Chapter 212: Darren’s Truth. [FIXED!][06/11!]

The fruit salad was long gone by the time Darren left Stack & Co, but the taste of it lingered, along with the strange feeling of having been recognized.

He walked home with his gym bag slung over one shoulder, hands in his pockets, the evening air cool against his face. The streetlights flickered on one by one. Somewhere down the block, a car stereo thumped bass into the night.

It’s just a blog post, he told himself again. Nobody reads those things.

He almost believed it, too.

His phone buzzed when he was two blocks from his building.

[Keiza: you home?]

[Darren: almost. why?]

[Keiza: I’m outside your place]

Darren stopped walking.

He stared at the message, then picked up his pace.

She was sitting on the front steps of his building when he turned the corner, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them, a hoodie zipped up to her chin. Her hair was tied back, and she was holding her phone in both hands like she’d been staring at it for a while.

She looked up when she heard him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." Darren slowed as he reached her. "You okay? You should’ve told me you were coming. I would’ve hurried."

"I didn’t decide I was coming until I was already in the car."

That wasn’t like her. Keiza planned everything. Keiza made lists for her lists.

Darren crouched down in front of her so they were eye to eye. "What’s going on?"

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she held up her phone.

The screen showed the article.

[Unknown Fighter Pushes Kessler to the Limit.]

Darren’s jaw tightened.

"My cousin sent it to me," Keiza said quietly. "The one from the birthday dinner. She said, ’Isn’t this your man?’" She lowered the phone. "I didn’t even know you were fighting again."

"It was one sparring match."

"Against someone who’s apparently a favorite to win an entire tournament."

"It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal."

"Darren." She said his name softly, but there was something firm underneath it. "Can we go inside? I don’t want to do this on the steps."

His apartment was small and tidy, the way it always was. Darren dropped his gym bag by the door and flicked on the kitchen light. Keiza sat on the edge of the couch, her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

He poured two glasses of water and set one in front of her. Then he sat down in the armchair across from her and waited.

Keiza turned the glass in her hands without drinking from it.

"It’s not the fight," she said finally. "I think it’s kind of amazing. You looked incredible in those photos." She hesitated. "It’s something else. Something that’s been bothering me since the day we toured that building with Liam."

Darren’s stomach dropped.

He already knew where this was going.

"At the diner," Keiza went on, "Liam started saying something. About you disarming someone." She looked up at him. "Then he stopped. Like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. And you both changed the subject so fast I almost got whiplash."

Darren didn’t say anything.

"I’ve been trying to let it go," she said. "I told myself it was nothing. A joke. A story from college. But I keep thinking about it." Her voice wavered slightly. "And then today I see you going toe to toe with one of the best amateur fighters in the city like it’s nothing, and I realize I don’t actually know who you were before I met you."

Silence settled between them.

The fridge hummed. A car passed outside, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling.

Darren stared down at his hands. His knuckles were still red from the heavy bag.

He could lie. It would be easy. He’d been lying about his past for years, smoothing it over, leaving out the sharp edges, telling people he’d just "grown up rough." Keiza would probably believe him. She wanted to.

But she was sitting on his couch with her sleeves over her hands, looking at him like she was afraid of the answer and asking anyway.

She deserved better than a lie.

"Okay," Darren said quietly.

Keiza looked up.

"I’m going to tell you some of it," he said. "Not all of it. Not tonight. Some of it I don’t even like thinking about. But I’m not going to lie to you."

She nodded slowly.

Darren took a deep breath.

"When I was a kid, I didn’t grow up rough," he said. "I grew up in it. The wrong neighborhood, the wrong people. By the time I was fifteen, I was running with a crew that did things I’m not proud of. Things that got people hurt."

Keiza’s fingers tightened around the glass.

"I was good at it," he admitted, and the words tasted bitter. "Too good. I wasn’t scared of anything. Not fights, not guns, not anybody. People started following me. Younger guys looked up to me like I was some kind of..." He shook his head. "Like I was somebody worth looking up to."

"And the disarming thing?"

"There was a guy. A while back. He pulled a weapon on someone I care about." Darren’s voice stayed level. "I took it from him before he could use it. That’s all."

"That’s all?"

"That’s all that happened that night." He met her eyes. "I didn’t hurt him more than I had to. I promise."

Keiza was quiet for a long time.

"Why did you leave?" she asked finally. "The crew. All of it."

Darren looked toward the window, toward the dark street outside.

"Because one night, I looked around and realized everyone I knew was either dead, in prison, or on their way there. And I didn’t want to be any of those things." He swallowed. "So I walked away. Cut everyone off. Started over. Got a normal job. Paid my rent late like a normal person." He let out a short laugh. "Met a girl who makes lists for her lists."

Keiza’s lips twitched, just barely.

Then her expression turned serious again.

"Those people. The ones you ran with." She hesitated. "Are any of them still around?"

Darren thought of a face he hadn’t seen in years. A skinny kid who used to follow him everywhere, hungry to prove himself, laughing too loud at every one of Darren’s jokes. A kid who’d never known when to stop.

Drake.

"Most of them are gone," Darren said slowly. "The ones who aren’t, I haven’t talked to since the day I left. As far as they’re concerned, I don’t exist anymore."

"And you’re sure about that?"

"I changed my number. Moved across the state. Never looked back." He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Nobody from that life knows where I am."

"I didn’t tell you," Darren said, "because I was scared that if you knew who I used to be, you’d look at me differently. That you’d see him instead of me."

He finally made himself look at her.

"So. Are you?"

Keiza set the glass down on the coffee table.

Then she stood up, walked over to the armchair, and sat down on the arm of it beside him. She reached over and took one of his bruised hands in both of hers.

"I’m looking at you right now," she said softly. "And all I see is the man who drove two hours to bring me soup when I had the flu. The man who wore that horrible tie to my cousin’s birthday because I said it looked nice." Her thumb brushed over his knuckles.

"That’s who I see."

Darren’s throat tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend that wasn’t a lot," Keiza went on. "It is. And I’m probably going to have more questions. Like, a lot more questions."

"I figured."

"Probably a list of them."

That got a real laugh out of him.

"But you told me the truth," she said. "That’s what matters. Just... don’t keep things from me anymore. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

Darren squeezed her hand. "I promise."

She leaned down and rested her forehead against his for a moment. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to.

-

After a while, Keiza sat back and wiped quickly at the corner of her eye. "I should go. I have work early."

"Stay," Darren said. "It’s late."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But you’re making breakfast."

"Deal."

She disappeared into the bathroom, and Darren leaned his head back against the armchair, letting out a long, slow breath. The weight he’d been carrying around for years felt a little lighter. Not gone. But lighter.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

He reached for it lazily, still smiling, expecting another text from Marco about the tournament.

It was from the coach at the sparring center.

[Coach: hey, some guy came by tonight after you left. asking about you. wanted to know what time you usually train.]

[Coach: didn’t leave a name. kinda off. figured you’d want to know]

Darren stared at the glowing screen.

From the bathroom, Keiza was humming softly to herself.

He read the message again.

Then he typed back.

[Darren: what did he look like?]

The dots appeared, but then disappeared. There was nothing else that came through from that text thread which only irritated Darren all the more.

.

.

.

.

A/N: This occurred the night before the current timeline with Liam in the hospital