The Clinch

by Nicole Disney

  “Where are you going?” Samson snaps.

  “I have to go,” she says. “I can’t do this anymore. Not right now.”

  “We’ll fix this, Brooklyn,” he says. “Come home with your mom and me right now and we’ll figure out how to fix it.”

  She doesn’t turn around when she answers. “You can’t fix me.”

  “We can always fix it, Brooklyn. Your family is here for you, but you can’t have both.”

  She turns back to him and long, loaded seconds tick by. My pulse picks up, and I think I may die if she goes with them. It’d be worse than if she never came out, the idea of them locking her in a tower and trying to make her straight. Just when I think I’m going to implode, she walks the rest of the way to my side. She turns back one more time.

  “I hope you change your mind,” she says. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  It’s late, and the reality of our physical condition slowly creeps back to the forefront of my mind as I try to move my body. I was in a haze as staff physicians looked at us, and from the look of her, Brooklyn was even more absent as they checked our vitals and poked and pulled at us. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I just want to be alone with Brooklyn. After a fight like we just had, they’ll never okay that, but I do get them to agree we’ll survive the car ride back to New York so we can go to our own hospital and be close to home when they let us out. It all sounds like a piece of cake until I try to walk.

  Holding my gym bag is a task that threatens to double me over. Brooklyn can’t feel any better, but the pain in our bones is a far-off silhouette next to the pain of what just happened in the locker room. The warmth and weight of her hand in mine is a comfort, and all I can think about is being a steady railing to hold in the cavern of grief I know she’s walking through. I want to say so many things, but I can feel her trembling, and I know any one of them could break her before she’s ready.

  Jin and Laila have been waiting at the car. They step forward when they see us hobbling out together. Jin rushes forward and takes our bags.

  “Are you okay?” Laila asks. It’s clear on her face she doesn’t mean the physical. Everyone within a quarter-mile knows Samson lost his mind on Brooklyn, and Laila is looking directly at her now. Brooklyn shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. Laila just folds her into a careful hug.

  “I rearranged the back for you,” Jin says and guides us around the silver SUV. The back is open and the seats are folded flat to make extra space. Several plush blankets and pillows line the back.

  “That may be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Brooklyn says, and Jin smiles. She crawls into the back and lies down, patting beside her for me to join. I crawl next to her and lie down. Jin closes the tailgate, and every muscle in my body slowly melts into the blankets. Everything hurts. I’m certain at least a couple of things are fractured, but none of it is dangerous, and all I care about right now is Brooklyn. We’re each on our side, facing one another. I carefully wrap my arm around her.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  A tear rolls down her face, but she squeezes my hand. “Had to happen.”

  “You were so brave.”

  “You were right. He knew. I had to do something he couldn’t ignore. Something I can’t take back.”

  I pull her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers. She touches my face, brushing her thumb over my eyebrow. “I love you so much.” The tears are flowing down her face now, controlled but constant. The words don’t really come out, but I can read her lips.

  “I love you too, Brooklyn.”

  Laila and Jin finish tying our bags to the roof and jump inside. Jin turns the ignition, and the gentle rocking of his driving, the easy music Laila puts on, and their concerned glances over their shoulders turn the SUV into a little bubble of love and safety. I just hope Brooklyn can feel it too even though she’s raw inside. I think she does, because her arm, draped across my side, pulls me a little closer, and she closes her eyes for the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to New York.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Brooklyn takes a little longer to be released from the ER than I do, but not by much. By three in the morning, she comes through the giant swinging double doors, limping on legs that look locked, but walking under her own power. She smiles when she sees me in the waiting room.

  “Hey, killer.” She leans in to kiss me, a slow and careful motion. My chest lights up like a firework show at the newness of her being affectionate in public.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “Free,” she says. “Nothing serious.”

  That’s a phrase that doesn’t mean much from someone as tough as Brooklyn, but they’re releasing her, so it must be mostly true.

  “You?” she asks.

  I have some broken ribs, stitches in my eyebrow, and damage in my elbow at a minimum. I turned down every test they’d let me turn down. Everything hurts so much right now we’d be here for a week if I asked them to look at every little ache, and I just want to go home with Brooklyn. I’ll see in a week or two what feels better and what feels worse. If I need to come back, I will.

  “Same,” I say.

  “Thank God,” she says. “Jin and Laila around here somewhere?”

  “Napping in the car. I tried to send them home, but they wouldn’t go. They want to make sure we’re settled.”

  Brooklyn smiles. “You’ve got some good ones there, Eden.”

  “You have them too.”

  She kisses my hand. “Can I talk you into coming back to my place? I have a really fucking big bed.”

  “Try and stop me,” I say.

  “Never again.”

  When we get to the car, Laila is napping against the window. I smile and gently tap the glass, but she springs to life and leaps out like I was slamming it.

  “Oh, thank God,” she says. “You’re both okay, then? Here, sit down. Shit, let me help you.”

  “Just need the door unlocked, Laila.” I laugh. “We’re fine.”

  Jin hits the automatic locks, but Laila helps us into the back anyway. We give them both the same vague but reassuring medical update, and neither presses for details.

  “Where to?” Jin asks. Brooklyn tells him her address, and he swings out of the parking lot in a slow and smooth motion. Even though it’s only a ten-minute drive, I’m drifting off by the time he stops in front of Brooklyn’s high-rise.

  “Is that…” Laila trails off. Brooklyn and I struggle to sit up and follow her gaze. The entrance to Brooklyn’s building has long, shallow steps with two sets of massive pillars supporting an elegant overhang. The building looks like it was plucked out of Rome and placed here. The hunched over figure in the middle of the stairs wearing a black hoodie with the hood up looks incredibly out of place, but familiar. He has a recognizable build, even huddled up the way he is. Brooklyn looks over at me for confirmation, and I smile and nod.

  “It’s Théo.”

  She looks from him to me a couple of times, stunned and frozen.

  “He came back.” I squeeze her hand.

  “You really think?”

  “Yes. I really do.” I kiss her forehead. “These two can take me back to the gym if you want to talk to him.”

  “No,” she says quickly. “No, come in.” The look in her eyes is sure and confident as she holds my arm.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to make this harder, Brooklyn. You can take care of your family if you need to. I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.”

  “You are my family.”

  I glance at Théo on the steps. He’s staring at the SUV, clearly aware it’s us even though it’s a rental, probably from our bags on the roof.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.” I reach into the front seat and Laila and Jin each grasp my hand and squeeze. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say to each of them and they nod, a touch of concern in their eyes blending with love.

  When we open the back, Théo shoots to his feet and rushes over, extending his forearm for Brooklyn to h
old on to as she struggles to her feet. He holds her until he’s certain she’s steady, then unties and pulls down the two bags from the roof and closes the back. I watch him in astonishment. I didn’t think he’d driven over here just to say things that have already been said, but I didn’t imagine he would be so helpful and sensitive either. We stare at one another in the dark of three a.m. March for some of the longest seconds of my life.

  “Can I come in?” he finally asks Brooklyn.

  She nods. “Yeah. Come on.”

  He shoulders both of our bags and leads the way so he can open the doors. He unlocks her door and swings it open to reveal her immaculate, luxurious loft. The floor to ceiling windows display a breathtaking view of the city as it twinkles in the night.

  “I’ll just go get some air on the balcony and let you two talk,” I say.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Théo says. Brooklyn and I both look over at him in surprise.

  “What? I’m not an animal,” he says with a brutish shrug. “You’re hurt. You don’t need to freeze on an iron chair outside. And this one’s going to tell you everything anyway.” He gestures at Brooklyn.

  I barely catch her sly smile, but it’s there and completely irresistible. She looks at me and nudges her head at the couch. We go straight for it and collapse onto it. Théo comes over, more reserved, looking awkward until he finally sits down in the chair across from us, scrutinizing us over the lavish rug.

  He seems comfortable looking at me so long as it isn’t my eyes, and he’s scraping over Brooklyn with an even finer toothed comb. Finally, he takes a deep breath.

  “That was a hell of a show, ladies.”

  There’s a beat of silence, and then the sheer unexpectedness of the comment makes me laugh. My mouth tugs into a smile and I’m actually laughing, which hurts, but also feels so good. When I look over at Brooklyn, she’s laughing too, even harder than I am, but silently as she tries to control it so the contractions don’t shred her body. Théo looks surprised at our reaction at first, but then he shakes his head and laughs too.

  When we quiet back down, Théo finally meets my eyes, and there’s no hatred there, no anger, no disgust, just confusion, or…is it curiosity? He looks at the floor again.

  “I’m sorry, Brooklyn,” he says. “I should’ve spoken up. I should’ve spoken better. I just…I didn’t kn…” He looks up at her, and it’s like seeing her punches him in the chest. “There’s no excuse.”

  “It’s okay, Théo,” she says. “It was my battle.”

  “It shouldn’t have been with me, though.”

  “Is it with you?”

  “No,” he says quickly. “No, Brooklyn, never. I’m confused…” He glances at me, then snaps away like it’s just too damn hard. “But you’re my baby sister. I still love you.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “You know that right?”

  “It’s always been this way?”

  She nods. “As long as I can remember.”

  “And you never told me?” He looks deeply and genuinely wounded, and though I feel his pain, I can’t imagine he doesn’t understand why.

  “I wanted to,” Brooklyn says. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Strong enough for what?”

  “To break your heart. To lose you. To see you look at me like—” Her voice chokes off. Théo gets up and sits on the other side of Brooklyn, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and squeezing.

  “I just feel like I don’t know you,” he says. “And I’m worried about you. I don’t understand it. I feel stupid. But you’re not losing me. You can’t lose me, Brooklyn.”

  She wraps her arms around him and hugs him. She’s never said as much, but I can’t imagine crying was an acceptable act in the Shaw house, and it shows in the way she tries to hide her tears against his shoulder.

  “Hey.” He shakes her gently. “Come on, Brook, don’t cry.”

  She sniffs and sits up straight again, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie.

  “Did he tell Mom?” Tears spill down her face as fast as she can mop them up. Théo just nods, and Brooklyn cries harder.

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s praying,” Théo says, direct and simple.

  “Fuck.”

  “No, it’s for the best. You know how Mom is. She burns hot but fast. She’ll be okay. I think I can help Leandro calm down too.”

  I want to squeeze Théo, this beautiful man. I always thought they were unbreakable. Brooklyn and Théo Shaw are so close their names sound more right together than apart. It was still far from a guarantee, and I love him for coming through.

  “And Dad? Did he calm down at all?”

  Théo shakes his head gravely. The boys always said it with levity, but there’s a heavy dose of truth that Brooklyn is a daddy’s girl. Every hope Samson ever had for his children cascaded down the fountain of his family tree and stacked on Brooklyn’s shoulders. She was his pride, his last, his chosen, his beloved, and she built her life in devotion to his dreams. That can’t just vanish, can it?

  Brooklyn nods, but she sees me and Théo looking at her and shakes her head. “I didn’t expect any different.”

  Théo sits forward and pats Brooklyn’s knee. “You should get some sleep.” He leans forward to peer around Brooklyn at me, then looks back to Brooklyn again. He points back and forth between us. “So, this is it?”

  Brooklyn smiles and wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “This is it.”

  “I don’t really know how to give this speech to a girl,” he says. “But that’s my baby sister. Don’t you ever let me catch you treating her wrong.”

  I smile and pull him into a tight hug right over Brooklyn. He stiffens, surprised, but I just squeeze him. I don’t care that he can’t look at me normally yet. I don’t care that he has reservations. He’s talking to me like her girlfriend, and it’s so much more than I expected. After a couple of seconds, just when I’m about to let him go, he hugs me back. He actually hugs me back. When we separate, he hugs Brooklyn one more time before he gets up.

  “Go to sleep,” he says. “You two are going to be a hot mess tomorrow.”

  “Love you, Théo,” Brooklyn says.

  “Love you too, Brook.” He waves and lets himself out. We sit in silence for a long second before we look at each other. Alone. Finally.

  “Bed,” she says. I nod and we move to her room, climbing her waist-high bed like it’s Everest and finally collapsing into the plush mattress. It swallows me like a cloud. We each roll to face each other. It’s not the most comfortable position, but staring into Brooklyn’s eyes is more than worth it. I run my fingertips across her brow and down her cheek. Her deep brown eyes are swimming with a thousand emotions.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “I’m thinking I can’t believe I almost let you get away,” she says. “That would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”

  I gather her hands in mine and kiss her fingertips. “You don’t regret doing this?”

  Her brow furrows and her eyes are infinitely tender. She leans close. Her lips brush over mine so light I can barely feel it. “No,” she whispers. The heat of her so close courses into me. Every cell of my body is reaching for her, crying out for her to touch me, and she does. Her mouth lands on mine. I taste her wet lips as they press into mine. Her hand moves around my back and pulls me gently against her, and I’m aching for her, hyper aware of all the places our bodies are touching, our arms, stomachs, thighs. I slip my tongue between her parted lips, and a low, longing sound hums in her chest and unravels me. She pulls me closer, but a blaze of pain shoots through my broken ribs under her hand. I want her so bad I’m prepared to ignore it, but she feels me tremble and remembers, pulling her hand away and resituating it on my hip.

  “I’m sorry,” she says in a voice that sounds so concerned.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I can take it if you’re careful.”

  She raises her eyeb
row at me playfully, and the adorable expression makes me break into a smile.

  “What?” I say. “Just watch out for the ribs. And my right thigh. And knee. And probably the left one too. And—”

  She laughs and lowers her lips to my neck, kissing under my jaw. “It’s okay, Eden,” she whispers. “We have the rest of our lives for that. And the next time I touch you, believe me, it will be everywhere.”

  No one has ever looked at me the way Brooklyn does, with such intensity, such endless warmth and acceptance and passion and calm all at once.

  “The rest of our lives?” I whisper back.

  “That’s the plan, isn’t it?” I watch her lips as she says it, low and dreamy and without a hint of doubt.

  “Yes,” I say. “Forever.”

  She kisses me again, and I melt into the confidence of her touch, the softness of her skin.

  “I love you, Eden.”

  Her arms are wrapped around me, holding me close and sheltered, and I’m sinking into her, perched on the edge of sleep, holding on to this dream that is somehow real.

  “I love you too, Brooklyn. With everything I am.”

  Epilogue

  “Fifteen seconds!” I yell into the octagon at Brooklyn as the second round winds down, gripping the clean towel and stool I have ready and glancing at the bucket Théo’s holding to check he has ice and water ready. The horn sounds, and we jump into the cage. I slap down the stool and Brooklyn sits. I kneel in front of her and wipe away the blood and sweat. She looks fresh, if a little frazzled, breathing hard but not gasping.

  “You’re beating her on the jab every time,” I say. She’s beating Karinov on most things, really. Brooklyn has never looked quite this good. If the fight ended right now, she’d finally have it for sure. She’d win the title. But everything could change with one shot. Karinov is hurt but not out, tired but still capable of ripping Brooklyn’s dreams away again with one well-placed punch. The look in Brooklyn’s eyes says she knows it, which means the punches coming at her must have plenty on them still.