs near the wall. Folding his arms over his chest, Xander studied the decorations as they waited. A menagerie of chicken-themed collectibles covered every possible surface. “You tried something new this time? She approved of your muffin choices.”