Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm back with a new story and I had fun writing about this new OC. I want to thank Olympus - 117, without you this first chapter would not be as awesome as it is.
Disclaimer: RR owns PJO not me. I only own my creative plot bunnies and OC's that plague me so much.
Summary: AU (takes places before TLH) Torrey Nolan is living the good life with her loving dad, grandfather, grandmother and best best friend. But the Fates have other plans thus sending her on a whirlwind adventure to discover herself, her family and who her mother really is.
I stand in a field. It is peaceful and green and in the distance, I see large trees swaying in the breeze. All of the sudden, there is a brown bear barrelling behind me and I sprint.
It is close behind me and I hop over a barbed wire fence and make a break for the trees. Then I am suddenly standing at some meeting in a shopping mall that has pink stucco walls.
As I gaze round the room with pick stucco walls, I spot a beautiful blonde with stormy eyes standing by the corner. Her eyes haunt me, as they have in the same dream for the last few months. I need to find out what this dream means.
"Who are you?" I ask, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"Sorry," she smiled sadly, "You'll just have to find out."
"Wha? - What time is it?" I moaned. Oh great, my dream had been interrupted yet again.
"It's time to get up, little girl. And if you don't get your ass up, I'll throw you into the shower and put the water on COLD!"
My dad had a very unique way of getting me up early for his media tours. On days like these, he'd wake me up at four in the freaking morning.
I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes and slowly, a handsome, clean cut face with warm brown eyes and chiselled features swam into view. That's my dad, Steve Nolan, a UFC fighter who is at the top of his game. He's the reason why I want to fight professionally. I never knew who my mother was and I don't particularly care to find out either. I had my grandfather, and most importantly my dad. They were all that I needed. What's even more amazing is that dad raised me at the age of eighteen. Most guys who would have gotten a kid dumped on them at that age would have either passed said child onto his parents or given the child up. But my dad maintained a successful career and raised me, all at the same time.
"I'm up! No need to use threats this early in the morning, Daddy."
"Babygirl, you know I hate having to get up early for the media too. If I had it my way, we'd sleep in and they'd have to wait on us."
"And you don't want Lexi on your back either." I growled.
Lexi Gold is my Dad's agent. Her feathers couldn't be ruffled by anything. There wasn't a Hollywood starlet on her clientele list that she didn't straighten out. She's as tough as nails and twice as mean as a Rottweiler for her clients. So basically she's a bitch. She's also not afraid to yell at said clients if they are late for promotion.
"Yes. So let's be early so Lexi doesn't try to kill us both, okay?" he smiled.
I walked into my bathroom to get ready. I actually don't mind the press. God knows that I egg them on enough when I go out partying with my best friend. I brush my teeth and hurry though a shower, wincing as the cold water hit my bare skin. As I'm drying off I realize that my dad's weigh in is this afternoon.
Sadly, that means I'm going to have to see Erikson, my dad's opponent on Saturday. He is such a douchebag! Ever since he found out that he was fighting my dad, he's made it his soul mission to find out which clubs I go to, who I hang out with. What do I have to do, get a restraining order? It's gotten seriously annoying. I plan on setting him straight today.
I walk to my closet and shuffle through my different outfits. I dress quickly, throwing on a red shirt, some cargo pants and finally black converses. I check the mirror one last time to see if my hair bun needed tightening and made my way out of my room. I went down a hallway and a spiral stairway. One of the perks to having the World's greatest fighter for a dad was housing. Our house was massive. A ten bedroom villa in Beverly Hills, our guest house which was slightly smaller belonged to my grandparents who are currently celebrating a second honeymoon, all expenses paid via their loving son of course.
When my dad first showed up with me on their doorstep, they didn't turn us away. My dad had just branched out into pro fighting and when my dad had fights at night he'd go and my grandmother would watch over me. My grandfather was cool with it…well they didn't turn us away. My grandmother hated it. I think my grandmother, Charlotte, didn't like becoming a grandma so young, she made sure to tell me how much of a mistake I was whenever my father and grandfather weren't around. My grandpa, Seamus, loves all things fighting. He says it's in our blood. He's the one who got my dad to let me start take Muay Thai classes. I've mastered kickboxing; I'm serious about my craft. I walk past the entryway and foyer towards the kitchen. The delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen told me that dad had made breakfast.
"What did you make?" I hummed lightly.
"Grits. What were you expecting? A five course meal?" Dad paused as he turned and inspected me, "You alright sleeping beauty?"
"Fine," I smiled, "Just a little tired."
As a response, Dad heaped more grits into my plate.
"Grits, the breakfast of champions!" I declared.
"Hey! You're starting to sound like your grandma now. And don't mock grits, it's what I was raised on and it's what I'm raising you on. Now eat."
If only you knew, I never want to sound like grandma dearest.
"Whatever, Daddy," I said as he handed me a bowl.
"So, I read the entertainment section of the newspaper before you got down here…"
"Okay…" I muttered, not liking where this was going.
He hesitated for a second before launching right in. "You know that you can talk to me about anything, right? I know that you can handle yourself. But if Erikson is bothering you to get to me, I'll handle it."
Oh hell no! He is not trying to act like a caring parent; I will not be suckered into that.
I slammed the fork down into the plate. "Dad!"
"I'm serious. No one harasses my Babygirl and lives to tell the tale."
"Daddy, he's all talk. Besides you get to bash his brains in on Saturday night anyway." I waved him off.
"Yeah. But you're going to be with me at the weigh in. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable Torrey."
"Dad, I'm not a porcelain doll. I can take care of myself and all Erickson should be worried about is your right hook!"
"That's my girl." He grinned proudly.
We finished breakfast in a comfortable silence. I always wondered why my dad never got married. After all he's a good guy. My grandmother raised him to be a fine upstanding southern gentleman.
On second thought, my Dad tends to date models and post rehab starlets…too much temptation. I wouldn't want any of them to be my step mother, cause' just plain EW! I'm fine just the way things are around here.
My dad giving me a playful pat on my backside brought me out of my thought process.
"Time to go, Babygirl! 'Wake up Los Angeles' waits for no man," I raised my eyebrow at him.
"Or young woman," he amended.
I grinned as he put his arm around me and together we headed to the car waiting to take us to the studios.
After several Morning show appearances and a spot on UFC TV, we had finally arrived at the press box for my Dad's weigh in. I'm sitting next to Lexi, who's sitting next to my Dad, I guess as a buffer because even with the cameras around, that douchebag Sean Erickson is trying to smile at me. I give Dad a nervous look; honestly, I don't think that he can take much more of it. Oh boy, sure enough, Dad looks like he's about to snap. Lexi had better stand back because once this starts it's only going to get messy.
Both competitors had already been weighed; this part was the interview process where the media would ask the typical question: Are you confident that you can beat your opponent? And of course the question always brings a witty banter between fighters. But this time it would only make a bad situation even worse.
"Yeah, I know I can win and after I make that old man tap out, I'm gonna take his daughter out on a night on the town to celebrate!" crowed Erickson.
He was practically beating at his chest. Who the hell was he trying to impress? That may work on some of these two-bit whores that walk around with cameras but it only serves to piss me and my father off.
"Daddy, stay calm, please!"
"You're not going to beat me on Saturday night," Steve spat out. "And as far as trying to date my daughter, kid you can forget it. You won't be able to move, let alone talk once I get through with you."
I watched as his hands tighten into to fists and his nostrils almost seemed to flare.
"Oh. This is so gonna end badly." I whispered.
"It may not come to that you know. Give your father some credit Torrey. He can be very calm in situations like this. There will not be a fight here. Everything is going to go as planned. Now you say it," Lexi smirked.
"Everything is going to go as planned," I muttered, not believing it for a moment.
That mantra did absolutely nothing for what happened next. Erickson had said something that set my Dad off and well … my Dad has a mean right hook. They started brawling right next to me and Lexi, knocking over the podium, tables, chairs, and people unlucky enough to be in the way of the two fighters. The press, of course was eating it up. They were furiously snapping pictures for second by second action.
Lexi had moved us out of the way. I'd never seen my dad like this. I've been to his matches; he goes to a dark place in them but not like this. Something was different about this weigh in. Something is not right; some punk shooting off his mouth does not get my dad this angry.
As I take in the rest of the room, I notice a person who was a head taller than everyone around him was. His face looked like it had seen way too many fights; those scars look gnarly. He was donned in a 1950's greaser get up, complete with red wraparound sunglasses. He should have scared me if I hadn't seen him before. To me he looked like a biker reject.
The same guy for as long as I could remember had been at my Dad's fights. He never asked for an autograph or spoke to my Dad. I just always assumed that he was some rich fan that loved to watch my Dad's matches. But now I'm not so sure. The whole room seemed to want to get involved with the fight that had broken out. Just what the hell is going on here?
"Lexi, please get Dad to stop! He's really starting to scare me. He's never acted like this before. Can't you call security or something?"
"I've already done that! Security started to fight each other and I don't know what is going on. This day was supposed to go off without a hitch. How I'm I going to fix this mess?"
"Are you kidding me? My Dad is fighting his opponent before time and you're worried about the mess you have to clean up. What is wrong with you? My Dad doesn't brawl at interviews; he doesn't get angry over words."
Tears of frustration leak out, as hard as I try to stop them, I didn't know what else to do. My Dad just sprouted this sudden rage out of nowhere and no one was willing or in any state of right mind to stop him. I glared at him, wrestling Erikson on the floor before I turn and stalk out of the room. I couldn't stand to see this anymore. I noticed the biker reject watch me as I walk out. Frankly, I didn't care. I needed fresh air and to get the hell out of that room.
After I left the press conference I decided to take a taxi to Rodeo Drive. I scared the taxi driver with my sour attitude, I'm sure. There was a guitar shop that caught my eye while riding in the back. I'm a sucker for anything vintage and I felt like splurging on a new guitar. I paid the driver and headed into the store. The store itself was called Question Authority, my kind of place! The inside was decorated in black and red with a gothic vibe to it.
The cashier was a young guy who looked like he just walked out of a punk rock magazine spread. His bangs were highlighted bright pink and his right eyebrow was pierced. As I mused about the guy at the register I didn't notice the hulk like figure approaching me.
"Looking for something, Honey?" he asked.
I stared at his chest first, and then looked up to a tall, well muscled man standing in front of me. His face was chiselled and wore a smug expression on it. His hair long and inky black, looked like it was streaked with sliver the way the lights hit it. He had an olive complexion, probably Mediterranean. His arms, covered in tattoos of various shapes and sizes looked very menacing. I could tell that he worked out because I could count his eight pack abs through his red wife beater.
Ugh. Did he just call me Honey?
"My name is not Honey," I glared. "Do you work here?"
He smirked, "Yeah, baby. The name's Arian. What's your name?"
"That's none of your business" I scoffed, "Is it customary for employees to be this rude?" I pushed at his chest successfully getting Arian out of my comfort zone.
"Damn, I knew you looked familiar! You're Torrey Nolan! Sorry if I came off as an asshole. Truth is: I am an asshole, deal with it Honey," he grinned proudly.
"Wow! That's a first. I've never had a guy come up to me and actually admit it. Good for you! What do you want? A pat on the back? Look, I just want to look at some guitars. Not get hit on by the likes of you. I'm not in the mood to deal with your bullshit or anyone else's," I fumed.
He smirked, "Hmm alright, what are you looking for?"
We browsed through guitars of different shapes and sizes. I wanted an electric guitar, but there were three that I liked. I honestly didn't know which one to choose from. After talking with Arian over guitars for an hour I came to realize that he wasn't completely bad. Don't get me wrong, he's definitely an asshole but the guy knew his guitars. It was like he was Jimi Hendrix's love child or something. He was so easy to talk to, it was as if he knew me but I swear I'd never seen this guy before in my life.
"So, what's a girl like you doing with such a sour attitude?" he asked.
I sighed, "My Dad. His weigh in didn't go as planned."
"Let me guess, Erickson. The guy is an asshole and I should know."
"Yep," I gritted my teeth, "got my Dad riled up and the whole thing broke out into a brawl."
"And you just up and left?"
"Yeah, so what?" I asked annoyed.
"Ah, so that's the problem eh. You've got Daddy issues." He shook his head.
I glared, "Okay, asshole, what would you know of it?"
"I'm gonna give you a piece of advice. When it comes to dealing with Dads with massive egos: You gotta to do your own thing. Don't get caught up in their bullshit, because they will drag you into to it and before you know it, you'll be just as jaded as they are. Your father is no different, right?" he hummed.
I thought about it. I mean my Dad is Steve Nolan. The best UFC heavyweight fighter there is, of course his ego is massive. And of course that causes him to be a bit neglectful towards me. I had to deal with my grandmother a lot of the time. And I know that it's all about him a huge chunk of the time but it seems like he doesn't even know what's going on with me most of the time. I miss my Dad. The one I had when we lived back in Houston, the one who actually cared to know about how my day went. Since we moved here seven years ago, he'd changed.
"Yeah, he's no different," I admitted.
"Look, I can tell that you're upset about this" He nodded, "If you ever need to talk or just get away from it all, call me." He wrote down his number on a scrap of paper.
I stared at his out stretched hand holding the number. I was absolutely shocked. Guys never gave me their number. They were always interested in my best friend or asked me to give them her number. Never me, I was floored by Arian's actions. I didn't know how to react to this. I slowly accepted the piece of paper.
I nodded, "Sure, I'll call you."
I pocketed the number and decided to buy all three of the electric guitars before my face turned red from embarrassment. Arian went to the back of the store to get an invoice, as I headed to the register my cell phone went off. I looked at the caller ID and it read "Dad". I ignored it; I really didn't feel like dealing with him right now. I looked up and Arian was packing up the supplies I was about to buy.
He nodded to my vibrating phone and somehow, he knew."You should talk to him" he said, looking meaningfully at me.
I sighed, "Fine."
I answered my phone only to be bombarded with my father's baritone voice sounding worried.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry I don't know what came over me. One minute I was fine and the next I was on him like white on rice. You know I don't normally do that. You believe me don't you?"
I could hear the nervousness in his voice. I snorted, good, he should be.
"Daddy, I don't know. We did have that talk this morning about him harassing me, no one is going to fault you for wanting to protect me but Dad what I saw in that room. I've never even seen you like that in the octagon like that. It's like you were another person."
"I know Babygirl. And I don't know how many times I'm going to have to say sorry but I'll do it for the rest of my life for making you feel like you weren't safe with me. After I was finally pulled off Erickson and I asked Lexi where you had gone…I was so scared that something had happened to you. I really want to talk to you in person sweetie. This isn't how we normally have our heart to hearts. Over the phone is so impersonal, please come home so that we can talk about this."
Arian moved my guitars outside by a bench just outside the shop. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked back into the shop. I flopped down on the bench in what would probably be considered unladylike manner and rolled my eyes.
"Dad, I'll come home in an hour. I need to cool off, okay?"
"Alright, I'm sorry."
"You're really serious about saying that?"
"As long as you're mad at me Babygirl, I might as well. You're my world and I know that I upset you."
"Dad, we'll talk later. Love you."
"Love you too, Torrey."
As I hung up my phone I heard a motorcycle, I turned my head to look down Rodeo Drive but there was nothing there. Shaking my head, I convinced myself that I imagined it; I picked up my phone and decided to call my Dad's chauffeur.
"Torrey I'm s—
"Daddy, could I make it to the living room before you bombard me with apologies. Please?" I rolled my eyes while moving my guitars towards the staircase.
"Uh, okay. Let's go to the living room. I want to hash this out because I don't want you hate me."
"I don't hate you, Daddy" I sighed.
We walked into our living room. It was a vast space with a modern theme. We sat on a lazy boy couch and faced each other. The awkward tension could practically be cut with a knife. I honestly have never seen my Dad lose it like that before.
He began slowly, "I hate that I made you feel like you couldn't be around me. I never want you feel like that. You know when you came in through the door a few minutes ago; it was like a little movie playing in my head.
Seeing you as a little girl bounding up the steps, to the beautiful young woman that you are today. I just don't want to lose my little girl. I love you. I'm always going to love you and I never want you to think otherwise."
"I know Daddy. I don't hate you, you just scared me."
"Please stop saying that already!" I exclaimed."Don't you know? You always have my love too."
"I'm going to cancel my match…" he began slowly.
Yeah, so I can hear you complain about it? God, Arian was right! His ego has gotten so big that he has to guilt trip me into asking me for my permission to get back into this match. No way, besides Lexi would blame it all on me in some way. I swear she has it out for me. There is no way he gets out of this fight.
"What?" I demanded. "No way, you can't do that. You have to show Erickson that he's gonna rue the day he opened his big mouth."
I flung my arms around him tightly. I don't want him to feel bad. I believe he really didn't mean to lose control, which begs the question: What the hell had happened?
I push the thought out of my head as my Dad wrapped his arms around me slowly. One thing that I was sure about right now is that I couldn't wait for Saturday night, and for Erickson to get what he deserves.