*so a year or two ago I wrote this up for my narratives techniques class— it was originally a boxer gray sort of fic idea haha but considering boxer concepts are virtually untouchable after the LEGEND of southpaw I never posted it lmao but I think it fits here. The idea here was a contemporary myth, and I used hades and Persephone as the inspo*
No one really knows why Grayson Dolan had always been as angry as he was. Some blame it on the financial struggle his family has faced since he was younger, others blame it on his father’s death. But realistically, his father didn’t pass until Grayson was nineteen, and Grayson was already wading deep in a sea of trouble by that point. What’s evident is that since he was a child, Grayson Dolan has been this fiery, angry thing that preferred swinging his fists over using his words.
He welcomed his fifteenth year in the back of a cop car after getting into a fight at a skate rink. Tommy Michaelson had been teasing Grayson’s brother for being much smaller than the rest of the kids, and Grayson had had enough, effectively breaking the kid’s leg and fulfilling his role of protective big brother.
Tommy Michaelson’s father owned the skate rink.
Grayson’s father, a writer, was good with words and presented the juvenile court with a convincing argument about the innate goodness of his son. They couldn’t afford a lawyer, but it worked. The judge presented Grayson with an ultimatum: serve his time in a juvenile detention center, or engage in community service and an anger management program. It wasn’t a hard choice.
They found The Pit one day when his father took Grayson and his brother jogging around the neighborhood. The doors were open, and the sounds of a fight were evident as boxers inside sparred with high energy and violent grunts. Grayson was fascinated: the kid in the ring must have been a year older than him at most. He forced his father and brother into the gym, begged his father to speak to the owner, and within a week was enrolled in their boxing program for troubled youth. His form of anger management had now become the thing that got him in trouble in the first place: fighting. Only now, in a controlled space, getting to channel his aggression without legal implications.
Grayson’s afternoons at the gym consisted of throwing down his bag after jogging over from school, half-assed wraps on his hands, and a light bounce as he made his way to the speed bags to start his training. He was quiet unless he was training, then he was hollering at his opponents, flashing that white smile, provoking until he had a chance to spar.
He was king of The Pit by the time he was eighteen.
At twenty-two, Grayson had long since fulfilled his punishments for the fight with Tommy Michaelson, yet made The Pit his life. Now he was “up and coming”, though it didn’t feel like it.
He was still piss poor. Which meant bartending at The Grove most nights to flash a smile and earn his tips.
And one night, Opal Eden walked in.
He knew Opal, distantly. Everyone knew the Edens. Her father had designed and built the city’s botanical gardens that boasted energy preservation, rare species of vegetation and high tourism revenue. Opal herself had planted a few new palm trees in the garden with her class of kindergarteners. Even recently graduated, she showed promise as a teacher, and everyone loved her.
How couldn’t they? With her glowing smile, her sparkling eyes, her tinkling laugh. She was as beautiful and perfect as Grayson himself was twisted and grimy. Yet, not even his eyes could tear away from her when she entered the club with her sisters one Friday night, her big eyes darting around cautiously, hands rubbing at her bare shoulders.
Grayson’s eyes never lingered on one girl long enough to convince her he was interested. Even though he got many up against his bar to get a good look at those wide shoulders, that taut jawline, and white smile. He was only half-charming, and for only the half-second that it would take to get them to slide an extra ten across the bar before he was moving on to meet the demands of other busy customers. The night Opal Eden decided to go to the bar, though, she mesmerized him. He shook margaritas with distracted eyes, got a few drinks wrong, paused to find her in the crowd when he’d lose her, wondered when she’d be coming over for her own drink.
She stumbled over a few hours into his shift, murmuring a soft “excuse me” barely heard over the music as she pushed her way to the countertop. Grayson had seen her dancing with a few of her friends throughout the night, willing away the tightness in his chest by focusing on his tasks, shaking the thoughts asking if the guy she was with was with her. In reality, Opal had no idea who that man had been, pressured into dancing with him by her sisters in order to “get loose” and trying to enjoy her night by accepting his offers of a drink too sour for her taste. Soon, that same drink had her feeling too drunk too soon.
Opal’s a notorious lightweight, but even this level of weightlessness was too much for half a drink.
Opal couldn’t be more thankful for her mother’s obsession with Facebook urban legends that had her reminding Opal before heading out, “if your drink is ever spiked by something, go to the bar and ask the bartender for a cup of water with as much salt as possible. It’ll make you throw anything up.”
Opal and her sisters had rolled their eyes, laughed at their mother’s endless paranoia, and hopped in the Uber. Now, Opal’s staggering up to the bar, already starting to see double as her arm seemed delayed when she waved over the bartender.
Grayson has never approached a customer that quickly, preparing his smile for her that drops as soon as he sees how foggy her gaze is.
“Water,” she says sharply. “Just, empty a whole thing of salt in it.”
Grayson blinks at her. He’s made some weird drinks, but that one really was new. “I’m not exactly sure—“
Her fist comes down on the countertop, making the few people chatting around her flinch and glance over. Grayson cocks an eyebrow. She’s got her other hand fluttering to her forehead, wiping it quickly.
“Look, I think someone…” She exhales. “Just get me that water and salt. Please. Now.”
He complies with her request, watching as she raises the glass of salt water to her lips with shaky hands. He reaches out to steady her when she sways, setting the glass down and hissing at the taste. Her eyes are screwed shut for a moment, the room spinning relentlessly.
It only takes a few seconds for Opal to double over and empty her stomach right behind his bar, all over his shoes, all over her dress, everywhere. The patrons around her groan and move away from her. The other bartender groans and yells for a mop. Grayson is frozen to his spot, standing in puke in front of Opal Eden, who the puke happens to belong to. It’s definitely not the first meeting he would have wanted.
She stands slowly, with a relieved sigh and flushed cheeks. Her eyes meet his for a moment, wide and bright. Her hand flies to her mouth. Embarrassed as she is, she’s relieved to have gotten whatever it was that guy put in her drink out of her system.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“No, no, I think I’m okay.”
It’s much quieter out in the parking lot behind The Grove, the air a lot fresher, even if Grayson’s Nissan smells like a pine air freshener desperately trying to cover the smell of his gym bag. Maybe placing a bit too much trust in a bartender after being drugged, but confident in the man who had essentially saved her with a cup of water, Opal had followed Grayson out to his car where he had an extra pair of shoes and some clothes for her. He watched her warily as she cleaned herself off as best she could, stood protectively in front of the car while she changed in the backseat, and let her gather her bearings against his passenger door before going back in to find her sisters.
“Do you know what he looks like?” He asks after a few minutes of awkward silence. His voice is low, words clipped. Opal glances at him.
Of course, she knew who Grayson Dolan was. Although most of her memories of him were warnings to stay far away from him as the troubled kid in high school. It was now, nearly seven years later, that she’s having her first conversation with him.
After puking all over his shoes.
But she knew about his temper, knew what would happen if she pointed out any of the men inside the club as her attacker. Her father would kill her if she was involved in some sort of bar fight, even more if Grayson Dolan was involved.
She shakes her head. “Can’t remember him too clearly. And he probably ran off.”
He doesn’t believe her, but he’s got few rights to keep pressing. Grayson settles for yanking a hand through his hair and sighing heavily. Opal wraps her arms around herself, eyes darting around to try to find something to talk about. She doesn’t want to go back inside to face her sisters. Her eyes linger on the side of Grayson’s face for a moment. He’s staring straight ahead, lost in trying to keep his temper in check. The yellow of the emergency lights on the side of the building shine in his eyes, and Opal realizes they’re hazel; green in the light.
When they shift over to look at her, she looks down, face burning. She doesn’t catch the side of Grayson’s mouth lift. Grayson, who really should be going back inside to finish his shift but is milking every second of his break with Opal Eden.
Opal glances back at his car to make sure she didn’t forget anything in there. From the rear view mirror in the front seat, there’s a mini pair of yellow boxing gloves. It makes her smile.
“You still boxin’?” She asks.
Grayson’s head turns to follow her gaze. He gives her a humble shrug. “Sometimes.”
“So just haven’t found the right fight yet?”
Opal bites her lip. “Maybe I can go to your next fight. Make up for fuckin’ up your shoes.”
He gives her a laugh. A deep, mocking belly-laugh. His eyes are trained down as he shakes his head. It makes her eyebrows lift.
“Don’t think you wanna walk into one of those fights, Opal.”
“You’d stand out too much. Distract too many people.” He gives her a charming little smirk. “Distract me too much and I’d lose.”
Before Opal can react, the back door of the club is swinging open and her sisters are spilling out in a mess of screeching, gasping, and crying.
“Opal!” They chorus. “There you are!”
“Wait—“ Opal is immediately overwhelmed as her sisters flutter around her, clucking with their concern, hands on her face, in her hair, assessing any possible damage she could have after being out of their sight for more than fifteen minutes. Grayson doesn’t even have a chance to say anything as they all drag her back inside, arranging for another Uber to take them home. He’s left leaning against his car, giving her a helpless little smile as she glances back at him again and again to try to say goodbye.
It’s quiet again when the Edens disappear behind the heavy door of the club, leaving Grayson to the buzzing of the emergency lights, the song of the cicadas. He chuckles to himself.
He’d make sure to see her again.
