Enigma

by C. M. Lally

We spent the next day lightly working out, napping separately, and eating healthy with the occasional talk of strategy for the fight but nothing about ‘us.’ I have to admit, he’s quiet in his demeanor, but his words have substance. I soaked up every piece of advice he offered about fighting. I’ve learned a lot spending time with him these past few days, but when it comes to knowing the man that he is, I’m still as lost as I was before this little trip. The Enigma, the mystery of him, is still ever present.

  He dropped me off at my apartment Friday morning, before heading home to prep for the scheduled media blitz later this afternoon. There was no kiss goodbye, no silent messages of mutual understanding with long gazes into each other’s eyes, no small touches that ended with time stopping for a brief moment as we parted. There were instructions on when to be where for today’s schedule.

  My heart is heavy, but what can I do? We shared a few moments. I was given a glimpse inside a hard man. A man that hasn’t come to terms with his past or his emotions about it. On the plus side, we had some amazing sex that I will never forget.

  It hurts inside, but I know he doesn’t hate me.

  I start to unpack and sort the laundry as I go when my cell phone rings with a number I don’t recognize.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Jade. It’s Shawn, from Dontonio’s.”

  “You know, you could have said Kol’s brother.” He laughs at my forwardness.

  “Well, this is a business call and he’s personal. Anyway, I got off the phone with him, and he’s pretty agitated. He told me about the trip, but wouldn’t give me any clues about why he was so moody. I didn’t press him, and I’m not calling to get any details from you. That’s between you two, but in case you’re feeling any of that, know it’s not one-sided. But let me get to the reason for my call. Kol says you need a job, and I need a mid-shift hostess. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

  “Umm, I’ve never been a hostess. What does a hostess do exactly?”

  “Well, basically you’d greet the guests as they arrive, seat them, answer any immediate questions they may have about the specials or anything else, and let the server know they have a seated table.”

  “May I think about it? I just walked in the door and don’t want to make a rushed decision.”

  “Sure. I know you and Kol have a media thing planned for this afternoon, but if you can come this evening, we can talk more in detail about pay and hours. You can observe the position for a half hour to see if you’d be interested. I promise this isn’t a hard sell. I need someone, and Kol mentioned you have recently left your job. Maybe it’s an opportunity presenting itself with perfect timing?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’ll be there as soon as this press thing is over.”

  “Alright. I’ll see you later then. Bye.”

  After a few loads of laundry and a quick cleaning spree of my apartment, I notice the billboard outside. They must have put it up while we were gone.

  Carl “The Bulldawg” Reiss is one ugly son-of-a-bitch. His name suits him; he looks like a bulldog in the picture towering over the gym. He’s throwing a punch at Enigma. His jaws are blown out and flapping with a look of agony on his face. All the while Kol stands there in a hard stance ready for the hit without a care in the world on his face. It’s a nice shot of them both, but it could be interpreted in so many ways.

  That’s marketing for you. It caters to both fans. I don’t think Kol would be impressed.

  Speaking of Kol, I watch him ride into the open garage doors of Rebel’s far below me. He’s shirtless and the muscles of his back bunch and shine with sweat as he hops off his bike. I recall how he looked getting out of the bath, with water droplets covering his back and naked ass. I squeeze my eyes shut to erase the picture inside my head, but that doesn’t work. The butterflies swirl in my stomach within a second of thinking about him.

  I glance at the clock and see it’s time to get ready. Within the hour, I’m dressed in the color scheme I was advised to where, and am prepared for the bright lights of the press conference. Let’s do this.

  I’m waiting on the light to cross the street, and Kol whizzes past me on his bike.

  “Hey, where are you going?” I turn and holler at him. He loops around on the sidewalk and hollers “Saint Luke’s— to see Lou” and goes on without stopping to explain.

  “Are you coming back?” I yell at his back. I’m not sure he heard me, as he hunkers over his handlebars and grips them tighter, but then he raises his arms and shrugs his shoulders in response before pedaling hard away from me. He turns the corner taking him out of my sight. I’m left standing there at a loss for words. What just happened?

  I wait for the light to turn again and walk as fast as I can in my heels to the front door. Liam is on his phone at the front desk. He holds his finger up to me putting me on hold for a minute. Just as my patience runs out for waiting, he finally hangs up.

  “Don’t you start on me too. I already went three rounds of argument with Kol over Lou.” He runs his hands through his hair and blows out a frustrated breath. “This fucks up my plans too, you know.” His phone rings and he growls before turning his attention to answer it, slamming the office door behind him.

  I look around the gym. The new cage area is all ready to go. It sits waiting for people, but the place is empty, and I’m confused. I dump my bag in the locker room next to Kol’s and pull my phone out to order a ride to the hospital. Within a few minutes, I head to the front door and pass Liam.

  “Liam, I‘m heading over to sit with Kol. Are we still doing this today?”

  “God, I hope so. He needs to be back here by 4:00 pm, dressed and ready to go. I can hold the press off until then. Just get him here.” I wave my hand in the air acknowledging his demand.

  My ride pulls up as soon as I exit the gym doors. It’s about a ten-minute drive to the hospital. “Saint Luke’s, please. There’s a $20 tip if you get me there in five minutes.”

  My heart is thumping wildly as we approach the hospital main entrance doors. Tires squeal, and the car lurches to a stop. Broken images flood my mind of one night a very long time ago and another erratic car ride to these same doors. That night was not a good one. Let’s hope this one ends differently.

  The line for patient information isn’t long, and before I know it, I’m exchanging Lou’s name for his room number then searching for signs to the elevator. My heart squeezes tight when the attendant explains that Lou is in the Intensive Care Unit. She gives me directions to the floor and explains that I’ll need to check in with the nurse’s desk to get visiting times.

  Shit. This isn’t going well already.

  My feet feel heavy walking to the dreaded elevators, and my thoughts are raging like a tornado. I press the button for the 8th floor; it whisks me there without stopping to pick anyone up, thank God. The doors chime as they open, making me jump. Nausea rises up into my throat, and I swallow it back down as I step onto the floor. I’m not mentally prepared for this.

  Hospitals bring death and loneliness. I remember being here the night my parents died. The phone rang at my babysitter’s house, a single scream pierced the walls in the playroom. Footsteps thundered down the hallway towards me, and I remember being lifted up, my coat was thrown around me, and getting jammed into the backseat of the car. We raced to get here, Saint Luke’s— running red lights and swerving to miss people in crosswalks— only to sit for hours until a very lovely lady came to get me.

  She walked me down a long hallway to my mother and father, who were both in one large room together lying next to each other on very strange beds. It was cold inside with machines everywhere, but none of them were on. The lady bent to pick me up, and placed her finger over her lips and shushed me into silence. She said my parents were eternally sleeping. “God needed Angels tonight.” She said He selected my mom and dad and asked me if I knew what Angels were. I shook my head yes and knew I wasn’t ever going to see my parents again, like Nana Jean and Pop-pop Will.

  “Mi
ss, may I help you?” I startle as she moves to stand in front of me and repeat her words, “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m here for Lou Kadra. The attendant at the front desk said I should stop by here first to get a visiting time.”

  “The doctor is in with him now. The waiting room is down the hall, the last door on the right. I sent a gentleman down there to wait also. Visiting times are fifteen minutes each with one person allowed at a time. Someone will advise when he is stable enough for visitors.” She smiles and flips her chart open before leaving me.

  The waiting room is light blue and peaceful, but it doesn’t do anything to ease my anxiety. Kol leans against the large picture window that overlooks Bicentennial Park. Kids are running around the play area and swinging on the swings as their parents watch. It’s a happy scene, but it doesn’t bring peace to my racing thoughts either. I don’t know what’s happening, so I don’t know what words to use to bring comfort. I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

  “He’s a tough man. He’ll make it through this.”

  His muscles bunch and flex under his t-shirt at my statement, but he remains silent.

  “I’m sure it’s the excitement of tomorrow’s match. He’s probably not been sleeping or eating well with making sure it all goes right for you and Liam.”

  “Jade, please stop.” He doesn’t look at me or turn to face me. He continues to stare out the window at nothing in particular. “Not eating or sleeping right doesn’t put you in Intensive Care. He’s on the verge of death, and no amount of positivity is going to bring him back.”

  “And no amount of brooding about it is going to either. He’s not dead so stop acting like he is. People get sick, and they get better. He’s exactly where he needs to be, doing what he’s supposed to be doing— resting and healing. Have a little faith it’ll all work out.”

  “Every person who’s ever meant anything to me leaves. It’s life. I get it. No one likes to stick around with me.”

  “Are you kidding me with this bullshit right now? Do you think he wants you in here wallowing in self-pity over his illness? Hell no. He’d be disappointed, and you know it. Get your ass back to where you need to be today. Keep the promises that you made. Work to complete what he set in motion for you. Keep that promise to him, and maybe that will be what it takes to help him rest and heal.”

  “Excuse me.” We both turn to see a man in a long white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

  “Sorry, doctor. Were we getting loud?” I pull away from Kol, putting some distance between our heated words.

  “Are you both here for Lou Kadra?”

  “Yes,” we say together in unison.

  “Is he okay?” Kol asks, walking closer toward him for an update.

  “If he listens to us, then he should be. He wasn’t following our advice after his pulmonary artery catheterization the other day.”

  “His what? Wait. Back up. Why did he need that?” I’m confused, and from the look on Kol’s face, he is too. I’m used to medical terms being a part of the general conversation since my mom is a nurse, but even these terms are too much for me to understand.

  “May I ask whom I’m speaking with for privacy purposes?”

  “I’m Jade Cantor, and he’s Kol Porter. Lou is our trainer.” He opens the chart he’s holding and flips a few pages and finally closes it.

  “Lou suffers from coarctation of the aorta. It’s a congenital disease, meaning he was born with a narrower aorta than most people. The narrowness can range from minimal to severe. The aorta is the main artery of the body carrying oxygenated blood to the rest of the body. Lou’s condition is classified as moderate, so we monitor him a few times a year. He’s been complaining of dizziness and weakness in his legs, which are common symptoms of his disease as the body ages. So we brought him in for a routine catheterization to see what’s going on. He was cleared and released but was advised to rest, and he ignored me. We are monitoring him for sepsis now from the catheterization and placed him in ICU with a high fever.”

  “But he’s going to recover, right?”

  “Sepsis can be tricky. We are treating him with a heavy load of antibiotics and fluids to stabilize his blood pressure. Yesterday was bad and his night was even worse. So there will be no visitation for him today. You can check back tomorrow.” He stands and walks to the door.

  “Doc, is there anything we can do?” It sounds like a dumb question when it leaves my mouth considering I’m not a nurse, but my mom always asks, so I felt the need too.

  He turns to face us before opening the door, “If you believe in a higher power, I would pray.”

  The doctor leaves as silent as he entered. I’ll call Linda later and have her explain all this to me, but for now, we have an opponent and some news crews waiting for us.

  “C’mon, Kol. It’s almost 3:00 pm and we have to get back to Rebel’s for the press conference.”

  “I can’t do the fight now; not without Lou.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve got me. And Liam. And anyone else you trust to help out.”

  “Lou is all I’ve ever had.”

  “We’ll work on that problem later, but for now we need to go. We’ll get through this together.” I grab his hand and pull him to the door while pulling out my phone to order a ride.

  Chapter Seventeen - Kol

  “SO, WHAT’S THE STRATEGY for this tonight? Did Lou or Liam clue you in?” Her voice sounds panicked, but I don’t respond. She turns her body toward me, pushing on my leg, dragging me out of my thoughts.

  “C’mon, Kol. Don’t shut down on me now. I need you to communicate with me.” She touches my hand, and a wave of heat rushes up my arm to my chest squeezing my heart.

  It tells me I can trust her; that I can let her in, but there’s a nagging voice far off in the distance of my mind that dares me to ignore her. She’s not a trainer. Hell, she’s not even a fighter. How is she going to make this all work? She pushes on my leg again, but I barely feel it.

  “Damn it, Kol. If you don’t trust me to get you through this, then tell me now, and I’ll save myself the heartache.”

  Heartache. What the fuck does she know about heartache? She grew up in a loving home. She never had to fight for her next meal or clothes. Her parents didn’t leave her by choice. No one has ever left her by choice.

  Her hand reaches up and grips my jaws, pulling my face toward hers. “Kol! Look at me for once, and answer me.”

  “The reporters will ask questions. I’ll answer. We’ll do a couple of photo-ops and be done. It’s nothing to panic over, so calm down.”

  “Thank you for finally responding. And I’m not panicked. I’m nervous.”

  “What are you nervous about? There’s nothing for you to do, but sit there and look pretty.” The red flush of her face tells me those were the wrong words to say, but at the moment, I don’t really care. They’re out of my mouth already, and I’m not taking them back. This is my fight.

  “Sit there and look pretty? So there it is. Alright. You handle this press conference on your own then. I canceled a nail appointment— maybe I can get it back.”

  Our ride pulls into Rebel’s as her acid remark hangs between us. I pay the man and remove my bike from the trunk. A quick glance at my phone shows it’s a little after 3:30 pm. The parking lot is full of news vans, reporters and photographers taking pictures and performing sound checks. She pulls the door open and sashays her ass right through it leaving me behind. I don’t blame her; everybody leaves eventually.

  Liam follows me to the locker room, and I bump into Jade as we both try to pass through the locker room door at once.

  “Where are you going?” Liam asks, grabbing Jade’s arm stopping her.

  “Let her go, Liam. She has a nail appointment.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right? Seriously? Who’s going to fill in for Lou in his absence?”

  “Ask Enigma. He doesn’t need anyone. I mean, after all— he’s the well-trained fighter, and I’
m the pretty arm candy.” Her words drip with sarcasm and burn my ears. I deserved that. “Congratulations, big man. Looks like you’ve been promoted.” She thumps his chest and walks out.

  “Kol, you need a coach for this fight. I’m only the promoter. Figure it out.” He storms out of the lockers leaving me as well.

  Figure it out. “I always fucking figure it out, don’t I?” I grab my lock and spin the tumbler to the starting point of my combination. I finish the rest of my code, spinning left and right and pull to nothing. The motherfucker won’t open. “Fuuuuuuck! Damn it, Lou. Don’t you fucking die on me. I need you.” I punch the locker door, putting a dent in the vents of the metal and scraping the skin off my knuckles.

  Lou always did the talking for me at these things. I never know what to say. I’m not a cocky bastard like the other fighters. They use big statements to try to convince the others of their greatness while I use my skills to prove it. I wash the blood from my hands and splash cold water on my face.

  The stranger in the mirror stares back at me. He’s getting older and becoming unrecognizable the more of a nobody he becomes.

  Looks like I’m indeed on my own this time. Maybe that’s been the plan this whole time, and maybe that’s my whole fucking problem.

  Deep breathes, Enigma.

  It’s my career. My fight. My strength, and my WIN.

  I spin the tumbler on my lock again left, right, left and pull. This time it opens.

  My shirt and tie slide off the hanger, and I pull it on, pressing each button through its hole with dexterity. I finish getting dressed, checking out the final result in the mirror on the wall before heading out. “You’re still an unknown asshole,” I say to the man in the mirror.

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES into stupid questions and I’m bored and frustrated. I’m throwing out the first responses that come to my mind while trying to remain professional, but my patience is wearing thin.

  Reporter: “Enigma, what separates you from every other fighter in your division?”

  “About eight more inches of arm span. Fuck. I don’t know. I fight to win, and they fight for the money. They don’t have the training I’ve had, and they don’t have the heart for the sport. Next question.”